by Jane Rawson
‘Why? I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘Are you pissed off because we’re not imaginary?’
‘No!’
He looked at the map again.
‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘We went past Camrose Place. Then the next street was meant to be Cara Court. But it wasn’t. It was Jerome Court. Which was kind of weird but I kept going. And then Jerome Court came up, and then it was meant to be Norlyn Drive on the right, right?’ I nodded. ‘But it wasn’t. It was Brasero Lane. Which isn’t meant to be until later.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘So the map is wrong, is what I’m saying.’
‘Yeah, I guess. Can we have a drink somewhere?’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘My head hurts. Everything seems really bright.’
‘Yeah, sure. Look, if we just keep following this road south then loop back west, we’ll end up at a Safeway in, say, half an hour. Can you wait?’
So we kept walking.
Simon was still turning the map around and around.
‘Maybe the streets are wrong,’ I said.
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘Well, maybe they are. Maybe they made the map first and then the guy putting in the street signs was drunk and he stuck em all in the wrong order.’
‘Yeah maybe.’
‘You’re just freaked out because you think you’re imaginary.’
‘I don’t think I’m imaginary. I never did. You were the only one listening to the crap those guys were saying. You thought Ray was so cool.’
‘Ray WAS cool.’
‘Cause he bought you a book. You’re so cheap.’
‘He bought you a beer too. And he bought us dinner.’
‘Yeah, but you don’t see me selling out and telling people I’m imaginary.’
‘Does it seem really bright to you?’
‘Why do you keep changing the subject?’
The Safeway wasn’t where Simon had thought it’d be either. Once we found it, kitty corner from where he’d expected, I left him out in the parking lot, turning his stupid map around and around. There was a newsagent in the strip mall, so I went in and got a map of Walnut Creek and Concord for him to play with. Along with the Gatorade it just about cleaned me out.
I stood inside for a while, under the air conditioning outlet, and watched him out there. His jeans were too short and his hair was too long. Girls walked by him and didn’t give him a second look. He hitched his pack up, leaning forward and taking the weight off his shoulders for a second, letting it rest on his lower back then sliding the straps back down again. He looked hot and tired. I was hot and tired.
‘Excuse me, miss?’ The woman behind the counter was watching me watching Simon. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Yeah, fine thanks.’ I shifted the weight of my pack and stepped back into the sun.
‘Actually,’ I said, stepping back inside, ‘is there a police station around here anywhere?’
‘Let me look in the phone book,’ she said, but while she was under the counter rummaging around I went back out after all.
Simon had taken his pack off and moved into the shade.
‘Here you go,’ I passed him the map.
‘What’s this for?’
‘You can replace that map that’s pissing you off so much.’
‘But I’ll have to mark it up.’
‘It’ll give you something to do tonight. You can find a street light to sit under. I’ll mind our stuff. We’re staying in a park tonight, right? Like we always do?’
Simon wasn’t paying attention to my tone of voice anymore. He was over me. Or he was just stoked to be back on the road again, I don’t know.
‘Yep,’ he said, running his finger over the map. ‘There’s one about three miles from here. Let’s head in that direction.’
‘Did you think at all,’ I asked him, ‘about what I said about your dad being dead?’
He shrugged, scrunched his mouth up a little. ‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘And?’
‘Well it doesn’t matter now, does it? I mean, we were thinking about that because we thought there was no more of America to see. But there is. So we just keep going on like we were, right?’
‘Just keep going on?’
‘No reason to stop now.’ He waved the map at me and smiled.
‘It wasn’t just about there being no America,’ I said.
He waved the map again and smiled.
‘It wasn’t,’ I said. ‘It was about this whole thing being stupid.’
‘Why would we stop? You just got me this great new map. We’ll be done with this bit in no time, set up camp, maybe cook some sausages. Shall I go grab some Italian sausages while we’re here?’
‘It’s too hot, Simon. They’ll rot in your pack.’
I took another mouthful of Gatorade, waited to see what he’d say next. But he wasn’t going to say anything next, he was just looking at the map, waiting for me to be ready to leave.
