One Would Think the Deep

by Claire Zorn

  She nodded. He was expecting her to tell him where to go and to storm out. To end it for him. She waited. But he didn’t know what to say. There was nothing. I was kissing you and I thought of my dead mother? The more she knew about him, the worse he was getting. Like she was chipping away trying to get clarity from him, only underneath he was dust that crumbled to nothing. He wanted to open his mouth and tell her everything, everything that was in his head, everything that cleaved his chest open and bore through him. The black star that sucked his world in.

  She waited while he tried to find the place to begin. But surely if she knew him, really knew him, she wouldn’t want him anyway.

  ‘Is this it? Over?’ she asked.

  He couldn’t answer her.

  ‘Can’t even give me that much?’ She turned away and walked off across the dying lawn with her hands in her pockets, head down and her hair falling down her back. She paused and turned back to face him. ‘You know, you got me. I thought you were different from every other stupid, surfie numbskull, but you’re not. You’re just like them. Have a nice life.’

  She was right, he’d been leading her on, pretending he was something he clearly wasn’t.

  Sam tried to tell himself he’d done the right thing. It was better this way, to end it before it went too far and she had to make the inevitable decision to drop him for someone better. He stood in the kitchen for how long? He didn’t know. An age. Then he opened the cupboard above the fridge and pulled out Lorraine’s bottle of whisky. He didn’t bother with a glass.

  28

  Half the bottle down and he took his skateboard, tearing up the road. The trees bent in strange lines and the sky warped. The numbness that crept through his limbs was exquisite; a warmth enveloped his scalp. The sky was darkening and the streetlights were a bright dot-to-dot above. At the shops he skidded out across the road and cars blasted their horns. He shouted at them like a dog barking, crazed in the wind. He clipped a guy coming out of the TAB and stumbled forward, his board skidding into the gutter. ‘Farrk!’

  ‘Watch it!’ He was bald, wore a trucker singlet, had tatts on his knuckles, but not so big that there’d be no contest. Sam laughed, not believing his luck. ‘Piss off, arsehole!’ Sam yelled and he watched as the guy’s whole face blazed red as if on cue. There was power in it, the way you could say a couple of words and have someone react, explode before your eyes. You could control them, even if only so very briefly. You could ride the wave straight into the rocks. The big guy hurled Sam backwards into the wall and Sam swung at him. He landed the punch on the guy’s cheek and was struck in the stomach. They went at it swinging and pushing and Sam revelled in the realisation that he was better than this guy. If he wasn’t pissed he could have beaten him. But if he wasn’t drunk he wouldn’t be here. Sam was finishing off the thought when he lost his footing and the guy kneed him in the crotch. He doubled over and fell on the ground. The guy booted him in the ribs and Sam shielded his face with his forearms.

  ‘Hey! Get off him!’ It was a voice Sam knew but couldn’t place. ‘Get off him! Help! Someone!’ Sam was curious. He looked up to see the trucker guy turn around and punch Jono in the face, sending him to the asphalt. Sam scrambled, trying to get to his feet. There was squealing, shrieking and Sam saw two of Jono’s young brothers wide-eyed with terror, clutching their skateboards, knee and elbow pads strapped on, helmets with Ninja Turtles stickers.

  A TAB worker stepped in then, pulling Sam back by the collar as he tried to lunge at the attacker. The trucker took off, running a crooked path along the street. Sam was released with a shove. People stood back watching. Others slowed but kept walking, all with expressions of disapproval.

  Blood dripping from his nose, Sam went to Jono. He was out cold.

  Sam started to cry, sniffling, shuddering with sobs. He rolled Jono onto his side, yelling his name. He started to scream, shut his eyes tight and smacked his palms into his head. It was like Sydney all over again.

  Jono opened one eye, the other swollen shut; he moaned and drew his knees up to his chest. He looked up at Sam. ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘Jono. I thought you were dead. Fark.’

  Sam helped him sit up. Someone else was with them now: Ruby in her chicken-shop apron, a bunch of ice blocks wrapped in a tea towel.

  ‘You fucking idiot,’ she spat at Sam and pushed him back. She crouched down and put the ice on Jono’s eye.

