Identity

Still he was silent. The boy’s dark eyes steadily glared at the desk.
Sergeant McKenzie sighed and leaned closer to him. Half an hour and not a word from the youth.
“Listen boy,” he hissed “This report could save your skin. There are only two crimes worse than the one you have been accused of and they are murder and manslaughter. Do you have nothing to say in your defence?”
The dark eyes looked up. Tired, old eyes of defeat.
“We did it” he whispered “It was us. It was him.”
McKenzie frowned “Who, Leo? Who is he?”
“Sebastian Webber.” Eyes downcast again. It was hard not to pity the boy – aged by sin. McKenzie’s voice softened.
“Tell me about him, Leo. Tell me what happened”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I happened to be good at music. I played piano and Kelly, my sister, would sing. Nice entertainment for middle aged housewives, but I envied the others in their muddied rugby jerseys with their girls and their laughter – the charisma that a soft-spoken muso had long sacrificed. I thought I would never be like that.
After school I had a job at the local music store with Seb. But we never spoke, not really. He was the type of guy who could be a star. Every teenage girl who perused our shelves was smitten by his smile, his conversation. Their mothers doted on his gentlemanly behaviour and their brothers yearned for the privilege of his friendship. No one would ever believe that Sebastian Webber was capable of anything less than perfection.

A year and a half ago, the guy came. I was closing up shop alone, having just counted our profits when he stormed in. A Tongan body builder, glowering down at me. He’d been hanging around outside all day.
“Where’s Sebastian?” he demanded
I shrank in his shadow “Not here. He went home early. He’s sick.”
The guy laughed but his eyes flickered around the room as if to check if anyone was watching. They lingered momentarily on the video cameras, but, satisfied that they were off, he leaned on the counter and slid something towards me.
“Listen,” he murmured “Tell Seb that’s the stuff I owe him. You tell anyone else and I’ll be back.”
He pressed the package into my hands and left. I stared down at it and felt the blood pulsate to my head. Even an innocent muso boy knew that a plastic bag, full of white powder, was definitely not legal.
I took it home with me; shocked and repulsed by it, but scared to dump the package should someone find it and somehow trace it back to me.

When I confronted Seb the next day he smiled warmly and I relaxed, reassured by the imminence of an explanation. It didn’t come.
“Leo, we’re not that different, you know.” His voice was gentle, serious, almost patronising, “But I marvel at your innocence sometimes.”
I frowned, confused. He hadn’t addressed the issue at all, yet his voice was calm and rational as if I were a five year old complaining about monsters under my bed.
He continued. “I can tell, though, that you don’t wanna be that guy. When those footy boys come in, your face betrays you – I know you wanna be like them.”
My frown deepened. Was it that obvious?
“You’re not gonna get anywhere if you’re trying to be someone else, Leo. And this is me. Yeah, sometimes I do that stuff – but it’s my life, isn’t it? I’m not some seedy druggo. I know my limits. And, Leo, that’s the only reason why it’s illegal in the first place – ‘coz stupid kids don’t know their limits and overdose.” He paused. “Why don’t you come out with me after work tonight? There’s a whole world that you’ve never seen before. I’ll show you the truth about it.”

I couldn’t say no. And that’s where it began - my “education”, as Seb laughingly put it. It wasn’t all bad. Sometimes we’d just hang out at bars and concerts (Seb always found a way for me to get in) and I would marvel at the diversity of people there – pale-skinned groups drenched in black, nodding to the wail of a pierced, painted vocalist; dreadlocked snobs, shunning the world for their own trippy guitars and henna art; Gilded, baggy-white herds speeding past in a flash of metallic turbo accompanied by the constant drone of bass. And, of course, Seb’s mates. Muso’s as were foreign to me in the land of the naïve. These people were cool, different but carefree and when I was with them I began to forget the social hierarchy of school.
If Kelly was awake when I got home I would recall the night’s events to her, dancing round the kitchen to demonstrate the crazy antics we took part in or rambling earnestly about the encouragement the others gave me with my own music.
Here was acceptance – here I could be at the top of the social ladder and still be myself. The thrill of the evening and new found individuality was refreshing and it got easier and easier to ignore the undesirable activity that happened so obviously in front of me. A blind eye was a small price to pay for my new found passion for life.

