CALVIN

twenty-three: the fight

"Hey, Elias - "

Patrick was walking down the Aula steps. Someone began crying on stage; Otis changed the lights to blue. "What the fuck are you doing here?" I said. He crouched behind the row of seats I was in.

"Come to Greece with me for Christmas break."

"What? Patrick - "

"I know you haven't bought a ticket to Adelaide yet. The place my dad rented has an extra room, and he has an extra ticket, too." After seeing the look on my face, he added, "Mum's not coming."

"Well, first of all, it's not a ticket to Adelaide, it's a ticket to Sydney, and then Adelaide. Also, why would there be an extra room if your mum isn't coming?"

He shrugged. "They never sleep together. Just go on holiday together. Anyways, she's doing something in America, so..." he made a happy face.

"Doesn't your dad have like, a house on Cyprus, or something? Why are you guys all of a sudden holidaying in Greece?"

"Because my dad felt like going to Greece. He made our Cyprus house an AirBnB, anyways. Multiple incomes, Elias. Financial cushioning."

I exhaled heavily, tapping my pencil on my notebook. On the stage, Calvin was playing the drunk father who was through with his daughter's shit. He kicked the set coffee table, sending an echo through the auditorium. "Pat, I can't accept a ticket to Greece. And I don't want your dad to have to feel responsible for me."

"Mate, my dad doesn't even feel responsible for me. Just come. If I have to spend one more Christmas in a beach town alone with my brother and dad, I'll probably be swinging from a ceiling fan."

"Dude."

"Humour is bigger than pain." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Ask your mum."

"My mum will obviously say yes - she's on a happy streak right now. They usually last three to four months."

"Great," he whisper-said, walking back up the wide stairs. "Then pack summer clothes."

When he left, I turned back to the stage. Calvin was done his skit; he took a seat beside Aylin in the front row. After a few moments, they were visibly laughing about something. Otis changed the lights to red and screamed, "DOG-WALKER SKIT, GET THE FUCK ON STAGE."

"Why are the lights red!" Shouted Zach - the dog-walker skit was yellow through-and-through.

"BECAUSE I'M ANGRY, ZACH." He deepened the shade of red. "NOW! ELIAS, GET OFF THE PO-PO, AND GET THE PO-PO, ON THE STO-STO."

"That doesn't even make sense," I mumbled as I stomped down the steps and jumped on-stage.

...

After class, I dumped my books in my house and found the farming path behind campus. The day was pretty grey, pretty cold, and the ground was still wet from last night's rain. The brittle corn stocks had been cut to the stumps, meaning there was a lot less privacy to be had in the countryside. I walked down the hill, through the meadow behind the Syrian refugee place, and into the trees. There was a place, pretty spacious actually, beneath the highway. Cement pillar holding up the bridge, graffiti on the sloping rock sides. Flat, packed-earth ground. I stood there in the shadows, swallowed a pill and then lit a cigarette.

It wasn't long before someone came walking down the path. I could tell they weren't a teacher from the way they held themselves, but my heart dropped when he got close enough I could see his face. When he saw me, he stopped short, then continued with more purpose in his step. "Isn't it weird we're both here?" he said, standing in front of me with his hands in his pockets. His voice echoed under the highway.