Max by Michael Hyde Page B

kiss brought back memories of damp, black earth and the tangy smell of autumn leaves.
    Mai pulled back and looked at him. ‘Max – will you promise me something?’
    â€˜Depends,’ he replied, looking at the starched white bedcover tucked in like a straitjacket.
    â€˜That you’ll stop doing this stuff? I don’t understand it.
    Well, I kind of do but not really. All I know is that it’s killing you. It’s killing me too, and I bet it’s killing your dad.’
    She looked hard at him and let go of his hand. Mai stroked his face, saying, ‘So – what set this off?’
    â€˜What do you mean? The Falls?’ Max asked innocently.
    â€˜What else?’
    He sighed, expelling air that seemed to come from far away. ‘Mrs Petrocelli came to see me. When she was leaving she grabbed hold of me, almost as if I was Lou. It brought back everything again – the funeral, how they found him, the words I’ve been painting – all this shit I can’t seem to get rid of.’ Tears welled in his eyes.
    He looked at Mai. ‘I don’t know – it feels like I’ll never get rid of it,’ and he burst into tears. ‘I wish I hadn’t been saved. I wish I was still floating face down. That’s what I wanted to happen. Nothing will ever change,’ he blubbered.
    Mai wrapped her arms around him. If she could’ve drawn him into her she would have.
    Max went on. ‘His mum gave me a piece of writing Lou did a couple of years ago. It was about graffiti – what he felt like when he was doing it. I didn’t even know he’d kept it. Must’ve been about the only piece of work from school that didn’t end up in the rubbish bin, except maybe some of his artwork. She just handed it over. I guess it must have set something off in me – something snapped. Mad, I guess!’
    â€˜Where is it now?’
    An icy paw clutched at Max’s heart. ‘I don’t know. It was in my pocket.’ He pulled himself up in bed and stared around the room. ‘My clothes have gone. Where are they? Mai, go ask the nurse! Quickly!’
    â€˜Will you calm down, Max! Have you looked in here?’ She opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet. ‘That’s where they usually put your belongings. Is this it?’ Mai asked.
    She held up the plastic bag with Lou’s writing in it.
    â€˜Oh God! Thank God for that,’ Max put his arm around her waist. ‘Thanks, Mai – thanks heaps,’ he said, blowing his nose.
    â€˜Can I read it?’
    A strange sensation travelled through his mind. ‘I suppose so.’
    â€˜That’s OK. I don’t have to.’
    There was hurt in her eyes.
    â€˜It’s not that I don’t want you to, Mai.’
    â€˜No, really. It’s fine. It’s fine.’ There was silence between them. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go. The library’s open late but not this late,’ she smiled. ‘See you tomorrow.’ Mai kissed him softly and vanished from his bedside like a duck disappearing into a pond.
    Max lay on his side, gazing at the dull yellow of his cabinet, wondering why he couldn’t bring himself to allow her to read the bloody thing. And wondering if he really had wanted to kill himself.
    A nurse arrived and asked him if he’d passed water or had a motion and then said, as an afterthought, ‘Oh, that old gentleman who rescued you came by and asked us to give you this note.’
    She handed it to Max. ‘Are you comfortable?’
    â€˜Yes – thanks,’ He couldn’t take his eyes off the note. ‘Excuse me – what old gentleman? Who saved me?’
    â€˜Didn’t give a name. Seemed to know you. Difficult to tell how old he really was. Down on his luck, I’d say. No teeth and a dirty tracksuit. D’you know him?’
    Max nodded and unfolded the paper. It was written on one page in one continuous paragraph.