by Scot Gardner
‘Saved you!’ Den shouted and he grabbed my shoulders. But he didn’t save me.
My whole body tingled and I grabbed at Den. Sucked in a breath. Grabbed at his shirt and held on. My feet wouldn’t move and I could feel myself losing balance. For a moment, it felt like Den was going to hold me then he took another grip on my shirt and his foot scraped over the rock. We fell. I heard Kerry and Gracie squeal. We fell over that ledge. Plunged through the mist then slammed into the rock face when the rope tied to Den’s harness caught. The air was forced from my lungs in a grunt so I couldn’t scream. We bounced and span in the air before smashing into the rock again. With me hanging on to his shirt, Den flipped upside down. His shirt ripped. I could feel it going. He shouted ‘no’ and ‘grab the rope’ and ‘give me your hand’. He hooked his legs in the rope like a trapeze artist.
Barry scrabbled for the rope at the ledge and frothed at the mouth. I punched uselessly at the rope with my stump. Rip. Den let go of my shirt with one hand and grabbed for my arm. He hooked onto my wrist. His T-shirt had slid halfway up his back but it had stopped ripping. We were swinging like a demolition ball, just grazing against the rock face. My feet kicked at the rock but could get no purchase.
‘Hang on! Jesus. Hang on,’ Barry shouted.
My fingers were locked onto Den’s top. He had hold of that wrist and his other hand held the shoulder of my shirt. I wasn’t going anywhere. Kerry and Gracie were on the rope now too. I could hear their little grunts and whimpers, reeling us in like the biggest marlin. Den was panting in my ear and dribbling. They lifted us two inches then we slipped back again as they took another grip. My shirt pulled over my head and Den gasped. I could feel his grip on my wrist slipping. I couldn’t see a thing. My legs were going frantic in the air and then they connected with something solid. A tiny ledge. My toes curled and I shrugged myself forward. My foot slid into the smallest crevice and it took my weight. I slipped my other foot in beside it.
‘Jesus,’ Den said and took another grip on my wrist.
‘You all right down there?’
The biggest adrenaline rush I’d had in my whole life was pumping through me. I didn’t feel safe but I didn’t feel like I was going to fall. ‘Yeah. Now what?’
‘Get another rope!’ he shouted.
The rope went tight again. Den almost pulled me off my ledge.
‘No! Don’t pull. Get another rope!’ he shouted again. Gracie squealed something I couldn’t understand.
‘Here. I’ve got a rope,’ Barry panted. ‘What do you want me to do with it?’
‘Tie it off on the tree. Tie a loop in it big enough for Wayne’s bum. Quick!’
Barry did what Den said and cast the rope over the edge. It clattered against my leg and I stabbed at it blindly with my stump. I hooked it and shook it to the crook of my elbow. What I would have given for five extra fingers and a hand to hold that rope . . .
‘You’re going to have to climb into the loop. Can you see it?’ Den asked.
‘I can’t see a friggin’ thing.’
‘It’s just under your feet. Your left foot. No, your right. Feel around.’
I lifted my foot tentatively and poked around below the ledge. I felt the rope squirm between my runner and the rock.
‘My foot’s in,’ I said.
‘Pull it up a bit, Dad!’ Den shouted, and the rope lifted to my knee.
‘Stop!’ I yelled and lifted my other foot into the loop.
‘Take it up a bit.’
The rope dragged over my legs and I sat into it before it pulled over my arse. I wriggled and positioned the rope with my stump.
‘Right. He’s in,’ Den shouted. ‘Take him up.’
The rope pulled tight and I started going up. My feet lifted off the ledge and tingled. My knees grazed over the rock. Barry and Gracie and Kez dragged me up the rock face until my head popped into my shirt and I could see again.
‘You’re going to have to let go of me,’ Den said. I was dragging him up with me, by the shirt.
I couldn’t do it. My hand wouldn’t open.
‘Wayne, let go! Grab the rope.’ My hand wouldn’t work.
Den let go of my wrist and slapped at my hand. ‘Let go.’ My fingers uncurled and he pushed my hand towards the rope. I grabbed it and watched my knuckles go white. They lifted me to the ledge in one smooth motion and my thighs bit into the rock as I scraped back onto the flat ground.
