by Pip Harry
Aimee squeezes into a carpark next to the sea. I’m blown away by the endless stretch of grey-blue water. Most of my swimming has been at the Dubbo outdoor pool. With its cracked concrete, floating Band-Aids and bored lifeguards. No running. No bombing. No diving. Nothing like this, that’s for sure.
‘It’s huge,’ I say to Nola. Waves dump onto the shore. A kid on a boogie board gets knocked over by one of them, tumbled up in the froth. I step forward in panic when she stays under too long. I search for the lifeguards, there’s a couple on the beach, but they don’t seem worried.
‘That kid down there, she hasn’t come up,’ I say to Nola, gripping her arm. I’m about to shout, run down to the shore and make a fuss when she pops back up with a cheeky grin.
‘Seems okay to me,’ says Nola, smiling.
The girl goes back out, the board as big as she is under her arm. A little seal in a black rubber wetsuit. She can’t be more than ten. Fearless.
I used to be a tomboy like her. I’d ride my bike down the steepest street in town, fast as I could, the ground a blur below me. No helmet, hair flying. I’d flip backwards on our trampoline, laughing when I landed flat on my chest and got winded. I’d always take the dare, my knees always skinned. My hands shot up with tiny pieces of asphalt. Now I’m full of fear. Can hardly move for it.
‘You guys going for a dip?’ asks Aimee. ‘It’ll wake you up.’
‘It’s freezing,’ I say. I’m too skinny for cold water. I usually end up shivering and knackered on the side. Wrapped up in towels.
‘I don’t blame you, but at least put your toe in,’ Aimee says. ‘This time of year it’s warmer in than out. I’ve brought along a few wetsuits if anyone’s game.’ We throw picnic blankets on the grass and Nola and I help Aimee and Eddie unpack the food onto a fold-out table. When we finish, Eddie hands me a sandwich and a juice popper. He arrived late on his bike, straight from work. He sticks a straw into his drink and slurps on it. ‘Ninety-eight per cent sugar. Two per cent reconstituted juice-like substance,’ he says, making a face. ‘Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, why are you called Tiny?’
‘Because I’m … fun-sized.’
Eddie laughs. ‘Yeah, I guess you are,’ he says. I’d almost forgotten I could make jokes. I used to make Mum laugh until she nearly wet herself.
‘You coming back to writing group?’
‘Yeah. Probably.’
‘Good.’
He puts his hands into his cardigan pockets and slides his Ray-Bans down against the wind.
‘Awwww, no soft drinks?’ Drew complains as he picks up his lunch. ‘Bloody stingy that is. And I thought we were having sausages?’
‘Sorry guys,’ Aimee says. She unwraps a tray of lamingtons and vanilla slices. ‘We couldn’t get a barbie organised but Miss Jones Bakery donated these cakes. Still fresh.’
‘Someone’s leftovers. Scraps,’ Drew says to Pee Wee.
Everyone else has stopped listening to him.
Drew gets the message, puts on his broken glasses and sticks his nose in his book. It reminds me of that Street Library lady Meredith and her promise to find me something to read. I’ll have to go back to the square sometime and see if the van is still parked there. Reading at night helps me sleep. Maybe a few good books will stop the nightmares coming. Lately they’re getting worse. The same ones, over and over. Charlie screaming. Me driving away. Not going back.
‘Cricket, Drew?’ asks Eddie gingerly. Drew makes him nervous. He walks on eggshells around him.
‘No, thanks, Pretty Boy. I’m fine where I am.’
Eddie sighs. ‘Anyone else?’ he says, trying to get up a team.
‘Yeah, I will,’ says Nola.
I nudge her and whisper in her ear. ‘Eddie reckons you’re cool.’
‘Does he?’
‘Yep. He’s still checking you out, by the way.’
‘Is not.’
‘Is.’
Nola laughs at me and shakes her head, but I can tell she’s pleased.
