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  “Gee your mum is really pretty!” I used to say with pride “I know”.

  When we got to the ski resort, Sam and I were so excited about immediately getting to the dirt bike tracks just across the road from the resort. My bike was slightly bigger than my brothers. But mum said;

  “Right boys, I’ll show you how to ride!”

  She got on my bike and like a pro whizzed around like you would not believe. She was good. Real good. After a few attempts, the first time crashing into a tree, I began to get the real feel of the bike. It felt like freedom rushing through my body. It was pure adrenaline. I loved it. Along with our water skiing, our motorbike riding was both Sam’s and my passion on weekends.

  There seemed to be a recurring pattern at home though. On weekends Bob treated me like a real son. I don’t know if it was just a superficial act to give other people the impression he was a good dad or perhaps he was just trying to impress my mother. But during the week, like the school days Monday to Friday, he treated me like shit. The only thing is, if we had company at home, he was a nice as pie to me giving a false impression. This made my plan harder. How could I possibly reveal any of the horrible things he has done to me? Would anyone believe me? But most of all, would my dear mother believe me? If she did, she would be devastated and would definitely leave. It didn’t want to do that to her. I didn’t want her to be alone again. So I promised myself that next time he beats me, I will leave. I don’t know how I am going to do it, but I will have to somehow find the courage. So step one was the perfect step. I got a part time job.

  I started working part time after school towards the end of year eleven at the local Pizza Hut. I actually kind of enjoyed it. The pay was okay, not great as expected for someone at my age but I always asked for more hours in order to get more money. I don’t think I need to tell you why I did this, don’t you? Although I went to school during the day and went to work at night, I still continued to go to the resort on the weekends with my parents and Sam. But as Year twelve approached, I only went say, once a month. Bob amazingly allowed me to stay home on the weekends due to school and work commitments. Or perhaps he was glad to see the back of me even if it was just for a couple of days. So year twelve was starting soon, the most year of my life, and I had to earn some money. Fast. I want to get away, I had to explore the real world that is supposed to be exciting, as people say. I was desperate to discover my true self and earn my independence. Another thing I wanted to develop was the respect from my peers as by year 12 they started to get ideas in their heads calling me a ‘sissy’ or ‘poofter’. It was never said to my face though, I only heard it in background bitching conversations. I was not bullied though, but it felt like it. I wanted to prove them wrong. I think they got the impression I might be gay as I had a reputation for going out with girls for short periods and had plenty of offers from girls but said I was not interested. I also had a metro-sexual kind of image. I dressed well, kind of like a yuppie, wore expensive men’s fragrances and wore gel in my hair. So BINGO! , that must I am gay! Mustn’t it? That’s what pissed me off about society. So to get everyone off my back I asked out a girl I worked with at Pizza Hut who also happened to be the most popular girl in my school. Her name was Karen. She was very attractive, but the thought of any sexual act with me made me sick to my stomach. But it had to be done. I felt pressured to do this to stop being teased and questioned about my sexuality. If I had dated the most popular girl in school then perhaps I would have automatic acceptance and put on a pedestal. I craved attention. But I was sick and tired of the teasing and back stabbing. I asked her out one day when we took a break together at work. She said that she thought I was cute, but she doesn’t go out with nerds. Me? A nerd? Is that what I was? “Am I a nerd?” I asked with a lump in my throat.

  “Well, sort of, your just a bit like...well, like girly, I only go out with jocks” she said as if she was feeling sorry for me.

  I was crushed, offended and my self-confidence plummeted. It was that reason why I always wanted the respect of being a jock. Maybe I was kidding myself, maybe I am ugly. There just seemed to be no point in even trying anymore. I just don’t know who I am. I was trying too hard to cover up my own true identity that it was thrown back in my face. There was more denying it, I had accept my abnormality that I just preferred men, but I was ashamed of it. So I got even more desperate to just follow my own private dream. The dream to be free and stuff the rest of the world. But I need my independence and money was the solution. I offered to do more hours at work with perseverance. So the money started to roll in. Now we are definitely making progress and getting down to business!

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  Chapter five.......A prayer for the dying, A song for the living

  It was start of year twelve and this was my opportunity to shine. I don’t think I was the only student taking this year very seriously. I had to excel. I set my heart on getting into film school or some art school. It had to be in the creative field. Bob kept telling me how I was wasting my time and that I would end up struggling as artists don’t make money. My mum however just said to me that I could be anything I wanted as long as I was happy. I loved it when she said that. It was like hearing “everything was going to be alright”. It gave me a sense of security. So the subject I chose for the final year were all artistic based and of course included Media studies, my favourite subject. Literally, every lunchtime was dedicated to making student films which I wrote and directed and all the other students jumped at the opportunity to either work on, or star in, one of my films. I had a reputation of being a ‘real’ film director with a vision. I can’t tell you how it made me fell. It was amazing but I feel a bit embarrassed about it. Everyone knew I was going to be in the film industry.

