Chapter 40
November 23, 2023
Robert:
I’ve just come from the oncologist’s office. Chemo starting tomorrow. Thanks for all your help kid.
Outside Bowling Green station, Corey gives me a hug and then marches down the street. I follow, asking her where we’re going and what we’re doing.
‘You’ll see in a minute.’
She leads me into the National Museum of the American Indian and I think for a moment that Sienna’s called her and she’s simply resuming my missions of New York. I want to tell her I’ve already been here, but her pace doesn’t slow as she walks me down a long hallway and into an auditorium. She hands tickets over to an usher, who leads us through the almost full room.
‘I saw this Australian Aboriginal writer guy was programmed here and I thought you might like to hear someone from home speak,’ Corey whispers as we settle into our seats.
When I look up at the stage, the sight of a young Blakfulla wearing a red, black, and yellow flag hoodie lifts my spirit. We’ve clearly arrived a bit late and have missed the moderator’s introduction, so I don’t hear his name or his mobs, the title of his book or what this event is about. But the sound of his accent and the way he talks about books and writing settles somewhere over the knots in my stomach and I feel as though I’m unclenching.
‘One of the reasons we invited you here today was because much of this book was written as part of your residency here at the museum. Can you talk about how being away from your Ancestral Country affected your work?’ The moderator, a slim dark-haired woman with delicate features and a soft voice, asks.
‘A lot,’ the writer says, biting his lip. ‘Look, when I was a young fulla, I dreamed of living here in America—I think a lot of kids in Australia do. Mostly because we’re brought up on a steady diet of Sesame Street and, oh, I don’t know how popular it was here, but one of my sisters was obsessed with Home Improvement , so I was forced to watch it a lot.’
‘A really well-balanced view of the country you got there,’ the host laughs with the crowd.
‘Exactly,’ the writer chuckles. ‘But anyway, being here was very different to how I expected. I thought I’d get caught up in life and perhaps not want to go home, but what I ended up doing was thinking about the differences between home and here, and talking with my friends about our differences. And in the case of the mob here at the museum, talking about what is so heartbreakingly similar between colonised peoples.’
Next to me Corey shifts in her seat, and I can tell she’s thinking about that first day in the apartment and our house that intergenerational trauma built.
‘So, I came here on the year-long fellowship to write a memoir about a fulla who moves to America to start a new life after suffering a great trauma. And what I ended up doing was writing a story about a fulla who, in moving away from home, gained a new appreciation for the country he belongs to.’
‘No plans to move back to New York then?’ the host asks and the writer laughs, shaking his head.
The event moves on to questions from the audience and then the host winds everything up. ‘Once again everyone, niá:wen for being here today to hear the wonderful Robbie Parker talk about his memoir, Over Under . Copies are available at the museum store and Robbie will be signing books for a while too.’
After the applause ends, Corey grabs my hand. ‘Want the book?’
‘Obviously,’ I say, and we head out to the store.
In true book-nerd fashion, while we’re standing in line waiting to meet Robbie, I read through his author bio and find that we’re from the same mob. There’s a flutter inside my chest as I read the first few pages. Corey nudges me, and I realise we’re at the front of the line and Robbie is waiting.
‘Hi,’ he says, as his publicist takes our books and opens them to the right page. ‘Thanks for coming along. Who can I make these out to?’
‘G’day,’ I say, and then clamp a hand over my face. I cannot remember when I’ve ever said ‘g’day’, but hearing his accent has shaken some hidden ocker loose. ‘I’m Brynn. I’m Bigambul too.’
His expression breaks into a broad grin then and he pushes his chair back and comes around to the front of the table, pulling me into a tight hug. I’m hesitant at first, but then relax into it as I hear him say, ‘Weeimba gilee, sis.’
Corey laughs as the two of us list our family trees to find that we’re third or fourth cousins linked by a common great-grandfather somewhere along our line.
‘What are the chances I’d bring you to something here and you’d meet a cousin? We Natives are all the same, ay?’ she says.
‘Sis, I’d love to yarn more, but there’s about a hundred people in the line behind you,’ Robbie says. ‘Can I get your number or something? We’re going out for a drink later—you and your friend should come.’
