‘Perry!’
I smile and wave at my little admirer as he and his dozen foster-siblings cross the street in a line, hand in hand. ‘Hey . . . buddy,’ I call to him. I can never remember his name.
‘We’re going to the gardens!’
‘Cool!’
Julie Grigio grins at me, leading their line like a mother swan. In a city of thousands I run into her almost every day, sometimes near the schools where it seems probable, sometimes in the outermost corners of the Stadium where the odds are slim. Is she stalking me or am I stalking her? Either way, I feel a pulse of stress hormones shoot through me every time I see her, rushing to my palms to make them sweat and to my face to make it pimply. Last time we met, she took me up on the roof. We listened to music for hours, and when the sun went down, I’m pretty sure we almost kissed.
‘Want to come with us, Perry?’ she says. ‘It’s a field trip!’
‘Oh fun . . . a field trip to where I just spent eight hours working.’
‘Hey, there aren’t a lot of options in this place.’
‘So I’ve noticed.’
She waves for me to come over and I immediately comply, while trying my best to look reluctant. ‘Don’t they ever get to go outside?’ I wonder, watching the kids march in clumsy lockstep.
‘Mrs Grau would say we are outside.’
‘I mean outside. Trees, rivers, etc.’
‘Not till they’re twelve.’
‘Awful.’
‘Yeah . . .’
We walk in silence except for the burble of child-speak behind us. The Stadium walls loom protectively like the parents these kids will never know. My excitement at seeing Julie darkens under a sudden cloud of melancholy.
‘How do you stand it here,’ I say, barely a question.
Julie frowns at me. ‘We get to go out. Twice a month.’
‘I know, but . . .’
She waits. ‘What, Perry?’
‘Do you ever wonder if it’s even worth it?’ I gesture vaguely at the walls. ‘All this?’
Her expression sharpens.
‘I mean, are we really that much better off in here?’
‘Perry,’ she snaps with unexpected vehemence. ‘Don’t you start talking like that, don’t you f**king start.’
She notices the abrupt silence behind us and cringes. ‘Sorry,’ she says to the kids in a confidential whisper. ‘Bad words.’
‘Fuck!’ my little friend yells, and the whole line explodes with laughter.
Julie rolls her eyes. ‘Great.’
‘Tsk tsk.’
‘You shut your mouth. I meant what I said to you. That’s evil talk.’
I look at her uncertainly.
‘We get to go outside twice a month. More if we’re on salvage. And we get to stay alive.’ She sounds like she’s reciting a Bible verse. An old proverb. As if sensing her own lack of conviction she glances at me, then snaps her eyes forward. Her voice goes quiet. ‘No more evil talk if you want to come on our field trip.’
‘Sorry.’
‘You haven’t been here long enough. You grew up in a safe place. You don’t understand the dangers.’
Dark feelings flood my belly at this, but I manage to hold my tongue. I don’t know the pain she’s speaking from, but I know it’s deep. It makes her hard and yet so terribly soft. It’s her thorns and it’s her hand reaching out from the thicket.
‘Sorry,’ I say again and fumble for that hand, nudging it out of her jeans pocket. It’s warm. My cold fingers wrap around hers, and my mind conjures an unwelcome image of tentacles. I blink it away. ‘No more evil talk.’
The kids gaze at me eagerly, huge eyes, spotless cheeks. I wonder what they are and what they mean and what’s going to happen to them.
‘Dad.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I think I have a girlfriend.’
My dad lowers his clipboard, adjusts his hard hat. A smile creeps into the deep creases of his face. ‘Really.’
‘I think so.’
‘Who?’
‘Julie Grigio?’
He nods. ‘I’ve met her. She’s – hey! Doug!’ He leans over the edge of the bulwark and yells at a worker carrying a steel pylon. ‘That’s forty-gauge, Doug, we’re using fifty for the arterial sections.’ He looks back at me. ‘She’s cute. Watch out though; seems like a firecracker.’
‘I like firecrackers.’
My dad smiles. His eyes drift. ‘Me too, kid.’
His walkie-talkie crackles and he pulls it out, starts giving instructions. I look out at the ugly concrete vista under construction. We are standing on the terminating end of a wall, fifteen feet high, currently a few blocks long. Another wall runs parallel to it, making Main Street into an enclosed corridor that cuts through the heart of the city. Workers swarm below, laying concrete pour-forms, erecting framework.
‘Dad?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you think it’s stupid?’
‘What?’
‘To fall in love.’
He pauses, then puts his walkie away. ‘What do you mean, Pear.’
‘Like . . . now. The way things are now. I mean, everything’s so uncertain . . . is it stupid to waste time on stuff like that in a world like this? When everything might fall apart any minute?’
My dad looks at me for a long time. ‘When I met your mom,’ he says, ‘I asked myself that. And all we had going on back then was a few wars and recessions.’ His walkie starts crackling again. He ignores it. ‘I got nineteen years with your mom. But do you think I would’ve turned down the idea if I’d known I’d only get one year? Or one month?’ He surveys the construction, shaking his head slowly. ‘There’s no benchmark for how life’s “supposed” to happen, Perry. There is no ideal world for you to wait around for. The world is always just what it is now, and it’s up to you how you respond to it.’