And one summer evening as we struggled out of the confines of a concert hall, I unexpectedly fell in love. She went to school with Kelly, but seeing her here, in the midst of my new life, away from the restrictions of our small private school community, made me think, made me wonder that perhaps she too had discovered the magic that I had. I waved but her eyes gazed disinterestedly passed me. And then, by some miracle, her friends came running over to us having just caught sight of Seb.
“Hey girls” he winked at them and conjured a coy smile upon all their faces. After small-talk and introductions came an invitation for them to join us the following Friday – nothing spectacular, just a bunch of party animals hanging out on the beach with Seb’s band playing. They made their promises and giggled away.
I caught her arm as they were leaving “Hey, are you gonna come?”
She shrugged and yawned “Maybe.”
Her hair shone in the streetlights.

Friday brought a crisp, clear evening. My heart was bursting with hope as the girls wandered down the dunes. She was among them and, after that I recall little about the band playing or any other events at that time.
She was beautiful that night. Long slender curves gracefully turning as she chortled and moved. I falsely persuaded myself that I had an affinity with her – we were both the young ones in the group but she wouldn’t talk to me. Her jewellery glinted in the firelight, stars behind her framing those tumbling locks in an unblemished halo. Seb knew that I wanted her. He glanced at me and moved towards her, making her blush with his charm and the rancid liquid that spilled over her cup. He motioned to me and we took her away to the park. She came willingly, naïve and flattered by Seb’s attention and eagerly accepting his offer of more spirits. He grinned, winked at me and tipped something into the plastic cup she was holding as she staggered to a nearby bench.
“What are you doing?” I asked unsteadily, dazed by my own tipsiness. Heart beats accelerated in my ears, but my conscience was drowned by the distortion of my dizzied mind.
“You want her, don’t you?” his voice was soft and transfixing. He shoved the bottle of spirits at me and went to join her. She was slumped, bending so that her golden curls fell over her face. She groaned as Seb sat beside her and sighed something inaudible into his ear.
A breeze arrived from the ocean, scattering angry spray towards us. Waves roared onto the shore as their salt reached my lips. It was bitter. The darkness was oppressive, but unfocused as a lurching moon swayed over the sea. The water now drew back with a magnetic pull, synchronised in its bewitchment.
Seb’s eyes fixed mine, promising my most ardent desires. I stumbled to him, reaching the bench as another set of nauseating waves crashed.

I didn’t want to hurt her. I wouldn’t have dreamed of doing what we did to her. But Seb was there with his bleary alcohol and gentle justifications and I still didn’t know how to say no to him.

As we left, I looked back at her. Her tresses were matted with sweat and dirt, mascara streaks running all the way to her chin where tears had slid, her limp body, weak and pale in the moonlight heaved with the effort of each sob. I felt like we had taken her beauty away from her.

I couldn’t go to school the next day – my head hurt and I didn’t want to think. About anything. I drowned my sorrows with daytime television and nightmares.
The door clicked and Kelly slipped inside, shoving it closed to the outside world. She leaned against it, eyes red, cheeks damp. After a minute she dragged her schoolbag towards the kitchen. I got up to comfort her, but she stepped away.
“Is it true, Leo?” she spat as fresh tears surfaced. “Everyone’s talking. Nobody can look at me. My friends won’t even speak to me.”
I opened my mouth to explain. A glottal choke surfaced instead. It was all the confirmation she needed. Her eyes despised me.
“You know, her cousin wouldn’t stand near me because my nose is so similar to yours.” Her face was flooded now. My heart broke further. “But you didn’t think of that, did you? You didn’t think that what you did might affect anyone other than yourself.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, Kel.” I whispered, yearning for the comfort of my sister’s hugs and understanding “I’m sorry. I…I’m sorry Kel.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you went off with that Sebastian and his friends.” Her voice was shaking but her tears had stopped “You’re gonna be in so much trouble, Leo. You could go to jail.”
She trailed off and slid into the nearest chair. “If she presses charges…you could go to jail…”
“She will.” I was tired and guilty. I wanted to be punished, just to end the torment. But Kelly was never one to give up.
“No!” she cried fiercely, “This affects me too. I’m not gonna let your mistake ruin my life. I’m going to try and fix it if you aren’t.”

