‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ he shouts,
his face turning red,
a vein throbbing in his neck.
Patrick’s father grabs Manx again,
but Manx pushes his hand away
and Mr Lloyd-Davis stumbles.
Swearing and still off-balance,
he swings a wild punch at Manx.
Manx sways out of the way
and hits Mr Lloyd-Davis once in the stomach.
He drops to his knees
as Manx steps forward to finish him off.
I jump between them.
‘No, Manx.’
Mr Lloyd-Davis springs to his feet
and takes a step backward.
‘That’s it, kid. You’re gone.
I’m calling the cops.’
Manx attempts to get past me,
but I hold him back.
I’m sweating and my voice breaks when I say,
‘Manx was only defending himself.
I’m a witness, sir.’
Manx relaxes, just a little,
so I seize my chance.
‘You … you threw the first punch.’
Mr Lloyd-Davis hesitates.
‘We don’t know who damaged your property,’ I say.
He dusts down his jacket
and walks back to the BMW.
When he opens the door,
he turns and shouts,
‘It’s not over.’
He guns the car down Lake Road.
Manx and I don’t say a word
until the sound of the engine fades.
Manx attempts a smile.
‘You know, Jonah.
You sounded like a twelve-year-old girl.’
I’m too scared to answer
in case my voice cracks again.
A special deal
We reach Manx’s house
as the sun sets over Sattlers Hill.
There’s still a few hours until the party starts
and we’re both starving.
Manx’s dad pulls up in the Holden.
He gets out of the car
but doesn’t close the door.
‘I hear you’ve been causing trouble again,’ he says.
Manx and I stand there
like ten-year-old kids
caught stealing milk money.
‘Lloyd-Davis and his BMW
pulled into the service station an hour ago.
I was already counting the cash
to fill that ugly beast.’
Mr Gunn grins.
‘Turns out hyphen-man
didn’t want to give me money.
He prattled on about
broken glass and graffiti.
When I wouldn’t give him
what was in the till,
he threatened to call the cops.’
Manx shifts uncomfortably next to me.
‘I said there was no crime in selling petrol.’
Mr Gunn laughs.
‘As he stormed out,
I offered him a special deal on new tyres.’
He looks at me and says,
‘I don’t know what happened, Jonah,
but I’ll say thank you anyway.’
He reaches back into the car,
picks up a package,
and offers it to us.
‘I imagine you boys are hungry,’ he says
and slams the car door.
‘You can’t go past fish and chips.’
He walks into the house.
Manx and I follow him
to eat our fill
and wait for the night to begin.
For my own good
Manx and I walk up behind Angelo
who’s holding the esky.
He turns and sees Manx,
puts the esky down
and takes a few steps back
so the bonfire is between us.
Manx opens the lid
and pulls out our share.
Patrick and Harriet sit beside the fire
and ignore us.
I’m sure Patrick isn’t telling anyone about his dad
being decked by a schoolboy.
We walk away
and set up camp on the grass,
away from the smell of Angelo
wearing too much aftershave.
Manx hands me a beer.
I glance across to Ella
sitting in her usual spot.
She’s staring across the lake
and doing her best to ignore
the vodka-fuelled giggles.
Manx takes the bottle from me
before I have a chance to open it.
I look at him questioningly,
and he says, ‘It’s now or never.’
He opens the bottle and takes a sip
looking across at the bonfire.
‘I’ll keep watch,
just in case Angelo or Patrick
step too close to the flame.’
We both laugh.
Manx flicks his head towards Ella.
I’m dismissed, for my own good.
I reach down, take a bottle from our stash
and walk slowly towards her.
I’m not scared.
Not much.
Sand and swapping Germs
The walk across the grass
to Ella
takes a minute
but feels like forever
knowing she’s watching
and I’m not sure what to say.
A few metres away,
I stumble
and accidentally kick sand onto her legs.
She laughs instead of swearing.
I reach down
to brush the grit from her tights.
‘This is how you treat a girl
who shares gelato with you,’ she says.
‘Jonah kicks sand,’ I splutter
as if that’s an excuse.
I manage to sit beside her
without falling over.