  About a third of the way during the year, in Media studies class, we had to make a music video. We separated into groups which the teacher gave me the job of delegating the students into groups. Not that I was a teacher’s pet, this was different. The Media studies teachers relied on my enthusiasm and expertise to assist. Of course they all wanted to be in my group so naturally I had to choose my friends, the rest of the ‘film crew’. This was going to be the best work of film I would ever do.

  Every class, every lunch, after school even we worked on the film like professionals. I even started acting like a film director, getting stressed and rushing around just like I experienced at Channel two that time. The music video I designed was for the song that was big at the time called “Last train to Transcentral”. It was song which was quite popular in the house music and rave scene that was just starting to come out. The theme was based on the daily commute to work and how the time between travelling from home to work could have been used to discover a whole new world. It sounds vague but the idea was simple. That time you sit on a train or bus going to work, is time which is really wasted. If you add up all that time of commuting, imaging what you could have done with that time. The video was filmed in black and white and the result I think was stunning. It was like art on film, like a montage of images with meaning and identity. My media studies teacher was so impressed she suggested I enter it in the student film awards coming up the next month. I was apprehensive as I was afraid the work would be laughed at. Even though I was quite proud of my work, I was terrified of criticism. I don’t think I could handle rejection. But I consented to the idea. My teacher sent off my film for review in the competition.

  A few weeks later I got a letter from the judges of the competition asking that they come to my school next week to interview me. I didn’t know this was part of the process but I agreed. So when they the time came to interview me they asked me all sorts of question like “How did you come up with the idea?”, “What the intention of the style of cinematography I used?” and so on. It was a nerve racking experience and my nerves showed. I think it affected my chance of winning the competition. I was just not good at situa
tions like interviews; I get too nervous, almost to the point of a panic attack. But I got through it, and they said they will make their decision shortly. Then that was it, I had to wait for the result. If I didn’t win, it would crush my world completely.

  A week later I was in I think it was Social science class and my Media studies teacher rushed in. “I am so sorry for disturbing your class but I have some news” she gasped. “You got second place in the film comp!” she said with such enthusiasm. I kind of paused as I was not sure if this was good enough or not. “Aren’t you excited?!” she said. “Uh, yes, I guess?” I replied with an almost neutral tone. I really wanted to win, but I guess second place was the best I could get at this stage. It obviously meant that I had a lot of work to do. A lot more to learn. I was simply not good enough. This meant I need to take action and work my guts out in future to get into the film industry. I really expected to win, just like when I was year seven I managed to win the state finals of the spelling contest. I was the state’s first place winner, but didn’t make it to the nationals.

  The winner of the film competition apparently got an opportunity to work with some of the film companies around Melbourne and it would have been my perfect break. Not this time. So I turned my focus on my art portfolio and continued to make more films. I had to get into university to study film, I just had to. But I also wanted to be independent and get away from Bob. My priorities began to overwhelm me but I just kept on keeping on for the year.

  There were still a few times where at some lunchtimes I used to go to that same spot watching the jocks play football. Especially when it was hot and they took their tops off. Before lunch was out they headed to the gym change rooms for a shower. I dared to open Pandora’s Box by following them and hiding behind the lockers to watch. I knew it was such a naughty thing to do but I was so curious I just had to. So I hid behind a locker and watch the boys smother them in soap acting really masculine. Adrenaline rushed through my body with excitement. This was so bad that it just felt so good. But not normal. When the jocks finished their showers, I continued to stay put behind the locker until they left. Otherwise they would see me. Then by surprise one of the gym teachers stripped off and got under one of the showers when the jocks left. His name was Mr Delaware. The girls were crazy about him. Seeing his athletic bronzed body made me realize why. It was the most beautiful muscular body I had ever seen and I was mesmerised. His body was in perfect proportion, not too muscular and not too skinny, just perfect. My heart was pounding as I was paralysed with excitement and licking my lips. I am sure I was drooling from the mouth as I have never seen a real man naked before. It was pure sex and I wanted it bad. The feeling of guilt was shoved aside as I watched the water slide down every inch of his tanned smooth body. But because I was in a trance I accidentally bumped the locker and Mr Delaware quickly looked around and saw me. I froze. I couldn’t move. My mind went blank with the fear of being caught. But he for some reason gave me a very slight half smile and turned his back on me and didn’t react. He just kept on showering and I just kept on looking. He turned about slowly while under the shower and faced me and pretended that I was not there. Then his penis began to grow. Straight up to the sky. Then he began to rub it. I was frozen solid and sweating. My heart kept on pounding. I wanted to touch it but I couldn’t. He kept on rubbing his penis up and down, up and down, faster and faster. I was getting so aroused I had to sit down or I would have fainted. Then he looked at me from the corner of his eye as if he was saying “Come over here, go on, do it”. He didn’t say it but he didn’t have to. I could feel it and wanted so badly to go there. I couldn’t take any more of this excitement so in a panic I rushed out of the gym panting and sweating. I will remember this moment of sexual fantasy for the rest of my life. I know now am ‘gay’. And I liked it.

