by Scot Gardner
‘Come on. Sunclipse! Sunclipse!’ Kerry shouted back to Den and I. Her mousy brown locks were shining gold in the last light of the sun.
‘What’s a sunclipse?’
‘Oh, tell you when we get to the top,’ Den puffed as he stopped to light a PJ 12, checking over his shoulder. He offered me a drag. It didn’t make the hill climb any easier.
We flopped into the sand at the crest as the sun’s huge perfect circle was broken by the distant ocean horizon. The water was ablaze with reflected light. I couldn’t look at it for long but when I lay on my back and closed my eyes the burning sun was right there behind my eyelids in all its flaming glory.
‘Sweet sunclipse,’ Kerry whispered. I looked at Den.
‘Well, Dad says that the sun doesn’t rise and set. It’s the earth that moves, rotating and orbiting. It eclipses the sun as it spins off in the afternoon and in the morning it’s not a sunrise, it’s sunsight.’
‘Sunsight and sunclipse,’ I said. I guess it made sense, though I doubt if I’d ever use the terms again. The sun has been rising and setting for a heck of a long time.
I pressed my stump into the cool sand beside me, kind of an eerie feeling but not unpleasant. I lay there for a full five minutes watching the feathery clouds whisper along.
‘Gone,’ Kerry sighed and got up. She started running down the track and I sat up to watch her go. Before she vanished around a clump of tea trees she was loping gracefully as though she was in slow motion.
‘Hey—campfire,’ Den said. I sat up reluctantly and in the afterglow of the sun saw a thin line of smoke rising from a dune. ‘Let’s check it out.’
He started walking down the sandy slope towards where the sun had set. I stood up and stumbled along behind him until my feet and legs woke up.
The dune got us to where we could hear voices and music wafting over the shrubs. I could smell the sweet smoke of a driftwood fire but a solid wall of tangled tea trees stood between the campfire and us. Dennis found some sort of animal’s tunnel through the bushes and waved me over. We could crawl through it but it was a tight squeeze. Den bobbed his head and scuffled down the tunnel like a wombat on a mission. I followed, spiking my stump painfully on the first step. I tucked it up against my belly and hurried after Den like a three-legged poodle. God, he could move. I was stuffed by the time I caught up with him where the tea trees stopped and another dune began. He hushed me with a finger as I got close to him and pointed into the sandy valley below. Four people stood around a bright fire. Two were wearing Wind-cheaters, another was wearing a brightly coloured parka and the fourth looked ridiculously overdressed in a grey knee-length trench coat. I was hot in my shorts and T-shirt, but then I’d just crawled the length of a swimming pool under bushes so I guess that’s acceptable. At the camping area there were big ‘No Fires’ signs. Maybe they couldn’t read English.
‘It’s bloody Hendo,’ Den said and shot to his feet. I almost had kittens. One minute we’re commandos in the bushes, the next he is walking down the dune, cool as you like. The music stopped.
‘Hendo!’
I couldn’t recognise him but the bloke in the trench coat looked up. I sheepishly followed Den out of the scrub and arrived in time for the introductions. I thought Hendo must have already been stoned because he introduced us all like we were at mothers’ club or something. Steve was there—the one with the eyebrow rings—and his mate Phil who I’d met before but I didn’t know where. The bloke in the parka was Davo, a Mars Cove local who used to live in Fairleigh. He couldn’t get the stereo to work properly. It would play a savage blast of sound and as soon as he took his hand off it, it would stop. He was mumbling, swearing and cursing, his shoulder-length snow-white hair made his face look like a beetroot, but he persevered.
Steve recognised me from the party at Rebecca Hanson’s place and he started chatting with me and head-butting the air. I asked him how things were with Cheryl.
‘Yeah. Good, man. Good. She’s sort of why we’re here. You know Mandy, Cheryl’s mate, hey? Yeah, well they came down with Mandy’s mum and stepdad, hey. And we’re just waiting for them. Going to have a bit of a rage here, right. You’re welcome to hang around, man, if you want. Got plenty of beer and weed and stuff.’
