Rise: Missed Opportunities

He takes one last look at his reflection before putting the intricately painted, gold ornate hand mirror back into the top draw. His little secret, it will lay here in waiting, yearning to be useful again whenever he needs an added boost of confidence. Given to him by his grandmother, Nuni, just before she died, it’s become his silent friend every time he reaches breaking point, as it always helps him feel closer to her.

God, he missed her. Quick witted and forward thinking, Nuni’s love was unconditional and her kindness was something from fairytales. Nuni’s understanding of him became his bridge between two worlds and her acceptance was like a warm hug which helped ease every inch of doubt constantly eating his mind. Pete wished more than anything she could be here tonight for he still feared his parents’ response and how they might react. His biggest dread was that he’d end up in the brawl of his lifetime, empty corner with no one to throw the white towel signaling enough. Pete knew in his heart, Nuni would’ve been proud to be fighting alongside him. Her voice of reason, a weapon and tool for calm.

His apartment seems smaller today. The walls have been slowly closing in and the breeze through the open window whispers soft secrets, as if passing through his mind, reading his negative thoughts and self-doubt. The kitchen clock screams 6:00pm. Wow, nerves really have gotten the better of him. He feels like he’s been preparing for this moment for his entire life. Still another two hours before he’s supposed to meet his parents at the restaurant! Yet, he’s dressed and already to leave. A photograph in his living room catches his eye. His footy team, all male bravado, taken only minutes after they’d been presented the Winny Cup, the most prestigious Rugby League award for any club in Australia.

‘Now, don’t you go gettin’ too big for your ol’ boots now, Son. Ya hear? You’re only ever as good as your last game, mate. Don’t you go forgettin’ that now. Will ya?’ His greatest supporter, his old man’s voice was never too far from the back of his mind.

‘This next game’s going to be the biggest play of my life,’ Pete thought.While terrified, after years of shrinking away from reality, he was ready to take it on, even if it meant losing his dad for a while. Pete hated to disappoint his dad, but he was sick of his life being a lie. As they often did, Nuni’s words reached out to him.

‘Don’t ever forsake yourself and who you are for another’s idea of what they want you to be. It will never make you happy Pete, do you understand that?’ She was always right.

He was almost certain his dad would accept things eventually. He just might need some adjustment time, Pete thought. Then they’d be back to normal, drinking beers, talking play and tactics again after the game.

Judy flashed into his mind! Should he have told her first? He’d chosen not to when he originally broke off the engagement. Why do more damage? he reasoned. Anyway, she’s not been contactable for the last few days and how could he ever tell her about Mitch! The deceit would splinter her heart and take a piece of her soul that he knew would never heal.

He truly loved her but not as she deserved so it was better not to hold onto her friendship for his own selfishness. He had to let her go completely. Leave her to heal and move on. After all, hadn’t he already moved onto a different life?

It was a warm evening and Pete could smell the salty breeze as it mixed with barbeque dinners, common for this time of year. Rather than nervously pace his apartment, he figured he’d take a walk around Marks Park headland before grabbing a taxi to the restaurant, a fancy little number on Oxford Street. Chosen because he felt it the better option given that a public scene of any sort was never welcomed in his family. This way he knew he could keep the conversation calm and reactions small. Besides, he’d arranged to meet Mitch afterwards to celebrate, or more likely, drown his sorrows and disappointment. Although, he was still hopeful it would not be the latter.

The street was its usual bustle of young people heading out for drinks at the local or returning from a day on the beach with sun kissed skin, smelling of a mixture of sunscreen and salt. He loved this part of the world. The beach had always been his sanctuary, a safety net from the reality of life while the ocean served to cleanse his soul and offered a way to reset and calm his over thinking mind. Looking out from the cliffs, over the vastness in front of him, Pete allowed the serenity to engulf him, and he felt his body relax for the first time that day. The prospect of the life he was about to begin was exciting; there was to be no more hiding.

‘Oi, faggot, where the fuck do you think your goin’?’

A body sprung from behind like a panther out of the night surprising his unsuspecting prey. Pete only had seconds to turn and catch a glimpse of this first predator, someone he’d met in one of his frequented bars a week before. A flash of aluminium, reflected off the sun, crashed towards him and connected with the side of Pete’s face. The blow sent him stumbling forwards like someone who’s had too much to drink, before a fist caught his nose, leaving Pete feeling like it had been split in two. He guessed there were about eight of them, relentless and angry. Pete tried to run, to break free of the slaughter but, despite all his footy training, he was not prepared for this.

‘Bloody poofter, stay away from our beaches, you fucking weirdo.’

Blow after blow kept coming until Pete was finally felled to the ground which only encouraged kicks and stomping from the frenzied mob. Like blood thirsty hyenas, pack mentality was running wild and they did not stop until Pete’s body stilled. One of them said something, but it was lost on Pete, for everything was fading into the distance. The last thing he was aware of was being dragged as hands rummaged through his pockets, removing his wallet and keys.

……………

Mitch waited for Pete for over two hours at their favourite spot. A little bar off the main beat of Oxford Street where they’d met three years prior. He’d offered to go with Pete, while he revealed his true self finally, to his parents.

Pete was adamant. ‘No, thank you. I need to do this alone. For me. For us. For the future. I need to face my old man. Look him in the eye. Show him who I really am. Tell him I’m not hiding anymore. We’ll all come together one day; I promise. Just not now.’

Mitch spent two frantic days looking for him, calling at the apartment, phoning Pete’s work, checking out the bars, wondering why he’d gone rogue without explanation. It was Pete’s picture, posing in his NRL jersey on the front page of the news that eventually answered Mitch’s questions. Pete’s body was pulled out of the ocean near the base of the cliffs in Tamarama. It was almost unrecognisable, due to the unrelenting rockface and violent, pounding surf conditions, the article said. Suicide, apparently! Suspected because his wallet and keys were found at the top of the cliffs.

‘Such wasted talent, at the height of his Rugby career,’ it claimed, along with lots of speculation. Lots of meaningless interviews with people who really knew and loved him. Lots of sad, public outpour. Lots of unanswered questions, including those from his parents who were left devastated and wondering why Pete had cruelly left them sitting, waiting for him in a restaurant.

‘It just didn’t add up,’ they said.

Days later, in his sorrow, a headline in the Sydney Star caught Mitch’s eye;

Death Boast. Youth arrested after bragging to friend about ‘faggot bashing’.