They’d brought her in the metronome, and it was one of the boys who said it. I think his name was Carlos.
“Breathe in time with this, Miss.”
* * *
—
It was evenings at home were the best, though.
They were blond and black hair greying.
If they weren’t asleep on the couch, they were in the kitchen playing Scrabble, or punishing each other at Monopoly. Or sometimes they’d actually be awake on the couch, watching movies into the night.
For Clay, there were clearer standout moments, and they came on Friday nights. One was the end of a movie they’d watched, as the credits rolled up the screen; I think it was Good Bye, Lenin!
Both Clay and I were in the hallway, after hearing the rise in volume.
We saw the lounge room, then we saw them:
Hard-held in front of the TV.
They were standing, they were dancing, but slowly—barely—and her hair hung on to its yellowness. She looked so weak and brittle; a woman all arms and shins. Their bodies were pressed together, and soon our father saw us. He signaled a silent hello.
He even mouthed the words—
Have a look at this gorgeous girl!
And I guess I have to admit it:
Through the tired and ache, in the joy of that look, Michael Dunbar was truly handsome back then, and not too bad a dancer.
* * *
—
Then the next, it was out front, on the steps, and the mist of coolest winter.
At Hyperno a few days earlier, Penelope was back as a substitute, and had confiscated cigarettes. To be honest she didn’t really think it her place—to tell these kids not to smoke. Whenever she took such things from them, she said to come back later. Was that plain irresponsible? Or showing them proper respect? No wonder they all came to love her.
In any case, whether the student had been embarrassed, or ashamed, no one came back for those Winfield Blues, and Penny found them in the evening. They were crushed at the bottom of her handbag. As she took out her wallet and keys before bed, she held the cigarettes.
“And what the hell is this?”
Michael had promptly caught her.
And call them impulsive, or ridiculous, but I love them so much for this one. The sickness was gone away in that time, and they went out front to the porch. They smoked, they coughed and woke him.
On the way in, a few minutes later, Penny went to throw them out, but for some reason Michael stopped her. He said, “How about we just hide them?” A conspiratorial wink. “You never know when we might need one again—it can be our little secret.”
But a boy was in on it, too.
See, even when they lifted the piano lid, and deposited the packet beneath, they still had no idea; he watched them from the hallway, and one thing, at that point, was clear:
Our parents might have danced well.
But their smoking was amateur at best.
Clay was tempted to stay longer, but couldn’t.