Mandy’s here? My gut flip-flopped then I realised where I’d seen Phil. I didn’t recognise him out of school uniform. It’s amazing how clothes can make someone look completely different. Last time I saw him he was hanging all over Mandy at the Plaza. He seemed like a nice enough bloke, even with his head stuck in the blue and white Esky. He stood up and offered me a beer. He must have been six and a half feet tall. I took the beer and thanked him. He smelled like Lynx ‘Aztec’—a man after my own cool style.
‘You’re Wayne, yeah?’ he said, pointing at my stump.
‘Yeah, Mandy told me about you. Pretty horrible accident. What happened?’
‘Oh, I cut myself while I was shaving,’ I said. He thought about it for a minute then rolled his head back and let out a silly high-pitched laugh that made me step back.
Phil insisted I tell him the real story. His bloodshot eyes would wander from me to the fire to the beach then back to me and he’d say, ‘Oh, sorry. What was that? I missed that bit.’ I gave up after the fifth try and finished my beer.
Hendo and Den were huddled inside the open front of Hendo’s trench coat trying to light the same skull bong we’d shared at Rebecca’s party. The wind had picked up, but it was warm and sweet with smoke and sea. I called Hendo a thief—I was sure the bong belonged to Carlson—he shushed me through his finger and chuckled. More contraband.
The girls arrived just after dark. Cheryl, Emma Barclay and Mandy all wearing tight, tight jeans and sloppy Wind-cheaters. Emma had her hood pulled over her head and it took me a minute to recognise her. None of them recognised me. Or Den. We were all quite hammered by then. I heard Phil say my name—it cut through the music and the noise of the ocean like he’d spoken in my ear. Next thing I know I’m flat on my back in the sand. Mandy, vanilla-perfume and Bacardi Mandy, had bowled me over in her excitement.
‘What are you doing here, Wayne?’
‘What the hell are you doing here? And get off me you great lump,’ I said. The last bit was for Phil’s benefit,
I wasn’t in any hurry for her to get off me. Warm and soft and smelling so good. She sat up and told me how they all got down there and that they’ve been going there for years. Then it was all over. She staggered past the fire to Phil, who’d made a seat for himself in the sand, and flopped on his lap. I sat up and smoked some more with Hendo and Den. Emma dug herself a seat.
‘Nice couple,’ I said to her, pointing with my head to Mandy and Phil cuddling by the fire. She screwed up her face and sucked air through her teeth.
‘Don’t know for how much longer though . . .’ I raised my eyebrows.
‘Yeah, Steve told me that Phil’s got a girlfriend in Sydney and she’s coming to Melbourne to live in the New Year. Two-timing bastard.’
Some time later, after the fire had died down and Davo had stoked it up again, there was a rat’s nest of activity over the way. Swearing, shouting and finally . . .
‘Stupid bitch,’ Phil shouted and stood up with his arms wide, shaking his head. Mandy had emptied the contents of a VB can on his head. How tragic. How disastrous. The stereo died. How convenient.
Phil stormed off towards the beach and Mandy flopped into the sand and covered her face. Cheryl came out of the darkness fixing her clothes and sat beside Mandy with her arm on her back.
I think Davo was getting into the swing of it. He grabbed the stereo and pulled the cassette out, leaving two neat threads of shiny brown tape clamped somewhere in the guts of the machine.
‘Stupid bitch,’ he shouted at the machine. Holding it by the handle he began to spin. Faster and faster, then—hammer throw! He sent the stereo crashing off over the other side of the dune. Party over.
Mandy got up and started walking to the beach; well, staggerin
g at first, and then walking. I followed her.
‘Leave her alone, Wayne,’ Emma said.
‘I’ll just keep an eye on her.’
She walked to the beach and kept going right to the edge of the water. Looked like she was going to keep on going but she flopped on the wet sand and hung her head between her knees. In the weak light she could have been a big lump of seaweed. I sat on the sand and played with half a pipi shell until it got warm in my hand and I felt like throwing it at her. My eyes had adjusted to the dark and the smashing waves looked ghostlike as I got up the courage to move beside her. She obviously hadn’t heard me coming and she jumped, hanging her head again when she realised it was me.
A gap between waves left an enormous silence that
Mandy filled with a half-sob. ‘Hey Wayne.’
‘Hey, you. You okay?’
‘Yeah, bloody terrific,’ she said, and looked away from me up the beach.
I rested my stump on her shoulder and she snuggled closer to me.
