Ruby Tuesday

by Hayley Lawrence

  Erik opens his side door and slides expertly in beside me. Hands me another headset.

  ‘You’re gonna want this,’ he says.

  He reaches across me in the tight space, his arm brushing my chest as he plugs the headset into one of the slots on the dash.

  ‘Put that on. It’ll get noisy.’ He adjusts a knob on the dashboard.

  ‘Can you hear me?’ He looks across and smiles wickedly, like we’re kids again. A new adventure.

  ‘I got you,’ I say.

  He runs through a list of things, flicking switches on and off. Checks my steering wheel.

  ‘If you feel the rudder pedals moving at your feet, don’t give any resistance, okay?’ He presses his own rudder pedals and mine knock against my feet in response.

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘How’s your seatbelt?’

  I give him the thumbs up. All I have holding me in is a seatbelt. Same level of sophistication as the Colorado and it’s twenty years old. I’m about to tell him this, when his fingers are suddenly at my stomach, giving my belt a good yank to tighten it.

  ‘Now, if we need to make an emergency landing, you brace for impact like this.’ He crosses his arms across his chest and drops his head. ‘When we land, open your door and exit to the rear.’

  He’s serious and it hits me that this has happened before. Not to him. But to someone just like him. Like us. On an ordinary flight on an ordinary night. How many people get to walk from an emergency landing?

  ‘Show me opening your door. Practise,’ he says.

  I pull the door open by its lever. Close it again. He reaches across me. I inhale at his touch. He opens the door again, slams it shut.

  ‘Sticky door. Now, if for some reason your door doesn’t open, we go out mine. Got it?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘It’s not gonna happen,’ he says. ‘But if it does, there’s a survival pack behind your seat. Best be prepared.’

  We exchange a glance. He looks about as calm as I am nervous. Is this really a good idea?

  ‘You ready?’ he says.

  ‘Let’s do it.’

  Mum would die if she knew where I was.

  Erik turns the key and the propeller kicks over a couple of times. The Bluebird shudders violently beneath us and the blades blur into a circle of invisible energy before the windscreen. Even with my headset on, the noise rumbles through my stomach.

  Erik revs the plane harder and it lurches forward as we roll out of the hangar. We motor towards the tarmac, which is black against the brilliant blue LEDs lining the edges. The Bluebird feels eager to fly, unafraid, like a bee hovering on a leaf, waiting to lift off.

  I turn my head to the dizzying sky. Stars. Billions of them. Holding other solar systems and galaxies and black holes in their secret embrace. It’s hard to believe we’ll soon be closer to them.

  We turn onto the runway, and as we arc around to face the white parallel lights, my heart lifts into my throat. If I do survive and Mum finds out, she’ll murder me herself.

  Erik makes a call on the radio.

  ‘Tango Romeo Yankee rolling, runway two-one.’

  A moment later, he’s revving the Bluebird at full throttle, and we’re racing between the white lights on the edge of the runway, which are now one long glow stick. I’m pinned back hard against my seat. Suddenly, the nose lifts, tilting us backwards, and the horizon is angled out my window. The lights of the township below grow small and fairy-like. Nothing but a neat little package of lives and problems that we are powering, far, far away from.

  I stretch up to see more. And when I turn to Erik, he’s watching me. Looking pretty damn pleased with himself.

  There’s a shudder, a clunk beneath us.

  ‘What was that?’

  He laughs. ‘Undercarriage retracting – wheels going up. All normal.’

  My stomach leaps into my throat as we hit an air pocket, but I’m no longer scared. Not of dying, not of leaving Mum, not of anything. Up here with Erik, where nothing has ever hurt me, I’m an explorer – fearless and free. As free as the Bluebird.

  I’m the girl I used to be. The one Erik loved. The one I loved being.

  I let go of the bunch of shirt I’ve had clenched in my fist, and lean my face against the side of the window as the plane levels out.

  The odd car, small as a firefly, tracks along what must be roads down below. Then clumps of pinprick white lights give way to blank darkness. The township against the forest, I guess, though it’s hard to know which town and which forest, and harder to care. From a distance, everything looks pleasant, non-threatening.

