Changing gears, p.3
Changing Gears, page 3
She shook her head, waving the question away. “What do I do, Abi? I can’t trust the school to deal with this. They’ve already traumatised the poor kid.”
“Well, it all sounds complicated,” and Abi sighed. “I’ll be brutally honest with you. From everything you’ve told me, I’d say it’s going to be a shit-show. I’ve a friend who came out at Catholic school. He lost friends, his family were shite, and he got bullied. All pretty traumatising. I hope it’ll be better for this student of yours, but realistically, I’d prepare for the worst-case scenario, y’know?” She shook her head, her expression grim. “The bigger question is, what do you want to do?”
“Well, of course I want to help her as much as possible.”
“But what does that actually mean, Jen? Do you want to defend her right to express her sexuality? Do you want to stand up against institutionalised homophobia? Or do you want all this to go away? Do you want her to fit in?”
“As in straighten out?” Jen replied defensively. “Of course not.”
“You haven’t always been the most comfortable in this space, Jen.” She gave her a lopsided smile.
“You know what my family’s like….” Her tone was prickly.
“I know that, that’s…”
“Look, I’m working on doing better with this stuff, ok. I am doing better.”
“I know. I just want you to know that when you going looking, you’re going to find more than you expect,” and the camera jerked as Abi stood and walked into her kitchen. A flash of blue sky, then the white of her kitchen cupboards back-lit her as she propped her phone up on the counter. “You only know about… what’s her name?”
“Emily.”
“You only know about Emily because she’s the one who’s been outed. But there will be other girls who identify as queer or are working out their sexuality. They just have the good sense to keep it to themselves.” She clattered about, making herself a cup of coffee. As the jug clicked off, she turned back to the camera, her expression sympathetic. “You’re teaching at a conservative Christian school. And your principal’s suggested Emily isn’t a student she wants to keep. If you’re going to stand up for someone, you’ve picked a hell of a battleground. Especially considering… well…” and she trailed off.
Jen opened her mouth to say something, but reconsidered. The situation was more complicated than that—it always was with Abi. This issue with Emily demanded more of her morally than she’d ever extended in defence of a student, and if she had been speaking with anyone else, the conversation would have ended there. But Abi wasn’t that person. She’d hold up a mirror and tell her to take a good long look at herself.
“I know you want to help this girl,” Abi offered, her face suddenly large on screen. “That’s who you are, Jen. You’ve an enormous heart. But I’ve watched you struggle with anything even remotely gay since the day we met. If you dig in and stand up for Emily, they’ll ask why you’re so invested. You’re going to have to have an answer you can live with. I can’t tell you what that is. But what I will say is, you’re my friend, and I’ll be here when you need me.”
With that, Abi signed off. Jen stared at her phone, as directionless as she had been before the call.
Of course, Abi was right. Bullying happened all the time at St Millies, sometimes in her classrooms. But this was the first time she had waded in to defend a student, and that would raise questions. Her reaction to Ashleigh’s behaviour had been too disproportionate, and far too out of character. Cool, calm and collected Jen had abdicated her role in favour of what could easily be described as a defensive over-reaction. Yes, questions would be raised. But honestly, did she need to be so damned proper when defending a girl being victimised so ruthlessly? Surely the right thing to do was to stand up? Surely that was enough.
Jen understood things weren’t that simple. She was choosing a battleground. And that stand centred on homosexuality, not bullying. The prospect of being linked to that word made her skin crawl. She’d spent much of per professional life avoiding choosing sides or being cast as sitting on either side of the liberal-conservative divide. Not having to have those conversations, or defend herself to her colleagues, helped keep work and life separate. It had worked for her so far. But now, here she was, throwing herself into the middle of a moral debate on a deeply personal subject in the least rational environment—she was just asking for trouble. More trouble than she thought she could deal with. Abi was right—this was one hell of a battleground. One that was far too personal and emotional for her. And it all made Jen feel like a coward.
