Brontide

by Sue McPherson

  Jack: So, you’re a coconut?

  Sue: Hello.

  Jack: You are!

  Sue: At least I’ve got some colour.

  Jack: You know what I mean?

  Brown on the outside and white on the inside. You might look black but you think like a whitefella.

  Sue: How does a whitefella think?

  Jack: You know … they don’t care about blacks.

  Sue: So, tell me …

  What colour are you?

  Jack: I told ya, I’m white.

  Sue: Well, do you care about blacks?

  Jack: That’s stupid, course I do.

  Sue: Well, what makes you think I don’t?

  Just because I’m wearing an ‘All Lives Matter’ T-shirt?

  Jack: I’m saying … if you’re one of the mob, you should be supporting ‘Black Lives Matter’.

  Sue: Mate, I may look black but I’ve also got Irish and Scottish blood running through these veins.

  And God only knows what else is mixed in there.

  I could be part Greek, Dutch, even German. The colour of your skin means little.

  Jack: You don’t care if someone calls you a coconut?

  Sue: When I was younger, absolutely.

  Not now … too old.

  Seen too much and been hurt too much because of it.

  I know me now. Saying someone is a coconut is hypocritical.

  Jack: I just thought you’d care about your own people more.

  Sue: I love people from all races.

  Jack: But how about our Elders? They’d want you to support and respect black lives.

  Sue: Elders or elderly?

  Jack: There’s no difference.

  Sue: In my world there is.

  The elderly live to an old age.

  Elders are wise, profound, spiritual, strong, humble and have bucketloads of love for everyone.

  I respect those who respect me.

  Jack: So, you think you’re an elder?

  Sue: Me? No way, people give me the shits.

  Jack: What people?

  Sue: Teenage boys whose names start with J.

  Jack: Well, who’s the comedian?

  Some elderly people are disrespectful?

  Sue: Yep.

  Jack: I know.

  Gut Face … our old next-door neighbour, she always had something not nice to say about my family. She was seventy-something.

  Her head was big and round. It was real unnatural, like it was big enough for two people.

  True.

  If she was nicer I’m sure she would’ve looked heaps better but she was sour about Mum and Dad and Gran adopting me, ya see. She was always in a big old shitty mood, always.

  Gut Face’s kids … hadn’t spoken to her in years. And she had seven of them. They didn’t go near her even though they all lived in the same town. But I didn’t blame ’em, cause I wouldn’t visit her either.

  I never called her Gut Face to her front, that wouldn’t be right.

  We were always respectful, even Mum, but I don’t know why.

  Funny thing was she cried on Mum’s and Gran’s shoulders when we left.

  No one dogs on my mob.

  Sue: Tell me about your family?

  Jack: Well … everything was perfect … until Dad’s heart broke.

  Dad was the type of guy who’d up ya for not looking after ya dog one minute and next he’d buy eighty dollars’ worth of dog tucker and leave it in the back of ya ute.

  His heart attack was huge, apparently.

  Gran said that Dad was yarnin’ up to Jesus long before his body hit the kitchen floor. And two hours later his blue heeler, George, keeled over dead on the front step as well.

  Dad left and George left and not long after hope pissed off and left us too.

  I can use pissed off, can’t I?

  Sue: Keep going.

  Jack: We were shattered, busted up, and we was lost,

  Sue.

  It’s the worst feeling ever. And after that, all we seemed to do was wait.

  Gran, Mum and me were dog-tired of drownin’ in poor-bugger-me shit. Normally, it’s not welcome in our house, but somehow the bugger found its way in.

  Anyways … we wanted happy. We wanted to listen to Billy Connolly and laugh till Mum snorted. Mum’s a big snorter.

  We wanted to cross our eyes at Gran’s funny ways and go to the cemetery without snotting up a bunch of Gran’s homemade hankies.

  It’s all fine to want but how do you get your shit together when hope does a runner?

  I’ll tell ya.

  You can’t and you don’t. You just sit in your own grey and darkness and wait for it to walk right back through the door.

  And that’s what happened, Sue. Two months ago we was living in our hometown, Tumbarumba, close to the Snowy in New South Wales.