  My stomach lifts as we hit another air pocket, and I shriek.

  ‘Butterflies?’ Erik says over the intercom.

  I nod.

  ‘Still okay?’ he says, looking at me.

  I nod and point at the windscreen. Where his attention should be.

  He laughs. ‘Want to go higher?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, grinning. ‘I want to be tangled in stars.’

  ‘I’m no magician –’

  A flare of green lights up the dark, falling in a slow arc towards Earth.

  ‘Woah!’

  ‘Meteor,’ he says. ‘Hey, maybe I am a magician.’

  ‘That was amazing. The stars are so bright up here.’

  I peer out my window at the suns burning thousands of lifetimes apart. At the other worlds, possibilities far beyond my own small existence.

  ‘That’s because there’s no light pollution. Kinda beautiful, hey?’

  ‘Dizzying.’ I don’t want this to end. I want to fly higher and higher and never return to land.

  ‘There has to be other life out there,’ I say. ‘There are solar systems and galaxies we don’t even know about. We can’t be the only ones.’

  When I turn to look at him, Erik’s watching me with this unreadable expression. He looks away when our eyes meet.

  ‘What?’ I say.

  He shakes his head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s just . . .’ he smiles that shy smile again. ‘You say you’ve changed, Ruby. But you still love the same things. You sound the same to me.’

  I suddenly remember the nights I spent with him and Alex, snuggled beneath a blanket, lying on the timber planks of the treehouse Grandad built us. I can feel the warmth of Erik’s shoulder pressed against mine. Alex begging us to go inside to our warm beds. Me wanting to lie there all night, watching for shooting stars.

  ‘Wanna see something special?’

  ‘What?’ I would go anywhere with Erik tonight. He makes me feel whole and safe, and something like happiness wreaths its way around my heart.

  ‘Look down,’ he says. ‘See the Moon shining on the river?’

  He tips the wings so that they go down on my side, and I get a view of a bright white ball shining in the darkness.

  ‘It reflects off the water,’ he says. ‘It’s the only way to follow the river by night. You want a turn?’

  ‘A turn of what?’

  ‘Flying her.’

  I laugh, until I realise he’s serious. ‘Fly her?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘What if I crash?’

  He grins. ‘I won’t let you. You just need to keep her wings level, and I’ll tell you when to point the nose up to keep your altitude.’

  I look across at him, unsure.

  ‘Completely up to you,’ he says. ‘You want to try it?’

  I look back out at the night, dark and sparkly.

  I nod.

  ‘Okay, so hold onto the control column.’

  I put two hands on the steering wheel. A bit like a car’s except more of a sharp U shape. Erik adjusts my fingers a bit higher, so that I’m gripping either side of the U.

  ‘That’s it,’ he says, and when he pulls his hands away, mine are left with the same warm tingle as the other night.

  ‘This is the artificial horizon.’ He points to a dial with a red needle that’s tilting along a straight line. ‘All you h
ave to do is keep it as level with that line as you can . . . yeah, like that.’

  He folds his arms and sits back in his seat like I’m completely in charge. It unnerves me.

  ‘Now, ease back the control column. Not too steep, or we’ll stall. Just a little.’

  ‘Like this?’ I pull it back gently and watch the horizon needle rise in response.

  ‘That’s perfect. We’ll just gain a bit of altitude.’

  I’m flying. I’m actually doing it. And it doesn’t feel terrifying, not even a bit. It feels kind of . . . incredible.

  ‘Okay, now level with the horizon again. We’re at four thousand feet. Ruby, you’re doing great.’

  I’m no longer gripping the control column for dear life. I’m having fun – watching the altimeter change, keeping the horizon straight, laughing as Erik turns the plane in a big arc.

  ‘Just steering us back home,’ he says.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Let’s stay up a bit longer.’

  He laughs. ‘Like I said. You keep saying you’ve changed . . .’

  ‘I could stay out here forever,’ I say wistfully.

