The Sunlit Zone
Page 8
a very long time brushing my hair.
On the way to school I stole a rose
from Jo Green’s prize blue rose bush.
—I’m telling, said Finn.
As if I cared.
3
Jack was two years older than me.
I went whole days at school
without seeing him. But if I did,
he’d brush my sleeve or wink
when he thought no one could see.
I worried he was ashamed of me.
But privately I was relieved to avoid
the company of those senior girls
who sailed about in uniforms way
too tight for them; almost women,
with their curved bodies. The beach
was different. Just Jack and me.
4
And so my interludes with Jack
remained discreet; little islands
of time where we lay rocking
in summer heat, as the old tin
boat moored by the pier rocked
slowly in the ocean breeze.
My uniform peeled away easily.
Less awkward than curious now
I let Jack’s hand stray across
the mounds of my small breasts,
let him strum that newfound
secret place inside my knickers,
which set off a vital throbbing
as if some animal burrowed in.
And heaven prevailed until Finn
ruined it.
5
One Friday night, our mother said
with a weary smile, a little grim:
—Ballet was fun tonight Finn, wasn’t it?
She took all the ballet shoes, didn’t you
Finn?—I did! said Finn, I did, I did!
And crammed more ice cream in,
choc-topping smeared across her chin.
—Finny, no! I said, mock-furious.
—But I did, Northy. So pink-pretty.
In a big pile. I did do it.
—But no one can dance then, Finn.
—Ballet, said Mum, just isn’t working.
We won’t be going back again.
—What? I said.
—Sorry, but that’s the way it is.
—No one gives a shit about me!
—North, said Mum. Language!
—North, love, said Dad, be patient.
But anger blazed in the hollow of me.
Fridays were for Jack, not Finn.
I ran to my room and slammed the door
so loud it made my sister howl.
6
So Finn came with me to the dunes.
I marched ahead, refusing to play
any of her dumb and juvenile games.
My time with Jack felt urgent as breath,
like drowning if I were deprived of it.
I strode along The Boulevard, ignored
the park with the climbing bars.
Finn dragged her feet.
—Come on! I barked, and grabbed
her wrist.
—Northy, it hurts! Finn said, and dug
her sandals in. But my journey was
by now as instinctive as the migration
paths whales followed in the spring.
Walking along the shore that day,
I thought I saw the long dark stain
of a whale drifting. It was November.
Too late for whales. Perhaps it was
seaweed or cloud shadow.
7
The sky humidified; a great bell jar
of heat wilting the cinerarias
and agapanthus that grew in every
garden around here. Hot clouds
above dead grass and melted tar.
Kids thronging the path from pool
to Pixie’s. I left them all behind
and reached the pier early, Finn
trailing me. It was oddly empty
despite the heat, the waves too big
for swimming and the sea a moody
grey. The back beach was safer
on days like this. The tide was out
but about to turn; the sand freckled
with shells that Finn was gathering.
Jack’s rangy boy-shape appeared
at last, shimmering in the haze.
I watched as it gained definition.
8
Jack raised a quizzical eyebrow
when he saw Finn, who galloped
towards him, whinnying.
—I’m a pony, Jacky! she said, tossing
an imaginary mane. Throw me a stick,
and I’ll fetch it!
Jack surrendered to Finn’s equestrian
demands while I sat on the sand
and watched them, stomach coiled
up with impatience.
—Horses don’t chase sticks, Finn! I said.
—Of course they do! said Jack. He threw
another one in. Finn trotted across waves
to rescue it, her nostrils flaring with delight.
Like a filly, I thought, on amphetamines.
—Again! she cried. Again!
9
I scooped warm sand and let it sift
through my fingers, onto my feet.
Storm clouds hunched on the horizon
but my desire still champed upon its bit.
At last the tides crept in. The water
reached Jack’s hips. He walked back
up the beach again.
—Can’t you swim? I said.
—Yeah, well a bit, I guess. I just
don’t like it if it gets too deep.