Ella smiles and accepts
the bottle I offer,
taking a short sip
without wiping the rim first.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Jonah,’ Ella says.
I look to the lake to hide my embarrassment.
‘It’s okay,’ she adds, handing me the beer.
‘There are better ways of swapping germs.’
I nearly choke on the bottle.
Ten ways to share spit
A joint gets passed around
the group near the fire.
Patrick to Harriet to Angelo –
boy, girl, boy –
as if we’re in year one again
and the teacher has directed
us to sit in formation.
Ella takes another sip,
then glances at the rim of the bottle,
and says, ‘I wonder how many ways
we can share spit?’
I wonder how many times I can blush
in the one evening.
‘Drinking out of the same bottle.’
Ella holds up one finger.
‘Sharing gelato,’ I respond.
‘Getting a spray,’ Ella giggles,
‘literally, from Mr Drake.’
‘Choosing the wrong toothbrush at camp.’
‘Choosing the wrong boyfriend at camp!’
‘Standing near Angelo when he sneezes.’
‘Getting into a fight with Angelo.’
Ella looks at me, meaningfully.
‘Kissing your auntie?’
‘Kissing.’
‘Kissing?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Soon?’
‘Later.’
‘Nervous.’
Ella passes me the bottle.
‘Don’t be.’
Welcome back
Rachel arrives at the party
later than everyone else.
The circle goes quiet
as she appr
oaches;
Angelo pretends to be very interested
in adding wood to the fire.
She stops a metre from the pier,
looking up towards Manx
sitting alone on the grass.
Patrick stands and walks towards Rachel
offering her the joint.
She looks down at it
for what seems like forever,
then turns and walks away
up the hill to Manx.
He offers her a beer.
She takes a long sip,
then holds the bottle up to the fire circle
as if choosing her preferred drug
and friend.
‘Hey, Angelo,’ Rachel calls,
‘show us your best dive.’
Like the rest of us,
she knows Angelo is a poor swimmer.
Angelo hesitates for a minute
not sure whether to accept the dare.
Then he jumps up and runs across the sand,
taking his shirt off as he goes
almost stumbling in his haste.
Rachel looks across to me
and waves.
Another night in mullet town
Angelo runs too fast
and his somersault off the pier
turns into a smacking bellyflop.
Everyone winces
as he emerges howling in pain.
A few boys run to help.
He staggers from the water
his arms around the shoulders
of Patrick and a mate.
He coughs up water
and one of the girls offers him
a bottle of beer
as if it’s the cure for all ills.
Ella stands,
reaches for my hand
and leads me away from the lake.
The moonlight
traces our shadows
along the empty streets.
An hour ago,
I was sitting with Manx;
another night in mullet town
watching the hyphen army prance.
‘Dad’s out on his boat overnight
and Mum’s staying with friends
in the bay,’ Ella whispers.
She grips my hand tighter.
Our footsteps echo
past the shops
and the playground
where a lone swing squeaks in the breeze
and a seagull scavenges in the rubbish bin
below a blinking streetlight.
The more practice, the better
Ella opens the door to her house
and a single lamp
bathes the lounge room
in a soft yellow glow.
On the wall are pictures of Ella
in a series of school uniforms
from the age of six to sixteen.
She laughs.
‘Mum takes a photo
for the first school day of every year.’
I notice a cat sleeping in a lounge chair
as I stand in the centre of the room
wondering whether I should sit down
or run out the front door
as fast as I can
in fear of what may
or may not happen next.
‘Jonah stands nervously,’ says Ella,
barely able to hide a smile.
‘Emphasis on the adverb,’ I say.
Ella walks towards me.
I wrap my arms around her
and we kiss.
The cat jumps down from the chair
and pads into the kitchen
as if it’s embarrassed
to watch the groping of such an amateur.
I close my eyes
and kiss Ella again.
And again.
And again.
We decide the more practice,
the better.