And then I kissed the earth like it was a woman, feeling the moist dirt mash onto my face. Breathing sharp little breaths like the dying dog on Garrison Street. I shook all over.
‘Are you all right, Wayne?’ Gracie asked.
What a fucking stupid question. I nodded. I was okay. I’d left some skin on the rock but there wasn’t much blood.
Gracie joined Baz and Kerry on Den’s rope and pulled him up with ease. He stepped onto the ledge like he’d been for a walk down the mountain then fell to his knees and sighed loudly again and again.
My left knee had cracked against the rock face but it wasn’t broken. It held my weight and I hobbled over to where Den was. He struggled to his feet with his mouth open and hands on his hips. He hugged me around the neck.
‘Sorry mate,’ he said right into my ear.
‘Nah. I’m sorry.’
It wasn’t until we were walking away from the waterfall that I realised I’d survived another near-death adventure. Sometimes it’s all too much. Why can’t I have really nice friends like Gary Reardon and play chess? Nah, stuff that.
Kerry held my hand most of the way back. By the time we got to the car, we were laughing about the whole thing. I asked Den if I could borrow a pair of his undies—I thought mine were full. Barry told me that I wasn’t allowed in the car but I got in anyway.
‘Hasn’t been much of a holiday for you, Wayne,’ Kerry said, and Gracie glanced over her shoulder with her eyebrows raised.
‘Yeah,’ Den said.
A tense moment passed then Gracie asked, ‘What happened the other night?’
I prickled. ‘The other night? Nothing much.’
‘Bull. Phillip, Mandy’s boyfriend, beat the crap out of him for no reason,’ Kerry said.
Den gagged and shook his head vigorously.
Kerry shrugged and kept talking. ‘Wayne went down to comfort Mandy after Phil had just dumped her and he must have reckoned he was trying to hit on her. Beat the crap out of him.’
Den shook his head. ‘It wasn’t Phil,’ he said and stared out the window.
That didn’t compute. I looked at the back of his neck.
‘It was Hendo.’
I sat there for a full minute looking at his neck. It wasn’t Phil that tried to break me in half and the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Hendo had the hots for Mandy. Never said a word about it. Kerry called Hendo a sleazebag and shivered.
Barry had got a fright at the falls and when we got back to the campsite, he couldn’t stand still. He wanted to pack up and go home. Gracie joked about it and tried to talk him into staying. He packed up the stove after tea and pushed it into the back of the car then lit the gaslight and slumped into his chair. Buried his head in the newspaper.
‘Do you want to walk?’ Kez asked me quietly.
I nodded and felt a tingle in the front of my shorts. Gracie was inside the tent and Kez opened her mouth to yell then changed her mind and bent close to her dad. She mumbled that we were going to the beach. He shrugged.
We slipped into the half dark and Kez held my hand. That’s all we did—hold hands and talk quietly so we didn’t disturb the sound of the waves. That felt so good. Kez started getting cold so we went back to camp.
In the morning—the day after our trapeze act at the falls—Baz got up early whistling a Beatles’ song and said we were going to launch the boat. It took twenty minutes of forward and backward to get the trailer on the boat ramp. Barry frantically screwing the steering wheel left and right, looking in the mirror then over his shoulder and still managing
to hump up onto the concrete gutter before finally getting the boat into the water. I fully expected him to sizzle when he crashed in after it and grabbed the rope from Gracie. He ordered us all in, then pushed and tried to jump in himself. He seesawed on the edge—feet kicking in the water, hands grabbing at the bottom of the boat—until we’d had a good laugh, then sat up, red-faced. He gave Den an oar and stuffed the other one in my hand, telling us to swap seats so that I could make my hand work hard. We zigzagged and almost cut a full circle in the water before we got our rhythm, with Barry chanting ‘stroke, stroke, stroke’. When Den and I found our groove, mate, we were scooting along. Baz finally had a smile on his face.
‘Arghhh, me hearties. This is the life. Boating on the high seas.’
Kez rolled her eyes. The sea wasn’t exactly high. In fact it mirrored like a mirage along the cove. After a few minutes of rowing I realised that I’d rather be in the water than on it. I started to sweat.