  ‘Sadly, fuel doesn’t last forever, so we’re gonna have to head back. But I can take you up again before I go.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ I say. And I smile to myself, because this feels like a choice I want to make.

  We approach the runway – two tiny columns of white lights in the dark flatlands. The cockpit window looks like a console game, except I know that Erik has to land us between those white lines. There’s no second chance.

  The plane tilts to one side, skewing the horizon. As we round the final turn, the lights on the runway grow closer, bigger, brighter. Erik levels the plane. We are leaving our sanctuary in the sky, and my anxiety returns as the ground nears.

  I look across at Erik. One hand on a lever to his right, the other hand on the steering column. He’s checking instruments and gauges, all his focus on the looming runway and landing us safely. I watch the altimeter dropping, and flaps extend along both wings. Before long, the white lights are whizzing past our windows. A jolt, and the tyres squeal against the tarmac, flaps retracting on the wings. In no time we’re bumbling along the asphalt as the Bluebird slows to a crawl.

  After we tuck her safely back inside the hangar, Erik drives me home. The forest whips past my window. I could swear we’re still flying. I don’t feel the road bumping beneath our tyres or hear the forest noises or the howl of a single dog. He dips the lights and pulls to a stop under a large sycamore tree around the bend from my house.

  ‘So did it live up to the hype?’ He’s looking at his hands, still on the wheel.

  For a moment, I don’t know what to say. Finally I settle on, ‘No.’

  He checks to see if I’m kidding.

  ‘It exceeded the hype.’

  Erik smirks.

  I open the door of the ute and get out. Lean in to say goodnight, but he’s already opening his door and getting out.

  Erik stuffs his hands in his pockets. ‘I’ll walk you up.’

  ‘Did you and Alex keep going to the falls?’ he says.

  He’s talking about where we used to trek as kids. The long drop of Rawson Falls with the plunge pool at its base.

  ‘For a while, but I haven’t been for years. Not since the drought kicked in. Last time I was there, it wasn’t raging anymore. Just trickling. I have no idea what it would look like now. We should go there.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  We’re at the house too fast, and I find myself wishing Erik had parked a bit further away to give us more time to talk. But there it is, my little house beneath the towering spires of the trees. They are midnight black, barely silhouetted against the sky. The porch and kitchen lights are still on as I left them. Mum’s room still dark.

  Erik stops walking.

  ‘So I was meaning to say thank you.’

  ‘Thank you?’

  ‘For trusting me.’

  He reaches for my free hand. His hand is dry and warm and its presence in mine makes it hard to focus on anything.

  ‘Remember Aunt Susan used to say you were always one for leaping off ledges first and finding a place to land second?’

  I laugh. ‘Huh. I’d forgotten about that.’

  I thought I remembered everything, but there’s so much I’ve buried.

  Erik tugs me closer, so we’re facing each other.

  ‘I’ve forgotten nothing.’

  I step in and his arms open, wrapping me up. I hold him tight, my head against his chest where I can hear his heart thudding. It’s a beautiful, human sound. I breathe his deodorant through his shirt, a faint comforting smell.

  ‘God, I missed you.’ The words slip out. They were inside me, but I didn’t ever mean them to come out.

  ‘I missed you too.’

  We stand there a while, holding each other, his lips against my hair. Then he pulls away and kisses me gently on the forehead. We lock eyes and I remember the last time we stood together like this. When it was goodbye.

  There’s a shot of heat through my stomach.

  I reach for him and Erik’s mouth touches mine. Warm and soft and shockingly beautiful. His hands slide down to my waist as he explores my mouth with his own. Part of him inside part of me.

  Erik pulls me closer, and I press against him until we’re body to body.

  A bolt of fear ripples through me.

  The prickly tree roots against my spine, beer breath in my ear, Joey’s hips crushing mine, his body an invasion. Joey treating me like I was something to be won and discarded. Maybe Erik wants the same thing.

  I pull back and Erik stops kissing me. His hands are still in my hair. He leans against me as we breathe heavily in the dark, his heart jumping against mine.

  I press my lips together. The lips he was just kissing. They’re still tingling. I can still feel his tongue inside my mouth.

