ON REFLECTION

Trapped by small-town mentality, the mirror has two faces and only one is allowed to live.

“Dan!” His mother grabs his attention while he downs breakfast. He lifts his head to look at her, knowing he’s not supposed to speak unless directed. “I cleaned your room and found an information pack for an art degree course. We’ve spoken…”

The booming voice of his father cuts in, “You’ve no need for that! All you need is here. You’ll get taught mechanics, panel beating and, if art is your thing, Hayden can teach you painting and detailing.”

Sitting opposite her brother, his sister catches the look on his face before his head drops. Older than him, believing she’s the only one who understands, although she can’t really put a finger on the emotion. Seeing the same look when relaying town gossip of girls he’s taken on a date, enjoying themselves, wanting a second date. Knowing what living in this family and in this town is like, where decisions are made for you by expectations of family and townspeople. You’re supposed to be as grateful as you are respected, by all, never earned but expected to keep.

Dan heads for his private bathroom, f licks the lock and braces his hands on the marble vanity. He takes in his ref lection, inhales deeply and closes his eyes. Opening to his parallel (always two years older), Danny Boy.

Danny Boy’s getting ready for university; his hair is styled with blond tips. He bounds down the stairs, hugs his mother and offers his sister a lift. His little brother laughs at the silly faces pulled at his sister’s choice of clothes. He high fives his brother before heading out the door.

Dan sees himself now: f lat brown hair, empty skin. He washes for his third week in the family business. His father throws him the keys, “You can drive son, but remember it’s not like your little car. This has grunt – a man’s drive! I’ll never understand what you see in that car of yours. It needs so much work.”

Big American doors shut father and son in together. Dan turns the key and awakens the beefy rumble of an oversized ute and backs it out the four bay.

His father never found conversation with Dan easy, always having to work to stop the distance from growing, assuming only the generation gap was to blame. So much in the world has changed: faster-paced, with more violence and hardship. All the more reason to keep his kids safe and provide them with a way to make a good, honest income just like his father. He’s damn proud of how Dan’s shaped up from a real mummy’s boy (not that he’d ever say that in front of his beautiful wife). He hopes his son finds a wife as loving as her, patient as a saint.

On that thought, he turns to his son who is busy focusing on the road ahead and says in a voice that feels deafening to Dan’s ears, “You need to take one of those girls you have on a baited hook for a second date, son. You’re not studying for exams this year so there’s no reason not to have some fun.” “Dad…” “Well, you’ve got a good job and good wage; you could tick another thing off your list. I hear that boss of yours is pretty proud of how you’ve picked up skills, and your work ethic is damn good too, son,” he says, giving a fatherly nudge. “Seeing you with a nice girl would be the icing on the cake for me.”

Dan inwardly sighs or dies – he isn’t sure which – wondering how such a loving statement could sound so empty to him. Gripping the steering wheel and swallowing hard, he tries to get rid of the suffocating lump in his throat. Be grateful he’s proud of you, be grateful…

Straight into work: basic mechanical services, occasionally called over to be shown something new or to lend a hand. Days roll together here but it had its bonuses, watching the guys start the day clean, getting oilier with each smoko. Hot days bring their own sweet bonus, the smell of musky sweat rolling off hardworking bodies gives Dan a sense of nourishment that bypasses the stomach and heart, a side effect of living this lie. Keeping busy is a good distraction from the constant emptiness growing inside.

Danny Boy plays his part through ref lections in the smoko room window or in paintwork. Of course Dan gets plenty of ribbing for zoning out, with the assumption he was pining over some girl. Danny Boy lives Dan’s life in high gloss red. Danny helps Taine up from under the car, grips his overalls in a determined fist, taking in those baby blues and pulling his oil-stained lips down for a kiss, manoeuvering his fine arse back up against the car until the heat of their crotches smash together, groaning with pleasure. Taine takes a firm grip of his arse and pulls in tight, grinding hard. Danny’s gravelly voice speaks low in Taine’s ear, “God you make me feel hot, so damn alive.”

“Dan, did you hear anything I just said?” Frank biffs a rag in Dan’s direction, hitting the mark. “Stop thinking about girls for a second and pass me a 15 millimeter.”

“Sure, Frank. Anything else you need?”

