Every Man I Fall For

It turns out his name was Morgan, and when that elicits a small laugh from me (because seriously, who names their son Morgan), I am rewarded with a soft punch in the stomach. It wasn’t love, but it was a crush: a big crush on a small boy who ended up being very sour inside.

And that was it. That was all it was. Two weeks. All because of some prick called Morgan who doesn’t know how to fucking feel.

“You have to understand, Olive,”

We’re sitting across from each other on the couch and he’s looking very desperate because I am looking very angry.

“You just reminded me a lot of him on that day. I just got scared because you were being so sweet and he was once as well, and you’re both very quiet and wide-eyed and, and… I don’t know.”

“You just thought, here’s some other bambi-eyed tool come to fuck up my life again?”

He laughs very softly but he knows I’m not saying it to be funny. It still annoys me.

“I just wish you wouldn’t have assumed that we’re the same person. And I know it’s just a knee-jerk reaction or whatever. Fight or flight. Whatever. I’m irritated because honestly you broke a lot of my trust for you. I gave you so much of me that day. And now the situation is being reversed but I’m still the one giving. When I told you about Nich-“
I stop abruptly when I realise that I was about to tell him that I had never assumed he was the same as Nicholas. Lie. I would never have run away like that. Lie. I know who I am. Lie.

Thom is watching me carefully again, and I suddenly realise that my shoulders are shaking quite violently.

“Are you OK, Olive?”

“I’m OK,” I whisper. “Just sometimes it hurts to find out something about yourself that you don’t like.”

*

Thommie is still here when Dad gets home. The main difference, though, is that I’m squirming and screeching on the floor as he runs his skinny fingers up and down my sides. He’s been tickling me for two minutes straight and I’m about to cry.

“HELP!” I scream, as Thom reaches one hand back to scratch around at my hyper-sensitive feet.

Dad is laughing down at us from the Lounge Room doorway and Adrian comes up behind him, smiling. As he walks through to the kitchen he calls over his shoulder,

“Pin his legs down Thommo, the thrashing can get vicious.”

“FUCK YOU!” I shriek, between giggles, as he follows Adrian’s advice.

Finally, finally, minutes later, the torture is over. Thom sits back on his feet, letting me catch my breath and pull myself up. I narrow my eyes at him.

“You’re mean.”

He grins at me and I’m childishly annoyed with him, so I stick my tongue out and then turn to Dad.

“Gee, thanks for helping your son in his time of crisis, Dad.”

“Hey now Mr. I Can Make My Own Life Choices, don’t pull that on me three years too late.”

I blush and Thom laughs from his belly. It makes me smile.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” Dad says, eyeing Thom on the floor, “I’m Oliver’s Dad, Martin.”

“Nice to meet you Mr Hartcher! I’m Thomas.” Thom says, standing up to shake Dad’s hand.

Dad frowns at the formality momentarily, before letting it go. Thom and I are still at that age where you’re proper with your friends’ parents until proven otherwise. I like watching them shake hands. Thommie looks right in my house, with my Dad. I’d like him to stay for a while.

“Are you staying for dinner, Thomas?”

Thom looks over at me, still on the floor, and I nod quickly.

“That would be lovely, if it’s not too much trouble?”

His statement comes out like a question, and it’s cute. I feel giddy. He’s here, in my space, and it’s going to be OK, and the way his freckled nose scrunches up when he giggles makes my tummy flop around like a Russian gymnast.

Dad OKs the plan and I drag Thom up to my room by the wrist. I feel very much like a small child with a friend, until I feel Thom’s eyes on my back and somewhere up the stairs his wrist slips down until it becomes his hand and fingers, and suddenly I don’t feel so small anymore.

“I like your room, Olive.”

I like you in my room, Thomas.

“Thank you Thommie.”

He raises an eyebrow and flops down on my big, soft doona, hands behind his head.

“Thommie?”

“Yes.”

“Since when?”

“Since approximately eleven minutes and forty-three seconds ago?”

He smiles at me, and I am physically drawn to his big green eyes as I make my way across the room and sit next to his torso, looking down on his face. He closes his eyes, and his lashes brush against his cheekbones.

“It’s cute.”

I shoot him a toothy grin that he doesn’t see.

“I missed this, Olive. I missed you.”

That’s sort of your fault, I think, but then let it go.

“Me too.”

There’s a short silence, then:

“You’re really pretty, Olive. Did you know? And sometimes when the light hits your face just right you don’t look real...” he opens his eyes and looks at me, his voice going soft, “…like now.”

We study each other for a moment. He’s right, the light is beautiful at this time of day. It’s falling right in to his eyes, just like I am, and I swear they’re swirling. Pulling me in.

“And sometimes you say these things” he all but whispers, still studying my face, “that make my heart go da-dum, da-dum.”

He illustrates his point by tapping out the rhythm on my knee, and I think I might actually cry or explode.

I’m not sure what to say to him because I can feel my eyes watering and everything is numb, but then I remember this song that I always wished I had the right person to give. And he’s here, now, so I unwrap it like a precious jewel and make sure my lips enunciate each syllable just right.

“Out of all the breath in me, I keep yours in my heart.”