‘Ah. Dad?’ Kerry said looking at her feet.
‘Don’t call me Dad. Call me Captain.’
‘Ah. Captain. Is there supposed to be water down here?’
It was ankle deep and filling fast. I could see the water jetting in through a gap that had opened up in the freshly painted timber. Baz stepped through to the back of the boat almost rolling us all into the water.
‘Shit,’ he mouthed.
‘Barry, where are the life jackets?’ Gracie asked. Seemed like a sensible question, just twenty minutes too late.
Barry slapped his palm on his temple. ‘In the back of the car.’
‘I’m getting out of here,’ Den said, and dragged his oar in before diving overboard. Gracie followed.
‘Man overboard! Man the life rafts!’ Baz cried.
‘Ah. Captain, this is the life raft,’ Kerry said and dived in after her mum. They started swimming towards the beach.
‘It’s a mutiny!’
I told him I’d be going down with the ship. He slapped me on the back and called me bosun then grabbed Den’s oar and we paddled like fury towards the beach. Such hard going and it only got worse. The boat bumped against something. Baz looked at me then dived over-board and stood up—the boat had hit the sand.
In time, a whole crew of people swam out from the shore: Davo, Steve and Cheryl. And Mandy. I couldn’t look at her. They helped us empty the boat and drag it to the shore and when Baz brought the trailer down they helped us lift it straight on. Muscles.
Barry shook their hands and thanked them in his stupid pirate voice.
Mandy tugged on the wet sleeve of my shirt. ‘Hey
Wayne.’
I smiled but I think I might have looked like a baboon—not the big red arse and that, the teeth.
She looked at her red toenails. ‘Sorry about ... you know. I was a real bitch.’
I nodded.
‘It was just ... oh, it’s hard to explain. I didn’t mean all that stuff . . . I was just . . . you know.’ She shrugged.
I stared at her toenails too. They were cute and I didn’t know what to say. She was suffering. Suffering in her jocks.
‘Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that. Okay?’ I nodded. ‘How’s Phil?’
‘I dunno. I haven’t seen him. Mum said he packed his gear without saying anything.’
She took my hand. ‘You’re all right, Wayne. Thanks. And sorry about all that stuff.’
I looked down the beach. Straight at Kerry. She stared at me, stone faced.
Mandy hugged me and kissed me on the lips. ‘See you,’ she said, and galloped after her mates.
We packed up and went home on New Year’s Eve. Quitting while we were ahead. Ha! Baz and Gracie were grumpy as hell. There was a long line of cars coming into the park as we were leaving. Lots of ‘P’ plates and surfboards strapped to the roof. It was going to be one heck of a party on the beach. Kez wouldn’t hold my hand in the car. Wouldn’t even talk to me. Den just stared out the window. Driving past the big church in Bairnsdale, I thought about nipping inside to cheer myself up. I’m going to write a story about the car trip and send it in to That’s Life magazine: ‘I was trapped in a car full of happy-heads’.
It was four o’clock when I got home. Den said he’d meet me at Game Zone at eight but he didn’t seem too excited about it. Mum and Dad were both at the flat. Under the same roof and there was no blood.
‘G’day Wayne. How was your trip?’ Dad asked,
‘Good.’
Mum got up from the couch and gave me a hug. ‘You look tired. Why don’t you go and have a lie down. Tea won’t be ready for a little while. Mick, you staying?’
‘Umm. Yeah. That would be nice, thanks Sylvie.’
Mum and Dad were like best mates and that made me feel uneasy. It’s not that I don’t like my old man, just that he doesn’t fit in here any more. It’s been just Mum and me at the flat for years. He used to live in another world and when things got shitty at the flat I could go and see him and let off some steam. That doesn’t work when you’re practically living under the same roof.
I lay on my bed and tried to relive the good bits of the holiday but they were all mixed up with the other stuff. Mandy felt like a hot chocolate with broken glass in it— sweet but loaded. And Kerry, the angel that I’d found when I wasn’t looking, had flown off.
I felt like that bloody seagull we buried. All washed up and parched.
