Silence Protect Me

The rest of lunch was uneventful. No more threats came from Alex (Adie, far from being subtle, pointedly stared at him during the meal whenever it sounded like he was going to make a smart comment), Tyler was quiet for once (obviously distracted by demolishing Adie’s culinary masterpieces) and I managed to steer clear of one-to-one conversation. My Dad was distracted by Deedee mostly- apparently she’d won another math’s competition or something. Since Dad has always preached he can only count to four and repeat, Deedee’s achievements are always miraculous to him.

Anyway, after lunch ended everyone took off in their own groups to different areas of Billie’s back yard. Tyler immediately insisted on going in the pool, mooching a pair of board shorts off Jakob and catapulting into the previously still water. I personally thought that he probably should have borrowed some shorts off Joey instead. A huge roll of fat hung over the waistband of the shorts like baking dough rising over a bread tin. Pale and flabby, my brother was more of a baby Moby Dick then a six-year-old. But, Billie’s sons and Deedee weren’t afraid of this sea monster, also diving into the pool after finishing their meal.

The adults decided to stay at the table, telling jokes that were filled with innuendo (probably because the kids were all out of hearing range). In fact, the only adult not sitting down was Mike, who had offered to play lifeguard with little Frankie. My Dad and Billie seemed to be competing for centre-stage with each other, charisma clashing all over the place. They jokingly pretended to flirt with everyone at the table, especially each other (which had Adie and Elise in fits of laughter, especially when my Dad tried to sit on Billie’s lap).

As for the few of us that weren’t classified in those two groups, we were sprawled around on Billie’s patio furniture. Or, at least, Beth and Alex were. I was sat properly on a deck chair, watching the others verbally battle. Alex and Beth had already decided to become mortal enemies, much to my obvious discomfort. Before Beth came to fetch me (as she relayed to me later), Alex managed to upset her by laughing at her hair and saying she looked like an old woman. To that, Beth replied that he was nothing but a complete waste of space (well, something a bit more graphic along those lines).

I have never been good at mediating, so of course they continued their argument when I was there.

“Tell me, was the white hair meant to help you get a fake I.D? Or are you a cartoon that just saw a ghost?” Alex mocked, lying upside-down on the swinging bench. His spiked hair brushed the ground, hopefully collecting mountains of dirt. Like Beth, I didn’t enjoy Alex’s new presence at all.

“Shut it, shit-head,” Beth replied roughly from her spot on the ground, giving him a crude sign from her fingers. “By the way, National Heritage called. They want their mountain range back,” she carried on, pointing at his nose. Alex raised his eyebrows (or at least I think he did. It’s hard to tell, since he was upside-down at the time).

“Oh, that just cut me to pieces, Granny Smith. How will I ever recover? I’m almost as pale as your hair.”

“Ha, ha. How clever. At least my hair doesn’t look like it should be powering an electricity pylon!”

God. I was almost expecting them to start trading “Yo’ Momma” jokes, that was just how low the wit was. I leant back in my chair, looking out over the backyard. It was getting later on in the day and shadows were beginning to lengthen. Beth and Alex had amazingly kept arguing for two and a half hours straight (the first hour Beth chattered aimlessly to me, while Alex ignored us). For all those hours, I think I may have said about two complete sentences and six words. Beth likes to talk for me, plus I didn’t feel like getting into a verbal battle.

“What are you meant to be, anyway? Some kind of fake non-conformist?”

“What are you meant to be, some kind of bad insults comedian?”

“At least my hair colour is all natural and peroxide free.”

“At least my hair obeys the laws of gravity.”

“At least girl guides don’t try to help me across the street.”

“At least people don’t mistake me for Sonic the Hedgehog.”

“At least I’m not trying to be the reincarnation of Florence Nightingale.”

“What?” Beth asked, breaking out of the cycle with a frown on her face. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Yes it does,” Alex said smugly, hoisting himself back upright on his seat. “You’re a typical nurse-wannabe. You take care of girly-boy over there like he’s a baby, answering for him, defending his honour. I mean I can see he’s a weakling (no tough guy would let someone do that to the side of his face), but I don’t think he’s mute too. God, your poor boyfriend never gets a fucking word in!”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Beth yelled, reacting a bit strongly. In the noon light her cheeks flushed peony, making her look like a painted china doll. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. That’s it!”

I couldn’t blame her. I was embarrassed too. We both hate it when strangers just assumed stuff like that about us, even more when people we know suggest things like that too. I have no…. interest… in Beth whatsoever. And she’s frequently pointed out I’m not her type (she tends to go for guys who are stereotypical activists like her, unlike me who has never protested strongly against anything).