Emily’s resolute face came to mind. As disconsolate and traumatised as she had been during the attack, she hadn’t denied a single accusation. She may have been wounded, but it wasn’t because she felt ashamed. That was Jen’s burden.
Avignon
Sunday, 2 July, 2017
Jen woke with the sun the next morning. Her body clock was slowly aligning to the local time zone thanks to exhaustion and a good dose of melatonin. A cold shower pummelled away the last vestiges of sleep and as she dressed she ran through what she’d planned for the day. The bike tour company had an introductory meeting that evening at 7 p.m., leaving her the entire day to wander Avignon.
Jen had a short list of things to buy for the ride, a fabulous excuse to find a new, distinctly French riding gadget to take home for one of her bikes. But she would have to watch herself, she determined. This particular penchant, her friends reminded her, was why she was still trying to get on the property ladder. It wasn’t the expensive Saturday morning Sydney brunches but the unending plethora of cycling gear and gadgetry that ate her income.
After emptying her daypack of all but a water bottle, sunscreen, cap, sunnies, and phone charger, she checked herself in the mirror. Shorts, t-shirt, trainers, Apple watch, nothing too obviously touristy about her. Ready for the Avignon alleyways.
At thirty-four, Jen was trim and fit, a result of a long love affair with distance cycling and walking hilly Sydney suburbs. Long hours in the saddle had left her cheeks ruddy and her limbs a deep tan. She usually secured her shoulder-length brown hair in a ponytail, but since her arrival in France she’d set both her hair and smile free, metaphors of a promise she made to herself when she boarded the plane to Paris—let go, and live a little. As she scrutinised herself, she thought she looked happier than she had in a long while—at least the last few months.
The last Christmas holiday with her family had been particularly confronting and fraught, leaving her bruised and fragile. The tensions between her parents and siblings seemed to worsen every year. The youngest of three children, expectations had long been set for Jen in ways her older brother and sister avoided. Michael leveraged his golden child status as a free pass to avoid any responsibility, bulldozing through two marriages and many affairs without an ounce of guilt or a single word of censure from her parents. Oldest sister Caroline spent most of her efforts carbon-copying their mother, much to Sally’s delight, adding another level of piety and sanctimony to the family discourse. Jen was simultaneously her mother’s greatest promise and deepest disappointment. When she dropped out of law school to pursue an English major and a teaching certification, her mother had called her choices mediocre for a girl with “her brains”. And now all she did was ride her bike and read books. It was no wonder she was single. Her two boyfriends in her twenties failed to measure up, both too unambitious and ungodly for her mother’s liking. Jen, Sally told her repeatedly, needed someone professional to handle her because she was headstrong and idealistic. Her independence would leave her an old spinster if she wasn’t careful. Her love-life had become another kitchen table conversation casualty—so much so that rather than having to deal with her family obsessively talking about it, Jen stopped dating altogether. Michael, of course, found that absolutely hilarious and spent most Christmas holidays making jokes about boring old single spinster teachers, dusty books and too many cats. Every year Jen returned home without a boyfriend, fiancé, wedding ring or children was yet another piece of evidence she had run away to Sydney to become a lesbian.
Everything about her life grated on her mother of late, and at the end of their last Christmas together, Sally had exploded with shame. By the time Jen left Bathurst, her hate for small town living was rekindled, and she vowed to herself she would be none of the things her family mocked her for.
The painful thing about the ongoing conflict was the shard of truth among the mockery. She was boring, she even bored herself sometimes. But it wasn’t by design. The sense of adventure and delight that kept her afloat during her twenties had dimmed beneath the constant weight of work and the grind of living in a city that never eased up. She missed the easy access to open spaces and wilderness Bathurst provided. Although Bondi offered so much, the constant flow of tourists made life exhausting. Getting out of the suburbs required a monumental effort sometimes, especially during summer when she didn’t have the time nor motivation to be bothered with peak gap year tourists. To complicate her circumstances, she was stuck where she was while contracted to the College. Given how bottle-necked roads in and out of the eastern suburbs were, moving even a few kilometres away wasn’t an option. So habits accrued as she worked at her career—daily rides, evenings working, reading or watching Netflix, weekends with friends in local cafes or walking the clifftops. Daily life solidified into a rut. No wonder her brother judged her a boring spinster.