  ‘He was being attacked, like fully attacked,’ Jono said.

  ‘He wasn’t attacked.’ She looked back over her shoulder at Sam. ‘You think I didn’t see you? Fucking idiot.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He used his T-shirt to mop the snot and blood from his face. Jono’s brothers stood in silence, watching their brother on the ground.

  She straightened up and pushed Sam away. ‘Fuck off. Just go. You fucking muppet.’ Ruby looked at the two kids, her face soft. ‘He’s alright. Just copped a fist to the head.’ The smallest one burst into tears. Ruby glared at Sam. ‘I swear, if you don’t get the hell away I’m gonna punch you myself.’

  Sam stumbled backwards. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She ignored him. Sam looked around and saw people in shop doorways looking at him with disgust and fear, like he was rabid vermin. He backed away, turned and picked up his skateboard.

  The house was still empty. The bottle of whisky half full on the counter. Sam staggered in and grabbed at it, knocking it off the table. It rolled across the lino floor. He scrambled for it. Unscrewed the cap and chugged it down like water.

  He woke up under the shower, propped up against the tile wall, cold water soaking into his clothes. Minty was standing over him. Sam came around spluttering and panicked, like a fish slapping on a hook. Minty crouched down in front of him, shaking him by the shoulders.

  ‘Sammy? Sam? You right, brah? You’re right.’

  Sam turned his head and vomited onto the tiles. His head spun and he had to steady himself with one hand on the floor.

  Minty laughed. ‘There you go, buddy. You’re good, brah. Farkin’ hell, Mum’s Jack Daniel’s. She’s ballistic! Didn’t even save me any.’

  Sam registered that the light was on and there was darkness outside the window.

  ‘What time is it?’ he asked.

  Minty shrugged. ‘Dunno. Seven? How long you been out, brah? An hour? More? What happened? You bin fightin’?’

  Sam nodded. Minty stuck his head out of the bathroom door and yelled: ‘He’s right!’

  Lorraine pounded up the hallway and pushed into the small bathroom. She leaned over him and hissed her words.

  ‘Get up. Get dressed and get out.’

  ‘Naaaah, Mum, come on! Go easy on him.’

  ‘No. Get your things, get out of my house.’

  ‘Mum,’ Minty pleaded.

  ‘Out. You were warned. God knows I’ve done my best, but this is the limit. You think this is a joke? Who you gonna hit next? Your girlfriend? Get the hell out of my house.’

  Sam, dripping wet, found his feet and held the wall for support. He made it out of the bathroom; Minty was after him and shoved a backpack into his hands, a Rip Curl one with the tags still attached.

  ‘Here. I’ll help ya.’

  He emptied Sam’s drawers into the backpack. Shoved his discman and cds in the top and zipped it up. Sam stood and watched, swaying on the spot, woozy and sand-mouthed. Minty took Sam’s arm and put it around his own shoulder, propping him up like they were comrades at Fromelles. Lorraine stood in the kitchen, hands on her hips, and watched Minty drag Sam out the door and down the steps. She slammed the door shut after them.

  ‘Hehe. She’s pissed, brah.’

  ‘Can tell,’ Sam slurred.

  ‘I’ll take ya to Nana’s. Get in.’ Minty opened the car door and pushed Sam in. He reversed the car out onto the street. Minty looked worried. Sam had never seen him worried.

  ‘What’s goin on, brah?’

  ‘I did something dumb.’ Sam laughed. ‘I did a lot of things dumb.’
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  ‘Nah. You’ll be right, brah.’

  ‘Will Lorraine let me back?’

  ‘Don’t know. She’s stubborn as, when she makes a decision.’

  ‘I got a mate beat up.’

  ‘Fark. What happened?’

  ‘I started a fight, he tried to help me and he copped it.’

  Minty raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Am I a bad person, Minty?’

  Minty scoffed. ‘Nah. You’re better than most.’

  ‘You don’t know me.’

  Minty shrugged. ‘What’s there to know?’ He pulled the car up in front of Nana’s. Minty got out and rapped on the annex door. She came out and Sam watched them talking, then she walked over to the car, bent over and looked through the window at him.

  ‘Well, well. What do we have here?’

