Carousel

by Brendan Ritchie

  A few nights in I tripped a fuse and cut out the whole kids section. But the place was too creepy in the dark and I quickly switched them back on. I think we all secretly felt this way. Behind our complaints on the first night there was unspoken relief that the lights hadn’t shut down and left us alone and in darkness until morning.

  This particular morning I had woken early with the rain. I lay there listening and looking around the level. The kitchen section was the closest to my bed. A constant shimmer of wine glasses and cutlery in selective downward lighting. I sometimes thought of taking a photo each week to see how long it would take for enough dust to collect to dim the reflections. One of the best carafes stood stained at a nearby table from earlier in the week. Taylor and I had taken our weekly pilgrimage down the east end of the centre to Liquor Central for a shiraz she had read about in a travel magazine.

  Past kitchenware was the pastel warmth of the linen section. I had started to make a decent-size pile of dirty linen in a corner over there since Lizzy had introduced me to the novelty of fresh sheets.

  ‘Come on. You can even have Spider-Man if you want,’ she had said.

  Before long I had a pile of vacuum-packed square sheet sets ready beside the bunks.

  She was right about the sheets though. I didn’t know what she and Taylor were on about when they ranted over thread counts or the cotton in Myer compared to Bed Bath and Home, but the crispy feel of sheets straight out of the packet, with their sweet, plasticy smell, was pretty addictive.

  Linen eventually gave way to electrical and the walls of HD televisions that I had turned off long ago. Initially I was pretty excited about the electrical section. Watching DVDs and Blu-rays from JB Hi-Fi on huge 3D LCD LED ADD TVs. Gaming on the demo consoles chained to the cabinets beneath. But there was something kind of sullen about a TV with no reception. While Carousel had plenty of power, it was a total black spot for any kind of communication. No TV. No internet. Not even radio. Sure we could watch stuff on disc, and we did a lot of this, but every time I walked by the TVs I couldn’t help but wish they were screening the latest Modern Family or X Factor. Shit, I’d even settle for MasterChef. Instead they sat dormant and lifeless. As disconnected from the world as we were.

  Then there were the escalators. Static and exhausting. If there was a switch for these we hadn’t found it. The increased fall of the stationary stairs meant that traversing was unusually difficult and made Taylor feel like she was ‘going to die in this creepy mall’. I used a collection of long cardboard sheets to slide down to ground floor. After a few days practice it was relatively easy. The only downside was lugging all the sheets back up every so often.

  Behind my bunk and out of view was a small giftware section. Several stands full of cards in sections like His Birthday, Her Birthday and Friendship. Every Sunday I would pick out the cheesiest card I could find from the With Regret section, sign my name, put it in an envelope and drop it off to Lizzy. She would respond the next day with the worst Happy Anniversary card she could find, trudging up my escalator while I was out microwaving soup or kicking around a soccer ball. One Sunday I started watching the Lord of the Rings box set and forgot to leave Lizzy her card. She brooded for two days. I realised then that the cards were important and I haven’t missed one since.

  It sounded like the rain had set in and I could come back and listen later if I wanted, so I got up and went to the bathroom. There were Mens, Ladies, Disabled and Staff toilets on my level. Fortunately the staff toilets had a shower.

  At first it had been pretty uninviting. Basically a cubicle without the toilet. But, thanks to an abundant supply of toiletry items, it wasn’t so bad anymore.

  I stood under water, under rain, for a good half hour. Thankfully wherever the hot water supply was coming from, like the power, it seemed inexhaustible.

  I towelled off and walked around to the Mens where I kept a basin. The Ladies was closer, and I’ve never liked using a trough, but something still felt weird about going in there.

  It had started getting cold in the mornings so I had laid out a series of bathmats in a collage surrounding the basin I used. Coupled with the piles of shave cream, toothbrushes and deodorants I had gathered, the room went from stark white to disco colour in a footstep. Being in there alone, with the long line of silent cubicles, could be pretty creepy. A while ago I decided to prop the doors open with garden gnomes from Backyard Bonanza. I figured as long as the doors were open there couldn’t be anyone hiding behind them. The others felt the same so we spent a day gnoming the whole centre. Now whenever you went to the toilet a gnome was stationed outside.