The trip to France had been her first concrete decision to change things. The result of a chance conversation, the holiday felt like a stake in the ground. After that, she joined a riding club to expand her circle of friends, and started exploring suburbs she never visited. Every weekend she pushed herself, holding fast to a promise to not just work but live. She suddenly planned all manner of first time experiences, from indoor climbing to gin making, to the point her friends dreaded and avoided her invitations.
Unsurprisingly, not everyone was pleased with “the new Jen”. She popped up on the Principal’s radar, sliding from a promising hire to a staff member of concern in a matter of months. Mrs MacKechnie’s opinion was that she’d lost her passion for the school and her students, a disappointment but not an irredeemable situation. Jen’s plan to spend five years at the school died with that conversation, but oddly, she was indifferent. It made sense that the outer aspects of her life might need to adjust if she was going to change how she felt about herself. But it meant she was ambivalent about her current life circumstances, something it became increasingly difficult to disguise.
With a wry smile, Jen shouldered her pack and headed out. In the passageway, gleeful shrieks proceeded thundering footsteps as the two kids from the day before sprinted past her for the stairs. She followed them down, watching them dash through the foyer in search of the inner courtyard, careening past the reception staff.
“Ozzie! Mornin’!” The redhead from the evening before sat at the bottom of the stairs, her laptop balanced precariously on a small, round table, coffee in hand. She waved her towards an empty chair and Jen found herself seated next to her, an uncharacteristically wide smile fastened in place. “You want a coffee? It’s not great, but it’ll kill your jet lag.” Before Jen mustered a reply, she waved her hand at a staff member, a string of flawless French spilling out of her.
“Wow,” Jen blurted.
“Ha,” she laughed. “Don’t be too impressed. It’s an artefact of an English education. I got you a black coffee. Safest bet. I’m Abi by the way,” and she stuck her hand out again, her blue eyes lively.
“Jen,” and she set her pack down before taking her hand.
“What brings you to Avignon, Jen?”
“Are you quizzing every guest this morning, Abi?” she quipped. She paused a moment, wondering where that sudden wit had come from.
“Only those avoiding small feral children.”
Laughing, Jen nodded at her laptop. “I’m here for a cycle tour. You?”
“Eh! So am I! I’m a freelance travel journo. I’m doing a piece on cycling in France, so I figured I’d better actually have a go at cycling in France.”
“First time rider or first time rider in France?”
“Oh god, there’s a difference? You sound like you know what you’re talking about. I haven’t ridden a bike since I was thirteen.”
Jen’s eyebrows shot up. “What tour are you doing?”
“An eight-day ride with a company called,” and she flipped a page in her notebook, “Vélos d’Aventure.”
“You’re kidding? So am I.”
“Ha.”
They stared at each other, twin expressions of pleasant surprise. Another coffee arrived, ending the moment, and Jen was grateful for the distraction. Her stomach was cartwheeling, a warm flush radiating. A mouthful of scalding burnt coffee was perfect camouflage.
“Well,” Abi’s lopsided smile bloomed again, her eyes crinkling. “I see the opportunity for a bargain. I know quite a bit about Avignon, and clearly,” and she leaned to peek at her legs under the table, “you know a bit about cycling.” Jen coloured. “I’ll trade you a guided tour of the town for some advice and maybe a bit of help on the trip. What do you say?”
Before she knew what she was doing, Jen agreed.
“Great. Look, I have some emails I need to send. You probably want breakfast?” Jen nodded. “Le Gallia is only a few minutes from here—the food is pretty good and there’s seating on the street. Meet you in about half an hour?”