‘What happened?’ She shrugged.
‘His old girlfriend, Angelique, is coming down from Sydney next week. He just wants to be friends . . .’
‘That’s a bit rough.’
She reached out to thank me and grappled awkwardly with my stump. I felt her shiver. She jerked away and groaned like she’d smelled vomit. Before the shock of her pulling away had fully registered she was on her feet and pelting me with handfuls of sand.
‘Get off me you fucking cripple. Fucking freak.’
I covered my head, covered my ears against the hard balls of wet sand and the words like broken glass. I could feel heavy footfalls vibrating the sand under my bum. Dragged to my feet—half by my hair, half by my T-shirt— a fist thumped into my guts. Before I’d buckled I took another blow to the shoulder that spun me. I fell forward, arms covering my face. My arms took the blow from a boot that hit hard enough to move me across the sand. Pinpricks of white in front of my eyes and the taste of blood. I could hear Mandy screaming and the scuffle and splash of more fighting in the shallow water then the pain hit like one of the waves, drowning me.
The wave passed and I felt someone gently pulling at my arm, locked tight around my head.
‘Wayne. Come on. You okay? He’s gone.’ Groan.
‘Come on, mate. Can you walk? Here, let me help you.’ Den dragged me along the beach. I felt like I’d been in one of those playground spew-machines that had been spun so fast I’d been thrown out. Even in the darkness I could tell the colour of the sticky witness on my face and mouth. Red.
I was crying. Blubbering like a five-year-old. My mate dragged me and carried me into the closest toilets at the camping ground. In the fluorescent light I could see blood stuck in the moons of his fingernails. The whites of his eyes were red from the dope and the effort, and he took a sharp breath when he looked at me.
‘Shit. Here, mate. To the sink.’
Dark blood dropped on the stainless steel and in the scratchy mirror I could see someone else. I looked like one of those dudes on a drink-drive commercial: my face splattered with blood and sand, and a steady drip-drip-drip from my nose. Den told me to get my shirt off and I used it as a cloth to mop up my face. A few stinging minutes passed as I dabbed at the blood and stopped the flow from my nose. A bloke with a round red face walked in and took a piss then walked straight out again. Obviously he sees road-trauma victims in the toilets every day. Den suggested that he go and get his mum and the first-aid kit from the back of the wagon.
‘No. Nah, don’t get your mum. Everything is okay. Here, look. It’s all from my nose.’
Although it was a bit sore to touch it didn’t really hurt. My arms and my guts felt bruised but the cold water and the lights helped me come back to earth. Den had one wet shoe and it made disgusting squelchy fart sounds as he walked me back to the tent at 167b. The gas lamp was out and so were the Humes. We crawled into bed. Baz was snoring like an idling chainsaw. I whispered to Den to keep quiet about the little incident. He didn’t answer for a minute then he whispered that he wouldn’t tell his folks. Thanks, mate.
In a few minutes he was breathing loud and regular but the blood was still pumping in my veins. Pure adrenaline, making my temples thump and playing the film of what happened over and over. I should have kicked Phil in the balls. I missed the perfect opportunity to head-butt him in the face—that would have slowed the bastard down. I shouldn’t have put my arm on Mandy’s shoulder. I can’t believe she said that shit. Fucking cripple. The words tasted like blood. She was right.
At about three o’clock I felt like walking home. I couldn’t see the door so I just stayed in bed and squeezed my eyes tight shut. Bit my lip. Felt like I wanted to spew my guts out. Scream. Something.
‘Wayne. You okay?’ Kerry whispered.
I snuffled and rolled onto my side with a heavy sigh.
‘What is it?’
I clicked my tongue a couple of times and breathed a bit louder.
‘Do you want to go for a walk?’
I just lay there. Scuffle, scuffle. Then she’s pulling at my sleeping bag.
‘Come on. I heard you crying,’ she whispered right in my ear. ‘Let’s go walk down the beach.’
‘Okay.’
