Another Night in Mullet Town

by Steven Herrick

  and reaches for my hand.

  She doesn’t let go

  until we get to our lockers.

  Black and white

  After school,

  Ella sits next to me and Rachel

  at the bus stop.

  Manx rides his bike

  in slow circles

  pulling tricks.

  A black BMW pulls up.

  The door flings open.

  Patrick’s dad takes off his sunglasses

  and calls,

  ‘Hey, can someone get my son.’

  None of us know where Patrick is.

  Angelo jumps up

  and reaches into the car,

  offering to shake Mr Lloyd-Davis’s hand.

  ‘My name’s Angelo,’ he says.

  ‘That’s great, kid.

  Now go get my son.’

  He looks past Angelo

  and sees Patrick running along the footpath,

  then sounds the horn long and loud.

  Patrick walks past Angelo to hop in,

  and, for a moment,

  I’m scared Angelo will slap him on the back again.

  We all watch the BMW

  do a U-turn over the zebra crossing.

  ‘Nice way to greet your son,’ Rachel comments.

  Everyone knows exactly what she means.

  The best places

  In the late afternoon,

  Ella and I hop off the bus

  and walk along Lake Road.

  ‘If I get home too early,’

  Ella says, ‘it’s homework,

  or helping Mum cook dinner. Yuck.’

  ‘I … I know where we can go,’ I say.

  She smiles. ‘Is it a secret hideout?’

  ‘Kind of,’ I say,

  ‘but only because no-one wants to go there.’

  ‘Until now,’ Ella says.

  We walk away from the lake

  to the outskirts of Turon

  where Dad’s truck workshop

  is surrounded by a high wire fence.

  I show Ella where the wire pulls away

  from the post

  and squeeze through,

  holding it open for her to follow.

  I call to Peachy, Dad’s guard dog.

  She barks, then wags her tail in recognition

  and bounds over the gravel

  to nuzzle my outstretched hand,

  nearly knocking me over.

  Every afternoon when Dad’s away,

  I stop here to feed Peachy.

  A blinking neon sign illuminates

  a few empty trailers

  and a badly painted front door.

  I find the key under the ornamental frog.

  I swing the door wide open

  and step back,

  letting Ella go first.

  ‘You take a girl to the best places,’ she says.

  The workshop

  I turn on the light

  in the workshop

  and close the door.

  I can’t believe I’m alone here with Ella.

  I take two beers from the fridge

  and offer her one.

  She smiles. ‘Toss it, Jonah.’

  She catches it with one hand

  and sits up on the desk

  before opening the bottle.

  We survey the workshop

  of a slowly failing future.

  Peachy whines as if she understands.

  Ella looks at a photo on the wall.

  ‘Mum and Dad,’ I say.

  They’re standing in front of

  a freshly painted rig with a full load.

  Dad’s much younger;

  his curly hair is bleached with sun and sand

  and the chance of a wave

  before the evening fades,

  before he drives all night

  still high on the barrels of Balarang Bay

  and his love for Mum.

  Mum’s wearing a summer dress

  and is barefoot and pregnant.

  They look so happy,

  so certain about the future

  where Dad has enough time for waves

  and a proper job –

  making surfboards

  or at the council –

  clocking off

  with a few hours of daylight left.

  Truck driving …

  it’s only temporary.

  ‘Your dad looks handsome,’ Ella says,

  ‘like his son.’

  Flowers

  Ella finishes her beer

  and holds the bottle up to the light.

  ‘We used to live in a town out west,’ she says.

  ‘The only thing they cared about

  was football in winter

  and whether the river

  was running in summer.’

  She makes to throw the empty

  at the wastebasket near the wall,

  but instead places it

  on the desk between the

  tape dispenser and the stack of bills.

  ‘One night, the elder brother

  of a boy in my class

  took his mates out for a drive

  with the prettiest girl in town.’

  Ella looks at me.

  I don’t know if either of us

  want her to keep talking.

  ‘He had too much to drink.’

  She sighs

  and stares at the bottle on the desk.

  ‘The boys died;

  the girl ended up in a wheelchair.’

  She shakes her head at the memory.

  ‘The town tied flowers to the tree,’ she whispers.

  Her lower lip starts to quiver.

  ‘They should have cut it down with a chainsaw.’

  I hop up from the chair

  and put my hand on her shoulder.

  She wraps her arms around me

  and we stay like that

  until the tree, the flowers

  and her old town

  disappear from view.

  Faraway stars

  After saying goodbye to Ella

  at her street corner,

  I walk past the lake.

  Manx sits on a wooden chair on the verandah

  with his feet up on the railing.

