1989 School Magazine

Justin Monterey was a man who seemed to houe stepped right out of the gongster era. Eons more experienced and sophisticated than the rest of us, he epitomised what euery Bright Young Thing aspired to be. He had a sarcastic and biting uit that he used like a rapier, and he was a shrewd and calculating swordsman who knew when to go for the jugular and when merely to draw blood. Yet, there u)os one aspect of his nature that was totally irreconcilable with his outward personality. He was a brilliant musician. He didn't just play the piano or the uiolin; he wos the piano or the uiolin. When he made music with an instrument, the music came from out of him, not the uiolin or the piano. He'd play with a stony-faced concentration totally at odds with the emotional music he produced.

"l don't know. I wish to God I did know. I mean we talked. We talked all the time. He didn't seem any dit't'erent before...it...happened. Why the hell didn't he soy something? I could haue helped. And, yet, I should haue known. After all I was supposed to be his t'riend. Great friend I turned out to be." I could hear a bitterness in his uoice mixed with a deep sodness and a seff-directed anger. I felt helpless to deal with such emotions. I didn't euen know how to cope with mg oLun. He turned suddenly and caught me looking at him. "Yes, I cry too. Contrary to popular opinion, I do haue feelings like all mere mortals." "l know," I said softly. "You do? How?" he asked mockinglg. His t'ace was white and strained, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. "Because of gour music." "Ah, yes, my music. Nice stut't', mg music." "Beautiful stuff. Passionate stut't'." Taking a deep breath, I took one of his hands in both of mine. lt t'elt t'reezing cold. Ressing it between the warmth of mine I said, "The stut'f that makes the soul laugh and crg at the same time. The stuff that makes people t'eel euen when theg don't wont to. The stuff that creates a pert'ect picture, tells a wondrous story, describes true emotions." Absently I stroked his hand. "You think so? You reallg think so?" Taking away his hand he grasped me by the shoulders ond I looked up into his Jace, stroight into his eyes. They were wondert'ul eyes. Large and grey, they were framed by long, thick lashes. But what made them beautiful was the honesty in his gaze. The openness of those eyes os they gazed clearly and "You know, a lot of people haue said that to me, but I neuer belieued them. But I belieue you. Thank you. Thank gou uery much," he said as he gaue me a huge, genuine smile. It was the only smile that I'd euer seen him giue that wasn't tinged with sarcasm, cynicism or bitterness. He turned back to face the t'ront ot' the church and his smile faded as he contemplated the t'ading glow of the organ pipes as the sun set outside. "I write music because I can't speak words uerg well. Nobody understands what I'm saying. Most of the time I don't think I understand other people uery well either. Theg neuer seem to say what theg mean. I write music because if soys what I mean. The words come out right." "You're not wrong there," I said with a smile. "Your words come out uery right." "Yeah, well, maybe if I learnt to speak them a bit better I could haue talked James out of killing himselt'." The bitterness had come back into his uoice again. "And maybe," I said quietly, "it' James had learnt to say what he meant, then both ot' you would haue had an easier time of it." unwaueringlg into mine. "Yes, I really think so."

Kim Wettenhall, Year 12

"The absolute irony of the situation," he said suddenlg, "is that had he known you better, he may haue loued you too." Justin slid into the pew beside me. He was silent for a moment. "lt was awful today, wasn't it? All those preening bitches and posturing jerks pretending sorrow when all they care about is if they look good in tomorrow's newspaper photographs. 'The close t'riends of James Montgomery, sadly missed by them all.' Sadly missed, my ege. They couldn't care less about James except that it reflects badly on their social set." "lf they're so awful," I uentured, "why hang around with them?" "l don't know," answered Justin slowly. "I osk myself that same question ouer and ouer again and I still can't find a sotisf actory answer. I guess James couldn't t'ind a satisfactory answer either." "ls that why he did it? Because he couldn't find a satisfactorv answer?"

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