Where are you? XoxoG
It’s six-fifteen the next morning. I was trying to sleep. Instead, I’m staring at my phone, wondering exactly how Gerard got my number. Deducing that he must have gotten it off my father at some point
Why xo? I type out in reply, When I don’t get an answer after a few minutes, I return my phone to my bedside table and roll over, trying to return to my sleep. Five minutes later, just as I start to drift off, my phone starts vibrating and dancing atop its wooden perch, startling me awake again
“What?” I say, knowing it’s Gerard. “How the hell did you get my number?”
“Come outside,” he instructs.
“I’m trying to sleep.”
“I don’t think your father would be happy if I start beating on his door. Come outside,” he insists, hanging up For a moment, I stare at the phone, debating whether or not to do what he’s asking. Not really wanting him to wake my parents, I swing my legs out of the bed and go to the window, pulling aside the curtains to see him standing against his car waiting for me, Holding my hand up, I signal that I need five minutes. He nods, tapping his watch to let me know he’s timing me Rolling my eyes, I step away from the window and open my wardrobe, pulling out a pair of tracksuit pants and an old band t-shirt. pinning my fringe back, I move to the bathroom where I put on some deodorant and quickly brush my teeth before splashing some water on my face. As I make my way toward the front door, I quickly scrawl a note to let my parents know I’ve gone out, grab my bag and shoes, and attempt to quietly exit the house.
Leaning against the entry way of our avocado green, weatherboard house, I slide my feet into my runners, then trot down the concrete steps, pausing in the centre of the path to adjust the heel of my shoe where it’s digging painfully into my ankle
“Glad you could make it,” Gerard smiles as he opens the passenger door for me.
“Why are you even here? My mother spoke to my dad, and I don’t have to train anymore,” I respond.
“Is that a fact?” he asks, looking highly amused.
“Yes it is. But since you obviously weren’t informed, I’ll train with you – once.”
He grins and nods his head. “Just hop in,” he tells me.
I get into the car, grabbing a hold of the seatbelt and clicking it in place before he can do it for me again.
Closing my door, he walks around to his side and starts the engine, u-turning in front of my house to drive us toward the gym and dojo that my father owns.
While my father is primarily an Aikido Sensei, he has branched his business out to be an actual gym that opens from midday to midnight, offering fitness classes and personal training. It was an ingenious decision really, as the dojo wasn’t making a huge amount of money on its own. But adding a gym that was more affordable than the big chain gyms, has been what’s kept him afloat and able to keep the dojo going
“Why don’t you have a Gi?” he asks.
“I got rid of it,” I explain. “I haven’t had one since I was about twelve. Plus I hate those black skirty things.”
“Hakama,” he corrects.
“I know what they’re called. I’m not an idiot,” I state.
“Then call them what they are. Don’t dumb it down. You’re a smart man franklin.”
“Would you please stop calling me ‘Franklin’? I prefer ‘Frank’.” He just looks at me briefly, not giving me an answer as he pulls into the car park at my dad’s gym.
“So you’re trusted enough to be given keys huh?” I ask as he unlocks the front door.
“Looks like it,” he responds, keying in the alarm’s code. Standing back, I look him over, head to toe. He’s dressed in a pair of black gym pants with a double white stripe going down the side, a tight black ribbed singlet that shows off his well-defined arms and toned shoulders. On his feet are a pair of black runners.
“Where’s your gi?” I ask.
“In my bag,” he replies, raising his gym bag a little as he walks ahead of me, flicking lights on. When he pulls the sliding door open leading into the dojo, he stops and sweeps his arm in front of him to indicate that I should enter
“Why were you willing to do this?” I ask as I walk in and watch him slide the door shut. “You know – train me. What’s in it for you? Is my dad paying you?”
“I enjoy teaching and you obviously need more practise. Your technique is sloppy and your reaction time is poor. If something really did happen to you, I can’t see you overcoming your opponent.”
“What are you talking about? You said yourself that I would be fine against a regular person.”
“And you probably would be. But what happens if your attacker is someone like me? What if they know more than you do? What if you react around them the way you do around me?” he practically whispers, moving closer to me, so our bodies are almost touching.