  ‘I missed you at lunch,’ he says,

  and grins.

  ‘We played force-em-backs on the oval.

  Every time we kicked the ball over the fence

  that turd Patrick

  would tell Angelo to fetch it.’

  I look at the swarm of bugs

  shimmering on the lake.

  ‘We should be fishing,’ I say.

  ‘Nah, I’m hungry now.

  And Dad’s left me a pot of stew,’ Manx says.

  I think of Mum in Balarang Bay,

  Dad on the road

  and the empty kitchen waiting for me.

  Manx jumps off the chair

  and opens the screen door.

  As he walks down the hallway, he calls,

  ‘I’ll bring a bowl for both of us.’

  I hear the clatter of cutlery

  and the sound of an empty saucepan

  tossed in the sink.

  He returns with two steaming bowls

  and hands me one with a spoon.

  The stew tastes rich and salty.

  ‘I was going to make Vegemite sandwiches,’ I say.

  Manx laughs.

  ‘You should’ve invited Ella over,’ he winks,

  ‘to show her your skills in the kitchen.’

  We both stare across the lake

  to the lights of Tipping Point twinkling

  like faraway stars.

  Bluster

  The next day,

  we line up for an excursion

  to the planetarium

  on the north side of Balarang Bay.

  Thirty students crowd

  onto the bus in a finely choreographed

  pecking order:
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  nerds and dweebs at the front,

  try-hards and wannabes in the middle,

  loudmouths and dudes up the back.

  I’m last on the bus.

  Angelo holds a spot for Patrick

  in the back row

  behind Rachel and Harriet.

  Ella sits alone

  a few rows in front of them.

  Surely I can slink in beside Ella

  and no-one will notice?

  She moves over to give me room.

  I grip the handrail

  but, just as I’m about to casually

  slide beside her,

  Manx whistles and calls me down the back.

  Ella looks up.

  I avert my eyes, walk past her seat

  and take my place beside Manx

  in the sweat-soaked bluster

  at the back of the bus.

  Daylight robbery

  With all of year ten crowded

  into the planetarium shop

  there’s too many people

  for the person behind the counter

  to keep watch.

  Patrick and Angelo

  stuff as many chocolate bars

  as they dare into bulging pockets

  and confidently walk out.

  If there was a law against smirking

  they’d be caught immediately

  but no-one notices

  except me and Manx.

  He follows them to the cafe

  where they scatter their bounty on the table.

  I watch Manx sit down beside them

  and see their faces change.

  No matter how many times

  they shake their heads

  nothing persuades Manx.

  His dad is friends with the owner.

  Patrick slides the chocolates

  across the table to Angelo

  before walking away

  to buy a coffee.

  Angelo packs his pockets again

  and returns to the shop

  where he refills the racks

  without anyone noticing.

  Patrick sips his coffee

  and talks to all the other boys

  before we return to the bus.

  On the trip back to school

  it’s just Manx and me in the back row.

  All of the usual suspects

  gather around Angelo

  and the rich boy

  a few seats in front of us

  and, when Manx isn’t looking,

  Patrick turns

  and waves a handful of chocolate bars

  in my direction.

  Cowards

  The next day,

  Angelo and Patrick don’t have the guts

  to face Manx and call him out

  about the chocolates,

  so they target me instead.

  Patrick spits at my feet

  as I walk past the basketball court,

  and Angelo says he saw my mum in town

  and wouldn’t mind having a go himself,

  even if she is old.

  I want to punch Angelo

  but what good would that do?

  Patrick hurls the basketball at me.

  I duck and it bounces off the wall.

  Angelo catches it

  and stands in front of me,

  holding the ball close to my face.

  My heart is thumping.

  ‘Careful, Angelo,

  Joany might cry,’ says Patrick.

  Angelo feigns to toss the ball at me.

  I knock it from his hands

  and he reacts by throwing a punch

  that bounces off my shoulder

  and hits me on the lip.

  I put up my hands

  expecting a volley of fists,

  but Mr Drake’s voice interrupts

  from the top of the stairs.

  Angelo sneers and

  calls me a coward

  before we’re both hauled off

  to the principal’s office,

  to sit in uneasy silence

  outside her door.

  I taste blood on my lip

  and wait for the inevitable questions,

  wondering if I’m any good at telling lies.

  A misunderstanding

  If you can’t tell the truth

  it’s better not to say anything,

  so in Ms Wilson’s office

  I play dumb

  and shrug my shoulders

  time and time again

  like I have a nervous tick,

  while Angelo bullshits

  about a misunderstanding.

