Look Evelyn, Duck Dynasty Wiper Blades. We Should Get Them.: A Collection Of New Essays (4 page)

I died when I was ten. I stopped breathing and my heart stopped beating. My father didn’t know CPR but he tried blowing into my mouth and hitting my chest while my mother, grandparents, sister and cousins stood in a ring around me waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

I had a dream while I was dead. I was swimming and the water turned to ice around me. There weren’t any lights or tunnels like I have heard other people describe, just ice. I could see my arms below the surface but I couldn’t move them. My legs were also trapped but the frozen layer stopped at my ankles, leaving my feet free to move in the water below. I saw a large dark shape swimming under me. It brushed my left foot.

“David!”

There was suddenly a lot of noise. Sirens, yelling, beeping.

“He’s conscious.”

Badminton is a stupid game and people look stupid while they are playing it. My cousin Susan, a large girl, played competitive badminton for a team. Who plays badminton for a team? It’s a game for backyards and bored children.

She and I were playing against each other at her house during a family gathering. The adults were inside eating fondue and listening to Boney-M records. I’d never played badminton before and the fact that Susan was losing by several points was making her quite upset. She blamed the wind direction, and her shoes, and how spongy the grass was. I suggested it might be because the game is easy and stupid and not a real sport like tennis.

“Of course it’s a real sport. What would you know?”

“I know I’m winning even though I’ve never played before.”

“Only because this isn’t my regular racquet.”

“This isn’t my regular racquet either. ”

“I’m actually just letting you win. I usually play really well. I’ve got a trophy.”

“Really? For badminton or pie eating?”

My sister and I were under strict instructions never to mention Susan’s weight. We’d been told that she had a medical condition or something but every time I saw her, she had a mouth full of chips, cake or sausage. It wasn’t just ‘big bones’, she had no neck. She looked like a slug, with other slugs for legs and arms.

Susan lost it. She kicked over one of the poles that was holding up the badminton net and threw her racquet into the air. It landed on the roof of the house. She glared at me, gave me the finger, and stormed inside.

My sister had been waiting to play the winner and groaned about the loss of the racquet.

“You’ll have to go up there and get it,” she said.

“I’m not going up there,” I replied. It was a double story house.

“Oh, go on. If you climb on to the water tank, you should be able to reach that tree branch which goes up to the roof.

It looks easy.”

“You do it then.”

“I’m wearing sandals.”

“Fine.”

As champion of the game and having nothing else to do, I was kind of keen to play again. Making it up was actually easy. I stepped from the branch onto the roof and edged my way along the slope to the racquet. I heard the front door slam.

“Where’s David?” yelled my father.

My sister pointed. He craned his head around and up.

“What the fuck are you doing up there?”

I held the racquet up to show him.

“Did you call Susan fat?”

“No, she said she had a trophy and I asked if it was for eating pies.”

“Right, you’re in big fucking trouble. Get down here now. You’re going to go in there and apologise to her in front of everybody. ”

“No.”

I’d have spent the rest of my life on the roof rather than face the humiliation of apologising in front of everybody.

“Don’t make me come up there.”

I sat down.

It had taken me about three minutes to get up, it took him less than one. He was also wearing sandals so I call bullshit on my sister’s excuse. I panicked, looking for another way down as he stepped off the branch. There was a concrete driveway below me but on the other side of that was a garage. I decided, given enough run-up, I would be able to make it. From there, it would be a simple task to drop onto the neighbouring property fence and escape through their yard. My father edged along the sloping roof towards me. I backed up a bit, ran, and jumped.

I mostly blame the incline as you need a flat area for a decent run up. Also, as I stepped on the edge of the roof and leapt, the gutter gave way, cancelling any propulsion upwards. I flailed. I have a vague recollection of what concrete looks like as it rushes towards you at high speed but I don’t remember the impact.

“David, can you tell me how old you are?”

“nnn.”

“Can you try wiggling your fingers for me?”

“nnn nn.”

“Ok, you’re going to be fine. We’re in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. Your Dad’s here. Would you like him to sit with you?”

“nn o.”

I was in surgery for eight hours and in hospital for three months. The right side of my skull had been fractured, shattered really, several fragments were removed from my brain. My collar bone, right arm, six ribs and left foot were also broken but brain trauma was the main concern. I forgot things. Not all things, just some things. Things like bath plugs and rabbits. I had all of my motor skills and could remember the name of every Star Wars character, but I had no idea what a blender was or what a round, orange coloured fruit was called. I knew the colour orange but there was a broken link somewhere. It didn’t concern me that much, I understood that I had forgotten things but I had no idea what things they were until I came across them and then it was just as if I had never known about that particular thing in the first place.

