That fulla Yar, he’s a mad bugger. The thing is, we all know Yar is a nutter but, for some reason, we just don’t worry about it. He is not unkind, rude or arrogant. He always volunteers his time, helping the hospital and the school. He even helps out cooking and serving in the canteen for the Laurie Lions, the local football club, whenever there is a home game. He is always happy. I reckon if he doesn’t worry about what people think, that’s got to be cool. We could all probably learn a thing or two about just living life without worrying about what everybody else thinks. What do you reckon?
School Scandal
Today was eerie. We had a mother of a storm the night before. It was loud and fierce with thunder, lightning, rain and a little hail. This morning a heavy fog hung over the town. It was coolish but not uncomfortable. The air was that thick you could almost scrape it out of the sky and shove it in a bottle. Drivers had to put their lights on for safety, real eerie.
School started. It felt as though something significant was destined to happen. From lunchtime onwards the fog began to lift and change was in the air. Mrs Long, our English teacher, who is normally upbeat, encouraging and happy, was late. Finally she came through the door. She didn’t even apologise. She seemed drained, tired and sad. She wasn’t cranky but she wasn’t happy either. I could tell she had been crying. The whole class knew something was up.
Given the energy in the room, most of us completed the work that was asked. We didn’t want to upset Mrs Long who was clearly finding it difficult. Finally the bell rang and we were given permission to leave. Like Mrs Long, we were keen to move. We needed air and space.
As Nan was volunteering at the hospital I’d said I would drop by after school and walk home with her. The fog had now lifted, the sky was blue and birds had started to sing again. It was a huge contrast to the morning. Matilda Grace, who had been at school earlier apparently, had gone home at lunch time with her brother and mum. I’d missed her in my English class. Normally she sits behind me.
Dawdling up Tanner Street, I was passing Matilda’s home. I knew the house well because it was one of the biggest and most extravagant houses in town. It takes up three normal house blocks, is two storeys high and made of red bricks. The garden out the front is filled with roses and hedges but, funnily enough, it’s nowhere near as beautiful as Nan’s.
I didn’t see Matilda Grace sitting on a wooden bench near the front gate until she said, ‘Hi, Fuzzy.’
‘Matilda, didn’t see you there.’ I stopped and took off my backpack. ‘Aren’t you feeling well? You didn’t make it to English today.’
She stood up and walked over to the gate. She didn’t look sick to me.
‘I’m fine, just had to come home.’ She looked almost cocky and that confused me.
‘Oh, are your mum and dad OK then?’
‘Yes, they’re OK, but probably not too happy about things now.’
She wanted me to ask what was going on.
‘So, what’s the matter then?’
‘Brian.’
‘Yeah, well what about Brian?’ I was trying to understand.
‘Brian was caught bangin’ Mrs Long.’
‘Piss off, Matilda, that’s not a nice thing to say.’
I was gutted. Surely she was telling lies. She must be drunk or something.
‘Yeah, it’s the truth, Fuzzy, and you’re the only one apart from us and Mr and Mrs Long to know about it.’ She unlatched the gate and walked out onto the footpath with me.
‘Shit, how did that happen?’
‘Fuzzy, I thought you knew all about the birds and the bees … Anyway how they got found out is the interesting part,’ she said smugly.
‘So how did they?’
‘Mr Long, he came home early from a business trip and found them together. He went off his dial. Brian came home with bruises and Mum and Dad started asking questions. I didn’t think he would tell them but in the end he had to, I guess. He couldn’t really go back to her, could he? So what do you reckon about that?’ She was having fun.
‘Shocked, I’m shocked, but how come you’re all happy about it?’
‘That bitch gave me shit marks, I reckon she deserves it.’ She looked up to a second-storey window in the house. Turning back to face me she said, ‘Besides, I don’t like her … and Brian is blood.’
I picked up my bag, not real sure what to do next or what to say.
‘Wow, well … um … good luck with that,’ I said, willing my legs to walk.
‘Don’t go telling everyone, will you? He’s only got this year, then he’s off to uni. Once he’s out of this shithole he can do whatever he likes.’ She was holding my arm. ‘I really needed to tell someone, Fuzzy. I trust you … Funny how you walked past right when I needed to talk to someone, don’t you think?’ She released her grip.
