Clancy of the Undertow

by Christopher Currie

  ‘I know a place,’ I say. ‘It’ll be perfect.’

  ‘Another adventure,’ says Sasha. ‘I love it!’ She guns the engine again and we squeal out of the carpark. It’s terrifying and it’s weird and it’s fucking amazing.

  37

  Through the aviators‚ through the burny buzz of whiskey, the world is a nice greyish blue. We’ve got our feet up on the railing, baking in the weak sun. We’re above the world and perfectly alone. We’re adults. Long legs and warm backs and endless possibilities. Atop the observatory, the place we first met.

  ‘So what do you want to do with, like, your life?’ I say, watching a patchy cloud slowly dissolve. I’m so full of fast food, and so mouth-fumblingly tipsy, but so very happy.

  Sasha laughs. ‘That’s a deep question.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll stay here, though? Like, in Barwen, with your job, or Buggs, or…’ A line of questioning I’ve been practising over and over in my head.

  ‘Probably not. The job’s okay, but I can work in a travel agent anywhere. It’ll probably be easier somewhere else, really. Won’t have my mum as my boss.’

  ‘I guess everyone likes to travel.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘What about your family, or whoever? Would you stick around for them?’

  Sasha lifts one leg off the railing and rolls her foot around. ‘I’ve got Mum, but that’s it. She’s never going to leave.’

  ‘And Buggs?’ I say, subtle as a hammer. ‘Does he want to travel?’

  ‘He wouldn’t last a second outside Barwen. His family practically owns everything so why would he want to move? As long as I stay here, I’m stuck with him.’ Sasha takes a swig of the Jack Daniels, slams it back down on the metal floor with a clang.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I guess.’ I take a slug of whiskey as well, a big, match-strike mouthful that hurts all the way to my stomach.

  She rolls onto her side, so she’s facing me, so I can almost feel her. ‘Fuck it, though,’ she says. ‘Fuck him and his family. I’m going to move to Brisbane or probably Sydney. I’ve got friends who are, like, full-on models. I’ll probably stay with them. They’re always asking me to come down. Saying I could be a model or whatever. What do you reckon?’

  ‘Definitely,’ I say. Two breaths, and I roll over to face her. ‘You could definitely be a model.’ There’s a tiny clump of mascara on one eyelash.

  ‘Yeah. I’ll probably stay for Christmas and then piss off. Can you imagine people’s faces, like, if I just didn’t tell anyone and then just left? It’d be classic.’

  ‘For sure.’ I picture us flying down the highway in the Monaro, the road disappearing either side of us. Driving wherever we wanted to.

  Sasha says, ‘I’d want to have New Year’s in Sydney, though. My mate’s got this apartment right near the bridge. It’ll be amazing. The fireworks are so shit in Barwen.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. Then, ‘My birthday’s just before New Year’s. The twenty-ninth.’

  ‘Really? You should totally come down. It’s going to be massive.’

  I sort of scrunch up my face. ‘Really? I could come?’

  ‘Yeah, totally. It’s going to be amazing. You’re cool. You can watch me take the world by storm.’

  This is our new life, I think. This is my ticket out of here. Sasha, Sydney, models, huge. I’ve got money saved up, my car money, but I won’t need a car now. Sasha and me. We can make it work. ‘Sounds great,’ I say. ‘Sounds the best.’

  Sasha sticks her tongue out at me like Rock and Roll! and her face is so close to mine that I notice again the tiny row of blonde hairs above the dark line of her eyebrow. She looks at me with her wide eyes and smiles, just slightly and my heart shoots fireworks because she’s daring me to move closer and then my brain says Happy Birthday, Clancy and I lean in and close my eyes just before my lips brush hers and they’re soft and her bottom lip is so soft and I push against it. She makes a quiet noise and I feel her mouth open against mine. My fingers move so close to her gorgeous hair but then I can’t feel it. I open my eyes and Sasha’s pulling her head back.

  ‘No,’ she says. ‘I…’ then she puts her hand on her mouth. ‘What the fuck? She sits up. ‘What the fuck?’