‘Simon,’ I said.
‘Are you ready?’
‘No.’ I put the drink down on the ground. ‘Are we going to talk about this or not?’
‘We’re not going to stop. Come on, drink up. Let’s get out of here.’
I threw my Gatorade at his head, but I missed. And I started trying to tell him what I thought of him but instead I burst into tears, which was really annoying, which made me cry even more. I sat on the ground and pulled my T-shirt up over my head so no one could see me.
‘Do you want me to get you another Gatorade?’ he said, which I ignored.
‘Come on,’ he said, sitting down next to me, pushed up against me, an arm around my shoulder and his cheek rested against the top of my head. ‘Come on. It’ll be OK. You’re just hot, just a bit dehydrated. They should have more buses around here. We shouldn’t have to walk so much. We’ll stay on the shady side, OK? Come on Sarah, it’ll be OK. Stop crying.’
But I was really angry, so I didn’t stop, and even when I did I pretended I still was for a while.
When I pulled my head back out again Simon gave me this sick little smile. ‘Is that better? Do you feel better now you’ve had a bit of a cry?’ That nearly set me off again.
‘OK, Simon,’ I said, standing up and wiping the dirt off my butt, ‘we’ll do what you want. We’ll wander around Walnut Creek, standing in every little square, and I won’t look over back fences and think what it’d be like if we were one of those kids playing in one of those pools, all their friends over and their dad cooking a barbecue, I’ll just keep trudging around in the hundred degree heat like you want to, and tonight we’ll sleep out in some park and I’ll wake up every ten minutes, thinking some bum is grabbing our stuff or me or something, and then we’ll get up tomorrow and we’ll do it all over again. But this isn’t over. We’re going to talk about this. Don’t think you’re getting out of it.’
I put my pack on and started walking.
SOME KIND OF HAPPILY EVER AFTER
Turned out I was wrong, though. We didn’t talk about it again. We didn’t have to.
You see, you’d have to be living in some kind of imaginary world if you think two kids could walk around the suburban streets of Walnut Creek, all dirty, wearing backpacks, on a school day, and get away with it. Especially if they’re going to have a loud fight in the parking lot of a nice middle-class strip mall, all in front of carloads of moms rolling up to do the weekly grocery shopping. I was starting to suspect we weren’t living in some kind of imaginary world anymore.
The cops picked us up about an hour and a half after we left the Safeway. We were standing on the side of the road and Simon was giving me some kind of lecture about how the map I’d bought didn’t agree with the map he had, and same with the map he had of Concord, and what was up with this part of the East Bay anyway, that none of the streets were in the right place, when the patrol car pulled up next to us.
‘Why aren’t you kids in school?’ the policewoman asked us.
Si
mon gave her some spiel about a school project where we had to do this cartography exercise, pretend like we were exploring uncharted areas of America, but in Walnut Creek, but the fact that I was obviously at least two years younger than him and wouldn’t in any way be doing the same school project he’d be doing was enough for them to decide to take us to the station.
They looked us up, social security numbers, names: Sarah Belinda Harvey, Simon Arnold Cesar Fisk. Then it was just one thing after another. Eleven years of no school. No parents to speak of. No permanent residence. Perhaps we could have fooled them but, let’s be honest, I really wasn’t trying to. Simon obviously wasn’t ever going to talk seriously to me about any of this, so shopping him to the cops was probably my only chance. I was kind of sorry I hadn’t shut up, though, when they took me off for a medical examination. Seriously, as though Simon would do anything like that. Anyway, that was what the exam said too, so whatever. But gross.
They handed us over to social services after a while, and for a bit they were talking about sending me to a foster family. Thank god they let that slide without too much of a fuss. Someone somewhere decided Simon was old enough to be my guardian so they set us up in some kind of public housing apartment in Oakland, with a social worker who’d come check on us once a week to make sure we hadn’t headed off to see America. I had to go to school (I got my own truant officer!); Simon didn’t. Instead, he got a job with the Parks service, doing weeding and mowing and stuff like that. He’s good outside – plenty of experience.
