A Reason to Exist

Chapter 23

We ate lasagne for dinner with sweet potato slices instead of pasta sheets, ricotta and goats cheese instead of béchamel sauce and mince meat that had been cooked in bone broth. My mother is an expert at taking a recipe and making it more nutritious and more disgusting.

'What do you think?' she asked. 'Should I put it on the blog?'

'It's not one of your best,' Tate answered.

Even though Tate was diplomatic, mum looked wounded. It was a full five minutes before she spoke again. 'You know she didn't even get back to me about the quotes.'

'Huh?'

'That woman next door. No manners. After all the trouble I went to to get the quotes. That bloody dog.' Tate raised his eyebrows. Mum never swears. 'I have a right to feel as though we are all safe in our own backyard.'

Tate nodded in agreement.

'What's their story anyway?' mum asked. 'Is there a dad around?'

'Yeah, he lives in South Melbourne.'

'Those boys are unruly,' mum stated. 'I see them out skating all the time and they're never wearing helmets. The other one came out of nowhere the other night when I was driving home from the store. Pitch black, no helmet, and out he comes across the Esplanade as if traffic should stop for him. If I was two seconds slower on the brake I would've hit him and it wouldn't have been my fault.'

The soles of my feet felt warm. Scaffolding was free-building in my chest. She pursed her lips together and used her commanding voice. 'You're wearing your helmet aren't you?'

'Yes mum.'

'And you always cross at the lights? Always?' But she didn't wait for me to answer. 'It's a death wish crossing that road without the lights.' She leant in closer and slowed her voice down so she was speaking very slowly and succinctly. 'A death wish,' she repeated, just in case we didn't get it the first time.

By now, my airways felt constricted. There were red and white road signs hanging solid in the air, constructivist typeface spelling out 'danger', a megaphone calling out 'warning, warning', air raid sirens blasting my eardrums.

'Only idiots don't cross at the lights,' Tate said, smiling. Mum looked at him with devotion. At least she didn't have to worry so much about him – with his pale indoor skin and hours spent in tap shoes. There was far less risk of him jaywalking than walking from stage left to stage right. She could dress him up in sequined bow ties and he'd repeat the lines she'd taught him.

'Not everyone who crosses without the lights dies,' I said all of a sudden.

'But they're asking for it,' my mother said.

'They're not asking for it,' I said. 'They're brave enough to take a chance. They're smart enough to know what the traffic is doing.'

'That kid next door, the older one on the skateboard, was not smart. He didn't care. I've never heard you say such a stupid thing. Have you done your homework?'

She knew I hadn't. But this was my chance to excuse myself, to abandon my half-eaten sweet potato lasagne and go to my room half-starving. I closed my door and turned on my laptop. I sat at my desk for a few minutes, staring at my screen.

I typed Tucker's name into Google and dozens of YouTube videos came up. I clicked on the first video 'The best of Tucker King', a 4-minute compilation of Tucker's tricks, professionally shot by someone called 'StreetskateHQ', with a hip-hop/rap soundtrack. It started with Tucker skating along a concrete slab by the Yarra River at Southbank and dropping to the footpath expertly. Next, he was skating along a concrete tram barrier, in what looked like Carlton, as a green and yellow tram pulled into the stop. He rode down a handrail, floating above at least 10 steps, outside a glass-windowed office block in the city. A beer-bellied security guard came to the top of the stairs and stood there with his arms folded across his chest. His stance said 'go away pest'.

In an underground carpark, Tucker soared across a long line of red and white plastic traffic barriers. He skated across concrete slabs outside Melbourne Musuem. At Flinders Street station, he rode down the handrail, flying above the steps every teenager in Melbourne has waited upon, landing neatly on the footpath.

Tucker was a streetscape adventurer, an urban stunt person with 850,000 views and 900 comments. I disliked every single other girl who had ever watched one of his videos. I disliked the girls at his school. I disliked all the skater girls who had shared a flow with him. I hated any girl who had ever admired the elasticity of his body and his big flashy smile. I never knew that liking someone so much could feel like I could destroy my own heart.

I'm not even a jealous type of person. I'd never been jealous in my life. How come this guy was dangling me into jealous territory? Holding me upside down by the ankles and feeding my heart to the crocodiles. It's not dangerous crossing the road without lights. It's dangerous to fall in love.

I closed my laptop screen. It hurt to even see his face. I lay down on my bed. 'You're so pretty when you smile,' he said. 'So delicate. It's like you're the girl I've been waiting my whole life to meet.' That was the moment I leapt into the lap of love. I nestled my head into love's chest and closed my eyes and whispered here's my heart, be gentle with it. Don't break me. My heart is as precious as a Han dynasty urn. One careless act and I can break.

I didn't believe in love as permanence. I didn't trust people's feelings. I'd seen the way two people who fell in love could catastrophically fall out of love. I'd witnessed my mother shoot arrows in the air, the bullseye was my dad. I suspected all relationships are going to end in pain. Love is not lasting, it's a temporary state of excitement.

Yet, a tiny hopeful part of my brain came knocking. It said love is possible. You have to give your heart to catch a heart. I pressed my palm to my chest and rolled over onto my stomach, pushing my face into the pillow. I let myself be consumed by feelings, as confusing and mixed up and powerful as they were.