—Scared of sharks? I teased
and grabbed his knee.
—Right, he said. You’re dead, girly!
—Jacky, come back in! Finn said.
—Sorry, said Jack. Game over, Finn.
He stroked my cheek and traced my lips.
I kissed the tip of his forefinger.
—Race you, he said. Coming?
10
The tides crept up the beach
and into rock pools; drowned cities
of shells, submerged. A confetti
of yachts turned back to the shore
A stiff wind troubled the ocean’s skin.
—Finn! I yelled, just like my mother.
Out to the ledge, but no further, pointing
to a large rock shelf adjacent to the beach,
whose rust-red bulk stayed above sea level
even at high tide, long as I’d known it.
—Finny?
—Yeppo!
—No further than the ledge! You promise me?
—I pinky promise it, Northy! said Finn,
dainty on a rock pool rim in her green
striped skinsuit. I looked across to a lip
in the dunes. Beyond it, Jack was waiting
for me. I paused, then followed him.
11
If I raised my head above the dunes
I could see Finn squatting on the rocks.
A ribbon of a melody carried to me.
She was into religious songs lately,
much to the amusement of our family.
Jack spread his shirt across the sand.
—Is she okay?
—Yeah, I said. I think.
I could see Finn on the rocky ledge
looking out to sea; absorbed, happy.
I nearly, not quite, called her in. But then
Jack started kissing me: my eyes, my lips,
my neck. I felt myself sink into him, all
borders dissolving between our bodies.
All things forgotten, except this.
12
I pulled Jack down on top of me.
Diminutive hurricanes whipped
by wind, the tea tree bushes
susurrating and the wet sound
our long kisses made all coalesced.
Shells and feathers, rocks, seaweed.
The brown field of Jack’s chest,
furrowed by ribs. I ran my fingers
over it till he took my hand and slid
it down. A heartbeat. A breath.
—Jesus, Jack said.
13
And eased his own hand deep
into my knickers. I could barely
speak from the pleasure of it.
A moist heat gathered there
and at his fingers’ probing
I gave a little moan; newfound,
involuntary.
—Do you want to? he asked.
I felt no need to answer this.
But we laughed shyly at the idea
of it. One of his eyes had a little
fleck, a minute spore of pale olive.
Before, I had not noticed it.
14
The waves that pulsed on the beach
seemed far away. Finn’s fossicking
in rock pools, her distant singing.
Nothing mattered now except this
patch of sand where I lay with Jack
on top of me, the astringent force
of him I knew I wanted inside me.
A throbbing began between my legs,
glorious as I imagined heaven to be,
my desire softened only by kisses.
15
Jack was sort of, kind of, in me now
but even this much of him felt hard
as a metal fist, not flesh.
—Ow! I gasped.
—Sorry! Jack said, but the look
on his face said more than this.
His breath quickened.
—Oh no! he said. Oh, shit!
Hot spurt of fluid on my leg.
Jack buried his face in the crook
of my neck.
—It’s okay, I said, not meaning it,
pulled up my knees to cover the mess.
Blood on my thighs and a milky fluid.
Jack mopped at it.
16
I slipped my uniform back on
and stood up before the tears
behind my eyes betrayed me.
Bet he got it in Cello, I thought,
and some place deep inside
stung more than the tender skin
between my thighs. A sultry wind
was pummelling me. I surveyed
the beach. The tide was in
and very high. No rocky ledge.
No Finn.
17
I leapt up. Jack followed. Over dunes
into an angry gale that spun the sand
in a nettled veil.
—Finn! I called into the wind that stole
her name as it left my lips. Waves hit
the pier with a thud; mortal, sickening,
as we stood there on the vacant beach
that was empty as a shell when the fish
leaves it. We stared hard at the sea.
18
Jack took his phone, fumbled
with it, punched in numbers,
triple zero. I scanned the coast
for a speck of Finn. The water
shifted in troughs and peaks;
grey and dreary. To the pier’s left
a scrap of green, out near the rip.