Eddie sets up a game of cricket on the sand. Every few minutes the ball is smacked out of bounds into the surf. Everyone runs around like headless chooks. Pee Wee strums his guitar and fields at the same time. Nola is useless too. No batting, bowling or fielding skills. I almost get up and join them. At least I know how to play. But then I look at the sky, listen to the waves hitting the shore and feel more relaxed than I have in a while. For a few minutes I even fall asleep.
Nola quits and comes over to sit with me on a blanket, exhausted. ‘You know how to swim, Tiny?’ she asks, after she catches her breath.
‘Yeah, course. Not well, but …’
‘Got bathers on?’
‘Yeah.’
Aimee handed out a few pairs of old swimmers at the shelter. Told everyone to get changed into them if they wanted a refreshing dip. Not surprisingly, she didn’t have many takers. I took a pair and Drew called me a nutter. Now I see why. The water is uninviting.
‘Come on, let’s go then.’
‘Nah, really?’
She kicks off her thongs and her dress, grins, and flicks me with her towel. ‘Last one in’s a rotten egg!’
‘That’d be you then!’ I shout back. I get up and run after her, passing her easily, but when I get to the water I stop dead and watch as Nola runs into a breaking wave and screams.
‘Come in, Tiny!’
‘It’s freezing!’
‘It’s nice! Promise!’
I’m terrified by the waves. It’s been ages since I went for a swim. The last time was at the dam near Mari’s place, floating gently in the warm, still brown water, my belly full of baby.
Nola runs back out of the water holding her bikini to her chest to keep it from falling off. Her teeth chattering.
‘I’ll look after you. Don’t worry!’
We hold hands, jumping over the smaller waves like kids. We wade a little further in. She’s strong in the surf; dives under the bigger waves and swims neat, smooth freestyle through the break.
The water is salty and fresh. It clears my head.
‘It’s not too bad once you get in, right?’ says Nola.
‘Yeah, it’s okay. Sure there’s no sharks out here?’
‘Just one or two Great Whites. I’m sure we can fight them off if they come looking for lunch.’
She laughs and I relax, let go of her hand and dive into a wave. Let it pick me up and drop me back on my feet.
The surge of salt water blasts away the blackness. Bubbles tingling on my skin. There’s a lull in the waves and it goes quiet and flat. I lie back, and feel my body go loose. The water temperature is just right now.
Nola sees the black clouds first. ‘Storm’s coming,’ she says. ‘Better not stay in.’
Parents pack up their picnics. Kids are scooped up like fish out of the water. Fun’s over. Lightning cracks, close. A neon purple fracture that makes a dog howl and a kid start crying.
Nola grabs my hand again and we run back to our towels. ‘We’re going!’ shouts Aimee.
We roll up our blankets, grabbing the plastic cricket stumps. Thunder rumbles as the southerly wind picks up – cold and powerful. It flicks sand against my legs and grit in my eyes. The rain arrives all at once, sending everyone running to the bus.
I fall back with Aimee, who’s struggling to keep up. I take the heavy picnic basket from her arms. She shouldn’t be lifting it.
‘Thank you!’ she says, rain dripping from her nose. ‘Looked like you were having fun in the water. Before the weather turned.’
She’s so hopeful. Like a swim might turns things around for me. Maybe it could.
‘I was scared at first, but it was magic out there. Nola looked after me.’
‘Yeah, I saw that.’ The rain gets harder, bucketing down in sheets. ‘Great day for the beach!’ shouts Aimee and we lau
gh.
As everyone scrambles to get on the bus there’s push and shove that wasn’t there before. Our rust bucket stalls twice, before the motor finally turns over and we get on the road.
‘That’d be right, stick the useless people on a useless bus,’ grumbles Drew.
Nola and I sit together again. This time she saves the seat for me.
‘I’m glad we went for a swim,’ she says.
‘Me, too. I feel so much better.’
