Happy Birthday

I am Dimitri Verbakohf.
Today I am sixteen.
Today my father says I will become man.
The only thing… I am not sure I want to be.
No fanfare, no party, no presents, no mother, and no siblings.
No week goes by when I don’t say we go back to Sydney. That is where all of our friends are. We are all immigrants. We stick together. But he does not like that idea, he loves the life here, it is made for a washed up fatty, with money. The women on the Gold Coast really are loose and easy when you have money.
It is dark in here. I shiver. I feel like I am in refrigerator, he always has air-conditioner running. He likes cold, sometimes I think he wish he was still in Russia.
Outside it is hot and sunny. I see steam from the road.
Is light like this on purpose? Casting many shadows, has he set up some sort of symbol? He’s waiting for this sixteen years, salivating, anticipating, all my life he says to me, ‘you don’t know what it is to be a man. Your sixteenth birthday, you will be a man.’
He always tell me of how good it felt the day he became man, he tells me how scared he was. How much he hated his Pappy. But after it was over, he knew what it was to be man. Not scared of anything or anyone. He likes to tell me how grateful he is for what his Pappy did. How he can’t wait to do it for me. Then he would ruffle my hair he always did that.


His tongue is dancing around his lips.
I turn on the camcorder, getting the frame perfect.
I press record.
‘Ready?’ I ask.
‘No.’ He shakes his head, ‘I don’t even know what I have to do.’
‘Okay. Eyes closed, put your hands out in front of you, palms up.’
‘What? What for?’
‘Don’t argue, just do it.’
‘No, not unless you tell…’
‘Just do it! Today you’re a man, and you are not going to fuck this up!’


I have seen him this angry twice before; the night Ma-ma left, and the day he lost his career.
Both times he hit things. Both times bruises.
My heart beats full throttle, I hear blood surging through my ears. I close my eyes and take deep breath.
‘Hurry up.’
The sound of his voice forces my arms out, palms up. Self-preservation can make you do anything.
I feel something cold stick to my hand, my instinct is to take back, I try, but he grabs my wrist and pulls towards him.
It rests, stuck to my palm, whatever it is, isn’t cold anymore.
‘Close your hand. Feel it Dimitri. Feel it.’
I refuse.
I don’t want to move.
Why is he filming?
‘Close it!’ He grab my hand in his and forces it to close.
I know exactly what it is; I open my eyes, his snub-nose .38 sits in my hand. My heart tries to break from cage, my blood so loud it hurts my eardrums, I want to drop the gun, but he wont let me.
‘Pappy! Please!’ My voice quivers, like girl. All I think of is Ma-ma and how safe she feels, I picture her smiling, comforting face.


‘This gun holds six bullets, Dimitri. This means three goes each. You open cylinder, spin it, close it, pass it over. Got it?’
The colour has drained from his face. He looks just like I did.
‘You got it, or what?’
He nods.
‘Can I go first?’ I ask.


The room is cold, metallic, like morgue. Blood and adrenaline floods my face.
I pull out cylinder and see the bullet; it mocks me with its size. I spin cylinder, let it run as I count three and snap it shut. I slide across the table.


It hits my palm; I have it in my mouth and pull the trigger.
The hammer clicks…
Empty chamber.
I open cylinder, spin and snap shut, ‘you’ve just got to do it. Don’t think about it.’
The adrenalin feels like it’s pumping straight into my cock. I slide gun back to Dimitri.


The gun makes way towards me in slow time; I want to slow it more. Finally it hits the palm of my hand; I clench the piece, pick it up and stop. I stare at the .38.
‘What stops me shooting you?’
I never thought to kill him. Not seriously, just thoughts of revenge, after his outbursts. Violence breeds violence.
I open cylinder, line the bullet up with the chamber and snap it shut. I point the gun at Pappy.


The prick is going to shoot me! I see his eyes. I never look like that when I did.
‘Or should you live with it?’ Dimitri says as he shoves the gun up under his chin.
Or was that the look in his eye?

‘But you haven’t spun cylinder Dimitri.’

‘No shit Pappy, what is more manly than that?’