“What’s this thing? Is it a belt?”

“No, it’s called a leash. It connects to a dog’s collar so you can take the dog for a walk without it running away.”

“Clever.”

A man with a grey beard and blue glasses visited me regularly in the hospital to play games. His name was Henry. The games mainly consisted of naming the item pictured on cards he held up. He’d pause often and scribble in a notebook. Sometimes he would sing parts of songs and ask me to finish them.

“Bathroom tiles?”

“Okay. What else is white?”

“The lamb?”

“Well yes, but you wouldn’t say Mary’s lamb is as white as the lamb. What else could a lamb be as white as? Something white and cold...”

“A glass of milk?”

For the first few weeks, I shared a room with another boy my age named Mark. He only had one arm. Apparently he had opened a top loading washing machine lid while it was in spin cycle and reached in to grab an item of clothing. His arm was twisted off at the shoulder. Sometimes when Henry would ask me a question or hold up a picture, Mark would answer for me and say things like, “Oh my god, I can’t believe you don’t know what a turtle is. Everybody knows what a turtle is,” so Henry moved me to a different room by myself.

It was a smaller room, white with no window or television. There was a painting on the wall of a beach at sunset but Henry took it down. I read a lot of books. There wasn’t anything else to do. Henry gave me a highlighter pen and asked me to mark any words I came across that I didn’t know but it was easy to cheat by looking up the words in a dictionary.

Sometimes when Henry visited, three or four other people accompanied him. While Henry and I played games, they stood in a corner watching.  Occasionally he would ask them a question and there would be a discussion about things such as ventral streams and parietal lobes. The term Agnosia was used a lot.

“Snow.”

“Very good. And can you describe snow for me?”

“Frozen water crystals that fall if the temperature is low enough. It’s fluffy and white. Like lamb fleece.”

“And can you tell me what this is a picture of?”

“A turtle.”

My parents took me home. Every few weeks I met with Henry for an hour or so but these meetings eventually became shorter and less frequent. I returned to school. Over the next few years, occasions where I would hear a word or discover an item that was new to me became less constant - perhaps once a month - but again, I wasn’t to know if I had always not known them. 

It came in handy sometimes. I would pretend not to know what a vacuum cleaner or lawn mower was.  Before the accident, I used to get dropped off at my piano teacher’s house ever Thursday night for an hour. Her name was Mrs Williams. For the first half-hour she would yell at me for not practicing then spend the rest of the time talking about her fourteen cats. I had no idea what I was even meant to be learning. She said I was the worst student she had ever had. Sometimes she would call me Dennis and make me fix stuff around the house. Once, she made me run a bath and help her in. I would have told my parents but they might have made me go to a different teacher and then I would have had to learn to play the piano. After the accident, I just pretended to not know what a piano was.

I hadn’t lost ten years of things. Just things dotted amongst that ten years. It didn’t take ten years to reknow these things either, if I had ever known them. From age ten and up it is easier to grasp things than it is at four or five. I eventually stopped playing ‘did I know this?’ with myself. Like everyone else, there were just things I know, things I have never known, and things I have forgotten. I may have once known what a Lychee is but it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to buy one anyway.

My son received a badminton set from his auntie on his tenth birthday. Neither of us had ever heard of badminton but we read the rules and put up the net on our back lawn. We hit a floaty thing with skinny racquets for fifteen minutes and became bored. It was easy and stupid and not a real sport like tennis.

A few weeks ago, the company I work for lost a designer. While in the middle of a client meeting - explaining to a rep from Kraft Foods why fourteen pages of text cannot fit on the back of 320mL jar label - Simon stood, stated, "I can't do

this anymore," and left. His dramatic exit scene was diminished somewhat when, despite having opened and closed the board room door hundreds of times before, he pulled and shook the handle for several seconds yelling, "what the fuck is wrong with this door?" before remembering it swung outwards.

Earlier that week, Simon had confided to Melissa that he was having ‘relationship issues' so everyone knew within an hour that his girlfriend had slept with a white-water rafting instructor.

Simon's father came in to collect his personal belongings a few days later and when I asked how Simon was doing, he replied, "He'll be fine, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

Which isn't always true as I know someone who contracted Ross River Virus several years ago and he needs to be pushed around in a wheel-chair, moaning the whole time about his joints and inadequate ramp access. I visited him in his ground-floor apartment once but it was a miserable and forced conversation so I told him I had a present for him in the car and went to get it. Then drove home.

