by Scot Gardner
I couldn’t find a helmet. They were all so . . . I dunno . . . new. I liked my old helmet. It stunk like me and was all scratched to the shithouse. Mum started freaking and telling me to hurry. I ended up exchanging the pussy helmet for a Metallica CD and poster. Thanks, Grandad.
I walked to Ash’s place at half past nine. She’d swapped her school pants for trackies, her school shoes for moccasins. She wore a black t-shirt and her stupid green and gold court jester’s hat with the bells pulled down too far on her head. She’s a class act. I looked down my nose at her.
‘Give us a break. It’s a bloody birthday party,’ she said, and I wondered if she’d had a cone or two before I’d arrived. The bong was nowhere to be seen. I felt like a dick again: she’d dressed up for me.
‘You’re wearing it,’ she said, and pointed to the silver skull on my little finger.
‘I love it. Fanks.’
‘Sharon said you’ve got a job.’
I nodded. ‘Plumber.’
‘Bullshit. Plumber’s labourer.’
‘Yeah, that.’
‘Maybe the wankers at school will start calling you Plumber, too.’
I swallowed. I didn’t realise she knew they called her that. I thought they said it to her back. She doesn’t miss much.
‘I suppose that’s the end of our little morning ritual then, hey?’ she said.
‘Crap. If I need one cone to get me through a day of school, I’ll need two cones before work.’
‘Could be dangerous.’
‘Going to work straight could be worse.’
She pulled the bong from under the bed. ‘I’ll miss it.’
It hadn’t hit me till then. Things would change. They’d have to. Ash was creeping me out with all her talk.
‘You won’t be at school either. That’ll be hard work,’ she said.
‘You cruise at school, what are you crapping on about?’
She was rustling in the plastic mull bag then she was packing the bong. Every movement seemed like a huge effort, like her body was sighing. It became clear in that minute that even though we got stoned together before school, we did it for different reasons. Ash was smart. Really smart. Brilliant. And she probably got stoned to dumb herself down so she could operate at a level the teachers could understand. Me, on the other hand, I got bent so I didn’t get bored. To make the day go faster. So I didn’t accidentally do something clever and ruin my reputation as a dumb fuck. It made life easier for us. Now Ash was saying that it was all going to change.
Not that night. Not on my birthday. Ash lit up. We got ripped. We laughed. We talked shit for a while then the words dried up and we were happy.
It was eleven o’clock when I got up to leave.
‘You want to go for a ride on Saturday? You on your new bike chasing Alice and me?’
‘Chasing you? I’m not riding behind that fart factory of a horse. You’ll have to chase me.’
Her shoulders shook with a silent laugh. ‘We’ll see.’
‘Where to?’
She fixed me with a red-eyed stare, and smiled. ‘I know a place.’
Five
I missed the bus on Friday. Mum didn’t wake me up to say good morning or anything. I got up at nine twenty-seven and the house was empty. My mouth was as dry as a sunbaked toadfish and I chugged half a litre of milk from the carton for breakfast. I was pissed off that I’d missed the bus. First time for everything, I guess.
I stuffed my trusty helmet over my dreads and rode to Christmas Bay. It nearly killed me. I thought I was going to cough up my ball bag as I pulled into school. I spat on the tar in the car park and there were lumps in it.
I explained to Mrs Jefferies that I wasn’t coming back to school, and she hugged me. The principal hugged me. I patted her back and she cooed in my ear. Only the office lady saw us.
‘Working as a plumber, you say. An apprenticeship?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Well, that’s fantastic news, Gary. Of course we’ll miss you . . . your . . . smiling face . . . your HAIR!’
That made me laugh. ‘Yeah, right. Good one, Mrs J.’
And I remembered what Mum had said about not doing anything stupid on my last day, just in case the work dried up.
She crossed her arms and looked at me over her glasses. ‘So, you’ve come to collect your things then?’
‘Yes.’
Mrs Tait pushed through the door from the office. Her coffee slopped but she still managed a hello.
‘Okay,’ Mrs Jefferies said. ‘I’ll get . . . Mrs Tait to give you a hand.’
