The Woodlands

Then his mood switched, “She did it all the time. The same speech, different methods.” He said like it was something altogether ordinary. Like saying, ‘I like milk on my cereal.’

“You ruined my life! she would say,” Rash yelled in a hag-like voice, throwing his fist in the air. He then went on to comically demonstrate the various methods his mother had used to try and kill him. Hands around his neck trying to choke him, his tongue hanging out, making strangled noises and coughing, and fighting to breathe with a pillow over his face. He looked so fu

He got up and I dusted the dirt from his back. His face changed. No longer a smile, but a sad expression that made him look older. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the horrible memory.

“She’d never used a knife before. I wasn’t ready for that. I had to fight back. I didn’t want to die.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I didn’t say anything. I just squeezed his rough hand and stared out into the trees, watched them pick up the slight wind and dance on it. Nodding their heads in agreement that no one should have to go through something so horrible. Wishing I could lift some of the burden, that I could reach into his head and pluck out those painful memories.

“I tried to save her but there was just so much blood. Too much.” He wasn’t crying. He talked about it almost like it was someone else’s story, like he had watched it from a distance. Commented on the angle of the knife, the ineffectual method of stabbing that left the victim bleeding for hours before the release of death.

“Anyway, I buried her, under the house. Then I told the neighbors she had run away. Of course they reported me straight away and, before I knew what was happening, I was on a chopper to here.”

I nodded. He was right. Anything was better than that. His expression quickly changed, his face relaxed, and he was easy-going Rash again. He let go of my hand and punched my shoulder lightly, “Farm animals?”

“Sure.” I guess everyone had their own way of coping. This was his.

After time spent joking with Rash at the animal pens, we separated and I went back to my dorm. It was dark and the moonlight made the buildings look less harsh, less like they were going to rise up and devour me. But I still felt small; the eyes of the concrete creatures clinging to the drainpipes followed me, mocked me.

I lay awake thinking about what Rash had said. Realizing that things could be a lot worse for me. Construction was a surprise, yes, but there must have been a reason why they picked it, something in my tests that pointed them in that direction. I would try. I would go into Class and absorb everything I could. I fell asleep easily. Anticipating the ‘hard, hard work’ but kind of looking forward to it.

It didn’t take me long to realize that there had been a reason. I was good at this, really good. Every week we would learn a new skill, repeat it as many times as was necessary to perfect it, and then move on to something new. Our teacher was passionate and intense, but he wasn’t unkind. He had never-ending patience for the ones that struggled. For once, somehow, that wasn’t me. I enjoyed making things. Taking a piece of wood and crafting it into something useful was calming and centering for me.

My classmates were all genuinely decent young men, despite the swearing. They looked out for me in the begi

Daydreaming about Joseph, I was plummeting a drill bit into a piece of plasterboard, white dust flying everywhere like toxic snow. I was thinking about talking to him, imagining a confrontation that didn’t end in him ru

“Uh, Soar?” My new nickname. “What the hell are you doing?”

I snapped my head around to face Nik, a tree stump of a boy whose ropey exterior resembled an even rougher and ropier interior.

“Oh, damn, sorry Nik, I wasn’t concentrating.”

He looked at me dumbfounded, “What yer apologizing to me for? I jest needed yer help with sumthin’.” He ran his hand through his black-as-batwing hair awkwardly, “Er, that is, if ya have the time.”

I let in a puff of pride at the fact that this boy needed my help. Trying not to be too girly and blush, I punched his arm, which felt exactly as I thought it would, like punching a bag of nails, and said, “Of course. What do you need?”

“Well, I can’t reach that goddamn tin of oil up there.” He pointed to a high shelf. I felt myself deflating. “Can I lift you up there to get it?”

“Oh, sure,” I said quietly. He grabbed me by my waist and lifted me with ease. I snatched the tin and slammed it on the bench.

“Thanks,” Nik muttered. “Um, Soar?”

What now, did he want me to fix the ceiling fan while I was up there?

“Yes.”

“Ah crap, how freakin’ long does this take fore I can put a second coat on it, and um, do ya sand in between?”

I grabbed his impossibly hard arm, steered him to his workbench, and began instructing him, Gomez looking silently over my shoulder.

As I selected a piece of fine-grit sandpaper, I asked, “Nik?”

“Yeah.”

“Why Soar?”

His pale blue eyes fixed on me and he gave a crooked grin. “Aw ya know, coz yer the high flyer in the class. And, der, it’s Rosa backwards.”

My mouth twitched into a half-smile. I didn’t correct him.

As the weeks went by, the violence faded, as did the heartache. I was surrounded by friends who respected me and it salved my heart inadvertently. The students were all working hard towards the mid-year assessment. I saw Joseph from time to time, hanging around outside the medical building, swinging from the concrete pillars, wearing his white coat. He seemed happy. I tried to be happy for him, despite the stone that twisted in my heart. He never looked at me.

At meal times I ate with the boys. Mucked around with Rash. I was the only one from Pau Brasil in my Class. Rash was from Banyan as were two of the others, the rest were from the rocky towns of Birchton and Radiata. They were big, tall boys with strong bodies and rough language. I loved it. I loved that they treated me as their equal, never censoring themselves. They slapped me on the back just as hard as the others. I went flying, but I still appreciated it.

Occasionally Serge would sit with us. He had been allocated Intelligence, which was the most highly regarded Class. I had this sneaking suspicion he had a crush on me, which Rash teased me about mercilessly. He would sit behind us as Serge tried to make conversation with me and raise his eyebrows repeatedly while the other boys snickered. Serge was sweet and I’m sure I could do a lot worse, but no match could be made here. We still didn’t know what town we were to be placed in. Romantic co

“Your children would look like weird-eyed insects,” Rash said as he galloped awkwardly, imitating Serge’s long limbs and jerky movements.

“I’m not having any children,” I snapped. I couldn’t think of anything worse.

It was the first time in my life, apart from the short time I had spent with Joseph, that I felt like myself. Comfortable, and could it be? At home. I didn’t trust it, but tried my hardest to be in the moment. I had two years of this before I had to leave. I thought I might as well do my best to enjoy it.

Coming up to assessment, we started eating together quickly and then leaving early as a group, to get back to the workshop. As we were leaving, Rash whispered to me, “Why does that beautiful blonde man keep staring at you?” as we were clearing our table before heading back to the workshop. “I mean you are very pretty but he is always looking at you with sad, longing eyes.” Rash clasped his hands dramatically, swooning, making it sound like something romantic and forbidden. I felt myself constricting. I didn’t like that he made reference to my looks or Joseph.