One Dead Seagull

by Scot Gardner

  ‘Every one.’ He pointed to a huge waterfall that looked like something from a pay TV documentary. ‘In the holidays we’re going there.’

  ‘Africa?’

  ‘Nah. Just down the road. Well, a few hours’ drive to the east. Near the New South Wales border.’

  The waterfall looked awesome. I asked if I could come along. Just as a joke. Mostly as a joke. No, I think I really wanted to go with them and not sit at the flat and watch telly like I did last year when they went to central Australia.

  ‘Yeah! Cool idea. You’d love it,’ he said and darted out of the room. I stared at the picture of the waterfall but thought about masturbating. I wondered if Den wanked in his bed. How gross.

  He came back sucking noisily on his drink bottle and told me that his mum and dad had agreed that it would be okay for me to go with them to Mars Cove.

  ‘I thought we were going to the waterfall?’

  ‘Yeah, we drive there from the cove. The beach is awesome. Huge dunes ... the biggest in the world I think. Massive. Dad reckons we’re going to take the boat.’

  When I eventually dragged myself home at about eleven o’clock, Mum was brushing her teeth. She grumped and ordered me to do things. Make my lunch. Brush my teeth. Have a shower. I told her I’d have a shower in the morning and she told me that Dad had phoned.

  ‘Your father,’ she said flatly, ‘wants to see if you’d be interested in doing some work with him over the holidays. He’s doing more landscaping for the Thompsons.’ I nodded like I wasn’t excite but inside I was jumping. That’d be right. One minute there was nothing going on in my life, next minute I’m making choices: working with the old man or Mars Cove?

  When I turned fifteen, Dad filled out the paperwork and officially employed me as a part-time labourer, but in the last lot of holidays Dad didn’t have any work. I have to be careful about how enthusiastic I am around Mum. Mum and Dad split up when I was seven and although they still talk to each other I don’t think they like each other much. No . . . Mum hates Dad’s guts but she’s too polite to get angry most of the time. I think Mum feels a bit off when I go with Dad but she doesn’t say anything. Just: ‘Be careful. Don’t do anything stupid. Stay out of the pub.’ I asked Dad if I could live with him last year and he explained that he couldn’t look after me. Didn’t have enough work to feed himself, he reckons. Fair enough. Mum gives me the shits sometimes.

  Dad’s a builder and when I was eight he told me he’d take me on as an apprentice when I was old enough. When I was eight I thought that I wanted to be a builder but now I see Dad struggling to get work and I don’t think that’s the easiest way to make a million bucks. I think I’m going to go to university like Mum, study biological science and get a job as a park ranger.

  Mrs Leavey lost the plot with me again. I told her I got a flat on my bike, which was sort of true. My back tyre was a bit spongy. She said it was a likely story. I shouted that it was true. She didn’t like that and she threatened me with a lunchtime detention. Roll on holidays.

  Just before recess—Den still calls it ‘little play’—I remembered a dream I’d had. Men dressed in business suits surrounded me but they had no arms. Their jacket sleeves were flopping on me as they tried to grab hold. The ground was slippery and I felt like I couldn’t get away from them. Even though they couldn’t do much to me, I still woke up kicking. Den said I should tell Kerry about it—his sister is a walking dream encyclopedia. I tried to find her at recess but Mr Richards cornered me and asked me to help him shift some stuff. He was an unshaven prickly grey and dressed in green casual pants.

  His office had been packed into boxes. The walls were covered with unfaded blocks of paint where his certificates and photos had been hanging for a hundred years.

  He couldn’t move fast enough. ‘Grab a box Wayne, out to my car.’

  I followed his instructions and found his BMW with the boot open at the edge of the teachers’ car park. Richo dropped his box into the boot.

  ‘You all right, Sir?’

  He shrugged and walked off. We put the last boxes into the back seat; it looked like they were the first things to ever sit in those seats. He went back to the office, mumbled that I should follow him and when we were inside he closed the door.

  Staring at me, he spoke softly. ‘How much have you heard?’

  I told him that I hadn’t heard anything except that he was leaving. He nodded slowly.

  ‘I’m not well, Wayne. I’ve got to go in for an exploratory operation next week.’ His lip was shaking.