Yes, we’re a clichéd pair of friends, all right. Going in a relationship together would just turn us into even bigger cardboard cut-outs, like something out of “Lizzie Maguire” (I never watched it, neither did Deedee. But Tyler happens to be a big fan).

Alex snorted.

“Again, you answered for the both of you. Hey, girly boy-“

“It’s Ivy,” Beth growled warningly. Alex gave her a cool glance before continuing.

“Hey, Ivy, don’t you have anything to say on the matter? Like how much you think Granny Smith’s hair is a turn-off or her dominance issues?”

Turn-offs? What the- I hadn’t ever considered Beth in that frame of mind, and he was asking about turn-offs? I wriggled in my seat, refusing to look up at Alex’s triumphant stare. I didn’t have anything to say on that matter. Beth isn’t attractive to me- but not because I find her repugnant or anything. No, I just- I just don’t tend to think about people in that mind-set. Oh, this was really off-putting. But I couldn’t bear to have that stupid arrogant jerk lording my inability to answer over me.

“I don’t find Beth attractive, purely for the reason she is my friend. Not her hair. Not her bossiness. Now, please leave me alone,” I told him, my voice shaking with effort. From the ground I heard a small gasp- but I must have been mistaken. From the chair Alex scowled at me, annoyed that I disarmed him before he could take another, deeper swing. He got up suddenly, striding away from the seat.

“You people are nothing but boring ‘burb kids. I’m gonna’ find someone else to talk to. You know, someone with a sense of humour.”

I couldn’t think of anyone that would share his stunted sarcastic humour, but judging by the way he confidentially walked off, he thought someone would. Beth grunted, pulling herself to her feet and glaring after him.

“God, what an ass!” she exclaimed, obviously still displeased by him. “He’s an ass, isn’t he, Ivy? A great big, stupid-“

“I get the message, Beth,” I interrupted quickly. Alex was not a subject I wanted to go on about. If we kept going on about him, he would get stuck in my head. And I wasn’t about to lie awake all night thinking about a complete jerk when I could be thinking of more important things. Like, why Newton decided to call gravity “gravity”, for instance.

At that moment my Dad and Billie came striding past, still joking with each other as they approached the glass doors. My Dad was roaring with laughter at something Billie had done at an award’s show years ago and had just been reminded of. From what I could gather, Billie had gotten drunk, got up on the dance floor when everyone was about to leave, heckled the DJ until he played “When I Come Around” and was the only person to dance to his own song. I personally didn’t think it was that funny.

“I still don’t get why you- Oh! Hi Ivy- Hi Beth!” my Dad greeted us in the semi-darkness, clapping me painfully on the shoulder in a sign of fatherly endearment. He flicked a hand through Beth’s hair, which made her giggle: “Hey Beth, have you ever thought of cutting your hair shorter and putting some black in it, y’know, like that Storm chick from X-Men?”

“No, Mr Wright,” Beth laughed, flicking her hair back over her shoulders with pride. She was blushing again, too. My Dad has that kind of effect on females. That’s another thing I never inherited from him, as well as the charisma, musical talent and huge chin.

“Mr Wright? Well, I’m flattered you think of me like that,” Dad joked, pretending to swoon, “but it’s actually Mr Cool. But to you, it’s Tre, darling.”

“Okay- Tre!” Beth said, giggling at her rhyme. My Dad gave her a huge smile, before exaggeratingly shuffling close to me.

“Seriously, Ivy. Date her! She’s cute!” he whispered in my ear, winking at me and nudging me in the ribs. I stepped back, trying to stop my face from flipping into an expression of horror. Not again! Twice in one day- was I the only sane one there?

“I don’t think so, Dad,” I said expressionlessly. My Dad pulled a face, shaking his head over my shoulder at Billie.

“This one’s hard to please, isn’t he? What are you waiting for, Ivy? Penelope Cruz to come running around the corner?”

I shook my head silently. Dad sighed, shaking his head so much it looked like he was trying to dislodge something from his ears. He gave Billie a fake expression of exasperation.

“I’m starting to think he’s either gay or a complete perfectionist,” he informed Billie, laughing afterwards to assure everyone it was just a joke. I didn’t find a word of it funny, instead feeling greatly insulted. My own father was joking about my sexuality in front of my best friend. My only best friend. Did she think he was telling the truth? Maybe not, because she was laughing… But, what if it was polite laughter and she actually did think he was telling the truth? My stomach sank as I watch helplessly, not at all sure what to say.