‘Yeah, don’t worry, it’s safe with me.’ I slowly took two steps up the street. ‘What about Mrs Long?’ I asked, still puzzled.
‘Moving apparently, going over to South Australia where she comes from.’
She walked back through the gate. Before I turned I noticed her doing a little skip down her pretty tiled path.
‘Oh!’
That was all I could say before I continued walking up to the hospital. What a spinner that was.
Teddy
Today just happens to be the last day of school before a two-week break. I have an art project that needs to be finished by the middle of next term. I spend most of the day in the art room researching possible mediums and sketching. Mrs Hurst, my art teacher, is a great support and she has a big background in fine art. Last year she was a finalist in the Archibald Prize.
Jack Hilt, Shanaye Brindle, Bella Smith and myself all work hard at competing for the top mark in art. Teddy Ryan could also compete, but he prefers to spend his energy buggerin’ around, being the class clown. You know the one, making fart noises, telling jokes and pulling faces. Teddy can draw beautiful fantasy worlds. The worlds of fantasy, street art and politics keep Teddy motivated. Unfortunately dragons, swords, big-boobed women, spray cans and politics won’t necessarily get you top marks. Mrs Hurst supports Teddy even if he doesn’t listen. Miss knows Teddy is capable of big things, we all do.
Like me, Teddy lives with his nan and pop. Teddy’s mum and dad were killed at the crossover, a road five kilometres out of town that crosses over the railway line. Teddy was only three when the accident happened. His nan and pop were looking after him while his mum and dad travelled over to Albury to see a specialist. Teddy’s mum was three months into her second pregnancy. They had a head-on collision with another local, Barry Hughes, who was hurrying to get home to visit his sick mother. Barry died along with Teddy’s family.
Today Barry’s sick mother lingers on in the old people’s home. Teddy visits her every week. Teddy, Nan and Pop read her the paper and tell her about the latest town news. Nan says she doesn’t speak much or do anything too physical but she loves a visit. Mrs Hughes will hold their hand and smile, happy for the attention. It’s all a bit freaky this life thing, I reckon.
Now, without filling your head with loads of mushy shit, I’m gonna get straight to the point. Teddy and me, we are not girlfriend and boyfriend but we do connect on many levels and I’m pleased to say I like a few things about the lad. He makes me laugh. He’s got a cute boy-from-the-bush look about him. He can whistle real deadly like Dad and Pop. He’s freaky good at maths even if he doesn’t always show it. He’s creative, he can light a fire without matches, start a car without a key and he can cook a full-on roast in a camp oven. He’s also the same height as me, imagine that?
The art room is warm and inviting. The smell of paint fills my nose with happy thoughts. I walk across to my desk and climb up onto the stool, looking at a container of wooden pegs, aged by the sun. As I pull a loose curl beside my ear, I wonder if I can use these little weathered gems in a sculpture.
‘What you doin’, Fuzz?’ Teddy says, as he leans over my work.
‘Just thinkin
’ about the next project,’ I say, holding the pegs for inspiration.
‘Are you goin’ to Taylor’s party next Saturday?’
‘Yep, I’m goin’.’
‘Yeah, well, if you are so am I. My nan won’t let me go unless your Nan Tilly lets you.’ He sits down across from me. ‘Most of the others are goin’,’ he says, picking up a peg.
‘Cool.’
‘Hey Fuzz, what do you reckon about that new kid in year twelve. Is he hot?’
‘Bloody oath,’ I say, looking up. ‘Why, Teddy, have you got a crush?’
‘Piss off. I was just wonderin’, that’s all.’ He looks behind then continues, ‘Well then … how do I look?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well … do I look alright?’ His head is down while he plays with the pegs.
‘You dopey dick … course you look alright,’ I say laughing.
‘Am I hot?’ Still playing with the pegs.
‘Well,’ I say smiling, ‘there’s a fair jump from alright to hot. But Teddy, I reckon you’re well on your way.’