.....................................

From
: Mike Campbell

Date
: Wednesday 4 June 2014 10.09am

To
: David Thorne

Subject
: Job interviews

David,

My flight is at 2pm today but I need to pack so I'll leave around 12. I fly back Tuesday morning. Jennifer is on annual leave so you and Kevin will have to hold the first round of interviews for the new designer in my absence. Please rearrange your schedule for Thursday and Friday to suit.

The resumes are on my desk in the blue folder. There are 7 interviews on Thursday and 6 on Friday. Ask Melissa to make sure the board room is clean and offer applicants coffee when they arrive.

We're only selecting 5 for final interviews so let's get a good feel for fit. Please organize a list of 10 questions for the applicants before tomorrow and attach their answers to the top of each resume so I can go through them next week. What are their strengths and weaknesses? Are they proactive or reactive? etc.

Mike

.....................................

From
: David Thorne

Date
: Wednesday 4 June 2014 10.26am

To
: Mike Campbell

Subject
: Re: Job interviews

Mike,

No problem. I will perform a Google search for 'modern interviewing techniques circa 1982' right away. The importance of determining which applicants are capable of providing contrived responses to stupid questions cannot be overstated. It is essentially the key to getting on well with everyone here.

It's possible, however, more could be learned, and a greater 'feel for fit' obtained, through open discussion. Perhaps over a beer.

I therefore suggest Kevin and I meet each applicant in the board room before proceeding to the local bar to chat. Or wait there and have Melissa give them directions.

David

.....................................

From
: Mike Campbell

Date
: Wednesday 4 June 2014 10.55am

To
: David Thorne

Subject
: Re: Re: Job interviews

David,

All interviews will take place in the board room. Asking set questions means I can rate the answers when I get back. What will I have to go on if you just chat?

It's going to be a busy month and we need to replace Simon immediately. With someone normal. The questions will help us avoid a repeat of last month's embarrassing drama. I'm sorry he's having issues but people need to learn to leave their personal lives at the door. This isn't the Kardashians.

Mike

.....................................

From
: David Thorne

Date
: Wednesday 4 June 2014 11.18am

To
: Mike Campbell

Subject
: Re: Re: Re: Job interviews

Mike,

I'm not sure what Star Trek has to do with any of this but embarrassing drama is standard operating procedure around here. Bringing someone normal into the fold would just be cruel.

Melissa isn't speaking to anyone because she just found out Jennifer makes more than her and Jennifer has gone emergency hat shopping due to her hairdresser cutting her bangs too short. As she left, I heard Melissa say to someone on the phone, "It must be nice to be able to afford hats." I won't bother going into my own daily drama, but I'm fairly positive you're not going to like it. Kevin is the only 'normal' person here and that's because he gave up on having a personality when he discovered gardening. Nobody cares how your cabbages are doing, Kevin.

But yes, it is certainly possible that had Simon been asked what his weakness is prior to employment, that particular drama may have been avoided. When selecting final candidates from this week’s interviews, we will immediately weed out those answering, "Dramatic things might happen during a client meeting if I ever find out my partner had sex with a white-water rafting instructor while away on holiday for three days."

Do we also discard the likes of, "If I ever go hiking on the edge of a volcano I might slip and fall into lava without backing up my work," or do these go in the 'maybe' pile with, "I've been known to get caught in open fields during lightning storms"?

Multiple-choice questions might streamline the process. This would provide a range of possible scenarios to preempt and serve as a score tally to go on. Should there be a draw, we can have the finalists guess the amount of jellybeans in a jar, and time how long it takes them to do twenty push-ups for bonus points. Any remaining interview time that would otherwise be wasted on chatting can be spent quietly avoiding eye contact.

In addition to those already suggested, are there any specific pointless questions you want included?

David

.....................................

From
: Mike Campbell

Date
: Wednesday 4 June 2014 11.41am

To
: David Thorne

Subject
: Re: Re: Re: Re: Job interviews

How is this an issue?

Just ask 10 fucking interview questions. I don't care what they are as long as I have a record. And add notes so you can remember who they are.

Mike

.....................................

.....................................

From
: Mike Campbell

Date
: Tuesday 10 June 2014 12.21pm

To
: David Thorne

Cc
: Kevin Eastwood

Subject
: No subject

David,

Can I see you and Kevin in my office please?

Mike