And so she began, with a performer’s subtlety, to convince her friends and the victim that it was not worthwhile. Wordlessly, Kelly brought optimism into their lives and the need to forget. She turned up her own charm, her own tears, her own humility to buy pity from her angry peers.
“I know I shouldn’t feel this way,” she confessed through watery gasps “but its so hard for me – not nearly as hard as it is for her and her family – but, I just feel…so…guilty!”
“Hush.” Cooed her empathetic friends “There’s no need for you to feel guilty. Maybe she won’t press charges after all.”
Then, three days after the incident my victim, the girl who I’d spoilt and loved simultaneously wrote Kelly a letter:

“Kelly, This has been a difficult week for both of us and I
think we both feel a bit guilty about it. I’m feeling so many
things right now that it is impossible to say exactly what emotions
are there. But I know I feel guilty, because I can see how
much this whole incident is hurting you. And although I want
to punish your brother, I don’t want any more hurt to go around.
I miss you as a friend and I think I really need that friendship
right now. What do you think? Is that possible?
“Also, I want you to know that I have decided not to press charges.
I hope this is the right decision for both of us. I’m afraid it was not
one based on anything or anyone but myself. I just want to
forget about this, maybe go and see someone who can help
me deal with it. I don’t think dragging it out in court and retelling
it over and over again is going to help me do that. And, to
be honest, I don’t think I could bear to see your brother again
or hear his name or his voice… I just feel nauseas
thinking about all that.
“By the way, my parents don’t know yet – I couldn’t tell
them. So your parents don’t have to know either. Besides,
I’m moving schools. It’s my mum’s old school and she’s
Wanted me to go there for years, so I’m moving
immediately.
“Don’t forget to drop me a line sometime,
Bye”

Kelly read the letter aloud to me. She said that I deserved to here some of the pain I had caused. It was just another weight I would have to carry eternally as my penance.

I tried humbly to accept the stares and whispers of community life, but I knew I would go mad with the suffocating guilt that clamped around my throat each time this happened. I knew also that it was inevitable that my parents would discover the true sins of their son, and it would be too much for me to see the hurt and shock on their faces.
So I did the cowardly thing. I ran to the top of a barren headland and screamed my anguish into the ocean. Then I packed a bag, hopped on a bus and travelled to the only place that would accept anyone. To the underground world of eclectic music – a beautiful thing tarnished by the unlawful doings of its citizens.

I wrote Kelly a note explaining. I’m not sure if she got it. I won’t find out, because she still has potential. I don’t want to cloud that. She is still an innocent muso girl and I hope that that won’t change.

I can’t tell you much more about Seb. He felt a twang of remorse for not feeling guilty, but continued his normal lifestyle until he lost interest in it. One day he was gone – without his guitar, his admirers or his respect.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


The boy exhaled and carefully swept the moisture from his eyes. Large, frightened eyes imploring for help. With a shiver he pulled his feeble jacket around him and sat up straighter.
Clearing his throat, he said “I guess she changed her mind. About the charges.”
Sergeant McKenzie nodded slowly and removed his glasses to nurture a sudden headache. “I guess she did.” He yearned for this affirmation to be a lie.
“What about Sebastian?”
“We’ll find him Leo.”
The boy shivered again. Outside the room two officers said goodnight, chuckling as they parted for the weekend. One of them carried an empty coffee cup, spoon clinking with every step. The boy glanced up and knew it was time.
“What happens now?” he whispered.
McKenzie sighed and pulled on his blazer. “Now you come with me, boy.”
The youth nodded and rose. He made his way out of the open door and waited whilst Sergeant McKenzie turned off the light and left the darkened room.