Open Writing

My partner Theresa's eldest son David learned a valuable lesson as a teenager: it feels good to be kind to others, but those others don't necessarily feel the same way.

The high school ball was coming up and David's father, Martin, was worried about it, but only about what should not happen.

'Don't drink too much ... and don't be home too late ... and whatever you do, don't damage the hire suit - it'll cost a fortune to replace!'

So with these exhortations ringing in his ears, David went off to the ball to have a good time ... carefully.

It must have been about two in the morning when Martin awoke. The first thing he noticed was the cold--a blast of icy air that appeared to be coming from the front door. Muttering and grumbling to himself, he climbed out of bed and went to investigate.

Sure enough, the front door was wide open and the chilly winter wind was blowing in. As Martin went to close the door, cursing volubly, he felt something underfoot. Looking down, he could see a trail of clothes leading to David's bedroom door. And then another sense became involved in this unfolding drama: smell. Martin's nostrils flared as they caught the distinct odour of vomit.

'Right, that's it!' he thundered. The house shook as he slammed the front door and it shook some more as stamped down the hallway to David's bedroom. Flinging open the door, he started in on the motionless form bundled up under the crumpled bedclothes.

'What the hell do you think you've been doing! Didn't you listen to a word I said? I thought I told you to be more careful ...' And so the tirade continued, as David's unconscious mind gradually struggled to the surface.

'What's happening?' he mumbled groggily.

But Martin's anger was finally spent and he went back to bed, leaving his son wondering if it was a bad dream that had awoken him.

Next morning, the family - mum and dad and the other three kids - were gathered around the breakfast table when David emerged, scratching his head and yawning. He looked around at everyone, and noticed a particularly sour expression on his father's face. And then he looked around some more, as if this time he was actually looking for something.

'Where's Gerald?' he asked.

'Who's Gerald?' everyone piped up as one.

'He's a mate from school,' David replied. 'He was at the ball last night. He got so drunk I knew he'd get in trouble with his parents if he went home so I brought him back here.'

The family had already heard Martin's version of last night's events, and the father's guilty verdict for his son. So this was a new twist in the tale, and all eyes now firmly fixed on the father.

And Martin, with the wisdom that comes only from hindsight, saw last night in a new, true light. Now he could picture Gerald stumbling out the front door to be sick, so he didn't make a mess of the home of his kindly hosts; and, hearing the curses of his mate's father and the slamming of the door and believing they were meant for him, staggering the ten or so kilometres home in the freezing cold. In his underpants.

Oh, the cruelty of kindness.

And hanging neatly on the back of David's bedroom door, in pristine condition, was the suit that he wore ever so carefully to the high school ball.

© Joe Lee

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Joe writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au