  Sue: Tumba?

  Jack: You know it?

  Sue: I grew up not far from there.

  Jack: Small world, eh, Sue?

  Sue: Absolutely.

  Jack: Gran was on the toilet. She’d been there for a while. Gran sings.

  Aha, she sings up whenever she’s doin’ a coonie. A big number two.

  Apparently piddling has absolutely no in-spir-at-ional value. But a decent-sized coonie is a goer.

  Gran’s number twos always appear with a song. Always!

  Anyways, this day was different, Gran was singin’ up real loud. None of the usual slow and morbid drawl she’d been singing since Dad and George left us. No way, she was uppin’ Lady Gaga’s ‘The Edge of Glory’ like she was singin’ for the Pope or somethin’. She loves the Pope.

  Gran was back! Something happened, apart from the obvious, Sue. The toilet flushed and the door swung open and there stood Gran grinning real cheeky like. That’s when I knew hope was back and standin’ shoulder to shoulder with Gran at the toilet door.

  I don’t tell people I know many things, it’s not part of my nature, but for sure I knew right then … at that exact moment, I knew my family was going to be all right.

  And that was the night Gran was given a message. Move … Taralune.

  How bout that, Sue?

  Sue: Don’t know what to say, mate.

  Life’s a mystery, eh?

  Jack: Gran and Mum are great believers of talkin’ to dead people and angels and that, so that’s all we needed. Then and there, we made the decision. We rented out the house in Tumba, called the removalists. Had a party and a tidy-up. Picked up a couple of rocks from the garden then off we went to our new life.

  Sue: Tell me about the rocks?

  Jack: Gran and Mum have been doing the rock thing for years. Gran said her mum and her mum did it too.

  It keeps your people, your country, with you.

  See, and when you arrive at your new home, ya put the rocks near the front door or the front step, so there’s a piece of your old life now part of the new.

  Anyone can do it.

  Aunty Leena, Mum’s big sister, has moved so many times she pert near has her own pyramid sitting at her front steps. No wonder she doesn’t have a bloke.

  Why would you want to lug a heap of rocks around every time you moved? Movin’s a good pain in the bum if you ask me. I won’t be leaving here if I can help it. All that packin’ and unpackin’, I tell ya it’s got big, fat, chunky knobs on it.

  That’s what I reckon, anyway.

  Was that the bell?

  Sue: Yep.

  Jack: So, that’s me, Sue … Jack Trainer, adopted child of Coral and Keithy Trainer and twenty-first grandchild of Gran Trainer, now living on the Sunshine Coast in a sleepy beachy town called Taralune.

  Graffiti

  Thursday, 2pm

  Taralune High School, Library Room L4

  Jack: Hurry up, Sue, I’ve got lots to say.

  Sue: Go on then.

  Jack: Oh, shit!

  Here comes stupid face.

  Sue: G’day, mate.

  Rob: Miss, this is the guy I was talkin’ about.
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  Jack: Me name’s Jack.

  Rob: I know.

  Sue: Don’t you have some work to do, Rob?

  Rob: Kin oath, Miss.

  Just thought I’d say g’day, that’s all.

  G’day!

  Jack: Ya numpty.

  Sue: You’ve said it, now leave so Jack can continue with his story.

  Rob: Is it as good as mine?

  Jack: Better.

  Sue: I’ve enjoyed both.

  Rob: Yeah, well, I reckon mine’s better.

  Sue: See ya later, Rob.

  Rob: Don’t worry, Miss … I’m goin’.

  Jack: Did you see what he did to my hair?

  Sue: Rise above.

  What do you want to talk about?

  Jack: Well, you know the man body-part graffiti at the Catholic Church?

  Sue: Yep.

  Jack: Well, I helped Mum spray over it. Gran helps out too.

  She holds the torch and looks out for anyone coming. But Mum does all the creative work. She’s only tall enough to reach the bottom half of the graffiti if it’s big.

  I do the rest.

  Mum just tells me how to do it, you see. Mum and Gran can’t work out why you’d want to spray-paint a male body part on a building. Mum says it’s dumb and it gives her the dumb shits.