We swap numbers and Corey and I go off to spend time looking around the gallery. We’re just thinking about finding a place to have a drink while we wait when I get a text from Robbie with the address of a bar a couple of blocks away.
We arrive at a dimly lit bar and though it looks like a bit of a dive, it’s one of those trendy places masquerading as something else that appeals to the hipsters down here at the edge of Manhattan. Robbie and a group of people are sitting at a table near the back and I see he’s saved us seats right by him as though we’re the guests of honour.
He introduces us to Robin, the Iroquois woman who hosted the event; his boyfriend, Jack, who’s a small but rugged-looking whitefulla; Darnell, his American editor; and Charlie, his Australian publisher.
‘Oh hey! I’ve seen your TikToks!’ Charlie says. ‘Obviously if there’s a Blakfulla doing public social media in NYC, I’m going to be all over it.’ She’s a small Blak woman with a neat brown bob and kind dark eyes. There’s something about her that I like immediately, or maybe it’s just the comfort of being around mob.
‘Did you enjoy the event?’ she asks.
‘It was great,’ I reply. ‘Though I have to admit, Robbie, I haven’t read the book yet. But from all you were saying I can’t wait to get stuck into it when I get home tonight.’
‘Hey, you bought it, that’s the main thing,’ Robbie jokes. ‘So, you said Corey is your roommate? You’re living here?’
I lean closer so he can hear me over the din of the bar. ‘Yeah. Since July.’
‘And what brought you to the city?’ he asks, taking a sip of his drink.
My cheeks heat. I’m sitting at a table with a writer, his American editor and his Australian publisher. I hope they don’t think I brokered this interaction for a job, but I pull back my shoulders and push back the worry.
‘I came to work as an editor,’ I say and then take a sip of my drink to try to decide what to say next. But I tip it up too fast and cider slops out the sides of the glass, running down my chin. Just as I think things can’t get worse, the tiny amount of liquid that’s made it into my mouth gets stuck in my throat and I start choking.
Corey turns around and thumps me on the back, which makes me cough even harder, and soon it’s not just the people at our table staring, but everyone in the bar. Great.
‘Well, that was embarrassing,’ I rasp as the bartender sets a glass of water in front of me.
‘What sort of editing work?’ Charlie the Australian editor asks, ignoring my spluttering.
‘Honestly, I’d be happy to clean the toilets at a vanity publishing house at this point,’ I reply. ‘I was hoping for an internship at The Paris Review but unfortunately I wasn’t successful, so ...’
Darnell nods, a sympathetic look on his face. ‘It’s tough competition for that internship. And it’s tough in general here in publishing at the moment,’ he says. ‘Not a lot of in-house jobs going because of the pandemic—lots of workers live out of state and do remote work, which has made the rare jobs even rarer to come by. But if you want to send me your CV, I’ll keep an ear out for you. Can’t promise we’ve got any toilet cleaning jobs at our office, but assistant jobs come up every so often.’
‘Wow. That would be amazing,’ I say as he passes me his card. ‘The worst part is that I’ve really only got enough savings to get through Christmas here without work and then I’ll have to head home.’
‘Where’s home?’ Charlie asks.
‘Meanjin—Brisbane. How about you?’
‘Sydney,’ she says. ‘But by way of Brisbane.’
‘Seriously?’ I shake my head. ‘What are the chances?’
‘When I was living here,’ Robbie says, ‘I bumped into people from home all the time. The city is a big magic, I reckon.’
‘Ancestors,’ Corey says.
‘Could be,’ he replies, smiling.
‘No, it definitely is,’ she says. ‘Brynn’s been waiting for her New York moment from the Ancestors the entire time she’s been here, and I think this might be it. How else can you explain meeting a cousin from the same place on the other side of the world?’
I nudge her under the table and she winks.
‘You never know your luck in the big city,’ Darnell replies, smiling. ‘Seriously, email me your CV. I’ll be back in the office between Christmas and New Year and I’ll see what I can do.’
Instead of nudging Corey this time, I slide my hand onto her knee and give it a squeeze.