My head snapped up, gaze slowly turning to him. But he wasn't looking at me. His midnight eyes stared out into the dim backyard, not really looking at anything, but also seeming far away from here. "Different?" I pressed.
"Than what everyone expects me to be. How people think I should turn out."
I breathed a laugh and said, "Don't we all want that?"
But he shook his head, eyes still fixated on the infinite darkness in the world outside our safe cubby. "Maybe your parents have certain expectations of you. Maybe your friends and teachers. But others don't. I mean, I imagine you have it harder than others considering..." He briefly glanced at my stump before saying, "You have an obvious disability. Sorry if that's not the right term to use."
"I don't mind the term," I quickly intruded.
He nodded, then turned his gaze forward once more. "But it's only the people who know you that expect something from you, right?"
Shrugging, I said, "They are the only opinions that matter."
"See... that is where we are different. For my people, the judgement of everyone else affects us so much more than you can imagine. I don't know my dad. He ran off not long after my mother fell pregnant with me. And mum... Mum, my aunties, my uncles... most of them just keep falling back into this never-ending cycle of suffering."
"What do you mean?" I whispered.
He took a deep breath. "Well, for example, my great grandmother was from the stolen generation, and when one is forcibly separated from their parents and culture at a young age... there's this level of hurt that just continues on. So when she had my grandmother, she didn't know how to be a mum. And she didn't even know who she was... She wasn't a white Australian. But she also grew up being told she couldn't be Aboriginal. That it was shameful to be black and to practice our culture. And having her own kid... she just remembered being a kid herself. With all these painful memories coming back as she looked at her own child... she found it easier to escape her problems by turning to the bottle. And then my grandma grew up, having had no expectations put on her. She didn't aspire to do anything after school. She met my granddad who also was equally in pain and sometimes beat her up. And they both drank their problems away. And then my mum grew up in that environment. My people and our history with this land... Some of us are stuck in these cycles of suffering we can never get out of... and it goes on, generation after generation. Because not until we have true reconciliation, true action for my people, will we see things get better."
I sat in silence as I listened to him talk, not sure what to say. What I could say. I wanted to apologise for the injustices inflicted upon him and his people in the past, and even the present. But, at the same time, I could see in his eyes he wasn't finished. And maybe if I interrupted him now, he wouldn't fully get off his chest what he needed to say. So I waited.
And sure enough, he went on. "So because we have such a cycle of suffering, with complete underrepresentation of my people in higher education, in politics, in white-collar jobs, nothing really ever changes for us. And because we aren't represented in such positions of power, it means many people look at me, look at my skin, and think I won't amount to anything. Because they never see us amounting to anything. To them, we're the kids who steal cars and children of parents who live on the dole and drink their way through life." He shook his head before he continued. "I don't want to fall into the cycle, Callie. I want to break it. I don't want my kids—if I ever have them—to grow up in a home where their parents are in so much pain in their hearts that they don't know how to be there for their child. I don't want to see my kids be like my cousins, going out onto the streets, stealing things, going on joy rides, just to see if their parents will notice them. To see if anyone will notice them. And so... that's why I don't drink. If I don't start now, I surely can't fall into the habit of resorting to it when times are tough... And maybe I have a hope at being different. At breaking the cycle."
I pressed my lips together and waited him out to see if he had anything more to add. But when he snuck a wary glance my way before turning to the ground, I realised it was my turn to say something. "That's... That's a very fair reason."
Shit Callie... he hits you with all that and that's all you have to say?
So I tried again. "I'm sorry for asking, Flynn," I then said. "I didn't mean to bring up painful memories. I was just trying to make small talk—"
He shook his head, that familiar grin starting to appear on his face once more—though not quite meeting his eyes. "I'm surprised you listened. Most people tell me to 'not mention that depressing shit'. Look, I get the question a lot. These days I just say 'I don't feel like it' as my excuse for not drinking. But... I didn't want to give you a half-arsed answer. I didn't tell you all that to make you feel bad, Callie. It's more that... I felt comfortable telling you the truth. And also speaking my truth helps remind me of the path I'm on."
I pressed my lips together and broke eye contact, feeling that warmth flood my cheeks again the longer his obsidian gaze held mine. Picking at a fraying cuticle, I recalled what he said to me earlier in the week. "Is that what you meant about asking Miss Fischer to be tough on you? So that you have that expectation from somewhere?"
Flynn nodded, then ran a hand through his hair. "I can't claim all the credit though. I have one person in my whole community who expects something from me: Uncle Jimmy. He's not actually my uncle but... He's the only one who managed to get through the pain. He got help many years ago and has been working hard to keep the kids off the streets. With the support of some aunties and me."