  Back at home, sometime during the year, Bob’s mother came to Australia from the United Kingdom for a visit. This I thought was going to be interesting. I have a lot of unanswered questions. Initially when she got to Melbourne, we greeted her with open arms and it was obvious Bob was overwhelmed with the joy of seeing his ageing mother after about 20 or years. It was side I never saw of him. It was the first time I actually started to see him with feeling and emotion. Perhaps there was more to Bob than I thought. But after a week or so, things began to go sour. My mother and Bob’s mother began to have disagreements which I had no real idea what they were about. I think they had a personality crash but I think there was a lot more to it than that. For example Bob’s mother who was living in Sam’s room at the time, was caught red handed stealing packets of expensive chocolates and lollies which mum was keeping for the upcoming Christmas festivities. These treats were also hidden so no one would be tempted to eat them but somehow Bob’s mother found them and hid them under Sam’s bed. Sam actually made the discovery and told our mother. It did not go down well, not at all. In fact all hell broke loose and the thing too was that Bob actually defended his mother even though she was in the wrong. Strictly speaking she was in fact a thief. Anyhow, things went from bad to worse with the relationship with Bob’s mother and my mother. It was very tense. One weekend we took Bob’s mother on one of our trips to the ski resort. That was a mistake. You see, Bob’s mother was trying to cause tension between Bob and my mother. I think her plan was to break them up as Bob’s mother was fond of Bob’s ex-wife. But the situation that really caused problems was the night we all went to the local pub for a meal. Just before the meal, Sam and I went to the computer game machines and pinball machines to play some games. One of the machines gobbled up my money and would not work. I ended up putting in about five dollars’ worth of coins to try and get it working but it wouldn’t. So I told my mum and Bob. Strangely enough, Bob’s mother disappeared. Bob wanted to check out the machine to see what was wrong with it and to my shock there was a note stuck on the front of the machine saying ‘out of order’. I was adamant that there was no sign when I put the coins in. Of course Bob was extremely unimpressed and called me a liar and then stated that I was trying to cause trouble again. My mum was upset with this for what Bob was accusing me of and it ended up as a screaming match in the pub between Bob and my mum. As embarrassing as it was, I knew who the culprit was. It was Bob’s mother. She was absolutely strategic and seeking ways to destroy our family. She was an elderly woman and for the way she behaved was quite bizarre. Her intentions were clear. She wanted my mother out of Bob’s life.

  On return from the weekend, there was still tension in the household mainly because my mum was quite upset about Bob’s accusations towards me. She always stood up for me which I praise her for. There was a moment one day when every family member was out of the house. Bob was at work, so too was mum, and Sam went to a friend’s house or something. It was just me and her. Bob’s mother. Now was my chance to get the ‘nitty gritty’ of what was going on. But the big question was “who was Bob, I mean, the real Bob?” So I approached her casually for a chat and sat in the lounge with tea and biscuits and talked for hours. On the surface she was a sweet old lady. But deep inside was a ruthless woman. She also stated some shocking revelations. I don’t want to contradict myself by saying they were shocking but they kind explained a lot of things. She told me that Bob was a failed artist. That for many years he tried to market his drawings and paintings and could not seem to get any attention. So he turned to a job in manual labour. I think it was boiler making or carpentry or something. Quite a contrast. She also admitted that she was a tough mother. Her husband was alcoholic and their family life was struggle. I asked her if she ever abused Bob. Her response was “You don’t like him, do you?....Bob I mean”. I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. Then she said “he only got what he deserved”. That indicated to me that he was in fact abused. I also got the feeling it was pretty severe too by the way she was talking. My questions by that stage were answered, and there was no more to say. A few days later Bob’s mother went back home to the United Kingdom, never to be seen again.

 
Not long after the departure of Bob’s mother, the house began to feel a bit more upbeat. Mum and Bob had made up, yet again. Bob resisted the urge to verbally or physically abuse me. He was pretty much treating me like a son. I liked that. One weekend they decided not to go to the resort for one and just stay at home as the weather for the weekend was not looking too crash hot. Bob said he was going to build a billy cart and wanted Sam and I to help him. Sam was enthusiastic about it, I was quite uninterested but like always I pretend to be. The three of us one rainy Saturday morning were in the shed. Sam was sawing some wood, Bob was hammering nails and I was sandpapering. Like the most boring task in the world. This was just not my sort of thing. I’m not really the handyman kind of guy and was just not really interested. I think Bob didn’t really want our help he was just trying to act like a dad plus he wanted Sam and me to do ‘manly’ things. He hated the fact I was a bit of a mummy’s boy and was always looking for ways to toughen us up. After about an hour or so I just said “Look, dad.....can I just go and do my homework...?” He paused for a second and gave me a dirty look of disappointment then said suddenly “Yeah, right, piss off then.....you don’t wanna help ya dad, go to your stupid textbooks then!” He really did not have to say that although I did feel quite guilty about it. So I went inside with my head bowed in shame. But I was just plain bored. I just didn’t care about carpentry.

  It wasn’t even fifteen minutes when he stormed back inside and opened my bedroom door with a gust giving me a fright.

  “You’re going outside!.....NOW.....I’m sick of you sitting in your bedroom pussying about with your artwork and shit....”.

  Insulted as I was I felt the urge to say no. And I did.

  “I don’t want to....I have a lot of homework”. I said timidly.