  Whatever that means.

  Sounds funny, but, eh? Dumb shits. Lol.

  Anyway, the graffiti kid’s name’s Pen. I found that out last week.

  I’ve met him … he’s fifteen. Little fella, but funny as. So he spray-paints a male body part on a wall and then Mum comes along and changes it into an animal.

  Mum loves animals and so does Gran. So do I.

  Sue: You realise your mum, gran and yourself could also cop a fine if you’re found out?

  Jack: Yeah, we know, that’s why Gran’s always on guard duty.

  Mum says we’re beautifying the town, you see. Her and Gran and me we also look after the cemetery and we’re building a nice vegie garden all along our nature strip.

  It’s gonna be great when the vegies are ready to eat. And all the neighbours can have some too, you see.

  Sue: So, you’ll be a horticulturalist when you leave school?

  Jack: Nah. I found an apprenticeship with a local builder, Dave Bower and Sons is their name.

  Pen’s Dave Bower’s youngest son. Joey’s the eldest and then there’s stupid face, Rob. Rob and Joey are just like Dave.

  Pen’s nice like his mum.

  Ya see, I must have presented myself pretty well cause Dave signed me up two days after I applied. I mean, I’m on probation for a month, just to see if I like it or not and if I’m good at it or not, and then, yep, I’ll be an apprentice builder …

  So, yeah.

  Last week we did a job in the new housing estate, the Retreat. It sounds like an old people’s home but it’s for everyone who has money to spend and who wants to live on the rise close to the coast.

  Gran and me think it’s overrated. We could live in a shed somewhere and not be bothered much.

  I guess the Retreat isn’t for us mob.

  Sue: So, how’s it going, working for Dave?

  Jack: I like the work …

  Sue: But?

  Jack?

  Jack: I like the work.

  My dad was the best bloke. He was kind and understanding and he learnt me good.

  Why can’t other blokes be like my dad?

  Sue: Everyone’s dealing with their own battles, I guess. Some deal with them well and others …

  Jack: Get angry and pissed off and rant and rave.

  Sue: Do you need a minute?

  Jack: Nah, I’m good.

  Cemetery

  Friday, 9am

  Taralune High School, Library Room L4

  Sue: What happened to you?

  Jack: Nothin’ …

  Got knocked with a bit of wood. I worked after school.

  Can we just start?

  Sue: Sure.

  Jack: Have you been to the cemetery?

  Sue: Nah.

  Jack: It’s out on Little Pomona Road if you want to have a look. It isn’t big, it’s old but it’s not big like say Wagga or Gympie. But that doesn’t matter, it’s in a pretty spot.

  The best spot in Taralune we all reckon.

  Mum and Gran are fatidous … fastid … fastidious when it comes to cleaning and weeding and sprucing resting places for dead people. I’m probably just as bad.

  We’ve only been here three months and Mum and Gran just about knows everybody.

  Mum and Gran are there twice a week, all day. They pack smoko.

  I used to help out every Thursday after school.

  Each time they have a break they sit with someone new. Last week it was Lilly Green who died of old age and her husband Bob who died three weeks later of a broken heart.

  How sad is that?

  The week before that was Rodney Blackney. He’s a 23-year-old local who drowned himself in the river cause he was high on shit and was drinking while trying to fish.

  Sue: How about you?

  Who did you have lunch with last time?

  Jack: Let me see …

  It was down the back and it was a black marble headstone. She was pretty with long brown hair and a cute dimple on her right cheek.

  I remember because she had a clear photo. But I can’t remember her name.

  I’m not embarrassed I’m a bloke and I’m helping Mum and Gran clean up the place.

  If Mum or Gran … or if I didn’t live anymore I’d be happy if someone helped out and made things nice. I like knowing someone cares. I guess it’s one of those things I inherited from Mum and Gran.

  Eh, Sue?

  Sue: You betcha.

  Jack: Old Bill died from a shrapnel wound while fighting in Papua, he’s next door to that girl whose name I can’t remember.

  And Clarice has only a headstone, the rest of her grave is a big dip of dried dirt.

  Poor Clarice … I’ve still got to clean her up.