‘That means you reckon I’m alright then.’
‘It means I reckon you’re on your way.’
‘Cool, I’ll see you at Taylor’s party then,’ he says as I watch him walk away.
Taylor Forest is in our year. She lives in a family of eight children, five brothers, two sisters and herself. She is the youngest. Most of her brothers have left home and now only Jack and Taylor live with their parents. Jack just has to finish this year of school then he’s off to the navy. He hopes to be an officer.
Taylor’s dad is on some type of pension. He went to school with my dad Sonny. Taylor’s mum cleans. She’s a hard worker.
If you happen to walk past Taylor’s house over the weekend, you’ll see the recycle bin is always overflowing with empty bottles and flagons. King Browns and Bundy rum are Taylor’s dad’s favourite drinks. Her mum prefers Scotch and Green Ginger Wine. If finances are low then old King Brown will do the job. If you see Taylor’s mum tipsy of an afternoon, next morning she will be running around the town with her bucket, rags, cleaning aids and pink rubber gloves, working hard between the pub, the club, the community toilets and the council buildings. She is a cheerful and content drinker with a beautiful singing voice. Always happy to crank up the old tape player and sing along with Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn or Dolly Parton. Regardless of Taylor’s parents’ fondness for the bottle, whenever they decide to give any of their children a party, they both make certain it is alcohol free. As backup, Taylor’s aunts and uncles travel down the mountain from Talbingo and Cooma to help.
Unlike his wife, Taylor’s dad is reclusive. He’s one of those people who has little to say, but when he does it’s always well thought out. He is what Tui would call articulate. And if there is anyone capable of getting a word out of Mr Hughes, it would have to be Pop and Yar. I’ve seen the three of them talk away for hours. I never ask what is being said, so I don’t really know what they talk about. They are all big thinkers who enjoy words. They just seem to connect. It’s a funny friendship, the educated drunk, the big Islander who likes words and the crazy scientist who talks to the dead. That’s what I love about this town, it doesn’t matter who you are. Friendship embraces all walks of life.
Teddy and Me
Finally it’s the night of Taylor’s party. Pop has been extra cool and picked up Tui, Bella and me in Ron, his trusted and lovingly restored Holden FB stationwagon. Ron doesn’t come out of the shed that much, only on special occasions.
The local Country Women’s Association (CWA) hall has been hired especially. All the class is there plus a few others. The hall looks fantastic: streamers, helium balloons, purple and green candles, and even a disco ball, which hangs from the ceiling sending a rush of small lights throughout the hall. We dance, eat, talk, sing, talk, eat, dance and dance until one of the straps on my shoe breaks. Sounds like a Cinderella story, I know. Anyway, the girls keep dancing but Teddy notices. He walks with me out of the hall where we sit next to the barbecues; a couple of Taylor’s uncles are still hanging around talking, oblivious to us sitting close by.
‘Can you fix it, Fuzzy?’ Teddy offers me a Mentos, looking concerned.
‘It’s broken, Teddy, buggered.’
‘Let me see.’
I take the shoe off and hand it over. The strap has dislodged from the sole.
‘Yep, buggered,’ he says in agreement. ‘So what are you doing now?’
‘I’m doin’ it,’ I say nudging him in the side with my elbow. ‘Obviously, Teddy, if I’m sitting down, well that’s what I’m doin’, eh?’
‘Yeah well, you don’t have to get smart, Fuzzy. Just because your shoe’s fucked, doesn’t mean you can’t dance with me.’
‘You didn’t ask me to dance, you bloody goose.’
‘That’s true …’
We sit a while without talking. Teddy and I can do that. We agreed ages ago quiet moments are good for creativity. Others think we are crazy, just sitting in each other’s company not talking, but we don’t care.
‘Fuzzy.’
‘Yes, Teddy.’
‘I reckon you should kiss me.’
I turn and look at him. He’s got that cute crooked smile. He doesn’t look at me, he’s looking at the sky waiting for an answer.
‘Is that right?’
‘Yep, reckon it is.’ He’s still looking up.
‘Why?’
