The Art of Breathing Underwater

Chapter 32

The hall door had barely shut behind me when the phone started ringing. I answered, assuming it was my dad calling from work. Had my brain not been operating on auto-pilot, I would have realised I had passed his car in the drive. "Y'ello."

"Aaron?"

All my senses flicked into life. "Robbie! How're things?"

"Good... I, eh, wasn't sure you'd answer."

"I'd never... I've been thinking about... It's great to hear from you."

A brief chuckle, "You too." A slight pause, "There's a new Tarantino movie in the works?" And like that, we were away. A connection that had temporarily gone down. Genuine friendship never requires re-setting or re-configuring. It is an insoluble bond, existing beyond the constraints of space and time.

"I missed this," I said, voice warbling with emotion.

"I should've called sooner. I wasn't sure you'd want to speak to me, after..."

"I'm sorry about that. That's on me. I was so mixed up... I had this... this fucking blockage... I couldn't allow myself... a part of me kept fighting, wouldn't let go."

"So, you're not mad at me... about the photos."

"It was never about... I... I was scared... about... everything. Who I am."

A few seconds passed before Robbie spoke: "I thought it was me... the whole colour thing."

"Never." Emphatic.

"It's just... it's everywhere I go, everything I do. People define me by my skin. Like that's all I'm about. Even the ones who mean nothing by it, feel this need to mention it."—the strain in his tone reverberated through the line—"It's like this separating barrier, they can't see past. I'm a person, same as everyone else... It's exhausting... People say, 'oh listen to him, making a big issue of it,' but I'm not the one making an issue out of it. Y'know, the Fannings of the world, sometimes I prefer that—they're upfront about their bigotry. I know exactly where I stand. With others, it's this insidious thing lurking beneath the surface..."

I remembered how the Christian Brother picked out Robbie even though he had seen us both laughing. The cop's aggressive attitude toward only him. The girl on the bus running her fingers through his hair like you would a family pet. My dad, making skin tone an issue by listing his favourite black actors. Robbie acting unfazed when deep down...

Forced to wear a mask.

How Louise's friends revealed their prejudices when they thought nobody was listening.

Me assuming the picture of Basquiat in his house was that of a relative. Robbie, brushing it off with a joke when deep down...

I hadn't realised. Hadn't stopped to consider how Robbie might be hurting. Too busy concentrating on myself. It's easy to develop a bad case of visual and aural impairment when it's not you being discriminated against.

I tried to imagine myself in his shoes. I couldn't. The mask I'd donned disguised my identity. Robbie's cover could only ever cloak his feelings.

"It makes it hard for me to trust... every time we were together, afterwards I'd catch that expression on your face—"

"What?"

"That shameful one, like you'd shat yourself in front of the whole school."

"You should see me after I sing soprano," I said, using the humorous euphemism to hide my embarrassment and cut the tension.

Robbie didn't laugh. "And last time... You seemed so into it. Then, boom! Turned cold as ice. I couldn't understand it. I remember you saying how you fancy Noely, and I look around your room, all these posters of white faces staring back at me... I'm so used to people having a problem with who I am..."