  ‘Sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I can’t.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t mean to . . .’

  I’m trembling. He must feel it. Will the humiliation never end?

  Erik pulls away to look at me, and I’m glad for the darkness that hides my face.

  ‘Sorry, that was . . . an accident,’ I say.

  We break away. ‘You don’t accidentally bump into someone’s mouth,’ Erik says ruefully. ‘But sorry if I overstepped.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘No, I didn’t plan that – I mean, that’s not why I asked you up tonight . . .’

  ‘Erik, it’s okay. It’s just me. . . It’s complicated.’

  He laughs quietly, taking hold of my hand. ‘Are you pulling the old “it’s not you, it’s me”? I believe you kissed me.’

  ‘Did not.’

  ‘Did too.’

  ‘What are we, ten?’

  We walk to the foot of the stairs, under the porch light.

  I start up the steps, then stop. ‘Hey, if you ever need another co-pilot, you know where to find one.’

  He grins, holding up one hand in a wave as he walks backwards towards the ute.

  I sneak into the house in a daze, easing the door closed behind me. The fridge hums as I creep past, down the hallway and into bed.

  I don’t bother changing into my pyjamas. I crawl into bed, hugging myself tight. Remembering the smell of his shirt, the safe feeling in his arms, the tenderness of his mouth against mine. Erik. The boy I once trusted my life with. The boy I trusted my life with again.

  Everything is quiet in the forest. For the first time in years, I don’t dream of falling when I close my eyes. No, I dream of flying.

  The half-light of early morning is soft against my curtains as I pull on my uniform. A day at school feels incredibly mundane after last night’s fairytale.

  Fairytale?

  ‘Don’t talk to me about fairytales, Robbie Vetter,’ Mum said, and she’s probably right. I pull myself together. Shake away any thoughts of kissing Erik. We all know fairytales are illusions, Ruby. Even Cindere
lla had to go back to her rags after the ball.

  I pack my bag and make my way down the hall, pausing at Nan’s bedroom. Usually, it’s a room I avoid. Its emptiness too stark a reminder of her absence. But this morning, I stand at the threshold, peering inside. Courage is a strange thing – a small light in the darkness.

  Her smell hits me as soon as I enter. The smell of old books. My eyes prick as I breathe her in, allowing the memory of her to envelop me. I miss her, but today it’s a poignant kind of missing. I got to have her as my nan. Nothing can take that experience away, not even death. I move towards her bed, stroke the slippery satin bedspread, lift the edge of her pillow. Her apricot nightdress is still there, folded, waiting. It will always be waiting. I pull it out, bury my face in its soft folds.

  Then I lie back on her bed, clutching her nightdress to my chest. My eyes blur as I hold her. And her scent tells me everything’s going to be okay. Mum’s going to be okay. I’m going to be okay. Despite the awful thing that happened at the party, despite how Mum crumbled yesterday. Despite stupid Kyle and his video, despite Lukas. It defies logic and reason, and I can’t see how anything can be whole again, but the feeling is there. The possibility.

  It will all mend, Ruby. Just like Alex’s vase, your cracks will be filled with gold, and you will be stronger, more beautiful for them. Nan would tell me she who never makes a mistake never learns. Tears leak from the edges of my eyes and roll into my ears.

  Lying back, closing my eyes, my tears falling on her bedspread, I let her spirit fill me. Her kindness. The sun will still rise to warm you, Nan would say, the stars will shine their light on you and good things will come. Go on, as you deserve to. You’re worth more than your mistakes and your soul is still growing; still good. Be brave, as your mother was. As I was.

  I will go on. If last night flying the Bluebird showed me anything, it’s that there are new things still to see, new worlds, new possibilities. And I can choose to say yes to them.

  I think of Robbie’s card. I don’t want to wound Mum by calling him, but she’s right: he’s a music producer. He knows the right people. I want to make it on my own talents, but artists need the support of other artists. Art can exist in a vacuum, but I want to connect. I want to spill my stories, my voice, instead of hiding in my bedroom in the forest.