‘’Cause, one, I know you would like to, two, I reckon it will fill in time and three, it might make you feel happier given your shoe needs fixing. I know that pair is your favourite.’
‘For a lad, you sure reckon you know a lot.’
‘What can I say? I’m sensitive to your needs.’ He looks right at me, still smiling. He edges closer and takes my hand.
‘You work quickly, you cheeky bugger,’ I say, holding up our entwined fingers, his fair contrasting with mine, coffee brown.
‘I’m quick, sensitive, creative and handsome. Just about sums me up, I reckon.’
I sit still, feeling happy. I’ve kissed Charlie Briggs before but that wasn’t overly successful, too rushed and a bit rough for my liking. Maybe Teddy has something better to offer, can’t be much worse, that’s for sure. I look and for the first time I notice his blue eyes. Instantly I feel his lips on mine. They are soft, not wet, not dry. We are comfortably close. Somewhere along the line we become a little more adventurous. He opens his mouth but not too much. I open mine. His tongue is soft, wet but inviting. His teeth feel smooth. His mouth tastes of Spearmint Mentos, fresh and sweet. No risky or quick movements, just simple, joyful, proper kissing. And I have never experienced anything like this before.
We pull away slowly and I catch my breath. I can tell he’s feeling the same. Looking down to our hands, I bring my lips together and smile before I speak.
‘Wow … that was …’
‘Good.’
‘Yeah, good.’
‘Special?’
‘Yeah … special.’
‘The best kiss you ever had?’ he says cheekily.
‘Even if it was I’m not gonna tell you, Teddy Ryan.’
‘Fuzzy, it was exactly how I thought it was going to be.’
‘What does that mean?’ I say, letting go of his hand.
‘Exactly what I said.’ He leans over and gives me a peck on the cheek. He then breaks into the biggest, cutest smile before he holds my hand again. I can feel the strength of each finger. His grip is warm and comfortable.
Taylor’s uncles have moved on. We are alone. Teddy looks back up at the sky. I do the same. I don’t hear music and I don’t care about the people inside. I just sit and look. I’m happy.
It’s now two weeks since the party and, yes, we have seen each other since. And, yes, we have kissed again. We decided we would continue to be friends rather than jump into a teenage love drama.
Others in our class noticed the change and have seen the closeness. We eat lunch together wi
th other friends and we walk home together. They don’t understand why we don’t become boyfriend and girlfriend. But that’s OK because it’s not all about them, is it?
Anzac
After pigging out on Easter eggs, catching up with Dad, who was home for a week, and celebrating Pop’s seventieth birthday, before we knew it, it was ANZAC Day. Now for those of you who don’t know the meaning of this special day, well, I reckon it’s about time you did some research. ANZAC is the acronym for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. The interesting thing is, not many people know about my mob in the war – they can tell you a completely different story about being an ANZAC.
I know a bit more than others because Pop was a soldier in Vietnam and Old Uncle Tully served in World War Two.
The ANZAC tradition stems from Gallipoli in 1915. The ANZACs landed on 25 April, hence the date for ANZAC Day today. They say more than eight thousand Australian soldiers were killed at Galipoli.
The interesting thing is, ANZAC Day now includes soldiers who have fought in all sorts of wars, including Afghanistan, Vietnam, the Boer War and Korea. Some argue that ANZAC Day should include the many Indigenous Australians who fought off the settlers back in the late 1700s. Of course there are many who wouldn’t agree, or like this idea – but when you think about it, I reckon they have a good point.
So in our house on ANZAC Day we all get up around four in the morning, for the big day ahead. Dad joins us this time too, since he’s home. Old Uncle Tully used to come down especially, but now he is driven through the streets of Rocky up in Queensland. We go to dawn service first. We always have a little cry, all of us, then to the RSL for brekkie. After that we watch Pop and the Lower Bago Pipe Band march up the street playing away. Pop and Nan catch up with friends and yarn on for hours. We stay for lunch at the RSL and finally in the afternoon, after playing two-up, we mosey on home with a purse full of winnings. Yep, Nan is freaky good at two-up. Mr Montgomery from the pub always lets Pop have the first five throws then Nan follows with five of her own.
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