I tilt my head back slightly, holding his gaze and fighting my urge to rock on my toes to connect our lips

“And how is it that I react around you?” I ask, my voice unintentionally quiet and breathy.
“Exactly like this,” he breathes, reaching up to move the stray hair that has escaped from my clip. I hold my breath, unwilling to even blink while he refastens it, as I refuse to even let my mind acknowledge how much my body is crying out for him. “Now let’s get started. I want you to strike me.”
He takes two steps away from me, and I literally have to shake my head slightly to remove the fog that seems to have settled on my mind. “Aren’t you going to get changed?”
“Just strike me.” See, this is what I hate about Aikido – the part where you’re the attacker. You always end up on the floor, and you very rarely get to connect any of your hits. When you’re training with someone who knows what they’re doing, it feels like you’re fighting against air because they are never where your strike lands. The whole point of it is to anticipate your opponent and use their own movement against them. Essentially, they make you feel like a marionette puppet as they take control of your limbs.
“Come on,” he insists, his brows raised as he beckons me forward.
“Do you think you can just walk me through it, instead of making me attack you so you can throw me on the ground?” I ask, hands on hips as my nerves set in. I’m not equipped for this kind of training anymore. It’s been too long and I really dislike falling.
“You can either attack me and train, or I can just throw you on the ground anyway. Your choice.”
“Fine,” Rushing forward, I attempt to punch him in the face. I choose the face because at this point in time, I wouldn’t mind it if my fist actually connects and leaves some sort of a mark on that smug face of his. But of course, it doesn’t. Instead, he deflects the blow by pushing my arm to the side, and pulling me past him so I’m off balance, before landing a blow on my chest that causes me to fall on my arse. As he did yesterday, he holds his hand out to help me up, but I’m annoyed. I didn’t really want to be here, and now I’m going to have a bruised tailbone – I really need to remember to roll with the fall instead of fighting it. It’s something I’d do, had I continued with my own training, but now, my natural response is to always fight to remain standing
“I can get up on my own,” I remind him, although he doesn’t listen and reaches further to grip me by my upper arms and haul me to standing.
“Roll next time,” he says, a seriousness in his expression before he instructs me to work through the move on him We continue on with the training session, taking turns as to who attacks and who defends. I’m still not landing properly, so I’m really feeling it by the time I get flipped on my back for the tenth time.
“Enough! Enough!” I say, placing my hands on my face in frustration. He’s just too good, and I’m too tired. I’ve only pulled off two successful moves. The rest of the time he’s out manoeuvred me. I’ve simply had enough He holds his hand out to me, pulling my arm to help me up.
“We’ll do this again tomorrow,” he informs me, breathing steadily, despite our vigorous workout
“What if I don’t want to do this again tomorrow?”I smirked grabbing my bag
“Then I’ll stand outside your house, honking my horn until you come out.”
“You wouldn’t do that. My dad would kill you.”
“Honestly, I think he’d thank me.”
“For what?”
“Getting you training again.”
“Is that what you’re doing this for? My father’s approval?”
“Not at all. I’m doing this because you’re young,” he says tapping his head, indicating that it’s my mind he feels is young. “You’re inexperienced in the world. You can fight, but you’re too trusting.”
“I am not,” I argue.
“Franklin. Think about how we met… you’re too trusting.”
“Maybe I’m just good at knowing who to trust. Have you thought about it that way?” I argue, hands on my hips. “Unless of course it’s you I shouldn’t be trusting. In which case, why would I want you to train me? This makes no sense. I don’t want to train. I want to make it one last week at home. Move out and have a life “of my own. This is my last year at uni. I just want to have some fun and feel like a regular eighteen year old. I know how to defend myself Gerard. I know how to fight. Most boys don’t know anywhere near as much as I do and they go through life just fine.”
“I don’t think you’re like most boys”
“What does that even mean?” I ask, feeling confused by his inability to answer a specific question.
“It means that I will pick you up at six tomorrow, and every day after that.”
“Until when?”
“Until you can beat me.”
“What if that never happens?”
“Then you’re stuck with me. Come on,” he says, picking up his bag and heading toward the door. “I’ll take you home.”
“Jesus Gerard. I can walk you know.”
He just looks at me with his eyebrows raised, holding his bag by his side until I concede and follow him.
