After the Siren

‘That’s not Spirited Away.’

Theo jumped and banged the space bar. He’d been so focused on the video that he hadn’t heard Priya’s footsteps in the hall. On the screen, his own pixellated face froze in an expression of intense anxiety. Things were about to get much worse, but video Theo didn’t know that. Lucky him.

Theo shoved his laptop back onto the coffee table and turned towards the door. Priya was leaning against the doorframe with a bowl of guacamole under one arm and a quizzical look on her face.

She tipped her head towards the screen. ‘What are you watching?’

He tried for a winning smile. ‘Would you believe it was an ad?’

‘That smile doesn’t work on me.’

She crossed the room and leaned over the back of the couch to rest her chin on his shoulder, imperilling the guacamole.

‘Top Five AFL Fails,’ she read off the screen.

‘I’m number one.’ Theo rescued the bowl and deposited it on the coffee table next to the knafeh. ‘It’s nice to be on top.’

Priya pressed a friendly kiss to his cheek and hurdled the back of the couch to thump down beside him.

‘Talk to me.’

She shoved a couple of cushions against the arm of the couch and curled up, tucking her bare feet against Theo’s thigh. Her toenails were bright pink. So were Theo’s – one of the day’s activities had been pedicures. God knows what his new teammates were going to think about that.

They’d both been pretending that Priya was visiting with no ulterior motive; a casual trip from Sydney to Melbourne to see how Theo was settling in. She’d curated three days of activities that she’d characterised as celebratory (‘It’s not every day you sign a new contract!’), but that, in fact, had been a precautionary measure to keep him from brooding. It had worked quite well until he’d been left unsupervised with his laptop and burgeoning existential dread.

She nudged his thigh with her foot. ‘Talk.’

‘You’ve suffered enough in this cause.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ She nudged him again. ‘If we don’t talk about it, I’ll know you’re thinking about it, and I won’t be able to enjoy my Miyazaki. I’ll suffer more.’

Priya had decided that Sunday would culminate in Ghibli movies – a tradition carried over from their school days. She was a couple of years older than Theo, but their friendship had been forged in the fires of high-school debating, and tempered by a shared appreciation of niche pop culture and frustration with white boys from Vaucluse. Now she was a barrister, and he was . . . well . . . a footballer. Just.

Theo ran a hand through his hair. ‘It’s stupid.’

‘I doubt it.’ She fixed him with a look that meant evasion was futile.

‘I feel like . . . if I watch it enough, and if I learn from it, I can stop it from happening again.’ He heard his own voice catch, and he swallowed. ‘It just – it can’t happen again.’

Priya looked away and reached for a tortilla chip. ‘You’ve never really talked to me about it.’ He could tell that she was picking her words carefully. ‘About what it was like on the day.’

Theo gathered his thoughts while she coaxed an alarming amount of guacamole onto the chip. He’d spent a lot of time trying not to think about what it had been like. But Priya was unlikely to be deterred. And perhaps he did need to talk about it.

They’d talked about a lot of things, after. What he wantedto do. What he was going to do. What his parents thought he should do. Where he should live. Whether a Law degree was the right choice. But he’d never talked to her about those few minutes; the few minutes that floated to the front of his mind every time he had an idle moment.

He sighed, letting his eyes rest on his own face on the screen. ‘You know why it was a big moment, yeah?’

Priya nodded, crunching the corn chip. She was absolutely uninterested in sport of any kind, except insofar as it directly affected Theo’s wellbeing. ‘Big game, scores level, you needed a win to progress.’

Theo took a steadying breath. It was stupid that it still bothered him this much. That his heart rate picked up just thinking about it: the roar of the crowd, the feel of the ball in his hands, the coppery rasp of his breath in the back of his throat.

He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t catch my breath. I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. I took the mark and then when I got up, I couldn’t breathe. All I could hear was my heart beating. I kept thinking breathe, but I couldn’t get enough air. And the crowd – you have no idea how loud it was – I couldn’t shut it out like I usually can.’ Priya’s shoulder was solid and reassuring against his. ‘I’d been running really hard, but it wasn’t that. And my hands were shaking. That’d never happened before either. I think . . . I think I had apanic attack.’

He’d talked about that part with a psychologist, because Priya had basically dragged him bodily to see one. He hadn’t had the energy to fight back, so he’d stared at a potted plant in a beige room while a woman with a kind face and knowing dark eyes had gently coaxed him towards phrases like panic attack and burnout and generalised anxiety disorder with low mood. She’d talked about tools and management, but he hadn’t booked another appointment. No amount of guided meditation was going to un-fuck his career.

Priya made a thoughtful noise. ‘Shall I play it?’

He nodded.

She leaned forward and tapped the space bar. The clip sprang back to life.

Round 23, Sharks versus Falcons. The game to decide who would make the eight. Scores level. Twenty seconds to go. A mark thirty metres out from goal. It had happened so fast, he hadn’t realised the ball was in his hands until he’d hit the ground. No time to play on, no time to do anything but go back and line up the shot. He could have recited the commentary off by heart.

What a moment for this young man.

Twenty seconds. Mouthguard. Laces. Walk back.

Thirty metres out and almost directly in front. The atmosphere down here is electric.

Siren.

A shot after the siren for Bestavros. And this could really be a moment of redemption, couldn’t it?

Breathe. Spin the ball. Breathe. Look up. Breathe.

It could be – all is forgiven if he gets this through. And he’d have to try pretty hard to miss from here. All they need is a point. You’d want a goal, in his position, but a point would do it.

One step back. Three steps. Five steps. Ten steps. Fifteen seconds gone already.

He’s taking his time. Trying to find that composure. What a chance to make up for a disappointing season and repay the Sharks for taking a chance on him.

Breathe. Spin the ball. Breathe.

You could hear a pin drop.

He’d known before the ball left his boot that it was wrong. All wrong. He watched it and felt it at the same time: the awkward connection between his laces and the leather, the thud as the ball cannoned into the chest of the defender. The incredulous roar of the crowd.

And he’s kicked it straight into the man on the mark! Absolutely extraordinary. He’ll be taking a good hard look at himself in the mirror tonight. What a cracking victory for the Falcons – and a real shocker from Bestavros. You’d think his days are numbered now.

Yeah, it’s a pity. Sometimes these players who dominate at the State level just don’t have what it takes. A gamble for the Sharks that didn’t pay off.

Theo let his breath go as the footage cut to the Falcons celebrating. Video Theo was still in the same place, other players eddying around him. He shied away from remembering the rest of it – his own nails digging rusty divots into his palms as he tried to stop his hands from shaking, the cold sweat in his eyes, the nausea creeping up his throat as he walked back to the race. A thump on the back or a squeeze on the shoulder from a teammate.

He and Priya continued watching as Jake Cunningham, Falcons fan-favourite and pest-in-chief, bounded up to Theo and held up his hand for a high five. Theo shook his head. Jake said something, then shrugged and jogged backwards, blowing Theo a kiss.

Theo realised he’d clenched his fists in his lap. What a dick.

Even Aleksandar Yelich, the Falcons captain, had thought Jake’s antics had been a bit much – he’d said, ‘Sorry about him,’ as he’d clasped Theo’s hand. And then, ‘Bad luck, happens to everyone,’ with a tilt of his head towards the goals.

‘Who’s that?’ One of Priya’s glossy mauve fingernails tapped Jake’s face on the screen.

‘Jake Cunningham.’ His new teammate. Oh joy.