It was darker than death outside the lights of the camping ground. Not a star, just heavy clouds to hold in the heat of the day. A sweet, wet breeze rolled in off the ocean and Kerry and I walked without saying a word for a long time, away from that dune and the blood in the sand. Kerry must have been able to see in the dark. And read my mind. I slowed down a couple of times and started freaking out—it was just so dark. So absolutely black that I couldn’t see the difference if my eyes were opened or closed. She took my hand and we walked like that till we couldn’t walk any further; huge rough granite rocks marked the end of the beach. Kez clambered up on top of one and I lay against its scratchy side feeling the warmth of the day still radiating from the rock. After a while, I could see the difference between the sky and the water from the corner of my eye. Later still, a star glinted through the clouds. And another.
‘Did you guys get lost? Mum was getting a bit edgy when it got to eleven o’clock and you weren’t back. She was probably still awake. I was.’
‘Nah. Not really,’ I said, having to cough-start my voice box.
‘What happened?’
I listened to the waves. I listened to them rolling quietly in then slamming into the rocks and I told her what had happened. Told her the whole bit—except what Mandy had called me. At first, I gagged on that and then it slipped out of the story altogether. Phil and Mandy had a barney. I went down to the beach to comfort Mandy and Phil beat the shit out of me. End of story.
‘You should have told the police. Why didn’t you tell the police?’
‘Oh, no harm done really, just a bloody nose and that. Everything is okay.’
‘Bull. What happens next time you see him?’
‘Nothing. It’s all over. I just won’t go near Mandy.’
‘Yeah. Why would you want to go near her anyway? Shallow bitch.’
‘She’s not that bad . . . just hangs out with losers.’
‘Do you like her, Wayne? You do! You think she’s hot, don’t you? Whoo.’
‘Shut your hole. What if I do? What’s she ever done to you anyway?’
‘Ha! Do you want the whole list or the abbreviated one? Let me see ... At Beck’s party she made me a drink with someone’s piss in it. Thought it was such a joke. At school, she’s constantly trashing Carly’s locker. She peeled the backs off a whole pack of Carly’s panty-liners and stuck them all over her books and door. She spits on that beautiful big labrador that hangs around at school. Feral bitch.’
‘Yeah, Hendo does that too. Poor old Spitball. Disgusting.’
‘Wayne. She’s no honey. Admittedly she looks like she should be on the cover of Dolly magazine or something but she’s off.’
‘Yeah, okay. That’s just your story though.’
‘Oh I could go on . . .’
‘Nah. Not necessary,’ I said, and she laughed.
She couldn’t see my face and, in the darkness, my heart cracked open. I couldn’t stop it. I got tight in the chest and then the words just fell out. ‘She called me a fucking cripple. And you know what? I think she’s right.’
I doubled over and held my head in my hand. I dry-retched and spat on the sand. It covered most of my sobs, but she slid down the rock and put her arm over my back. I could hear myself wailing but it didn’t sound like me. Sounded more like that dog that got hit by a car on Garrison Street. It lay on its side and kicked and span in a circle screaming and howling until a policeman shot it with his pistol. Where’s a policeman when you need one?
I hugged Kerry so hard I heard her back crack, sobbed on her neck until I couldn’t stand up any more. With my bum on the sand and my back against the hard rock, I cried until there was nothing left, just aching ribs and those silly little sniffly sobs that you can’t control. Kerry kneeled beside me stroking my brow and shushing me.
‘Wayne. You’re not a cripple. I think you can still get wherever you want to go. And if Mandy doesn’t like you— take it as a compliment. I know a dozen babes that would gladly give up their left hand to hang out with you. Me included. You’re beautiful, Wayne. Everything about you, the way you walk, move. Everything.’
I took her hand, squeezed it and let it go. ‘A dozen babes?’
‘Yeah, well maybe half a dozen.’
I laughed and a bubble of snot burst in my nose and sprayed the sand near my knee.
‘Would you believe three? One for definite certain and two “oh yeah”s.’
That sounded more likely. She helped me to my feet and I wiped my face with my T-shirt, snotted my nose and wiped again. We hugged, but this time I was there and aware of everything. Warm and soft and perfect. I kissed her forehead. She kissed my arm, and we started the slow walk home as the horizon began to glow. It was going to be another hot one. A flock of giant red and blue budgerigars—Kerry called them rosellas—were squawking and chattering above the tent at 167b. It felt like morning and we should have been getting an early breakfast as Kerry and I stepped between the sleeping bodies and crawled into our own beds. Den looked as though he’d been shot in his sleep with his arms and legs hanging out everywhere.