Every little thing
Ella leads me down a hallway
of cream carpet
past the bathroom with white tiles,
a shower curtain of bright sunflowers
and a set of scales near the vanity;
past her parents’ bedroom
with a jumble of shoes
scattered across the carpet
and a pair of blue trackpants
hanging on an open wardrobe door;
past the spare room
with boxes stacked high in one corner
and an old computer on a desk
half-covered in a white cloth;
past the hallway cupboards
one door slightly open
an electrical lead trailing from a shelf;
and past a hallstand with a wedding photo
and a vase of plastic flowers.
All the while
I’m holding onto Ella’s hand,
trying to control my breathing
and noticing every little thing
except the open door
to her bedroom
at the end of the hall.
Only one of us
I couldn’t tell anyone what we did.
It wouldn’t be right.
But now I know
that Ella’s single bed
is covered in a tartan doona
and she has lots of pillows to share.
Although my arm tingled with pins and needles
as it stretched under her head,
I couldn’t move for hours
as I watched Ella sleep,
a fine wisp of hair
across her face,
and a faint vein in her neck
pumping a silent rhythm.
I think of the hours
before she slept
and what we did,
from awkward to blushing
and back again.
Ella told me
she always slept with the window open,
listening to the hum of the ocean.
We both closed our eyes …
but only one of us slept.
That frozen moment
In the early morning,
Ella still sleeps beside me.
As my hand rests on the soft skin
of her stomach,
I feel the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
My heart is pounding,
yet my world has slowed.
At ten years old
I was obsessed with my BMX
and the time it took me
from the museum to the blackberry bush.
Manx borrowed some of his dad’s house paint
and splashed a start line in the dirt,
and we hunted around in Mum’s wardrobe
until I found a bright orange ribbon,
which we strung between two blackberry bushes
as a finish line.
For all of summer
we raced down the embankment
and cut across the paddock,
taking it in turns.
And every afternoon
we celebrated with hot chips
and a can of Coke from Batley’s.
In all of my life
I never thought there would be anything
that would come close
to breasting that ribbon
and waiting for Manx to call out my time.
Ella rolls on her side
and puts her arm around me.
She’s still asleep.
I close my eyes
and go back to riding downhill
as fast as I dared,
leaping over the dirt mound
my fingers tight on the handlebars
that frozen moment before landing.
For the better
Too early
or too late
we hear the four-wheel drive
barge onto the driveway.
Ella’s dad!
I scramble out of bed,
hands shaking uncontrollably,
and put on my t-shirt inside out.
Ella jumps out of bed
and wriggles into her dress,
fumbling with the zipper.
I fall over as I pull on my jeans,
while she looks out the window
and waves a frantic hand
towards the back door.
I’m about to run
when
I take a deep breath
and remember where I am.
I walk towards Ella.
She smiles
and, for one moment,
we both think of last night
and what it means.
She kisses me on the lips
before I race to the kitchen
past the cat still asleep on the chair.
As I run down the back stairs
I hear Ella’s dad calling her name.
I sprint the length
of the backyard
and take the rear fence in a single bound,
landing in the garden.
I laugh nervously
before strolling down the concrete path
and walking home
along Lake Road
wondering why everything looks the same,
when I know that
it’s all changed
forever
and for the better.
Scrambled eggs
When I get home
Dad’s asleep on the lounge
still in his work clothes,
a blanket kicked off on the floor.
His right hand covers his mouth
as if in shock from hearing bad news.
Perhaps he’s dreaming
of driving a truck
instead of riding a surfboard.
I sit in the chair opposite
trying hard to remember every moment
of last night with Ella.
I stare at Dad
alone on the lounge
and wonder why he didn’t sleep in the bed.
I imagine how he must have felt
that first night
moving into this house with Mum
when they were young.
How they would have spent more time
in the bedroom than in the kitchen.
It’s not gross
or stupid
or unbelievable.
It’s worth saving,
worth remembering.
Dad opens his eyes
and attempts a smile,
scratching his three-day growth.
He struggles up from the lounge
and searches for his boots,
finding one under the lounge,
the other near the television.
He stretches,
before walking into the kitchen
and calling out behind him,
‘Scrambled eggs make everything better.’
Grateful
Dad has already set the table
with plates and cutlery for both of us
when I walk in.