‘No need. I’ve only got a few things in my locker.’
‘Mrs Tait!’ she sang. ‘Have you got a minute to give Gary a hand to collect his things?’
Mrs Tait pointed up the hall and started to protest.
The principal coughed and raised her eyebrows at Mrs Tait. ‘It’ll only take a minute, won’t it, Gary?’
‘Yes,’ I grumbled, and started walking to the lockers.
Dumb bitch, I thought. I hadn’t even considered trashing the place until Jefferies started looking down her nose at me. Scrag. I could smell Mrs Tait’s coffee as I jammed the contents of my locker into my backpack. I’m going to have to do something now, I thought. Couldn’t let Mrs J down. Couldn’t let Mrs Tait think she’d wasted her time.
There was a knock on the glass above my locker. Tammy Wilde was waving and smiling from the C7 window. She must have been standing on a chair.
‘Who is it?’ I heard someone ask.
Tammy turned inside. ‘It’s Gaz.’
The door rattled open and Gel was standing there, smiling. ‘Where do you think you’re going? Got a job, hey?’
I nodded.
I heard the unmistakable bellow of Mr Teasdale, our maths monster, telling Gel to shut the door and sit down.
‘In a minute. I’m just saying my last farewells to Gaz.’
Mrs Tait put her coffee on top of the locker and told Gel to go back inside.
‘So, going to be a shit shoveller, hey?’ Gel said.
Mrs Tait was holding the door handle and trying to usher Gel into the room. I heard Teasdale’s chair topple.
‘Something like that,’ I said.
‘Lucky bastard. Can you get a job for me?’
‘I doubt it,’ I said. ‘They don’t employ retards.’
Gel slapped at my head. I ducked and he banged the locker then held his hand.
Teasdale pulled the door right open and grabbed Gel by the shirt. Gel held the door handle, smiling.
‘Inside!’ Teasdale yelled. He yanked and Gel’s shirt ripped. A button shot off and skipped along the corridor.
‘I’d better get going, Gaz,’ Gel said.
‘Now!’ Teasdale snapped, and Mrs Tait jumped.
Gel and I laughed.
‘See you, mate,’ I said. ‘Be good now.’
Gel straightened his shirt and stepped inside. ‘Mum’s going to be pissed at you, sir.’
‘Sit down!’
Mrs Tait apologised to Teasdale.
‘Get a move on, Gary,’ Teasdale said.
I slowed down.
There was a little tap on the window and I looked up to see Tammy and Michael Herrod and Aggie waving. Tammy blew me a kiss. Teasdale was shouting at them. They climbed down off their chairs and he was back shouting at me again.
‘Get out! Forget your things. Just get out!’
His face had coloured up nicely. I swung my pack on my back and dodged past him into the room.
‘See ya,’ I said to my old class, and Teasdale grabbed my pack and dragged me to the door.
I went willingly, the whole class screaming their goodbyes and waving. Teasdale slammed the door behind me. Mrs Tait gripped my elbow and I shook her off. She was puffing like she’d just run ten k’s and I couldn’t get the smile off my face. I walked beside her for ten paces then bolted back to the classroom.
Mrs Tait’s voice clicked into squeal pitch. ‘Gary!’
; Teasdale was in the middle of the room, bawling the class out. He stopped when the door slid open.
Mrs Tait was pulling at my pack. I held the handle and the doorframe.
‘Teaser,’ I said. ‘You’re an arsehole. Go fuck yourself.’
The classroom exploded with laughter and applause.
Six
I should have got pissed that night. I should have celebrated my one and only victory at school but nobody was home. Aggie and Gel’s van was locked. Ash wasn’t home. Instead of getting shitfaced, I sat with Mario and Mum and Sharon and watched the cricket on TV.
It was a good game for a change. One day. Australia versus India at the WACA and the curry munchers bowled the Aussies out for one hundred and ninety-seven runs in the forty-second over. It got to the point where the visitors had to make five runs off the last two overs, one wicket in hand. We were screaming at the screen and laughing at ourselves like so many million people in lounge rooms across the country. Across the world.