  It takes me a second to realise what’s going on and for a wonderful moment I think she’s talking about something else, like she’s seen a shooting star or it’s suddenly started raining or she’s just remembered something important, or—

  ‘Did you just try and kiss me?!’ Her eyes are huge and round and she stands up saying ‘You…’ and she holds her hands out either side of her like she’s trying to stop two walls from closing in.

  Panic pummels me like falling boulders and I say, ‘I’m sorry, I thought you…’ She kissed me back, didn’t she? ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.’ My voice is coming out rapid-fire and my heartbeat’s matching it. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’ You stupid bloody idiot, Clancy.

  Sasha’s pointing at me. ‘Are you queer?’ she says. ‘Are you fucking queer? Oh my God.’ I don’t say anything and then she laughs. ‘You are, aren’t you? Oh my fucking God. You’re a little fag!’

  ‘I’m not,’ I say. ‘I’m not. I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘You are.’ Sasha runs her hands through her hair. ‘Fuck. Me.’ She taps her finger against her head. ‘This makes a lot of sense. Fits right in with your fucking psycho family.’

  ‘We’re not psycho.’

  Sasha’s laughing hard now, like she can’t hold it together. ‘I knew it. I knew you were. All you Underhills are fucking crazy.’

  I realise I’m still lying down and somehow this makes me angrier than anything, like she hasn’t even given me a chance. ‘I’m not a queer,’ I say, standing up. ‘I’m not anything.’ I step towards her, my head a ball of white-hot embarrassment and rage. ‘You don’t know a fucking thing!’

  ‘You going to push me off the edge?’ she says. ‘You gonna kill me? Gonna be just like your dad?’

  And oh God I do want to kill her, I picture the pewter dragon knife in my hand and I’m stabbing her right in the soft hollow of her neck, watching the blade going in through her skin and not even feeling it. But then I realise there’s no blood and the knife isn’t slicing it’s erasing, it’s just leaving an absence behind. And it’s not her neck I’m imagining, it’s mine. I’m running the blade across my throat and it’s so beautiful, so absolutely peaceful, like when you wake up from a nightmare and remember none of it’s real.

  I slump down on the platform. I’m crying like a lunatic before I realise it and I can’t catch my breath and then I’m curled up in a ball and I smell dirt and the heat from the sun that’s still held in the metal. I hear Sasha’s footsteps behind me and then she’s climbing down the stairs, each footfall like a clanging bell, all the way down. The car starts up, revs and takes off.

  I lie there for I don’t know how long, like if I never move again, nothing bad can happen. I just want to stay here, curled up like this until my mind stops working or the world ends or preferably both. I am a fucking idiot. I am a fucking psycho. I am a fucking queer. Why did I ever think she actually liked me? I think of all the things I did around her, the way I fucking acted, and I curl myself up even tighter. I can’t show my face in town ever again. Or at school. Fuck. School.

  I squeeze my eyes closed. All the years I’ve spent making myself as unremarkable as possible, flying under the radar, giving no one—no one—a reason to single me out or notice me. This is how I survived. I wasn’t a girl, I wasn’t an Underhill, I wasn’t a faggot, I wasn’t anything but another face to ignore. I’ve been teased before—hasn’t everyone?—but it was just scattergun schoolyard prejudice. Now it’s real. They’ve got me. It’s all going to change, and I can’t go back. I just can’t. Sasha will tell everybody. Mum and Dad’s face when they find out. Angus, Reeve, everybody. Nancy. She said it was okay. She said I could talk about it. Lying bitch. My crying turns to sobbing turns to howling and I’m a wounde
d animal, I’m the Beast of Barwen, lying here thrashing in my own misery.

  When I’m finally spent, when I’m just mucus and two dry eyes, I roll onto my back. Cartoon clouds above me. I think, How is it that everyone else works out who you are before you do? I’m sized up, figured out, drawn over and boxed in on all sides. There’s a red ant crawling towards my face so I sit up. The bottle of Jack Daniels is still there. I grab it and get to my feet.

  I lean over the railing. It’s a disgustingly clear afternoon, the whole world out there waiting for me in high definition. There’s no way I’m letting it make me a part of it. I hold the bottle over the edge, releasing my grip bit by bit until it slips from my grasp and I feel a jolt of adrenaline. I hear the bottle smash and look down at the wet starburst pattern, the glitters of glass. Then I lean myself over the edge. I lean over until my body starts to tell me I’ve gone too far and I hold it there.