Once again, he opens the door for me, only this time he is faster than I am, and does my seatbelt again for me.
“Stop it!” I yell, slapping at his arm as he reaches it around me. “I’m not a baby.” “He pauses as the seatbelt clicks in place, keeping his arm around me as he turns to look in my eyes. He’s so close that I can feel his breath and smell the workout mixed with his soap and deodorant on his skin.
Snapping my eyes away, I look down as I speak. “I’m not going to keep training with you,” I tell him defiantly. “Beep your horn all you want. I’m not doing it.”
He breathes in, as if his patience with me is wearing thin and withdraws his arm from around me, walking around the car and entering on his side.
“What’s so bad about training with me?” he asks as he starts the car.
“Why does it matter? Can’t I just say ‘no, I’m not training’ and be done with it?”
“Not if you want me to leave you alone,” he states calmly.
“I quit training because it reminds me of my brother. It’s something we always did together. We would train with dad in the dojo outside our regular classes. Then we’d train together at home. We drove my mum insane with the amount of broken vases we amassed, but we loved it. When all the other siblings hated each other – we still got along; even though he was three years older than me. I don’t want to train with you because I don’t want to be reminded that he’s gone,” I explain as we pull up outside my house
I put my hand on the door handle, wanting to get out of the car and away from this guy I know nothing about, but who seems to think he has a say in my life. But he presses the button on the console and locks
“Let me out,” I say sternly, flicking the lock upwards by hand. Instantly it drops down again. “Let me out!” I repeat.
“Just wait. We’re not finished.”
“Well I am finished. You made me train when I didn’t want to and it won’t be happening again. I’m done. Training didn’t keep my brother alive. There’s no fucking point. Sometimes shit just happens and there’s nothing you can do about it. Knowing how to disarm a guy and toss him on his back isn’t going to change anything. Just let me out.”
“I’m sorry Franklin,” he says. “All I want is for you to be safe.”
“Stop calling me franklin. I don’t need you to keep me safe. I don’t need another father.”
Sighing, he presses the button again and grants me my release.
“I’ll see you around then, Franklin,” he says as I go to close the door.
“Fuck you,” I grunt. Stepping away from the car and heading up the path to my front door and the safety of my own home.
When I get inside, my mother and father are already at the dining table eating their breakfast. “Have you eaten?” my mother asks the moment she hears the door close
“No. I’ll just have some fruit and yogurt,” I say, trying to seem unruffled by Gerard as I head straight for the fridge.
“How was training?” my father asks, between sips of his tea.
“Annoying,” I answer with a bounce of my shoulders as I take the yogurt over to the bench top
“Who were you training with?”
“Gerard, of course,” I state, as I slice a banana into my bowl.
“I thought you didn’t want to train. Are you finally interested again?”
“I’m not interested. He made me go.”
“How did he make you?” my mother laughs, knowing me to be incredibly stubborn and unwilling to bend for most people. “You were dead against it yesterday afternoon.”
“He threatened to unleash a cacophony of epic proportions upon our household. You should thank me – I rescued your sleep,” I inform them.
“So he was going to toot his horn until you came out?” my father translates, to which I nod, licking the excess yogurt off my spoon as I carry my bowl to the table. “I knew there was a reason I liked him,” he smiles.
“Oh you like him now?” my mother laughs.
“Our son is training again. How could I not like him?” he beams.
“Because he could be trying to make moves on our son,” my mother counters, looking at him pointedly.
“No. He wouldn’t be that stupid,” my dad states confidently, to which my mother shakes her head and continues eating her breakfast.
“Dad, your priorities are so messed up. Don’t you mind that he used my love for my family against me? That could mean that he isn’t really that great a guy.”
“You’re training. I’m happy,” he smiles, standing from the table to take his plate and cup to the dishwasher.
“Don’t get too excited. I told him it was our first and last session. I only went because you conveniently forgot to tell him not to train me.”
“I did tell him not to train you. I spoke to him last night,” he informs me.
“Then what the… You know what? It doesn’t matter, I’m not going again anyway,” I state, trying to ignore the questioning voice in my head that is demanding to know what Gerard’s deal is.