  She only had one bed, so she went to a neighbour and borrowed an inflatable pool li-lo which she told him to set up in the annex. The li-lo was deflated and there was no foot pump. She handed it to him.

  ‘You’ll have to blow that up. I haven’t got enough breath.’

  He stood there trying to blow air into the thing but soon he was dizzy and nauseous. He put the limp mattress on the floor and collapsed onto it, feeling the hard concrete under his hips and shoulders. Moments later he was asleep.

  She woke him up at seven and handed him a bowl of rice bubbles.

  ‘I feel horrible.’

  ‘You look horrible.’ She dropped a folded towel onto the bed. ‘Shower block’s that way. I’m going out for a bit. I’ll see you this afternoon.’

  It was cool and drizzling outside and he realised that he didn’t have any sweaters or warm clothes. Nana was right, he looked horrible. Like he’d been dragged through the dirt behind a car. Like he’d been beaten up. After he was dressed, he walked up to Lorraine’s house and knocked on the door. She opened the door and scowled at him.

  ‘You’re not coming back. You can go, thank you very much.’

  ‘I don’t have a jumper. It’s cold.’

  She assessed him through the screen door and made a ‘hmpff’ sound, vanished and came back holding a hoodie of Minty’s. She opened the door and handed it out to him as if he was a dog she didn’t want in the house.

  ‘Can I have my tape deck? Pop gave it to me.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake.’ She went away and returned with the tape deck. She went to close the door and hesitated.

  ‘I’ve been through hell. I’m not gonna stand around while you turn into something … You’re a good kid. But you’re making gawd-awful choices. You don’t need me to tell you that. You need to learn that you can’t do whatever you feel like when you’re pissed off. You need a lesson, buddy.’

  She closed the front door.

  He lay on the li-lo with his earphones in. Sometime after three he realised he hadn’t eaten anything. He got up, took his skateboard and headed for the main street. He was near the bakery when Stassi Miller came thundering toward him, in her school uniform.

  ‘Oi, arsehole.’

  He ducked his head and sidestepped her but she blocked his path, almost as tall as he was.

  ‘What have you done?’

  ‘Can you move?’

  ‘No, I can’t move.’

  He pushed past her.

  ‘Uh-uh!’ She caught up to him and grabbed his arm. ‘You know what? Gretchen thinks you’ve got some emotional, brooding Mr Darcy thing going on. Me? I think you’re a root rat.’

  ‘A root rat?’

  ‘A root rat and an arsehole in general.’

  ‘Congratulations. Start a club, there’s heaps out there who think the same.’ He started to walk away.

  ‘Where’s Jono?’

  Sam stopped.

  ‘Wasn’t at school. People are saying he was beaten up because of you. That true?’

  He spun round and stepped closer to her. ‘I’m an arsehole! You got me!’

  ‘Whoa. Are you threatening me?’

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. ‘I’m asking you to leave me alone.’

  ‘Because for a second there it looked like you wanted to hit me.’

  ‘I don’t want to hit anyone. I want to be left alone.’

  Stassi made a show of looking at the empty space on either side of him. ‘Mission accomplished. Have a nice day.’ And she walked off, triumphant, chin in the air.

  With a sausage roll in his hand he skated back to the caravan park and formed the realisation that the most inconvenient thing about being kicked out of Lorraine’s was that he no longer had access to her liquor cupboard. It’s usual for a person to have something in their mind unless they have reached a supreme state of zen. Sam felt pretty close to having nothing in his mind, but he hadn’t achieved a state of zen; he was on the opposite end of the spectrum. The only thing in Sam’s head was a dark, hanging heaviness. An unnameable shape that blocked any light from coming in, a sensation that made any future inconceivable, a shape that closed off all doors and shoved him into a corner with nowhere to move. Like the faulty instinct to draw breath when you’re under the water and you’ve run out of air. A Buddhist would say it was the desire to breathe that was the problem.

  He was locked in, checkmate, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. It was even worse than after his mother died. At least then there were practical steps to be taken: go with Lorraine, move into her house, start over. Now starting over for the second time was not an option. He knew that much.