‘You okay, love?’ Mum asked through a mouthful of lamb chop and peas. I nodded and she turned up the volume on Sale of the Century. Dad leant forward in his chair as a chick with a cleavage like the Grand Canyon introduced the contestants. I put my plate on the sink and grabbed my bag. It still had all my shit in it from the holiday.
I’m not sure where the feeling came from, the feeling of wanting to run. Run away from Mum and Dad, from Mandy and Kerry, from the world. I’m not sure where it came from but it stuck like a hat that’s half a size too small, squeezing my brain into unusual shapes, making me think strange thoughts. Do strange things.
I nicked an unopened pack of Holiday Extras and saw Mum’s purse on the kitchen bench. I picked it up and felt a hot rush up my back and neck. Before I’d had enough time to get my head around what I was doing I’d opened the purse and unfolded three fifty-dollar notes. Stuffed them into my pocket just as the television exploded into the adverts. My heart was thumping like a bass drum in my throat. There was no going back.
‘I’m going down to Game Zone. See you later.’
‘Oh. Okay, love. Don’t be too late.’
‘Yep.’
I walked to Game Zone. I felt the money in my pocket, slippery notes folding over each other until they were slimy with sweat. I had a smoke next to the stone soldier. I found my wallet in the front of my bag and ripped it open to stash the notes and a little dude inside me said: ‘Don’t do it . . . you’ll regret it. You’ll get a caning’. I didn’t listen. I felt free. What a buzz.
Den burst from the door of Game Zone and tripped over the bikes that were piled on the edge of the footpath, pulled himself clear and ran. I watched from down the hill on the other side of the road. Otto and Griz slammed through the door together. Den can run. He was going like Carl Lewis with diarrhoea. There was no way those guys would have caught him, that is if Pic hadn’t been coming up the hill on his bike. Den’s watching out behind and Pic stepped off his bike and coat-hangered him. Den hit the deck like his parachute had failed. Then Pic had him by the hair and held his arm up his back.
‘Yes! Well done Picko,’ Otto roared, and they slowed to a trot.
‘Hey! Let him go!’ I shouted and started sprinting up the hill.
Pic dragged Den to his feet. Otto was thumping him in the guts. Griz stood on the nature strip watching me.
‘Let him go!’ I chucked my bag down and pushed Otto in the back. He turned. Griz caught his fist mid-punch.
‘Leave him alone,’ Griz growled at Otto’s face.
Otto shrugged him off and lunged at me, knocking me onto my back and losing h
is beanie. Griz dragged him off me, kicking.
‘Leave him alone, Otto.’
Otto gave Griz one of those baboon smiles.
‘Why? Because you’ve got the fucking guilts?’
Griz looked at the footpath. Those words caught him off guard.
I looked at him. Guilty about what?
Otto poked at Griz’s chest. ‘Because you’re the fucker who turned the tap off. You’re the prick who made him cut his hand off. Cos you’re the . . .’
Griz silenced him with a fist to the face. Something went crack. Pic let Den go and grabbed his bike.
‘I’m sorry,’ Griz said.
Den held his guts and groaned.
‘Yeah,’ I said, and picked up my bag.
‘Sorry,’ he said again. I walked.
I walked for a long time, through the suburbs and into the darkness. Made it all the way to the highway. My whole body ached. My eyes were stinging. I pulled up a chair in a truck stop and had a Coke. It made my guts hurt.
An old bloke in a blue singlet asked me if he could eat his sausages and eggs at my table. I couldn’t say anything so he sat down.
‘Where you heading?’ he asked through a mouthful of greasy shit.
Took a few seconds for my brain to click into gear. ‘Up north.’
‘Oh yeah? Me too. I’m going up to Brisbane in the morning, I am.’
I nodded.
‘Yeah. That’s my rig out there.’ He pointed with his shiny chin to a monstrous white truck parked at the back of the restaurant. ‘Goes pretty well, it does. Sleep in the back, I do.’
He talked at me for a while. Lonely old bugger. He was carting a load of sweet corn up to Brisbane. He does two trips a week. Has been at it for nine years. He talked in whispers about how he avoids RTA cameras so he can drive it in one hit. Eighteen hours straight. Christ, what a life. He took himself off to sleep in his truck after a cup of tea that was so thick and black he must have had to chew it.