‘Come on!’
Then it was all over. Some little chicken vindaloo tail-ender smacked Warnie for a six. There would have been a lot of lounge-room dancing in Calcutta that night. Day. Whatever.
I laid on my bed with the light off, Metallica banging in my headphones and my jaw clamped shut. I felt like smashing something and it wasn’t about the cricket. It wasn’t about school or work or Grandad or my birthday presents. It wasn’t about any one thing but all the things together made me want to smash something. Or someone.
I woke to the clip clop of horseshoes on the driveway.
‘Shit.’
I’d managed to crawl under my doona during the night. Still had my runners on. I had a pee and rubbed my eyes (not at the same time) and met Ash in the back yard, like I’d been waiting for her all morning. That’s the beauty of dreadlocks and sleeping in your clothes. One shake and you’re ready for action.
Sharon was holding Alice by the bridle and stroking her nose. She was still in her pyjamas. Ash sat proud and lumpy on the back of her horse. Proud ’cause she was the tallest thing in the yard and lumpy ’cause she wears singlets and really tight cream horse-riding pants when she takes Alice for a spin. The clothes don’t leave much to the imagination. Zits and bulges. Still, that’s Ash. And who gives a shit?
I grabbed my helmet and rolled my bike into the sunshine. ‘Ready?’
‘Yep,’ Ash said, with a grin. She was a bit too awake and happy.
‘Just one minute, Gaz,’ Sharon said as she ran inside.
‘She’s not coming with us,’ I said.
Ash shrugged.
Alice jumped as the back door slammed. Sharon jogged to the horse and gave her a carrot. Fresh from the fridge. The metal bit in Alice’s mouth clacked against her teeth and she dribbled orange stringers of slobber onto the lawn. She munched and crunched and rattled and the carrot vanished.
Ash turned her horse down the drive, tapped with her heels and made a click with her tongue. Alice moved off.
Sharon waved and shouted goodbye. ‘Don’t say happy birthday or anything, Gaz.’
‘Shit,’ I said. ‘Hap . . . Hang on. It’s not your birthday until Monday.’
‘Yeah, but I’m having my party and that.’
I groaned.
‘Ness will be here when you get back.’
‘Hey, Ash! Can I camp in the bungalow tonight?’
‘Wuss,’ Sharon said.
I rolled down the drive after the horse.
‘She’ll be so disappointed if you don’t turn up.’
‘Not to worry.’
We rode out of town, over the first bridge and turned into the hills on the tar Kellep River Road. I’d kept up with them while they trotted on the flat, but as soon as we started climbing my lungs felt like they were going to pop out my arse.
‘Up hills are where bikes are useless and horses rule,’ Ash said. ‘Steady, Alice. We’d better wait for Mr Fitness.’
‘Get . . . stuffed,’ I panted.
Alice’s hooves knocked on the second bridge and I walked my bike.
‘Beware,’ Ash said, and pointed at the bridge.
‘What?’
‘Didn’t you see the sign? Cyclists beware of gaps in the deck. Beware.’
There were a few gaps in the deck. Some of them big enough to swallow my tyre but not exactly dangerous while I was pushing my bike, the air rasping in my neck.
‘Where did you get the name Alice from, anyway?’
Ash giggled. ‘Kindergarten.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Remember that song from kinder? “Alice the camel had five humps . . . ” ’
‘Yeah, but she’s not a camel.’
‘She can be when she wants to be. She spits and carries on.’
‘Yeah? Are you serious?’
She shook her head. ‘Not my Alice. The Alice in the song isn’t a camel either. She’s a horse.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll see.’
We climbed through the hills on that tar road for an hour. At first it was all farmland around us but the further we climbed, the bushier it became. I couldn’t ride. Too steep, even in first gear. My runners kept time with Alice the camel’s walking hoof beats.
‘I’m stuffed,’ I said. ‘Can we go back now?’
‘Just a bit further. I want to show you something.’
‘I’m knackered, seriously.’
‘Come on.’