  Old Bill and Clarice are buried together but they have different surnames. Someone said they were girlfriend and boyfriend for years but didn’t get married. Clarice should be called Clarice Malcolm same as Bill. I reckon they’d both like that.

  Mel … the girl I’ve been thinking about …

  Her name’s Mel. Mellisa Agnes Draper, 1980– 2015. She died when she was thirty-five.

  I knew I’d remember.

  Sue?

  Sue: Benny Boy’s beautiful smart sister.

  Jack: Yeah! That’s the kid who likes fish?

  I know Benny Boy. Him and his nan keep Mel looking special. We like Benny Boy and his nan.

  Mel’s always got fresh flowers and clean water and a few candles too and she has my favourite …

  Six whirly windmills. They’re real colourful like a happy rainbow. Once the wind hits, they spin fast as.

  Sue: I thought all rainbows were happy?

  Jack: Not all, Sue. Faded rainbows are tired. They give the people a show but, really, they just wanna chill and listen to Rodriguez or Paul Kelly or Cat Stevens.

  Happy rainbows are bright. And vibrant because they listen to AC/DC, you see.

  Anyway, whirly windmill things just like Mel’s are awesome.

  You know the ones?

  We all like ’em, even Pen. Pen and Benny Boy and me and Nan reckon we don’t want crosses on our grave when we kick it, too sad. We want heaps of whirly windmills.

  When Pen’s hanging with Benny Boy out at the cemetery, he’s the only one who has the patience to fix them if they come apart.

  Sue: Whirly windmills make me smile.

  Especially if there’s no wind …

  Jack: I know!

  That happens all the time.

  Spooky … but I like it.

  On the other side of the cemetery fence the grass is knee-high, dry and full of seeds.

  But …

  That’s where I found five more graves … they’re just rocks,
lots of rocks piled up on each other. Sharni didn’t even know they were there.

  Sue: Sharni?

  Jack: She’s a Murri girl. A Queensland blackfulla.

  We both like movies. She doesn’t care if I talk too much. She’s a good mate.

  I Dare You

  Friday, 1pm

  Taralune High School, Library Room L2

  Jack: Gran can drive but when I got my L’s I drove her around and built up me hours so I could get my opens. Now I have my P’s, I’m still the taxi. I don’t mind though, I like driving around, total freedom. I love it.

  Most of the time Gran’s quiet but she likes AC/DC, we listen to it in the car all the time.

  She’s the best gran ever. She doesn’t even get the shits with grandad.

  That old bastard pissed off and left us, you see. Too busy chasin’ some uppity old bitch with a pacemaker, perky titties and a bank account full of holidays and botox.

  And good riddance to the knobby-kneed bastard. Hope he gets piles on his piles and the mongrel has to eat soup for the rest of his life.

  I hate soup.

  Sue: Say what you really think.

  I did.

  I just get frustrated. I don’t get why he left us.

  Not again …

  Sue: What?

  Jack: Here he comes.

  Sue: Who?

  Rob: G’day, Miss.

  Sue: Rob!

  Jack: Piss off, I’m trying to tell me story.

  Rob: Calm down.

  Sue: This isn’t your class, Rob. You’re in the next room.

  Rob: Yeah! But I want to be in this one.

  Jack: Ya can’t.

  Rob: Dave was right … you’re nothin’ but a sookie bogan.

  Sue: Rob!

  Rob: Come tarpin’ sookie bogan. You might grow a couple while under the tarp.

  Jack: Just like you didn’t?

  Sue: Enough, boys.

  Time to go, Rob.

  Rob: Five o’clock Saturday, after the footy.

  We’ll be in the park opposite the pub. Even if it’s rainin’.

  Don’t worry, Miss, I’m goin’.

  Sue: Piles on piles, eh?

  Jack: Yeah! Mum and Gran are going on the community bus early tomorrow for the weekend. They’re going to the Goldie for a night out and lots of shopping. They’re really looking forward to it.

  Those two’ll run riot down there.

  Sue: Are you going?

  Jack: Nah! Benny Boy’s going to show me his secret fishing spot down south head near Rocky Bay.