It was some kind of happily ever after. There was no bulldog though, not up twenty-two flights of stairs. And not much in the way of parents, friends over after school, barbecues or pools. Plus we were in Oakland, which still sucks. But I did get to unpack.
A LAST SOY CHAI LATTE
Ray and Caddy hung around San Francisco for a few days, waiting to see if Simon and Sarah would come back once they realized there was no way of getting to Walnut Creek. Ray had wanted to stick around, even once they’d realized the kids weren’t coming back. He liked it there. But Caddy felt weird, being somewhere she’d made up in her head. Anytime she looked closely at the place she squirmed; she found fault with everything, was embarrassed that other people were having to live in a world so trite and poorly thought out. And anyway, she missed people. She missed Peira and Lanh. And she was kind of keen to see that Sergeant Fisk guy again, if possible.
Ray agreed there was no way for her to get back by herself. He admitted it might be good to go back and see how business was going, maybe collect up a few things if he was seriously thinking of emigrating, perhaps let a few people know he was on the way out so they wouldn’t worry too much. So on a shockingly sunny morning they had a last soy chai latte and cranberry scone at the Dolores Park Café and slipped back through the crack by 20th street.
‘Excuse me, sir.’
Ray, expecting to step out onto the usual combination of blue-grey polyester carpet and yawning void, found himself sprawled on a desk held at either end by slightly grubby men in high-visibility shirts. He looked around for Caddy, who had tripped on an ergonomic chair and was scrambling her way up off the floor.
‘Excuse me, sir.’ It was ponytail guy. ‘Excuse me sir, you can’t be in here. This is the Office of Unmade Lists. We’re not open to tour groups.’
‘Office of Unmade Lists?’ Ray said. ‘We were after Suspended Imaginums.’
‘Ah. This is the area previously known as Suspended Imaginums. Unused space. We’re expanding the Office. So many lists to not yet make. Not enough space. Suspended Ims has contracted slightly – you’ll find it behind there.’
The grey dividers had been moved about three metres back from the previous border.
‘So what happens to all the Ims in this space?’ Ray asked.
‘Not my problem, sir. You’ll have to talk to the people at SI about that.’
‘There are people at SI?’ Ray said, at the last second deciding not to say it quite out loud.
‘At any rate, sir, you’ll have to leave. No, not that way.’ Ray was edging over to the spot where he usually slipped out of The Gap, taking Caddy by the hand on his way past. ‘Not that way. Out the front please sir, if you don’t mind.’
Ray considered panicking. How was he going to get back to San Francisco if this whole area of Suspended Imaginums was being decommissioned? Should he do a bolt now and let Caddy fend for herself? He couldn’t let Caddy fend for herself. God damn it all to hell.
‘OK, thanks. Caddy?’ He motioned towards the front entrance of the Office of Unmade Lists. ‘Any new lists you haven’t made lately?’ he asked on the way out.
Ponytail guy gestured with his head towards the workmen, made a shushing motion with his lips. ‘Sir, all lists are unmade and therefore not available to the public,’ he said, a little too loudly.
‘Oh, of course. Well, thanks. Bye for now.’
‘Ray,’ said Caddy, as they stepped out into the shimmery haziness, ‘how are we going to get home now?’
‘Shadow Storage and Retrieval. We’ll have to try and get out the way I came in first time.’
‘Oh. OK then. Hey Ray?’
He nodded.
‘Is this the shimmery haziness you guys kept going on about?’
‘Yeah, this is it.’
‘I can see why you call it that. Hey Ray, if we get home you should let me buy you a drink. This has been quite something. I mean, if I was at home right now I’d be down at the tip scouring through rubbish trying to find stuff to build a new humpy. This is heaps better. Thanks.’
‘Better than being up to your elbows in landfill?’
‘Even better than that.’
‘OK, in here.’