  The ground is just dust and rocks and I don’t like the idea of landing on it which is strange because it shouldn’t really matter. I want it—somehow—to be water. I don’t want resistance. I want it to accept me and pull me under and run me below the current and lead me away to another place. I close my eyes and lean out further, reaching my hands out in front of me, feeling the pleasant sensation of my weight shifting from my feet all the way to my head.

  38

  A car horn beeps and my body jolts. I snap my eyes open and before I realise it my reflexes kick in and my arms shoot back to grab the railing. I’m further over the edge than I’ve thought, practically balancing on the rail. My stomach lurches as I try to regain my balance. The aviators slip off my nose and fall towards the dirt. They hit the ground and both lenses pop out. My pulse thumps at my temples. I need to stay still and there’s a breeze ruffling my clothes and I will it to stop, please just calm the fuck down. The horn beeps again but I have to concentrate. I have to slowly and deliberately shift my weight backwards. My arms tremble as I work back over my balance point and then I kick my legs in the air behind me until finally I fall back and I’m crouching behind the safety of the railing. It’s like I can’t breathe fast enough to catch up with myself. Adrenaline surges through me.

  ‘Pantsy, you nutjob!’ I hear Angus’s feet on the stairs.

  I rub my eyes and wipe my nose on the sleeve of my jumper. My eyes are still puffy but there’s nothing I can do about them. What am I going to do, anyway—pretend I accidentally nearly fell off the tower?

  Angus runs at me and grabs my arm like I’m going to throw myself off again. ‘What the hell were you doing?’ His face is red and his eyes dart back and forth between mine.

  I shrug.

  ‘You could’ve killed yourself.’

  ‘That was kind of the idea.’

  ‘What?’ He grips my arm tighter. ‘Jesus, Clance. Jesus.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘I’m over it now.’ I’m talking in this sort of weird flat tone, like it’s not really my voice that’s coming out.

  ‘Let’s go back,’ he says. ‘I can drive you home.’

  ‘I’m fine up here.’

  ‘No. You’re not.’

  ‘Can you…can you just give me a minute? Can you let go of my arm?’

  ‘Not really, no.’ Angus is squatting down, swivelling on the balls of his feet like he’s waiting to spring into action.

  I take a huge breath and let it out. ‘Dude, it’s okay. I’m not going to do anything stupid.’

  ‘You promise?’

  I nod, like come on already. He lets go of my arm and I slump back against the railing.

  Angus sits down as well, but won’t stop staring at me.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he says eventually. ‘Is it Dad’s stuff?’

  I nod. ‘Yeah. But…’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  Fuck it. ‘It’s Sasha.’

  ‘Oh. Shit. Wait, did someone hurt you? Was Buggs here?’ Angus looks around wildly, as if someone’s going to run up the stairs behind us.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Nothing like that. I was just really, really stupid.’ I can’t even bear to think about it. I keep replaying the moment I kissed her. I keep thinking If only you’d held back.

  ‘But she said something to you?’

  I nod. I’m so sick of talking.

  ‘Listen, Clance. Sasha’s an idiot. When you let Buggs… you know, your judgement’s clearly not the best.’

  My arms start shivering, and I can’t stop them.

  ‘You like her,’ he says. ‘Don’t you?’

  I nod again.

  ‘She’s not worth your time, Clance. Seriously.’

  He’s right. Of course he’s right. What does that make me though? I spent so much time working out ways to impress her. She’s probably on the phone to Buggs already. FAG is easier to spell than MURDERER.

  ‘Angus,’ I say, ‘I told her stuff.’

  ‘What sort of stuff?’

  ‘Stuff about Dad. About our family and everything.’ I start to feel tears.

  ‘Aw, who gives a shit, really?’ he says. ‘Everyone’s already made up their minds.’

  ‘I tried…’ The tears are fat and heavy on my cheeks. ‘I tried to kiss her.’ It feels even worse when I say it out loud.

  ‘Okay.’ Angus doesn’t say anything more, just moves closer to me so our shoulders touch.

  ‘I’m such a fucking idiot.’