  He’s happy to apologise –

  right now,

  in front of the principal –

  where no-one else can hear him.

  Wilson buys his bluff.

  Angelo even has the gall

  to offer me an outstretched hand.

  It takes me longer than it should

  to shake,

  even with Wilson’s prompting,

  so I look like the guilty one.

  We walk out of her office.

  I remember when Angelo asked me

  over to his place

  all those years ago,

  before Patrick arrived.

  ‘You’re nothing

  without your stupid mate,’ Angelo sneers.

  I fake a smile.

  ‘I’ll ask Manx about that,’ I say.

  His cockiness disappears in an instant.

  I shrug and stroll away

  protected by Manx,

  yet again,

  without him being anywhere in sight.

  Two particles

  I spend all of Science

  trying to work out how to apologise

  to Ella for not sitting beside her on the bus.

  Mr Drake drones on about chemical reaction

  and the possibility of fusion,

  while I think about the chance

  of Ella and me coming together,

  like two particles

  in the test tube

  of Balarang Bay High School.

  I wonder how long Drake

  can balance those glasses

  on the bridge of his nose?

  Is he defying gravity

  or does his nose have an unsightly bump?

  I laugh, despite myself.

  Everyone looks at me

  and Drake asks,

  ‘What’s so funny about hydrogen sulphide?’

  He waits for my answer,

  still looking over his glasses.

  Manx says, ‘Something that smelly

  is no laughing matter.’

  Ella wags a finger at me

  as if I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t.

  I’m forgiven.

  I hope.

  Before I speak

  I get home from school

  and Auntie Trish’s car is parked outside.

  Mum’s in the kitchen

  washing lettuce at the sink.

  I can smell roast chicken in the oven.

  ‘I thought we’d have a treat, Jonah,’ she says.

  I toss my bag in the lounge room

  and help set the table.

  ‘How’s things?’ she asks.

  Got into a fight with Angelo,

  talked to the girl of my dreams,

  stole some of Dad’s beer,

  lied to the principal at school.

  But I can’t tell her any of that.

  ‘I’ve been doing overtime,’ she says,

  ‘to pay off the car

  and keep out of Trish’s way.

  The sooner the Magna’s fixed,

  the quicker I can come home.’

  No matter how much Mum talks

  I can’t bring myself to answer.

  She places the salad bowl

  in the centre of the table

  and, with a tea towel and oven mitt,

  she removes the chicken

>   and puts it on a serving plate.

  Handing me the knife, she asks,

  ‘You want to carve, Jonah?’

  I shake my head

  and wonder how long I can last

  before I speak.

  Stories

  After dinner,

  we sit together on the verandah

  listening to the seagulls

  and watching the bugs satellite

  around the streetlights.

  Mum goes inside

  and brings out two bowls

  of strawberries and ice-cream.

  ‘I could sprinkle icing sugar

  over them, if you want?’ she asks.

  ‘It’s sweet enough,’ I say.

  I imagine Dad is eating

  a hamburger and chips right now

  in a dingy roadhouse

  with a line of trucks parked outside

  and another three hundred kilometres to drive

  before he can sleep.

  Every spoonful

  makes me want Dad here, beside us,

  with nowhere to go

  but back to our kitchen

  for another helping of ice-cream.

  ‘What are you thinking, Jonah?’ Mum asks.

  I swallow hard.

  ‘Tell me again

  how you and Dad met,’ I say.

  Mum looks pained.

  ‘It’s just a story, son,’ she answers.

  I shake my head.

  ‘It’s our story,’ I reply.

  The invasion of the hyphens

  Friday morning on the bus,

  Manx says his dad

  is taking on a tyre repair franchise,

  which amounts to a few dozen spares

  stacked behind the besser-block toilet

  with a billboard out front

  advertising four tyres for $500.

  Bargain.

  Manx’s dad says it’ll give him

  something to do

  instead of scratching his arse,

  while sitting behind the counter.

  He reckons business might improve

  with people moving here

  from the city.

  He calls it, The invasion of the hyphens:

  too many last names,

  too much money

  and no sense of value.

  Manx reckons we should

  take a fishing knife to the rubber

  of every BMW in town.

  Those tyres cost a bomb.

  For that sort of cash,

  Manx’s dad would do house calls.

  I’m not great with a fishing knife,

  but I’ll keep watch for Manx

  to help the Gunn family business.

  Shaking

  Manx and I hop off the bus

  and walk to our lockers.

  Rachel runs up from behind,

  throws an arm around each of our shoulders

  and swings between us.

  ‘Friday is my favourite day,’ she says.