Author Note: This is long, and has character development and all that sort of shit, so there's no first-page sex. Not a quick fap, this one. Secondly, this story is (sort of) a sequel to 'Head Boy', but it can be read as a stand-alone.
This is a work of fiction. All characters are eighteen years of age or older.
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It used to be that arguing with people was kinda my thing. That might've had something to do with the fact that I grew up in one of the most blue-ribbon electorates in the country and somehow managed to turn out eco-conscious, left of centre, pro-refugee...so there was plenty up for dispute, and no shortage of people to be disputing stuff with.
My folks were sort of tiredly tolerant of my zealotry - probably they told themselves it was only a phase, and I'd grow out of it when I grew up some more. I didn't - exactly - but my approach to it definitely evolved, and that had its roots in a Christmas Day blow-up with my maternal grandfather when I was seventeen.
Granddad was
not
tolerant. Of me, or of anything else. It was my way or the highway with that guy. He seemed to think his conservatism was automatically deserving of respect for no other reason than that he'd reached harrumphing age. Also, his idea of 'discussion' was to simply state shit and then dig in and re-state it over and over. That particular day, I got so frustrated with it that I made some under-my-breath comment about talking to walls.
He might have been old and grumpy and calcified in his politics, but Granddad wasn't deaf. He really unloaded on me in response to that little piece of sass. I got told I was 'tragic', a 'mealy-mouthed pinko', 'more of a girl than your sisters', a 'bloody disgrace' and 'a hell of a disappointment for your poor father'.
The first four of those rolled right off me. The last one hit home, because...there was some possibility it was true. There was a
distinct
possibility it was true. No kid grows up
aiming
to be a disappointment to his dad, but I was at the point where it seemed inevitable enough that I was kinda leaning into it, some days at least - basing my identity on
not
thinking the same as him.
I walked out on Granddad, mid-tirade. It felt like the only thing I could do to hurt him back, to make him feel as bad as I did. Leave him impotently sputtering at the space where I'd been, unable to empty all that spleen he'd gone and built up...
It was still hot outdoors, but I took a long walk anyhow, by the side of the water-race until it passed into the neighbouring property, then across one of the big paddocks now shut up for haying, leaving a narrow trail of flattened grass behind me, then back home in the shade of the pines along the northern boundary, dodging the dive-bombing magpies.
By the time the gracious old house came into view again it was early evening and all the additional cars were gone from the gravel semi-circle out front. I felt my shoulders slacken in relief at not having to face Granddad. I wasn't exactly sad to know that Alannah and Todd and Kim and her latest piece of man-flesh were off the premises either.
Mum and Bec were curled on the couch together, eating chocolates and cooing at some stupid seasonal movie. I couldn't see any sign of Dad. Probably feeding the dogs. Whatever, I thought. Merry Fucking Christmas, everyone. Not.
I made for my room and shut myself in, lying on my back with the curtains open, staring dully at the leaves of the big silver birch outside my window as they shivered in the faint breeze.
My door creaked open and Dad poked his head around it. "Caleb?"
I glared at him, but it had no noticeable effect. He pushed the door the rest of the way open and plopped himself on the mattress beside my feet, meshing his hands together, cracking his knuckles.
I wondered if I was about to get a lecture on respecting my elders, but he just fucking sat there, and
sat
there. Fingers writhing, body still. It'd about got to the point where I was properly unnerved, when he finally spoke:
"You're not a disgrace," he breathed. "Not at all, Caleb."
Oh, my fuck...he heard...
"Not a disappointment either," he continued. "Not on any level. I'm actually really proud that your values are important to you, that you've
developed
your beliefs instead of just absorbing them from the atmosphere surrounding, and that you're prepared to go into bat for them."
"Oookay...?" I said. It felt like there might be a 'but' coming up...
"And, Caleb? I think you should go on arguing with anybody who'll let you, for as long as you want. The more you do it, the more agile you'll get, and as you go over your ideas with others - some of them you'll strengthen and some you'll modify and some of them you might end up ditching as time goes on. But-"
Ah. There it was.
"But - no, hear me out, Caleb - as you do your arguing, maybe try and keep in mind that your opponents...they might be ignorant or prejudiced or arseholes - but at least
some of them
will be regular people who've considered the issues and who've simply reached a different conclusion to you. And all I want to suggest is that it's better to go into a discussion assuming you're dealing with a decent person and wait to be proved wrong, than to go in assuming you're dealing with an idiot engaging in bad faith. Okay?"
I rolled my eyes. "Right. So Granddad's a nice guy who's thought about the issues, is he? Is that what you're trying to say?"