  My radio crackled. I stopped brushing my teeth and listened. It was Taylor.

  ‘We’re moving to berry Pop-Tarts. Interested?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah. Be down in a sec,’ I replied.

  ‘Awesome.’

  We’d made a pact to keep the radios on after losing each other for a night during the first week. Taylor had stayed out late checking to see if any of the doors would open on the south side of the building. Lizzy was bunkered down in the alternative music section in JB’s. I was supposed to stay by the dome to meet Taylor but got hungry and went to Coles. The corridor lights timed out and we chased each other’s echoes around the place for hours before giving up and sleeping where we were. It felt like losing your mum when you were a kid. And the sounds had made it worse. Without people, parts of Carousel echoed like crazy. So when Lizzy started crying in Friendlies Chemist, Taylor and I could hear her. And when Taylor started too I couldn’t really help it either. It was the first time any of us got upset. In the morning we found each other easily and all felt pretty stupid. So we charged some radios from Dick Smith and went shopping for belts to hook them on.

  Now I didn’t even notice it hanging by my side. Right now breakfast was at the Pure ’n’ Natural island. It had a microwave and toaster, but more importantly a freezer full of frozen fruit. Taylor and Lizzy were paranoid about getting scurvy after a former schoolmate of theirs contracted the ancient nautical condition. He was left to fend for himself while his parents were on holidays. They had a chest freezer full of frozen sausage rolls and party pies. So, thinking nothing of it, that’s all he ate for a month. Until he collapsed at school with pasty white skin and sores all through his mouth.

  Taylor and Lizzy Finn floated sleepily around the tropical-coloured island as I approached. Lizzy was putting together some weird fruit smoothie. She was slightly shorter than her twenty-six-year-old twin, but wispy in a way that made her seem taller than she actually was. She dressed herself in a lot of rock-star black but always with a flicker of feminine via a heart-shaped brooch or some smoky eye shadow.

  Taylor was reading the box while she toasted some Pop-Tarts. She shared Lizzy’s big, luminous eyes but hers had a kind of attitude that immediately distinguished her and somehow said both What are you looking at and I’m really lost at the same time. Taylor was all vintage denim jackets and high-cut boots. On their album covers Lizzy was usually photographed at the front, but in an ironic kind of way.

  I gave them a little wave and stepped inside to clean a couple of plates at the sink.

  ‘Is Rocky coming?’ I asked, once Lizzy had stopped the blender.

  ‘He’s not answering his radio,’ replied Taylor.

  Lizzy shook her head and inspected the smoothie.

  ‘We told him about that,’ I said.

  ‘I know,’ shrugged Taylor.

  The Pop-Tarts shot up and I plated them, leaving a spare in the machine for Rocky.

  We chewed silently with a glass of purple smoothie to wash down the clumps of sugary dough.

  ‘Do you need help moving equipment today?’ I asked Lizzy.

  ‘Sure,’ she replied.

  Taylor was quiet. She’d kept right out of Lizzy’s plan to set up a recording studio from the equipment in the music store next to Target. I’d overheard them talking about it last week. Taylor telling Lizzy not to expect her to run in and play stu
ff once it was ready. Lizzy telling Taylor that she shouldn’t assume she would be invited.

  ‘I’m so into these blueberries,’ said Taylor looking at her drink like it was mystical.

  ‘I know, right,’ said Lizzy.

  ‘Are we on to berry Pop-Tarts because the others are out of code?’ I asked.

  Taylor nodded. Food wasn’t our favourite topic now that items had started to reach use-by dates in all of the supermarkets.

  ‘I was thinking that some of the stores in the food court might have storage freezers at the back with stuff inside,’ I said.

  They both nodded.

  ‘Have you finished Breaking Dawn?’ Taylor asked Lizzy.

  ‘Almost. You know there are like fifty copies in Dymocks, right?’ Lizzy replied.

  Taylor shrugged.