"What made him—"
"His son got in a stolen car with some of the other kids. They went for a joyride, hit a curb, and ran into a pole. His son died, one of the other kids was hospitalised for a long time, and the driver got juvey... After that pain of burying your own kid... Uncle Jimmy realised it was because he was never there at home that his son had gone out that night. That all those kids felt the need to go out. He took it on himself, and instead of drinking more to deal with the pain, he decided to try changing the fate for his community. Tried to build the community and culture more by talking to the kids, sharing out stories again, teaching them the ways of our people and the land in the hopes to see some healing. It's thanks to Uncle Jimmy that I even can see that light at the metaphorical tunnel. Anyway, Uncle Jimmy checks in on all of us often. I join him for walks most evenings when he's home from work to talk about the kids and whether any of them are at risk. He was the one who told me what I can ask of my teachers so that I get better at school."
"And... what do you want to do after school?"
A small smile pulled on Flynn's mouth, but the echoes of the story of loss still lingered in his eyes. "I want to go into social work. See how I can develop more community outreach programs for disengaged youth. To help Uncle Jimmy's mission, but not just in my neighbourhood. If more kids finish school, if more believe they too can follow a white man's dream of going to university, then maybe there will be fewer kids on the streets in future. Then less drinking. And less suffering."
"So then... if you don't drink to avoid those habits... aren't you tempted when you come to places like this?"
He heaved a sigh, resting his head against the cubby wall as he stared at the ceiling. "I definitely am. I would love to just let loose like most of those idiots inside do. But I mostly come here as a distraction. I decide not to drink, but being around people my age is therapeutic in some ways, even if they are all drunk. I don't hang out with them at lunches because I'm trying to keep an eye on the kids for Uncle Jimmy. When school finishes, I also walk all the kids home and keep an eye out until Uncle Jimmy gets off work and takes over. Parties are often the only thing on at night and the only normal thing that teens seem to do where I can get a break from the kids."
I nodded slowly. "But here you are... avoiding the party and talking to me."
The grin was fully back on his face now as he nudged me with his elbow. "You're better conversation than the intoxicated idiots."
"This is probably true..."
"Definitely true."
I felt the corners of my lips turn up slightly at the compliment. "So... does Miss Fischer being tough on you help then?"
Flynn pressed his lips together. "It does in bio and it works in most of my other classes with the other teachers. But I just don't mix with maths."
"Maybe you need to get some tutoring?"
His eyes narrowed at me.
"What?"
"Know any free ones within walking distance? Because I don't have a ride when Uncle Jimmy isn't home and public transport still sucks in this town. Once he is home, he's busy with the kids. And I definitely can't afford to pay for a tutor to come to me."
"Oh..." I said, looking to my lap, feeling a little like an idiot for not thinking that suggestion through. "If you want... I could tutor you?"
"You... you would do that?" Suprise consumed his face.
"Yeah, of course. Just... I guess... well, when would work? Lunch breaks obviously won't because you're with your cousins..."
"I'm only free evenings."
Furrowing my brows I said, "Where do you live?"
"Near the high school."
"Well... I'm just over the railroad by the primary school. If you're happy to walk to my house, I could tutor you some evenings? Or I could see if I can get my parents to drop me off at my Aunt's... she lives near the high school."
Flynn's eyes glowed bright as he said, "Oh, Callie... Are you sure that's not too—"
I shook my head, cutting him off. "I get most of my assessment done in class so in my free time I'm just reading."
"I would... really appreciate that. Like a lot."
"Then it's settled." Pulling out my phone again, I flicked open my contacts and passed it to him. "Give me your number and we can arrange a day and time next week."
Flynn pursed his lips.
"What?" I asked.
"I don't normally have credit. I have Wi-fi though so if you're on insta I can add you?"
My eyes widened as I pulled my phone back, recalling the pictures on my private account. Many of me and Sara in all sorts of strange outfits. Some of the books I was reading... Ones Flynn would surely judge me for.
"What? You don't want to add me on—"
"Just... If I do, you have to promise you won't ever tell me you've seen my posts."
Flynn's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Just promise me."
He chuckled and then pulled out his own phone. "Okay. I promise." Moments later, my phone dinged with a follow request. And, begrudgingly, I accepted it.
Yet rather than sticking his own phone away, he continued to scroll.
"Are you looking at my—" I reached for his phone, but he just moved it out of my way like he had predicted what I was going to do. "Flynn!" I whined.
"I can't tell you what I'm looking at. I promised," he laughed. But after I made a few more swipes for his phone, he finally turned the screen off and tucked it back in his pocket. "Sheesh, fine Callie. It's away. You don't have to keep grabbing me." Then he threw me a grin for good measure.
"I will murder you," I said to him.
"Oh yeah? How will you do it?"
I picked up my leg. "Death by beating."
Flynn chuckled, grabbed my prosthetic from me, and put it on the other side of him where I couldn't reach it. "You can have it back when I feel safer in your presence. But first..." He shifted around in his seated position until he was fully facing me. "I opened up to you. It's time you tell me more about that nope."
"What nope?"
Eyes narrowing he said, "What's the bet with your sister, and how can I help?"
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