“Yeah, for you to get laid,” he laughs goodnaturedly. “I know your mother drags your butt to church every Sunday, but I don’t think your father expects you to wait until you’re married.”

He shuts the bonnet on the job, placing the tools back correctly (something the boss is strict on). The others join in, “We should take you out on the piss, maybe some of my luck will rub off!”

“He doesn’t need any help from you. I’ve seen the quality of fillies that drool over Dan and they beat yours hands down!”

“Yea, I hear Dan’s the man they’re all waiting for, the lucky bastard,” he says with envy.

Dan is last to wash up as the others head for lunch. As he leaves, Frank yells, “Don’t spank the monkey too hard, boy!” laughing his way through the door. Falling to his knees, Dan empties his stomach into the lav, looks up and wipes his mouth thinking this weight is too much to bear. His hands brace the cubicle walls as he gets to his feet. Unsteadily, he moves for

“The smell of musky sweat rolling off hardworking bodies gave Dan a sense of nourishment that bypassed the stomach and heart, a side effect of living this lie.”

the smoko room, plonking down heavily next to his father. Frank is quick to say, “You look like shit! Are you…?”

As voices blur together, his father crouches down to check on his son. “I’ll call your mother to take you home.” Once home, he climbs into bed, pulling the blankets over his head to decide his fate.

Rising with a painted grin, he asks, “Dad, can I use the workshop this weekend to give my car its overhaul?”

“Nice to see you’re firing on all cylinders. Sure, son.”

On Friday the clock ticks over to five. Clarity of his end becomes Dan’s only relief, letting his father know that he will have a beer with the boys then make a start on his car and then taxi it home.

“I’ll let your mother know you might be late for tea.” “Thanks, Dad.” The love for his car and his family is the only “real” for him. Comfortable in its leather seats, he smooths his hands on the steering wheel until numbness starts. His handwritten note is his only passenger. Tears roll freely. He notices Danny Boy in the windscreen, out with friends; his lover affectionately stroking his leg, joyful laughter and conversation f lowing. Dan reaches out to touch his face; Danny stops and looks directly at him. “Thank you Danny Boy, thank you…” Dan hears his slowing heart pounding in his ear, closing his heavy eyelids to the soft purr of the engine. He mouths another silent, thank you.

A sick feeling sweeps over his father, kissing his worried wife and grabbing his keys to check the workshop for a son that’s never this late. Failing to fight back the tears in the privacy of the drive for a scene his gut knows but prays he’s not going to find. Shock moves him swiftly to open the car door, turning off the motor.

Grabbing his son, he cradles him on the cold concrete f loor and openly weeps; rocking his precious boy and holding him tight, a tender hand stroking his hair. “What have you done, son,” he cries aloud. “What have I done?”

A hysterical wife and mother rings for help, worried for her husband and son. The silence that follows after others arrive to help peel away a man from his beautiful son. The rest of the world swallows all that there was, a father emotionally stripped, sitting on leather; his son’s final words in ink:

Dad, I love you all. My love is the only real in me, the me you know and love is a lie. I am a lie – I don’t have the courage to be my truth, the me I needed to be.

Deep inside I am already. I couldn’t live this, nor could I see the death of your love for me. I dreamed of having a love like you and Mum have, no woman’s hand did I want, but instead a man folding his hand in mine, willing to love me as Mum loves you. I pray for your forgiveness, but if you don’t I understand. Love, your son always. The paper quivers in his father’s hands, his bleeding heart open to swallow the words written. Endless tears drip and run down the letter, his wife’s arms encase him, joining in his sorrow.

“Danny my boy, can you hear me?” They hear a soft groan of pain. “He’s coming round!” Danny’s eyes f ly open, “Didn’t I die?”

Taine laughs, “No, but you sure gave us one hell of a scare. You’ve been unconscious. Your bonnet blew shut and the corner caught you in the head. I was bringing you a beer and saw it happen. An ambulance is on its way.”

Danny sits up and tries to stand. “I need to see who I am.” He tries again, except this time Taine’s arm slides right around his waist and helps him to his feet. He steps with unsteady legs to the side window, taking in the face staring back at him. “Thank you, thank you,” he mutters. Still with a firm grip around his waist, Taine asks with concern, “Are you okay, babe?”

“Never better, never better.” In the distance sirens are heard, as Danny lets him take his weight.