“Listen, I know going this was a big thing for you. But you must know that your brother would have wanted you to keep going. Maybe instead of training with Gerard you can start doing the weekly classes again? Craig wouldn’t want you to give up something you loved because of him,” my mother puts in, reaching across the table to squeeze my arm.
“I loved Aikido because of him. It’s just not the same.” Getting up, I deposit my dishes in the dishwasher as well, then head straight for the shower to get ready for uni.
Sometimes I feel like I’m forever being told to live my life as if my brother was still around. But how can I? Everything and everyone is different with him gone. It’s as if his ghost resides in our house, watching and judging everything we do. Although, it’s not his actual ghost, it’s my parent’s perfect representation of the son that died. The one that didn’t sneak out every night, the one who didn’t rebel. “Every time someone says ‘It’s what Craig would have wanted’, I just want to scream, ‘You didn’t even know him!’
In truth, he would have wanted me to run for the hills, to go out and have fun. If I wanted to quit Aikido, he would have been ok with that – as long as it was what I wanted. He would never have expected me to do something that makes me unhappy. These are the times when I’m angry at him for being for leaving me. If he had have just accepted the house rules for what they were, he never would have died, and I wouldn’t be so miserable with a set of parents who have spent the last six years too petrified to let me out of their sight. Everyone just needs to accept that he’s dead. His wants don’t matter anymore. We all just need to deal with that and move on.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“What’s up your arse today?” Aaron asks, regarding me as I take the seat next to him in the lecture hall and twist the desk over my lap so I can set up to take notes, I look up to see one student staring at Aaron, A small grin pulls at the corner of my mouth as I notice her do a double take when she’s confronted with Aaron. It’s probably exactly how I responded when I first met him. He’s wonderfully tall, has blond sun streaked hair and big blue eyes that seem to glow like jewels from within his tan face he has piercings . He’s one of those lean athletic looking guys, so he’s not overly muscled, but he’s beautiful to look at. I tend to joke that that’s the only reason I keep him around. But that’s not true - he’s a good friend, and he’s never made me feel like a child. Other guys would have just moved on after my dad banned me from dating him, but not Aaron, he’s a loyal friend.
“Nothing, I’m just tired. I didn’t get much sleep.”
“Well, maybe this will cheer you up,” he says, placing a small rectangular box on my desk.
“What’s this? It’s not my birthday ’til Thursday” I glance at him, smiling as I pick up the box and untie the purple ribbon that surrounds it.
“It’s a big birthday. I wanted to be the first one to give you something,” he smiles, watching me as I remove the lid.
Inside the box is an oval shaped, brushed metal keychain Holding it up, I turn it over in my hands, reading the inscriptions on both sides. One says ‘Home Sweet Home’ and the other side says ‘Frank’
“Oh wow. This is really thoughtful Aaron. Thank you,” I say, leaning in to him and hugging him tight as I kiss him on the cheek.” I hear some mumble faggots but I think me and Aaron don't give a fuck. Grinning, he turns a little pink. “No worries. I just thought with the move and all…”
“It’s perfect. Really it is,” I beam, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze as our lecturer calls us all to attention. “Thank you,” I say again in a whisper, as I turn to the front of the room to listen, all the while keeping a hold of the smooth metal in my hand. This is really the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Happy birthday and Happy Halloween!” my mother singsongs, as I trudge out of my room on Thursday morning at 8am. “What would you like for your birthday breakfast?”
“Anything with caffeine,” I groan, covering my face with my hands. You’d think I hadn’t even slept by the way I was feeling when my alarm went off this morning. It’s not like I’ve been training lately either. Surprisingly, Gerard actually respected my wishes and didn’t show up, honking his horn until I came out. Although, I’m not sure if I’m happy or a little disappointed in that. When I’m around him, I feel things. That’s a very ineloquent way to put it, but I don’t feel normal around him. I’m not sure what it is. I’m not sure if I’m attracted to him or if I’m scared of him, and I find myself constantly on guard, but at the same time, hoping to run into him. It’s driving me a little mad, as I keep thinking I see him everywhere. He’s in my dreams, he’s on the street. I even thought I saw him when I was at the movies with my mother on the weekend. I just can’t name what that feeling is. It’s not that hope you feel when you like someone – it’s different to that. I guess I just feel…aware. It’s strange. It’s disconcerting and more than a little confusing.
