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Authors: Jessica Davidson
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been
any parentâteacher meetings so they could work
together?
Jim was asked where the hell he had been when this was
going on, and what heâd done to her.
The doctor was asked why he hadnât told her parents that
he was referring Char to a shrink.
Everyone talked a lot, but no one actually had
any answers.
Funnily enough, the school, Jim and the doctor all said,
âLet us know.â
âLet us know what happens.â
âLet us know what happens with Char.â
âLet us know what we can do.â
I dream
Iâm at a circus.
There are zombies,
dressed as clowns,
their mouths black and rotting,
holes where their eyes and noses should be.
There is a man,
very tall,
dressed completely in black.
Heâs wearing gloves,
I notice,
woollen gloves,
as he tries to take my hand.
I donât want to go with him.
I run.
There are bats
trying to bite at my neck,
their claws scratching my skin.
I try to bolt
but Iâm running in slow motion,
my legs are jelly and my feet seem glued to the floor.
Suddenly
I hear a gunshot.
The bats disappear.
There is a burning in my chest
and blood flowing out of my body.
Iâm dizzy
and start to fall . . .
Falling . . .
Falling . . .
Falling...
     I wake on the floor with a gasp.
Still scared and goosepimply, I climb into bed and huddle
under the covers.
Â
Iâm such a weirdo, even in my dreams.
Jim/men are tough
Men are supposed to be tough,
but I donât feel very brave today.
Dad knows there is something wrong.
I tell him about Char and me,
about the baby,
about the cheating,
about her mum ringing me this morning.
I tell him how I feel,
like itâs my fault,
like I shouldâve been there for Char,
like I couldâve stopped it getting this far.
I tell him how I avoided Julieâs questions,
how I donât know if Iâll ever be able to look her in the eye
again.
How I donât know what to do now.
Â
He doesnât tell me
to keep a stiff upper lip,
or to be brave
or even to stuff it all into a little ball and push that ball
deep inside.
He doesnât tell me off
for being a dickhead
and he doesnât ask
how I managed to stuff things up so much.
But he does tell me
about real men.
Real men
Real men,
Dad says,
are brave.
Theyâre brave when theyâre scared shitless and have made
a mess of things and have to put things right even though
they donât quite know how.
Theyâre brave enough to admit that theyâre wrong and have
made mistakes.
And theyâre brave enough to cry when they feel like it.
Â
Real men,
Dad says,
are strong.
Strong enough to hold a woman whose heart is breaking
and comfort her when they want to run.
Strong enough to resist things that they know arenât right.
Strong enough to turn down a hard path to make things
right again.
Strong enough to sit with another man whoâs crying and talk
about feelings. Thatâs a strength, not a weakness, says Dad.
Â
Real men,
Dad says,
can talk and listen and
Real men,
Dad says,
help each other out.
Â
Dadâs never talked to me like this before. But,
Iâve never talked to him like this before either.
Donât tell your mother
I told you this, he says,
but when weâd been dating for about five months,
she got pregnant.
(But Dad, I thought I was the eldest child?)
She was only twenty, and I wasnât much older myself.
When she told me, I got mad, accused her of sleeping
around, because I thought thatâs what men did.
Eventually, I came around.
I didnât know how we could afford it.
(But, Dad, youâre like the richest person I know?)
And, oh geez, I thought her mother would kill me.
But Joan never did find out.
When your mum was about nine weeks or so along
she lost the baby.
(Oh god.)
I couldnât really understand at first.
To men, you arenât a parent until the
any parentâteacher meetings so they could work
together?
Jim was asked where the hell he had been when this was
going on, and what heâd done to her.
The doctor was asked why he hadnât told her parents that
he was referring Char to a shrink.
Everyone talked a lot, but no one actually had
any answers.
Funnily enough, the school, Jim and the doctor all said,
âLet us know.â
âLet us know what happens.â
âLet us know what happens with Char.â
âLet us know what we can do.â
I dream
Iâm at a circus.
There are zombies,
dressed as clowns,
their mouths black and rotting,
holes where their eyes and noses should be.
There is a man,
very tall,
dressed completely in black.
Heâs wearing gloves,
I notice,
woollen gloves,
as he tries to take my hand.
I donât want to go with him.
I run.
There are bats
trying to bite at my neck,
their claws scratching my skin.
I try to bolt
but Iâm running in slow motion,
my legs are jelly and my feet seem glued to the floor.
Suddenly
I hear a gunshot.
The bats disappear.
There is a burning in my chest
and blood flowing out of my body.
Iâm dizzy
and start to fall . . .
Falling . . .
Falling . . .
Falling...
     I wake on the floor with a gasp.
Still scared and goosepimply, I climb into bed and huddle
under the covers.
Â
Iâm such a weirdo, even in my dreams.
Jim/men are tough
Men are supposed to be tough,
but I donât feel very brave today.
Dad knows there is something wrong.
I tell him about Char and me,
about the baby,
about the cheating,
about her mum ringing me this morning.
I tell him how I feel,
like itâs my fault,
like I shouldâve been there for Char,
like I couldâve stopped it getting this far.
I tell him how I avoided Julieâs questions,
how I donât know if Iâll ever be able to look her in the eye
again.
How I donât know what to do now.
Â
He doesnât tell me
to keep a stiff upper lip,
or to be brave
or even to stuff it all into a little ball and push that ball
deep inside.
He doesnât tell me off
for being a dickhead
and he doesnât ask
how I managed to stuff things up so much.
But he does tell me
about real men.
Real men
Real men,
Dad says,
are brave.
Theyâre brave when theyâre scared shitless and have made
a mess of things and have to put things right even though
they donât quite know how.
Theyâre brave enough to admit that theyâre wrong and have
made mistakes.
And theyâre brave enough to cry when they feel like it.
Â
Real men,
Dad says,
are strong.
Strong enough to hold a woman whose heart is breaking
and comfort her when they want to run.
Strong enough to resist things that they know arenât right.
Strong enough to turn down a hard path to make things
right again.
Strong enough to sit with another man whoâs crying and talk
about feelings. Thatâs a strength, not a weakness, says Dad.
Â
Real men,
Dad says,
can talk and listen and
Real men,
Dad says,
help each other out.
Â
Dadâs never talked to me like this before. But,
Iâve never talked to him like this before either.
Donât tell your mother
I told you this, he says,
but when weâd been dating for about five months,
she got pregnant.
(But Dad, I thought I was the eldest child?)
She was only twenty, and I wasnât much older myself.
When she told me, I got mad, accused her of sleeping
around, because I thought thatâs what men did.
Eventually, I came around.
I didnât know how we could afford it.
(But, Dad, youâre like the richest person I know?)
And, oh geez, I thought her mother would kill me.
But Joan never did find out.
When your mum was about nine weeks or so along
she lost the baby.
(Oh god.)
I couldnât really understand at first.
To men, you arenât a parent until the
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