  I looked at the floor. What do I say? Sorry? Hope you get better soon? You’ll be right; they’ll probably cut you open and find a fart that you hung on to back in 1965 still stuck in your guts. Those little material masks won’t save the surgeons from the smell. I almost laughed.

  He jammed his hands into his pockets. ‘Thank your mum for the message she left on my machine. Tell her I’ll call as soon as the shit has settled.’

  I had never heard him swear before. Last year Mr Dobson got in big trouble with Richo for ‘taking the Lord’s name in vain’. Now he said he had to go and he led me to the door with a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘See you later, Wayne.’

  He closed the door, locking himself inside the empty office.

  Mr Johnson was leaning on the reception desk talking to the office lady, Fay. He shot me a dagger and I wanted to jog. Yes, Sir. I’m going, Sir. He can make you feel like an arsehole just by looking at you. Doesn’t have to do anything. Doesn’t have to say a word. He’s just a cranky old ball-bag. Imagine being his wife or his kid. It’d be like having one of those Rottweilers from the car-wrecking yard in your lounge room.

  The bell rang and I felt like a losing boxer must at the end of a round. No more weird Richo and no more Johnson, just English.

  I had been running so late that morning that I hadn’t eaten breakfast. I didn’t get a chance to eat my Milo bar at recess or in English, so when lunchtime came around I could have eaten a fried cocky. I grabbed my lunchbox and bolted for the common room. I had made spaghetti sandwiches from Tuesday’s leftovers. The best. I was stuffing the last bit of my third sandwich into my mouth when a worm of spaghetti escaped and landed on the back of my hand. Sucking the worm into my mouth made a lot of noise and Mandy Masterson flopped into the seat opposite me right in the middle of it.

  ‘Sounds like you’re enjoying that,’ she said. My face got hot and I nodded.

  ‘Piglet,’ she added and laughed.

  I laughed too, but I didn’t want to be a piglet.

  ‘Did you hear about Richo?’

  I shook my head. Her dark eyes flashed and her face shifted into a cheeky smile.

  ‘You remember Kylie Simpson?’

  I nodded. Kylie left year twelve last year because she was pregnant. It was another good scandal at Chisholm High.

  ‘Wellll,’ she said and wriggled closer so she could keep her voice low. Her blonde locks tickled on the back of my hand. ‘Turns out that she and Richo were having a bit of a... you know... and Richo’s the father of her baby.’

  I almost gagged. What a load of bullshit.

  ‘Really?’

  Mandy nodded. ‘Emma and Cheryl were talking to Fay in the office and they could hear Mr Johnson on the phone. Got the whole story. Pretty sick, huh?’

  Nup. It was like saying this square peg fits in that round hole. Mr Richards just isn’t like that.

  ‘Yeah. Pretty sick,’ I agreed. The appetising aroma of my lunch had gone, now that Mandy vanilla smell was giving me an erection. I wanted to freeze the moment. Then Cheryl, Emma and another one of their mates, Cindy Fanshawe, came into the room and the spell was broken. Mandy shot up like a frightened cat to join them. They sat around an orange table and shared their lunches.

  I found Dennis at the smokers’ corner. I love scaring the shit out of him and the others by pretending I’m hairy Mrs Kneebone come to book them. I shared the last of Den’s smoke and told him the gossip about Richo.


  ‘What do you reckon?’ Den asked.

  ‘Well, I think there are two options. It’s either bullshit or . . . it’s bullshit.’

  He laughed and agreed. Kerry stuck her head around the corner of the building and asked her brother if he had any money. Den dug a handful of coins out of his pocket and gave them to his sister. She blew him a kiss then vanished. I thought brothers and sisters were supposed to hate each other and cause as much pain as possible? Weirdos.

  I remembered my dream and ran after Kerry to tell her about it. She listened intently and was silent for what seemed like ages standing next to Carly in the canteen line. She bought a pack of plain chips and orange juice then suggested I sit with her on a seat in the quadrangle.

  ‘It’s like a big authority issue for you,’ she began. ‘The men in suits are like authority figures in your life. I guess they’re pretty harmless . . . armless ... get it?’

  I nodded and took a chip.

  ‘It’s like they are still in positions of power in your life but they can’t hurt you. The slippery mud thing is about you being out of control. Somehow, it’s saying you are out of control and the men, the authority figures in your life, they’re going to get you. Maybe they were trying to help?’