As she sat with her croissant and coffee, Jen scrolled through her email to the last communique from Vélos d’Aventure. It had gone to everyone on that week’s tour, and she expanded the list of email addresses hoping to find Abi’s amongst them. There she was—Abigail Sinclair. Jen checked the crowds to make sure she was still alone before Googling her and tapping open her LinkedIn profile. When the app opened, Abi’s headshot caught her attention, blue eyes piercing, seeming to stare straight back at her hypnotically.
“Have you seen the Pape yet?” Jen jumped and quickly shoved her phone in her pocket as Abi walked over. “It’s usually number one for most people, but there are other great places to see and they’re less nuts,” and she cocked her head at the crowds. It was barely past 8:30 a.m. and already the streets were filling with cars and foot traffic, tourists and locals.
“I’m in your hands,” Jen replied, vacating her spot and shouldering her pack. She stuffed the last of her breakfast in her mouth and nipped inside to pay her bill.
They headed off through narrow streets, navigating their way to the gardens for what Abi described as some fairly decent views of the city. As they walked, she pointed out interesting buildings and landmarks, relating tidbits of history and the odd tale of adventure at a certain bar or restaurant. Jen followed happily along, a willing audience to the sights, the stories, and Abi. There was something about her Jen couldn’t stop watching, and as they climbed the winding paths to the top of the gardens, she tried to put her finger on it. She radiated aliveness, presence, openness. The very things Jen had committed to finding in herself only a few months before. But there was something else, a settled presence—she looked at home in herself and it took a moment for Jen to recognise she felt a little envious.
Abi also knew Avignon inside out and seemed genuinely enthusiastic about sharing the day with someone who knew nothing about the city. Jen counted herself lucky to have connected with her so early into her trip.
As they walked around the top of the Jardin des Doms, Jen drank in the views of the town and the Rhone below, all bright beneath a cloudless sky. Abi pointed out landmarks from various vantage points, assailing her with more history than Jen could ever hope to remember. Spotting a shaded seat, they took a break for water.
“I can see why you’re in travel,” Jen remarked, pulling her phone out for yet another photo of the view, the Rhone a twinkling ribbon of blue below.
“Oh?” Abi cocked her head and leaned her elbows on her knees.
“It’s clear you love it.”
“Hoh, yeah,” and her nose scrunched up as she smirked. “My friends think I’m mad. The money’s rubbish and the job’s not exactly secure. But there’s so much to see, and some of it won’t be here in a decade or two. I don’t want to be sitting in my rocking chair when the world’s burning, regretting I didn’t see everything I wanted to see.”
That was exactly the quality Jen was hunting for—a thirst for experience, life, adventure. What did the French call it? Joie de vivre? She hoped it was contagious.
“What about you? What do you do when you’re not cycling around Provence?”
“I’m an English teacher.”
“Oh god, is it that depressing?”
Jen blushed. She’d rolled her eyes unconsciously. “No! Yes. Yes and no,” and she frowned. “It didn’t use to be. When I first started, I loved teaching.”
“And now?”
“Not so much,” and she offered a hollow smile. “Too many entitled kids.”
“How long have you been teaching?”
“About ten years.”
“So that makes you what, thirty-two, thirty-three?”
“Thirty four.” Sitting back, she stretched her legs out and sighed. She felt ancient, reflecting on life in Sydney. It was grinding the youth out of her.
“Well, you’re young. You can change any time you like, Jen Cosgrove.”
Jen stared at her suddenly. “I never told you my last name.”
It was Abi’s turn to look flustered, an abashed blush colouring her pale cheeks. Glancing away, she cleared her throat. “I’d be a terrible journo if I didn’t look you up.”
Laughing at the irony, Jen shook her head. “So you already know what I do?”
“Yeah. And the school you work for, and I found your Insta.”
“Jeepers.”
“I’m not going to walk any old random around Avignon! You could be a psycho!” Her tone was serious, but her eyes laughed.