‘Back to the hell-hole we go,’ Drew continues. ‘Where the rich get richer and the poor get kicked in the teeth.’
‘Give it a rest, Drew,’ says Eddie.
‘Alright for you to say,’ says Drew. ‘You’re getting paid to babysit. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.’
‘I’m volunteering today,’ says Eddie. ‘I haven’t been paid a cent.’
That shuts Drew up for a while. But the trip has gone sour and feral. I pull up my hood and feel the happiness of my swim drain away.
‘Hey,’ whispers Nola, tapping me on the knee. ‘Don’t let Drew get to you. Hold onto it.’ She puts her palm over her chest. ‘The freedom, that lightness you felt in the surf. Keep it here.’
We smile at each other. Back to being dolphins in the waves. Nola hands me the ear bud again, and her phone.
‘You choose what we listen to,’ she says.
‘You might regret that.’
‘Surprise me.’
Tiny and I share a seat back to the shelter. Everyone is grumpy as we head back home, but there’s something good between us. Maybe we’re becoming friends.
‘I have something for you,’ I say.
‘What?’
I reach into my bag and give her a rose-scented candle. ‘I had it at home. I thought, because of your story, you might like it.’
Tiny sniffs the candle, and smiles at me. ‘But I don’t have anything for you.’
‘No, that’s okay. I don’t need anything.’
Tiny cradles the candle in her palms and I lie my head back against the seat and listen to thrashing guitars and thumping drums. The music gives me an idea for a poem, so I get out my pen and notepad and start to write. I write like crazy, all the way home.
After the trip, I impulsively hug Tiny, probably breaking every rule of volunteering about not getting too close. I don’t care. She’s so thin, I can feel her bones.
‘See you at writing group?’ I ask. I’ve decided to finish my Hope Lane placement. Do something this year I can be proud of, even if I do fail my HSC.
‘Yeah. See ya there.’
‘Here, read this,’ I say, giving her a piece of paper, folded up. ‘It’s for you. No, it’s about you.’
‘Alright, thanks. I guess I’d better go in now.’
Tiny’s face falls as she walks back to the shelter. Sometimes being with her is like seeing a stranger crying in the car next to you in traffic. She’s in so much pain, but there’s nothing I can do to make it better. Thick glass separates us. She’s in her car and I’m in mine.
Eddie parks his bike outside the shelter. I’m waiting for him.
‘Hey, I’m glad you came back,’ he says.
‘Me too.’
‘You have a good day? I mean apart from the torrential rain and near-fatal lightning strikes.’
‘I did.’
I take out my community service logbook.
‘Can you fill this in for me, please?’
Eddie gives me his helmet.
‘Sure. Hold this.’
He rests the logbook on the seat of his bike, signs it and hands it back – he’s given me two hours for my first volunteering day, too. Seven in total. Only thirteen left and I’ll be finished.
‘Does this mean you’re coming back to writing group?’ Eddie asks me.
‘Yes. Is that okay?’
‘Of course. You were great today. Well, not on the cricket pitch, but everywhere else, you nailed it. Especially with Tiny. It’s good she has someone her age she can relate to.’
‘It’s good for me, too. I like her.’
‘So you’re doing the HSC this year, right? I’m guessing you’re looking forward to being out on parole.’
‘If I pass …’
‘You’ll pass. Know what you’re doing next year?’
Usually when people ask about my future it makes me irritated and edgy, but not with Eddie. He doesn’t have an agenda.
‘No idea. All my friends have their preferences sorted out. I can’t decide.’
‘I had no idea either. Spent my first year out of school doing a part-time course in graphic design that I really didn’t like and working in an arthouse cinema, which I liked a lot. This year I switched to UTS to study film. I still don’t know if I got it right. Everyone goes on and on about their ATAR score, but then nobody can even remember them after a few months.’
‘Everyone makes out like it’s the most important test result we’ll ever get,’ I admit. ‘Like it’s life or death.’