I kept walking. I had my arms resting on the handlebars and I watched my feet. Plod plod. Clip clop. We hadn’t seen a car since we crossed the bridge. In the gaps between the trees I could feel the sun nibbling at my neck. I was sucking in the honey smell of the bush. The air was buzzing. My brain was pounding.
‘Ash, I’m stuffed. I want to sit down for a minute.’
‘Stash your bike.’
‘Hey?’
‘In the bushes. Stash it near the creek. No-one will see it.’
‘What for?’
‘Just hide the bloody thing.’
I did as she said and chucked my helmet with it. She slipped off her horse and led Alice to the side of the road.
‘Now you have to wear this,’ she said, and pulled a bandanna out of her pocket.
‘I just got rid of my helmet.’
‘Not on your whole head, just on your eyes. Blindfold.’
‘Ash, you’re starting to freak me out. Why do I need a blindfold?’
‘Put it on, dickhead. The place where I’m taking you is secret. And sacred. Think yourself lucky that I’m even considering taking you there.’
Her voice was calm and it eased my fears of her doing something kinky while I was blindfolded. The same calmness in her voice made it feel as though she was trying to trust me with something big. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that sort of responsibility, but I backed up to her anyway. I could smell her armpits and horse sweat. She nimbly covered my eyes with the bandanna. I couldn’t see a thing. Her fingers smelled of sexy musty leather as she adjusted the blindfold around my nose.
‘Can you see?’
‘No,’ I said, but I didn’t open my eyes to check. I wanted to do it right.
She helped me onto Alice’s back then led us god-knows-where.
‘Can you see?’ she asked again.
‘No. Even if I could, I’m not looking.’
‘Good.’
We left the tar road for a gravel track that crunched under Alice’s shoes. We splashed through a creek and struggled up a hill that made Ash and Alice puff and moan. We walked like that for half an hour, maybe more.
‘Duck,’ Ash ordered, and I lowered myself over the horse’s neck. We crunched through the bush with branches raking at my arms and legs. We stopped.
Ash took my hand and helped me off the horse. She led me into a space where the sun prickled my face and I could see the red of my eyelids. She started to untie the bandanna.
‘Now this is strictly between you and me. No-one else can ever know about this. Ever.�
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‘Okay,’ I said, and then I smelled it. The dirty sappy tang of green dope. I smelled it before she’d pulled the bandanna off and I saw them. Rows of gracefully drooping leaves, crowns higher than our shoulders.
‘Faaark.’
The branches were loaded with fat purple heads. I pinched a leaf off the closest plant, screwed it into a ball and stuck it to my nose.
‘Bloody hell.’
‘Yes. It’s a bit out of control.’
‘What do you mean? They’re awesome. You did this?’
Ash nodded. ‘I found a few plants on a horse ride when I was in year eight. I collected some seed and grew them in year nine. The wombats ate all but three plants and I collected the seed again last year. Every one that I planted grew. Sixty-one plants. Now look!’
I stepped between two plants into the middle of the crop. The leaves tickled at my bare arms and face. The smell was ripe and heavy.
‘So I don’t know what to do now. Here, have a look at this.’
She showed me the plastic drum she’d set in the ground at the head of a small spring. Even then, at the height of summer, the plastic drum held water. There were pipes. Black pipes and drippers to each plant. The crop hadn’t been an accident. Ash knew what she was doing and with typical Ash brains she’d turned a little opportunity into a gold mine.
‘Sell it,’ I said.
‘Fuck off. I’d go to jail. The cops would be able to see this from the air, easily. Fill your pockets with head. We’ve got to get out of here.’
‘You’re paranoid.’
‘Too right I’m paranoid. Hurry.’
I picked a few choice heads, bristly and purple, beaded with orange sap, and stuffed them into the pocket of my jeans. Ash half-filled a plastic bag and pushed it under the leather flap on the side of her saddle. She’d done that before. Many times before.
I think her paranoia was infectious. She wouldn’t have needed the bandanna on the way back. I didn’t want to know where her crop was. Too much information.
The sunlight burned at the back of my brain when Ash told me I could take off the blindfold. We were at the spot where I’d stashed my bike and my arse was saddle-sore.