  ‘Could have been, but it felt like they were trying to catch me.’

  She shrugged. ‘Maybe it means something different.’

  I thanked her and grabbed a handful of chips. She kicked me in the shin before I could get away. The dream still didn’t make any sense.

  Dennis shot out of the room like a burning budgie when the final bell rang. I yelled after him but he was on a mission. He was waiting at the bike shed.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to wait a minute though.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘You’ll see . . .’

  He flashed me a dark smile and I told him I was going. He pleaded that I wait for another minute. He said it would be worth it, then he jumped on the bars and whispered for me to get going. To Game Zone. So, gullible me rode up Garrison Street with my supposed best mate sitting on the handlebars and the chinstrap of my helmet swinging in the breeze. Den looked back and urged me on. I was already pedaling like crazy. He doesn’t realise how hard it is to ride with him on the bars.

  Then they were on us. Griz and his mates, pushing us and jeering as they rode past at a hundred k’s per hour. Pic Hopkins slapped the back of my helmet and it shot off my head and clattered to the footpath. I slammed on the brakes. Den shot off the bars and stumbled, but stayed on his feet.

  ‘Come on, Wayne. Just to the top of the hill. We can watch from there.’

  I told him to run but he insisted that I dink him.

  ‘Look. Look. Watch!’ Den shouted and pointed to the front of Game Zone. Griz and his mates were just arriving when suddenly something happened and they became a pile of bodies and metal. We could hear the crash from where we were. Griz stood up and his bike was hanging from his bum like a huge growth stuck to the seat of his pants.

  Den exploded into a squeal of laughter that was so loud Griz heard it over the traffic noise. He shook the remains of a crushed packet of cigarettes from out of his shirtsleeve at Den.

  ‘You die, arsehole.’

  Den stopped laughing. ‘Whoops.’

  Pic and one of his apes Terry were already back on their bikes and powering up the hill towards us.

  ‘Go! Go!’ Den said and jiggled on the handlebars. I panicked and almost lost balance as I turned the bike back down Garrison Street. There was a break in the traffic so I crossed over and turned into Merrimans Creek Road. We were on the big downhill now and tearing along. I hoped like hell that we didn’t have to stop. I shot past the corner of Vincent Drive and headed for the Velos’ place. Their house backs on to our flat and when we got to the back fence I hit the skids and Den shot off. I threw my bike over the six foot paling fence. Clear over. Jumped it in two steps myself. Den was a bit more graceful.

  ‘Take it easy, Wayne. They’re miles back. Something happened to the wheel on Pic’s bike and they stopped at the top of Merrimans.’

  My heart was thundering in my head and I felt like my lungs were going to burst. My hands shook and I couldn’t stop them.

  ‘You bloody idiot,’ I shouted and a spray of spit landed near Den’s boot.

  ‘Come on mate, get a grip. It was a joke.’

  He pulled something out of his pocket. An empty tube of Superglue. He’d managed to stick Griz’s arse to his seat with Superglue. That was funny. Bloody funny. I lay back on the long grass and had a good gut laugh.

  Dad came over that night in his grubby jeans with the ripped right knee, smelling of beer and BO—he hasn’t discovered the joy of Lynx ‘Aztec’ yet. He gave Mum a kiss and a cuddle like he always did and Mum played along. She rolled her eyes at me over Dad’s shoulder as he was hugging her. Dad wanted to talk so we escaped the telly and Mum by going into my room. When we lived in Tennyson Street we used to go into Dad’s shed and build stuff. Now we’ve only got one of those stupid little sheds just big enough for a busted lawnmower. The door’s falling off and it stinks like cat’s piss because the Velos’ tabby uses it as a dunny.

  ‘I got this job at Thompson’s . . . you know . . . my solicitor? Yeah. He’s an all right bloke. Gives me a beer on a Friday afternoon, when I work for him. Anyway, he asked if I could do some brick paving after I finished replacing the bargeboards on the house and I told him I could. Would you give me a hand in the holidays?’