Eddie laughs. ‘Your HSC has nothing to do with what you become after school. That’s up to you. Do whatever makes you happy.’
‘Okay, happy. That’s good advice.’
‘I’ve got a shift in the kitchen now. I think I’ll find Tiny and see if she’ll help again. She can cook, did you know that?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘They’re full of surprises, these guys. See you next week. Bring something, a story starter, okay?’
‘I will. Bye.’
I get on the bus back to my house, my hair still wet and my dress damp.
‘Nice day, luv?’ the driver asks as I swipe my card.
‘Yes, it was,’ I say, feeling brighter than I have in weeks. ‘I went to the beach.’
‘Day like today? You’re mad.’
I take a seat and keep listening to Tiny’s music. It’s tough, loud and raw.
It’s so good I almost miss my stop.
Climbing the stairs to my room, I feel brown snakes wrapping around my neck and dripping venom down my throat. There’s too much traffic here. Too many people. The streets are dirty and broken. Cracked houses press against each other with no light in between. It surprises me, but I miss the bush and the open, empty fields around my house. I miss the quiet and the slow pace.
Salt lingers on my skin. In my hair. On my lips. A reminder of my day of feeling free.
In the shower I wash half the beach from my body – sand and seaweed swirling down the drain. I rinse out my bathers, hang them up on a hook in my room and think that when they’re dry I’d like to put them on again. Maybe go to a local pool. Maybe ask Nola to come with me.
On my bed, I take out her paper. It’s a poem. She was writing the whole way home on the bus.
Tiny Swims by Nola Piper
In the cold,
wide blue
In the wild,
thrashing
water
She lets go.
Her body
Free of pain
Free of sadness.
For a moment
She’s happy.
The girl
with tired eyes
is swept
away.
In the cold,
wide blue
She’s strong
At peace.
She floats
She dreams
that
life can be like this
always.
I hold her
hand
tight,
Whisper
don’t forget
the light.
I read the poem again, fold it up and spread it on my pillow. I rest my face on her words, like last time, and remember the ocean taking over me, and Nola’s hand gripping mine, bo
th of us trying to hold onto the light.
On Monday, Ebony holds an emergency formal meeting with our other friends Lolly and Kara in the Year Twelve common room. The girls arrive and I feel relieved I don’t have to be alone with Ebony. I can’t muster the level of enthusiasm required for the formal committee right now. And I know she’s disappointed in me.
‘Let’s start with partners. Have we all got a top three yet?’ says Ebony.
Lolly is single and as undecided as I am. Kara produces a typed-out list.
‘I’ve got it down to a top six. Can we go over pros and cons?’
‘Of course. We can do that at my place later. Nola? Partners?’
Ebony and Kara look at me expectantly. They’ve been spending more time together lately. Kara is 100 per cent invested in the formal. She cares deeply about dress designers, catering and invisible tape.
‘No one yet,’ I say.
‘What about Collie?’ says Ebony. ‘He’s still keen.’
‘Yeah, not sure.’
I didn’t have a top three, or even a top one. But I did have a plan. Whoever the guy was, and that guy was unlikely to be Collie, we would meet in the middle of the crowded dance floor in the scene that ended every cheesy teen movie I loved. The night would swirl in soft focus around us as the music turned to a slow song. Confetti would fall from somewhere in the ceiling. I’d tilt my chin upwards, our eyes would lock and our lips would gently meet. Roll credits. Sigh.
‘I think you and Collie would be amazing together, just saying,’ says Ebony. ‘Corsages? I’m giving Beau strict guidelines about colour and design. Solomon’s Flowers in Rose Bay is my preferred florist. We should go one day after school and check out their selection.’
‘We should book transportation,’ adds Kara, who has her own separate checklist. She has the same Kikki K organiser as Ebony. ‘Limo, classic fire engine or stretch hummer? What do you think? Is a hummer too gangster?’
‘No, it’s perfect,’ says Ebony.