‘No, no, we went our own ways for a bit,’ I insist, like that makes it better. ‘Sabrina moved straight to Perth for uni after high school, but I took a gap year and worked in a supermarket. But that ended up being a messed-up year … 2020 …’
‘Urgh, don’t even go there,’ Charlie says.
‘So, I moved to Perth in 2021,’ I say. ‘Did a double degree, Arts and Business.’
‘Got a foot in both camps in case one doesn’t work out?’
‘Well, that’s the point of a double degree, so you have two pathways to choose,’ I say. Thefoot in both campscomment bugs me: he’s detected a deficiency in my identity, and he’s dead right. ‘And I’m finished. Graduating this weekend.’
Charlie’s smile is tepid, like he wants to say more than the gentle, even-keeled ‘Congrats’ that comes out of his mouth.
‘Anyway, Sabrina and I stayed friends. Then a few years ago her housemate Victoria just happened to move out while I was househunting – so I moved in,’ I finish. ‘It just happened organically. Just made sense for us both.’
Nobody has ever said the word ‘just’ more times in one breath.
‘Hey, fair enough, dude,’ Charlie says bracingly, his voice rising in inflection like he’s realised how defensive he’s made me. ‘As long as you’re happy, right?’
And it’s not until my old friend assumes I’m happy that I realise, inescapably, I’m not.
Why did I want Charlie’s approval so much? Was I hoping he’d save me again?
There’s more I could tell him about my life. How I have a part-time job in the uni’s call centre as a student adviser. How I should be looking for a better job now I’m graduating, but it’s hard to be optimistic about anything with the planet crumbling into decline and chaos while we all pretend it isn’t. How my family still want me to marry a woman. How I daydream of my own bachelor pad but can’t afford a rental in a housing crisis. How being unable to host hasn’t stopped me going through the men of Perth like water, because unbridled hedonism is the only thing that makes me feel alive.
But Charlie’s lukewarm expression tells me he wants me to wrap it up.
‘What about you, then?’ I ask, and my shoulders relax as I turn the microscope on him instead. ‘Still doing the music thing?’
Charlie’s eyes light up. ‘Doing it? Dude, I’mlivingit.’
The longer Charlie goes on, the more I realise he isn’t living his dream either. He’s reeling off the same lines from years ago about his puny Soundcloud, his lacklustre Spotify, his failed attempts at Triple J Unearthed. What’s new is his TikTok, where he’s had a few videos go low-grade viral but not lead to any real increase in streams; his new songs, with titles like ‘Penetration’, ‘Cannibal’ and ‘Cocksucker’; and how he’s occasionally playing guitar for a band called Hectic Lettuce he seems convinced is famous, but I’ve never heard of. Charlie plans to record an album but needs more cash, so he’s working at some new bar that opens next week.
My nods get more enthusiastic the longer he speaks. I realise he needs to imagine his dream is going somewhere. When he’s talking in circles and I can’t stand to hear the word ‘streaming’ one more time, I say, ‘Do you ever run into the old crew? From our hostel days?’
Charlie looks almost relieved to be interrupted, like he was a record needle stuck in a vinyl rut he needed to be jolted out of. ‘Yeah, nah dude, hardly any of ’em,’ he says. ‘Most were international backpackers. Few of the locals I still see around.’
‘You ever see Marshy?’
‘Man! Marshy. Yeah, once or twice. Saw him at a Gyroscope gig once at Lucy’s. Fucken loose unit he was.’
‘The loosest unit. What about Josie and her crew? And Big Fred?’
We sort through names I haven’t uttered for years, removing the weight of their absence from my body, like I am recovering the lost life I could have had if I’d stayed in Perth with Charlie.
I take a step further back. ‘Have you ever seen Hammer again?’
Charlie’s eyes bulge, like he was hoping I’d bring this up. ‘You mean, apart from every week on the news?’
Kade ‘Hammer’ Hammersmith was the most athletic guy in our class, and a bully: to Charlie, once he came out; and to me,even though I was closeted. He once mockingly offered to titty-fuck my man boobs. I hated him until I realised he was bicurious, and suddenly I had a crush on my own bully. Hammer was the first man I ever had sex with and after that, like every confused straight guy in history, he acted like it never happened.
Which suits him fine, because Kade Hammersmith is now a famous football player. The most lauded Eagles full-forward since Josh Kennedy, Hammer was drafted into the AFL right after high school. He’s so obnoxiously good at footy he’s crowed about in the sports pages ofThe Westevery week. Being treated like God’s gift has only made his cocky attitude worse. He’s been in hot water in the media once or twice for dumbarse comments and always gets out of it scot-free. I swear Hammer could murder Bluey in broad daylight, and everyone would mumble that yes, on one hand, he’s a killer and she was a beloved cartoon puppy, but on the other, he’s a gun full-forward. Two bags of sand that weigh the same on the scales of justice in this country. You can be a dick to the power of infinity, but if you’re good at footy, that’s all that matters.
And after we fucked, he was a dick to the power of infinity to me, specifically. Once I came back to Gero, Hammer managed to never interact with me. We’d sometimes pass in the corridors at school and it was like he didn’t see me: like I’d stopped existing to him. For the rest of year eleven and year twelve, I went from his crush and fuckbuddy to being totally ghosted. Not a single word. Not even eye contact.
I’m not bitter or anything.
‘Apart from in the news, yeah,’ I confirm to Charlie. ‘Ever run into him?’
Charlie shakes his head. ‘Haven’t seen him since Robbie’s wedding. And I don’t want to. He’d be so deep in denial now. Imagine if he came out. The first gay AFL player. It’d be massive. Hell, imagine if we leaked it. We’re the only ones who know.’