  A whirring noise interrupted them as Rocky wheeled around the corner on one of his kid’s-size mountain bikes. The three of us watched him coast toward us. He looked away, feigning interest in the stores flashing by.

  ‘Hey, Rocky,’ said Taylor.

  ‘Hey,’ he replied and leant the bike carefully against the island.

  I swung off my chair and dipped his Pop-Tart down for a reheat.

  ‘You forget your radio again?’ asked Lizzy.

  Rocky nodded and sheepishly sipped his smoothie. He looked young today. Acne blotching his lower face and neck. An oversized hoodie hanging loosely from his stooping shoulders. The three of us would often catch each other staring at him curiously like he was some study into puberty. Then remind ourselves to leave the poor guy alone.

  ‘Do you want to come out to the south end with me today, Rock?’ asked Taylor.

  He nodded, as she knew he would.

  ‘Awesome,’ said Taylor.

  There were all sorts of exits in the south end that Taylor had started testing after she finished with the back entrances. She would go out there with a bunch of different tools from Backyard Bonanza in the hope of wedging open one of the doors.

  Taylor’s desire to break out of the centre had remained pretty constant from the first night. For me it came in waves. I don’t think this meant that Taylor necessarily wanted to be free more than I did, but maybe her need for a goal or routine was stronger. I found it easier to face the problem of our strange imprisonment when I was feeling okay with things than when I was down. But then I guess what got me down to begin with was probably being imprisoned.

  I had drifted inevitably away from my parents and sister since moving out and starting uni. Driven back only by birthdays, holidays and the occasional family barbecue. As time went by the visits became even less frequent. I had graduated with average grades and an arts degree, and started work for a stationery store chain. Suddenly it was like there was no future to discuss. I was just twenty-two but it was as if I’d already arrived at my destination, and, although I don’t think my parents held out any great ambition for either my sister Danni or me, my situation made things oddly uncomfortable. I don’t know if I missed seeing them, but I definitely missed having the option.

  Maybe it was kind of the same for Lizzy. But I hadn’t asked. Something large and inexplicable was happening, maybe had happened, in the world, or at least in Australia, but Lizzy somehow found a way to rationalise. Or maybe not rationalise, but accept and move on. As much as that were possible in a giant, deserted mall. None of us knew what Rocky’s thoughts were. He was just as happy, or maudlin (in Rocky’s case the difference was small), helping Taylor bashing doors as he was playing Turkey Shoot Arcade in the foyer of the cinema. We knew he was fragile and the three of us kept a close eye on him. But in reality we had no idea what to look out for.

  I liked Rocky, though. From the moment we found him in the PJ section of Target, still wearing his work uniform, lying on a roll-out camping mat. He’d been in there, quiet as a mouse, for over a week. Surviving on boxes of chocolate and bottles of Sprite. Crashing from sugar every two hours, before getting hungry and doing it over again.

  Target was cold and severely fluorescent twenty-four hours a day. Rocky hadn’t really slept since arriving early for his shift. Despite this, and the fact that he was dehydrated, malnourished and scared as hell, he didn’t complain for a moment. Actually, Rocky never complained. I’d seen him come off his bike about a dozen times since he started coasting through the corridors and he never said a word. And there were other times when Taylor and I were fiddling around with a window somewhere and we would hear a jarring crash from another side of the centre as Rocky fanned out too wide on a corner and slammed into a shopfront. Only to pick himself up and pedal off moments later.

  Rocky was the skinny kid in school that you decided you would stick up for, even if it meant you would get beaten up. Because watching him get beaten would be so much worse.

  He and Taylor spent a lot of time together. Even when she wasn’t looking for an exit. They would find different things to race around the centre on. Skateboards. Scooters. Shopping trolleys.

  Some nights, the three of us would take Rocky down to Liquor Central with an iPod and some beanbags and pass on our knowledge of vodkas and wines. Rocky would drink along obediently and listen to our stories of when we first drank something, or how crap we felt after drinking something else. Taylor and Lizzy’s stories were a lot more interesting than mine. In the depths of Carousel it was easy to forget they were musical celebrities. Drunk Rocky was pretty similar to sober Rocky. There were just more bike crashes on the way back.