Jack saw it too.
—Look! he said. There she is!
19
Already I was running to the tin boat
moored at the shore end of the pier
that fishermen put their stubbies in.
I uncoiled the rope with stiff fingers
and just about had it free when Jack
grabbed me.
—North! he said into the gale,
That’s crazy! Don’t do it! I’ve called
for help. They’re on the way.
I ignored him of course.
—Coming? I yelled.
He shook his head and said something
but a banshee wind made it hard to hear.
Time felt stricken, panicky. I pushed off
without him, in a mess of tears.
20
How small the coast looked, how quickly;
just a smudge of shore shrouded by mist.
The pier no more than a felt-tipped line
down which Jack ran. I called his name
into the wind. But already he was too far
away, just a pencil mark against the cliffs,
which the swollen sea soon hid. Its fat
waves tossed the dinghy up like a paper
boat, a cheap trinket, the oars useless
as two matchsticks. So I did what I had
not done for years: I prayed.
—Please keep her safe, God. I’ll do anything.
Just the sea’s giant mane; fickle, tossing.
21
But I saw Finn then or thought I did,
less girl than fish. A pale form leapt
far away, then close and closer still
through the mountain side of a milk
green wave that put the boat into a spin.
I fell backwards on the hard tin floor,
felt pain flowering inside my jaw,
dragged myself back up as sun broke
through, saw a slope of sea with Finn
on the peak. The clouds closed in.
I lost her again.
22
—Finn! I cried, but heard nothing
but waves crash hard in a hoary sea.
The rip unzipped its terrible mouth
and began to draw me in. My teeth
set up a dread chatter. Dead men’s
bones in my skull, rattling. Numbness
gnawed at my extremities. Water filled
the boat, lapped at my knees, colour
of beer and nicotine. I scanned the sea
close up to me; rough and dull, a coarse
fabric that slapped the boat’s tin flanks.
There she was again beneath the water,
her hair silvered by the sea’s calling,
which had no centre yet drew her in.
My land heart lurched. Her hand took
hold of the boat’s slight rim. I caught it
by the wrist, fish-slippery, my fingers
almost unfeeling – and held my grip.
23
My sister’s hand felt delicate
though the hand itself was heavy
and intent on dragging me down
with it. The boat’s rim dug into
my arm. Metal cut through skin.
Finn’s gills flapped inconsolably,
her lips were bloodless, unmoving,
but her eyes were lit up from within,
radiant with whatever she’d glimpsed,
entranced by raptures of the deep.
Her hand was in mine and tugging
me. Everything tilted seaward then.
The boat
flipped over on a massive
peak and swirled away empty, small
as a leaf. A fist of water king-hit me,
the sea so cold it felt poisonous.
Icy arms pulled me under.
24
I was falling then, through an airless
pit of water; black as space, arctic.
Impossible to pull Finn up with me.
I gave in to familiarity, let her hand
pull me down instead into the soupy
darkness. I tried to recall my name
but found that I could not, knew only
that it pointed upwards as the compass
points. I inhaled water; viscous, thick.
My sternum crushed as if beneath a brick.
My windpipe clamped by a cast iron fist
holding my throat in a metallic grip.
I cried for my mother, anyone, please…
Then everything slowed. The imperative
of breath lost all urgency.
25
It was quiet beneath the water
and peaceful now the pain had ceased.
Breathing was no longer necessary.
In fact I no longer felt anything
but a polar sleepiness and a distant
ache in my left arm from the hand
that had been tugging at me for days,
it seemed, or even weeks.
I let the hand go, or it let go me.
It slipped through my own,
was gone.
26
I drifted then and, free falling, ghosts
of the dead rushed straight through me
the way clouds scud past an airplane
wing. Sailors and infants lost at sea
entered the tissues of my own body
and sank with a sigh in a vapid pile.
I let myself sink down with them
to sand and sea grass I curled up in.
Let wings of sleep cover everything.
27
And swam into a silent world,