  He could take a length of rope and find a tree branch, somewhere a stranger would find him. But what if it was a kid who found him? He could walk south around the headland and find somewhere to jump, but he didn’t know if there was anywhere high enough. He could get a bus up north to where the hang-gliders took off. But there were always tourists there. He could go at night. He didn’t think the buses went at night. And if he landed in the water and just vanished, they would all think he was missing, not dead. And that was worse. He knew it. But who were ‘they’? And would they care for more than a couple of weeks?

  Who would miss him?

  What would he rather: be dead and missed, or alive and alone?

  He came to Nana’s van. His surfboard was leaning against the door and a wetsuit sat folded on the doorstep. Nana wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Sam dropped his bag and picked up the board.

  It was almost May and the winter groundswell was building bigger, cleaner, more regular waves. Sam knew the water. He could read it. Some surfers were trying to battle out from the beach. Sam knew better, he ran down the side of the headland and across the rocks to the easternmost point. He didn’t think about any of it. He jumped and dived under white water, paddling hard. Ruby was lying on her board; she looked over her shoulder, a death stare prepared for whoever was cutting in on her position. It softened when she saw it was Sam, but only a little.

  ‘Watch it, Captain America. You drop in on me and I’ll rip your balls off.’

  ‘I know. Don’t worry … Is Jono okay?’

  ‘He’ll live. What happened with you yesterday? Have a fight with your girlfriend?’

  Sam didn’t answer straightaway. After a while, he said, ‘You can talk. You told Minty you love ’im yet?’

  The glower returned. ‘Some of us know what’s good for us. That means cutting Minty loose.’

  ‘He know that?’

  ‘He will soon enough.’

  ‘He’s your best friend.’

  ‘No. He’s a bloody liability is what he is. I stick around him, I’m gunna get sucked right in, forget what I want.’

  A big wave rolled toward them, Ruby nodded toward it.

  ‘There y’are, weather boy. Show us what you’re made of.’

  Sam paddled for it, there was no fear. He didn’t think about what it would be like to be held down under it; he didn’t think about anything. He met the wave as it crested and popped up onto his feet with more fluidity than he’d ever managed before. He drove the weight of his left leg down like he ha
d seen Minty do, which pushed the board forward, accelerating across the wave. He felt it more strongly than before, the sensation Minty tried so clumsily to describe: a delicate paradox where he was, for a short time, in control of his world while simultaneously being at the mercy of the ocean. Sam sped along with the wave, lifted and weightless, but he was sliding too deep into the bowl, it would cave over him. He managed to swivel the nose upward and climbed a little, too high; he rode it back down and it closed out over him, pushing him deep. In a wash of bubbles and foam, his shoulder clipped the bottom of the reef and he was pinned down. He remembered what Minty had said: close your eyes and pretend to be somewhere else, enjoy the ride. He was spinning and spinning, he was in a club and Jeff Buckley was on stage playing ‘Mojo Pin’. Was this his time? Jeff wailed and sang about all the pain he would leave behind. Sam saw Gretchen across the room and she didn’t know him but she saw him too and she loved him. He opened his eyes and seeing the glare of sunlight through the water, surged up toward it. Breaking through the water’s surface he gasped for air and the first breath was the sweetest thing. The next wave loomed.

  She didn’t know him at all.

  On the headland they sat in the inky autumn gloaming, warmed by the flickering glow of a bonfire, watching the ocean like they were guarding it. They drank and talked about the waves, Minty’s next comp and how sweet life would be when he was world champ. Ruby didn’t stick around. She had one beer and wandered away; Minty watching her go like a mournful puppy.

  Whatever it was that had changed in Sam, Shane seemed to sense it and he was more tolerant of him. He included him in the conversation; he laughed when Sam cracked a joke. It was as if he’d made peace with Sam being there, like Sam had finally proven his commitment to the water and was now allowed in the fold. Or maybe Shane just felt sorry for him: now he was out of the house he was no longer a threat.

  Sam slept in his clothes, huddled down in the cheap sleeping bag Nana had bought him. The ache in his limbs was satisfying rather than uncomfortable. The surf exacerbated the bruising on his ribs from the fight and the wound above his eye felt scraped raw by the salt water. He was sore but cleansed.