  4

  Lizzy and I were down the back of the music store. The place was part of a local chain that catered for kids learning guitar and retirees taking up piano where they left off fifty years before. Not a place to shop for half an indie-rock duo from Canada. But Lizzy was making the best of it.

  ‘Wow. There’s so much shit in here,’ she said, stepping back and assessing our progress in collecting a pile of necessary equipment.

  ‘Yeah. Even though the prices are mental,’ I said, quoting a favourite sign of ours in the window.

  We stood there for a moment, surrounded by trashy glinting guitars and big, blocky amps.

  ‘I’ll grab a couple of trolleys from next door,’ I said and left her inside.

  The centre was quiet now that the rain had stopped. I was wearing a pair of canvas slip-ons from Country Road that I liked because they were silent on the lino and they didn’t echo through the whole fucking centre like some shoes did. Thankfully Taylor and Lizzy weren’t into heels that much or none of us would get anything done.

  I bypassed the trolleys at the front of Target and stepped through a checkout to look for some Vitamin Water that was still in code. We had pretty much cleared out the mini fridges at the head of each checkout. I walked past, just to make sure, but it was just old gossip mags and Extra gum. It was crazy how much chewing gum there was in a fully stocked shopping complex.

  I turned down into the bulk food section where they kept some warm bottles alongside the still water and multi-pack soft drink. We had cleared out the good flavours, but there was plenty of orange-orange still in code. I grabbed two and turned back toward the entrance.

  Something caught my eye and I stopped.

  Rocky’s abandoned campsite lay at the other end of the aisle. I had a clear view of the makeshift bed and empty drink containers.

  I stood there, strangely engrossed by the window into our Carousel past. There was a pile of kids’ pyjamas bundled up for a pillow and a small outdoor lantern alongside.

  I suddenly realised that Rocky might have stayed there forever if we hadn’t have been in here too.

  It was one of the loneliest things I had seen.

  I wanted to get the hell out of there but couldn’t stop looking. I got a snap of dizziness and the centre spread out behind my eyes like a giant empty prison.

  My radio crackled.

  I jumped a little and took off back toward the checkouts.

  ‘Just wondering if you would be finished trying on skivvies soon?’ said Lizzy on
the radio. I took mine out of my pocket to reply.

  ‘Yeah, sorry. The checkouts are banked up like crazy today,’ I said as I passed through the entrance with the Vitamin Waters. Outside I stopped and turned back, remembering the trolleys.

  The radio crackled again. This time it was Taylor.

  ‘Remember the blue one he found?’

  ‘Yeah. It was so snug,’ Lizzy replied.

  I found a couple of trolleys that steered okay and put the drinks inside. The Finns’ jokes continued.

  ‘It was almost the exact same colour as his denim. Like a big grown-up onesie,’ said Taylor.

  Lizzy pressed her radio just to laugh. Taylor followed. I shook my head and glanced back at the eerie, fluorescent expanse of Target. I decided not to go back in there unless I had to.

  I rounded the corner and found Lizzy sitting on an amp beside a small pile of equipment at the front of the store. She was still exchanging radio laughter with Taylor. I held my radio up.

  ‘Hey, Rock. I’m going to be on channel four FYI.’

  I switched channels. A moment later there was a solitary crackle to show he had done the same. Lizzy looked my way and mocked sympathy. I handed her the Vitamin Water and started loading the gear to make her feel even worse. She just ruffled my hair and smiled.

  Later in the day we were parked outside Rugs a Million. Lizzy had decided on this for her studio partly due to the sound-proofing options offered by the countless rugs and carpets, and also because it had an ‘awesome middle-eastern vibe’.

  We spent a couple of hours clearing out a corner at the back and carrying in some equipment. Lizzy was keen to keep working and get the place ready for recording. I wondered how much it had to do with Taylor. The topic of music was a polarising force between them. Taylor hadn’t played, or discussed music, since we arrived in the centre, and whatever she was listening to on her headphones was hers alone. Like a mother preserving the bedroom of a teenager left for uni, she carefully sheltered the memory of their musical past.