  He hands me a hanky. ‘It’s clean,’ he says. ‘Mum bleached the living hell out of it. I never use it because I’m a real man.’

  In that moment, I love my stupid brother. ‘I tried to kiss her,’ I say again. ‘I thought she wanted to, but she flipped out and said I was a faggot, and Dad was a psycho, and that all of us were…’ I break down. I cry into the hanky, which smells like fresh laundry, the same geranium detergent Mum’s used all my life. It’s such a fucking wonderful smell.

  ‘Sasha’s a dickhead,’ says Angus, rubbing my back. ‘Her and Buggs and all the other dropkicks around here. That’s all they’ve got. Rumours and gossip. All that shit. Got nothing else going on in their lives.’ He lets me cry for a little longer. Gives me time.

  ‘Why did I think she’d want to hang out with me?’ I say. ‘Why did she even want to?’

  ‘Like I say, she’s got nothing else. Probably gets off on the drama. Stupid little bitch.’

  A tiny part of me still wants to defend her, and I don’t know why. ‘So you don’t, like, like her?’

  ‘Sasha? As if.’

  ‘But, at the hideout?’

  ‘I was just dicking around. But c’mon, Sasha? All that fake emo bullshit? I’ve met uni girls, man. She’s got nothing on them. They’re real women.’

  ‘Gross.’

  ‘You say that now, but when you get out of this dump, when you’re at whatever uni you pick or whatever country you end up in, hoo-boy!’ he fans himself like a southern belle.

  ‘Piss off. I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Hell you are. You’re the smartest person I know. Few years time, you’re going to be knee-deep in puss.’

  ‘Fucken perv.’ I knock his arm off me. ‘Gross.’

  Angus laughs. He says, ‘Whatever it is you want to be being knee-deep in, you’ll have it.’

  ‘You’re so foul.’

  He stands up, smiling, holding out his hand so he can pull me up. ‘Listen,’ he says. ‘One day all of this shit,’ he spins his finger around his head like, take it all in, ‘you won’t even think about. You’re going to be out there doing something amazing while the rest of us are still stuck in our crappy hometowns trying to figure out what we’re doing with our lives.’

  ‘But I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m just some loser. Oh Christ, everyone’s going to know about it.’

  ‘Anyone who thinks they know who you are, anyone who’s judging you—just means they’ve got nothing worthwhile in their own lives. People like Sasha, they’re going to be stuck here forever.’

  ‘She’s going to Sydney,’ I say. ‘She’s got
friends who are models. One of them has an apartment near the harbour bridge. She could be a model.’

  Angus makes a face like der, Fred and smacks himself on the forehead. ‘Load of bull. She was in the grade below me, man. Dumb as dogshit. Always making shit up. Only reason she’s got a job is cause her mum owns the travel agent’s. That’s some heavy irony. Barwen’s as far as she’s travelling.’

  I squint out at the mountains, a graph of light blue in the distance. Maybe he’s right. ‘You’re pretty wise for a massive douche.’

  ‘I’ve been sixteen,’ says Angus. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘Thanks, anyway.’ An awkward moment of real emotion passes between us. First time for everything.

  Angus goes, ‘Want me to take you home?’

  I wipe my eyes. I remember the lunch. ‘Not really. Is Dad steaming?’

  ‘He’ll be fine. He sort of ran up the driveway and Mum had to go get him.’

  ‘Shit. What about Nancy and her mum?’

  Angus shrugs. ‘They’ll live. They stuck around to eat. Reeve, too. He’s a good guy. Kept the conversation going. You got me out of staying, though. Said I’d go and find you.’

  ‘Can you not find me for another few years, then? Maybe leave it until Mum and Dad are both senile and can’t remember who I am?’

  ‘Yeah, all right,’ Angus says. ‘I’m sure I could take a little longer.’ He rubs his chin. ‘I do have to change the tape at the hideout. Pretty sure I’ve figured out what’s been going wrong.’

  ‘Really think the beast has put in an appearance in the last twenty-four hours?’

  ‘Only one way to find out.’

  I sigh. ‘And you call me a nutcase.’

  ‘Who was it about to throw themselves off the tower half a second ago?’

  ‘Fuck off.’