In the back of my mind, I was starting to wish the tour hadn’t ended so soon.

“Aw, Ivy,” Beth said, the first to notice my stone features. “Don’t be like that. He’s just kidding.”

“Or was I?” Dad asked, his eyes darting comically, chest bloated with bravado. He deflated as I continued to stare silently at him, the smile wiped away from his face like spilt tea on a diner table. “Okay, I was kidding. Jeez Ivy, it’s called a joke-“

“I thought jokes were meant to be funny,” I replied finally, before turning to walk into the house. I ignored my Dad’s cries of annoyance, sliding the door open and distancing myself from him and his idiotic jokes. What does he know? Nothing, nothing that isn’t complete rot. I am not gay. I just find teenage relationships completely irrelevant, fuelled by ricocheting hormones and hot air. Crushes are a waste of valuable mind-space too, and lust is ugly. I’m thankful that none of these things have touched me and made my mind melt yet, like many adolescent males have before me.

I aimlessly wandered into the lounge room, tiredly lowering myself onto a couch. It didn’t make me strange, the fact I didn’t go crazy with hormonal lust like other guys my age, did it? It wasn’t like my puberty had been postponed- my voice had broken years before, plus everything else seems to be going as normal. It is just the out-of-control thing I am missing out on. All the other guys my age are typically “macho”, all too happy to show off and brag. I just don’t see the point in it. Can the mind control hormones? Well, that was a stupid question, because that’s where hormones get released from… but I don’t mean it like that.

“Not one for gay jokes, right?” a voice said behind me, making me jump in my seat. I turned my head, checking behind me in the fear that it was my Dad, on a mission to make things worse. It was a false alarm, though. Only Mike was standing behind me, looking solemn.

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked, walking around and sitting anyway. I groaned inwardly. Don’t let this be a “male-bonding session”, I pleaded, getting ready to get up and move. I hate it when Mike or my Dad try and do the whole talking thing with me. They haven’t realised there’s one big flaw in that- the fact I don’t talk back. It was typical of my Dad not to realise that, but I thought maybe Mike would be a little more intelligent.

“Ivy, there are times where people tell jokes that you may not like. But the fact is, sometimes you’ve just got to take it as a joke, and not be overly sensitive…”

Blah, blah, blah, blah. I tuned out of the conversation without a second thought, not really caring about pretending to listen. It was about time Mike got the message about the talking thing, anyway. I practised my familiar trick of letting my mind float away into the distance, settling into a familiar space full of interesting words and mathematical equations. I soared through this world of numbers and letters, grabbing the favourite ones and shoving them in my mental self’s pockets to examine later. I looked closely at a couple of prettier words, marvelling at their easy construction. Simplify. Conspiracy. Quicksilver. Philosophy…

“… So, anyway, that’s all I wanted to say to you,” Mike ploughed on relentlessly, finally seeming to slow to a stop. I withdrew from my words, nodding meaninglessly as I settled back into myself. “Now, I think we can do something a bit more fun- Didn’t Beth say at lunch she’d hired out ‘Snakes On A Plane’ for you guys to watch?”

“Yes, she might of,” I replied, not really bothered. Movies about planes are not really my thing, probably because I have to go on them a lot (thanks to Dad’s little “band emergencies”). Disaster plane movies are definitely not my thing. I’d heard this particular movie had sparked a whole new security scenario for airports.

Mike shrugged, a small grin rippling through his thin lips.

“Well, how about we start getting the little ones out of the way and then all of us watch it together. I heard that one guy gets bitten on the-“

“No spoilers!” I protested, clapping my hands to my ears. Mike nodded.

“Okay, okay, no spoilers. I’ll go tell the others. God, I hope Elise won’t let Frankie watch like she did with ‘Jurassic Park III’ the other night. The kid had nightmares the whole week, wouldn’t stop asking me to check under the bed for dinosaurs…”

He exited the room before finishing his sentence, talking more to himself then me. I stretched out on the couch, idly looking at the blank screen of Billie’s TV. I didn’t want to get involved with keeping the little ones out of the way. They couldn’t be sent to their beds because it was technically only four-thirty in the afternoon (that wouldn’t stop me, though), plus little kids get very pissed off when they aren’t allowed to see something and they don’t know why. I knew for a fact that Tyler would be able to wriggle his way into watching the movie and chat all the way through it. And since Elise is so lax with kids, Frankie would be able to watch too and then would scream all the way through.

Beth really hadn’t made the best choice on which movie to bring.