Ray was leading her towards a small booth, surrounded by lakes of black felt that dripped out into the haze of The Gap. The shimmer was subsiding, and Caddy could see a woman in a pillbox hat – with a veil! – filing her nails.
She looked up at them.
‘Um, hi,’ said Ray.
‘What is it, buddy? You got shadows to store?’ She flipped through some pages on the clipboard in front of her and reached for a pen.
‘Ah, no. Retrieval. I’m here for a retrieval.’
‘Retrieval? Hmph.’ This time she looked at them properly. ‘Hey, I know you. You’re that guy came here looking for Narnia.’
‘Dromana.’
‘Whatever. I don’t recall you ever doing a drop off.’
‘I’ve got my claim ticket.’ He unzipped his bumbag, rifled through the contents (while Caddy looked a little embarrassed on his behalf) and, with a slight triumphant flourish, produced his ticket.
The woman held it up to the light. ‘Technically,’ she said, ‘this ain’t a claim ticket. This is our stub, y’know?’
Ray shook his head.
‘The bit that’s supposed to be attached to the shadow. How’d you get this?’
‘The guy who was here when I dropped off my shadow gave it to me.’
‘Sure he did. There is no guy. I’m the only guy ever works here.’
‘Perhaps you were on vacation.’
‘Yeah, perhaps I was. Or perhaps you’re full of crap. Or perhaps I accidentally gave you the wrong half of the ticket. Either way, I don’t much care. But I sure as hell don’t want to go back there looking for a shadow that hasn’t got its ticket on.’
‘We can go look for it,’ Caddy butted in. ‘We know what it looks like. We can go find it.’
The woman batted her eyelids at Caddy and bit at the end of a carmine nail. ‘I tell you what, hun.’
‘What?’
‘You get me a nicotine patch from somewhere, and you can go back there and do whatever the goddamn hell you like.’
‘Oh man. Nicotine? Come on, lady …’
‘Honey,’ said Ray, a giant smirk plastered across his face. ‘I can give you a whole packet.’ He reached into the bumbag once more, and handed over a pack of Nicabate. ‘Courtesy of a customer. So what do you say? Maybe you
’d like to come back there with me for a little while?’
‘Don’t push it, sweetcheeks.’ She turned her chair to the back of the booth. ‘Get out of here.’
Ray was about to say something else, but Caddy grabbed his hand and they plunged into the shadows.
SEVEN TEARS
Someone’s humpy was where her humpy was supposed to be. Caddy squatted on her heels at a safe distance and stared at the pile of junk someone had thrown together.
When she woke up at Lanh’s this morning, sweaty and cramped, squeezed into his armchair while he slept on the mattress, she’d decided it was time to find a new home. Since she and Ray had got back from San Francisco she’d been half – maybe even three-quarters – thinking about coming back to Newell, building something on the old spot.
She squatted and watched as a family of Africans – three kids and their dad, it looked like – came out of the humpy and scoured the area for firewood. This was stupid; it was a stupid place to live. She knew that.
‘Hey, mate,’ she stretched up off her heels and waved to the dad. ‘Mate.’
‘What?’
‘It’s not safe here,’ she called across to him.
‘What?’
She walked closer, only a couple of metres away. ‘It’s not safe here, it floods. I used to live right where your place is. It got washed away, just a couple of weeks ago. It happens a lot. Floods. The river.’
‘Thank you. I know. It’s safer than in the city, for them. Thank you.’
‘Yeah. Yeah right. OK. Well.’ She trailed off, gave a kind of half wave and headed back to the footbridge.
She should move back to Yarraville.
She should what? No she shouldn’t. It was a burned-out hell hole. She should move to the city, to Fitzroy Gardens or something.
God, she couldn’t bear it. Fitzroy Gardens? Thousands of other people? All those families. All those children. She should move back to Yarraville.
That’s nuts.
It’s quiet there. We’d be alone.
We?
I mean I. Sorry.
Alone and eaten by mutant foxes. Sounds great!
She could at least go look, she thought. Couldn’t she?