Dad snorted. "No. The opposite. I'm saying that Granddad is your object lesson, or your teachable moment or whatever. That's where you don't want to go. That's why you engage with others as people first and opponents second. So you don't wind up like that."
Whoa...I pushed myself up to a sitting position, blinking, struggling to compute that he seemed to be taking my side.
"I...didn't really expect you to, um..."
"I don't see why not," Dad shrugged, standing and making for the door. "This is what I'm saying, basically. I can still be in your corner without agreeing with you on every single issue. You'll never find common ground with somebody if you're not looking for it, but you'll be surprised where you
do
find it, if you take the approach that the other guy's a regular person, just like you..."
I think I said 'yeah', in response, or maybe 'uh-huh?'. Not anything eloquent, that's for sure. My head was spinning too much. It was enough,
then,
to know that Dad had my back.
The rest of it...eh, it sunk in, and worked its way out over time. It - and several years of campus politics - made me a great advocate, a valuable spokesperson, a capable organiser and campaigner, and a level-headed negotiator...
It did not, unfortunately, make me a good income. Or even a reliable one. It's an awesome
feeling,
working alongside conservation groups to force a proposed highway to be re-routed around a wetland, or partnering with grassroots orgs who're trying to protect an īnanga spawning ground, and it's a
really
awesome feeling seeing a court slap down a multi-national corporation that's been operating a bottling plant outside their allotted take and fucking up the local iwi's groundwater - but at the end of the day...it's gig work. If you're successful, the campaign winds down and you've put yourself out of a job. Again.
And that's where I was. Again. But I didn't see what else I was gonna do. This was my skill-set. I couldn't foresee a future as a teacher or a tour-guide or a real estate agent - problem was, I couldn't entirely foresee a future in activism either...
I'd always managed to make ends meet in between, to find some stop-gap retail work and a mate with a pull-out couch until the next gig came up. Not this time. Maybe, maybe, it was that my CV showed a pattern by now. I was a short-termer. Or...maybe twenty-seven was a bit old for night-fill work - plenty of high school boys coming through, cheaper and more compliant.
Twenty-seven. Also a bit old to be couch-surfing. Too many of the uni mates had fiancées and weird little dogs by now, and the whole...can I just crash for an unspecified number of weeks? thing...I felt the hesitation from them when I asked. I hated it. I didn't
want
to be a drag on anybody. The only thing that'd feel more like failure would be moving back home - and that eventuality wasn't too many weeks away if I couldn't sort out some paying work...
I sighed and opened the Seek website one more time, broadened my search, chewed my nails down further while finagling yet another cover letter to better fit yet another application. Again, I weighed up paying one of those recruiter-types to gussy up my CV, fill it with the right keywords, pepper-gun it across the internet...but it'd cost up-front money, and I already had almost none of that...
Fuck it, I thought. Not today. Enough of all of this for today. Go for a walk or something, Caleb. I tabbed to my gmail before stepping away.
Ooh, an email.
And
a Google Meet invitation...
I opened the email first. Short and to the point. Mr Caleb Adkins: Please review the attached document in preparation for your Thursday interview via Google with Mr Brian Ferris, Chief Operations Officer, South Taranaki District Council. Best regards, Claire Crouch, Director of HR...
Holy shit! I got an interview, I got an interview...my hands were shaking as I opened the attachment, but then... 'Water Quality Control Officers (2) - STDC' ...What the fuck, Caleb? What were you
thinking,
applying for a technical job? You have a degree in public policy, for crissakes...
I read the document - it was a standard JD - through, sent it to Cam's printer, read it again. What were
they
thinking, offering me an interview? Did they get no other applicants? When did I even apply for this role?
By the time I clicked the little link to join my 'interview' on Thursday, I'd combed back through my gmail for over a month and...I hadn't. Applied, that is. This whole thing had literally dropped from the sky into my inbox, and as such it was likely a mistake. Some other poor Caleb Adkins with an email address one dot or dash different to mine was currently day-drinking over having missed out on yet another opportunity...
'Mr Brian Ferris' was tricked out like something out of a classic English detective series. Honestly. Little moustache, gold-rimmed spectacles, collar and tie, slicked down iron-grey hair...I felt a twinge of regret. He looked kinda headmasterly, yet benevolent. Like somebody who'd look out for you. Like somebody you'd want for a boss.
Might as well get it over with. I dived right in. "I'm sorry, but I think you might have the wrong Caleb Adkins. I'm pretty sure I didn't apply for this position."
He smiled. "Spot on. You didn't. You know Stuart Forsyth, Far North District Council? - he's my brother-in-law. He recommended you to me."
My jaw dropped. "He
recommended
me? I wouldn't expect anybody from up
there