My mother sets a mug of coffee in front of me. Thanking her, I take a sip. “Where’s dad?” I ask, carefully placing the mug back down on the table in front of me.
“He’s outside, working off a bit of steam. He’s not taking your birthday well,” she confides.
“I know. But I need to have my own life mum. I just want one year on my own. Uni will be over and before I know it, I’ll have all this work and responsibility. I just want one year with no rules, no restrictions.”
She cups my chin in her hand and looks at me, her lips pressed together, and her eyes glassy. “I do understand, honey. It’s just hard for us to see our little boy grown up so fast. You’ll have to give your dad time.”
It’s at that moment, he chooses to burst in through the back door, his face flushed and his breathing rapid from his early work out
“Happy birthday, son,” he says as soon as he sees me.
“Thank you dad,” I smile, noting the hint of sadness on his face.
He walks toward me and places a small bag on the table in front of me. “I know your present is the move and all, but I wanted to give you something on the day.”
“Oh dad,” I breathe, touched that he’s being so thoughtful even though this birthday spells the end of his authority over me. It’s not like he’s been horrible to me at all. I certainly don’t see him as some sort of evil tyrant, I just feel shackled and I’m ready to be free.
“Open it,” he urges, nodding toward the black bag with brightly coloured ‘happy birthday’s all over it in different fonts, Looking inside, I move the white tissue paper to the side and locate a burgundy velvet pouch at the bottom. As I open it, I glance over at my mother who is leaning against the bench top and watching our exchange with an absent smile on her face.
Slipping my fingers into the opening to loosen the string, I reach inside and slide out a black tube bracelet, held together by a silver ellipse.
“It’s a Ki bracelet,” he explains, taking it from my fingers and offering to clasp it to my wrist. “It’s to keep you centred.” Turning my wrist from side to side, I admire the sleek design. “Thank you Dad. This is beautiful. I’ll wear it always.” He nods, leaning his bulk down to kiss me on my head. “Happy birthday,” he says again, before announcing that he’s going to take a shower.
“Did you know about this?” I ask my mother once he’s out of ear shot.
“No, he did it all by himself,” she smiles. “You ready for something to eat? I can toast some banana bread if you like?”
“Yeah mum, that would be great.”
I spend the rest of the day with my parents. My mother has taken the day off work, and my father has left the running of the gym to his employees for the day. We torture my father by shopping for items I’ll need to move out with, as well as some sick clothes for the Scarlet Party on Friday night.

The outfit is basically red silk shirt what has some gold chains draping down, the trousers is black skinny jeans what are all ripped up with red chains hanging off the pockets and a leather jacket with zippers so yeah I kind of like it even though I have never wore anything like that I just like band tees and sweat pants
By the time we’re done, you can tell my dad is itching to go home. He’s not big on shopping, so I really appreciate him spending the day being dragged around without complaining. Feeling exhausted, I head to my bedroom to deposit some of our purchases on the floor while my mother and father store a few of the other things in the living room. As I walk down the hall, I brush my fingertips over the door leading to my brother’s room, wishing he was still here. It’s basically a shrine in there, not one thing has changed since he died. It’s as if it’s sitting there, waiting for him to return.

Once again reminded of my family’s loss, I lay on my bed and take out my phone as a distraction, quickly responding to the happy birthday messages from my friends. They all know that we’re celebrating my birthday together at the Scarlet Party on Friday. I know that spending the day with your parents isn’t the normal thing for an eighteen year old to do. I’m supposed to be celebrating my legal freedom by having a big party or spending the night getting drunk at some club or bar with my friends. But today is a family day. It’s one of my last ones. In a few days, I’ll be out of here, out on my own. As much as I love my parents, and as much as I know it hurts them that I’m leaving, I need to think about myself. I can’t live with my brother’s ghost forever. It’s already been six years since he died, and while I miss him every day, I just can’t live with the sadness his absence brings to this house anymore. I need to live. I can’t mourn anymore knocking me out my trance my phone bleeps I opened it too see a text off Gerard

Don't think I have forgot about you, happy birthday franklin xoxoG

Notes