  I remembered Mars Cove and told him I would work with him anyway. I don’t know why I did that. My knee was jiggling and I couldn’t stop it. I asked Dad about the sort of work he’d want me to do and he went into one of his long-winded explanations about brick paving: shifting sand, cutting bricks, and maybe using the brick saw. It sounded awesome. I couldn’t imagine what a brick saw would look like—maybe a circular saw with really hard teeth or something like that. Dad then told me a story about a fishing trip he went on with Auntie Pat and Carolyn on Port Phillip Bay. They hired a boat from Mordialloc and Dad caught about fifty fish—flathead, snapper and garfish—and Carolyn caught a fishing rod that had fallen out of someone’s boat. Hooked it off the bottom with her line. They cleaned it up and it works like a new one. Freaky.

  Dad hangs out with Pat (she’s not really my auntie) and her daughter Carolyn more than he hangs out with me. Dad used to work with Pat’s husband Robert, but Robert fell in sex with a teenager he met at the pub. Robert left Chisholm with her and last Dad heard from him he was living with the girl and managing a nudist resort in Queensland. Dad never mentioned her name. So when Dad gets sick of sitting in his caravan watching pay TV, he goes over to be the ‘man around the house’ for Pat and Carolyn. He reckons there’s nothing in it but I reckon he thinks Pat’s fair game. Just wish he’d take me out on a few of the fishing trips. I get on all right with Carolyn, she is in year ten with me at Chisholm High—Ten Waratah, Mrs Kneebone’s home group. Once you get past all the acne, she’s got a pretty good personality.

  That Friday morning Den informed me that there were only two weeks of school left until the September holidays. I love the way the holidays creep up like that. I don’t have time to be bored when school is on. I only get bored during the holidays. Mum goes to work and I eat all the two-minute noodles in the house and watch telly. Mum gets angry with me, does the shopping and the cycle repeats. But these holidays I’ll be busy.

  Griz was waiting in the breezeway for Den and he pushed him hard into the lockers. My heart jumped and I wanted to run. Pic kicked me in the ankle as I went to bolt past and I dropped hard on the concrete floor. My backpack shot up and onto the top of my head. Something hard—maybe my pencil case—cracked into the bottom of my skull.

  ‘Ya friggin’ idiot,’ Den growled holding his arm. Griz grabbed him by the front of his vest and slammed him into the lockers again.

  ‘You owe me,’ he hissed right in Den’s face.

  ‘What for?�
�� Den squeaked.

  ‘You’re the prick who put glue on my seat. Stuffed a pair of my best jeans and rooted my seat.’

  ‘Oi! Break it up you two.’ For the first time in my life, I was happy to hear Mr Johnson’s voice.

  ‘Two hundred bucks. By next Friday,’ Griz said as he dropped Den on his feet.

  ‘What’s going on, Shane?’

  ‘Just a little disagreement, you know, Mr Johnson. All fixed now.’

  ‘Both of you in my office. Now. The rest of you off to homerooms please.’

  Pic kicked me again as he left and Mr Johnson didn’t see it. It hurt like hell; a corker, in the meat of my left thigh. I limped off to homeroom and Den appeared five minutes later. He apologised to Mrs Leavey for being late and flopped down next to me, smiling. My skin was still crawling and the stupid bastard was smiling.

  ‘What happened?’ I whispered.

  ‘Nothing. Couldn’t do anything to me, he’s shit-scared of Griz. Said to sort out our differences outside of school hours. That was comforting . . .’

  He must have smoked twenty smokes that day.

  I dinked Den home again that night but we waited until Griz and the morons he hangs out with had left. He was busting to go to the dunny when we got to his place. Kerry had come home on the bus but the front door was still locked. Den banged frantically on the glass panel and yelled but there was no response. He shrugged his bag off his back and hunted for his keys. He was jiggling on his feet as he searched through his bag and I thought he was going to have an accident. In one swift motion he’d found the keys, unlocked the door and burst through to the toilet. I heard a muffled toilet-fart then a huge sigh.

  I walked past Kerry’s bedroom on my way to Den’s and realised why she hadn’t unlocked the front door. She was lying on her bed with headphones on and Jesus, her cat, curled up on her stomach. Her thumbs were curled to touch the tip of her second fingers and her eyes were closed. I could smell the sandalwood incense that she loves and faintly hear the music. Sounded like waves on the beach. Weirdo.