White Ute Dreaming

by Scot Gardner

  Dad groaned. ‘How much?’

  The fat bloke shrugged and moved away from the ladder so that Pat and Carolyn could get onto the pier. ‘About one hundred and fifty bucks.’

  ‘Get stuffed! To fit a bloody pull-start?’ Dad was spitting as he talked. ‘Give me a friggin’ screwdriver and I’ll fix it here . . . for fifty bucks.’

  The fat bloke laughed. ‘Doesn’t work like that, mate.’

  He strode off to the shed where Dad had hired the boat. Dad was swearing under his breath as he heaved himself up the ladder. ‘Undo the ropes,’ he whispered to me. ‘Just leave them looped around the pole. Don’t make it obvious.’

  He went after the fat bloke and told Pat to pack all the stuff. Ernie went to follow him but Carolyn grabbed his lead and put him in the car.

  I untied the ropes like he said and my guts felt tight enough to play a tune on. I helped Carolyn tie the rods down and listened to Dad and the fat bloke having a shouting match. I wanted to cover my ears. They sounded like two-year-olds. The fat bloke picked up the phone and Dad snatched something off his desk. The fat bloke grabbed at him but Dad was already moving with a handful of paper. The fat bloke was screaming into the phone. Dad jogged up the jetty and threw the ropes back onto the boat. He watched it floating away for a few seconds then sprinted for the car.

  The fat bloke was off the phone and moving as fast as his body could carry him to the car.

  ‘You can stick your fucking pull-start right up your arse,’ Dad said, and floored it. The wheels on the old Crown spun and squealed when we got to the tar on the pier road.

  Pat had her arms crossed all the way home. Carolyn patted Ernie until it looked as though he was going to nod off. I looked out the window at the lights and my leg jiggled. What Dad had done was a bit harsh. My first and last fishing trip at Clarkson’s—what an adventure. Took guts to stand up to that bloke. Would have been even gutsier if he hadn’t made such a scene of it. Sometimes he’s got balls of steel, my old man. Balls of steel and a brain of stone.

  Dad thought Carolyn and I were out of earshot when he apologised to Pat. Pat gave him a serve.

  ‘You’re always trying to fix things with aggro, Mick. Doesn’t work. Cost us fifty bucks this time. Probably more when Terry phones the cops.’

  ‘Cost us fifty bucks? Cost me fifty bucks. Saved me a hundred bucks. The guy’s a wanker,’ Dad said, and pulled some scrunched paper out of his pocket. ‘He doesn’t have any of our details. This was the contract.’

  ‘What, and you reckon he didn’t see the number plate on my car as you were driving away?’

  Dad thought about it for too long. ‘Nah. He’s not that bright.’

  He was sorting through the fish at the sink. I was ready to go. Ernie was getting hungry.

  ‘Do you want to stay for tea, Wayne? Fresh fish,’ Pat said, but her heart wasn’t in it. That was definitely what she said but I heard, ‘Are you going home now, Wayne?’

  ‘Mum’s probably cooked tea already. I’ll get going. Thanks for today.’

  ‘No worries,’ Pat said with a smile that looked like she was trying to sell me something. ‘You going to take some fish home?’

  ‘Nah. I’ll get going.’

  Pat shrugged.

  ‘See you, mate,’ Dad said, and waved with a hand covered in fish scales.

  Carolyn led Ernie to the front door. I grabbed my bike off the ute and got ready to leave.

  ‘Probably see you at school on Monday,’ Carolyn said. It was the most she’d said at one time all day.

  ‘Yeah. I suppose,’ I said, and went for the jugular. ‘If I don’t see you I might get one of your notes in my locker.’

  She shook. Her face went bright pink under the fluorescent light from the carport. She looked at me, puzzled. ‘What notes?’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ I said. ‘They’re hot.’

  She realised she was cooked. Started scruffing Ernie’s ears. She looked up the drive. ‘I didn’t write them. A friend did.’

  Yeah, right.

  ‘How did you find out?’ she asked.

  ‘Too easy,’ I said, and touched my nose. ‘See you on Monday.’

  She nodded and looked at her foot. Ernie and I rode home the long way.

  Mum was sick. I’d left at lunchtime. I hadn’t told her where I was going. It was dark. She had cooked tea about an hour ago and all she said to me was, ‘G’day love. Had a good day?’

  I’d spent half the ride home rehearsing my defence and she couldn’t even muster ‘you thoughtless bastard’.

  ‘Yeah. Good day. I went fishing with Dad and Pat and that at Mordialloc.’

  ‘What did you do with Ernie?’

  ‘He came with us.’

  She smiled. ‘Your tea is in the oven. Fish fingers. Did you get any fish?’

  ‘Yeah. They didn’t have any fingers so I left them with Dad.’

  She chuckled and I asked her about her day. The television burst into adverts and she shifted in her seat. Hit the mute button. ‘Had a lovely day. Went for a drive with Gilbert. Drove up to Hanging Rock. Haven’t been there since I was in primary school. Nothing much has changed at the rock but there’s a huge visitor’s centre now and quite a few more tourists than I remember.’

  The kitchen was spotless. I opened a can for Ernie and took him out the back. I grabbed my tea and sat next to Mum.

  ‘How are things going with Kerry?’ she asked, just as her show came on again. One of the Police Academy movies.

  ‘Yeah. Good,’ I lied, and my guts wobbled. Hadn’t thought about her all afternoon and now I’d think about her until dawn. Thanks Mum.

  ‘She dropped a note around this afternoon but didn’t hang around. I tucked it under your pillow.’

  I grunted and nearly choked on a lump of mashed potato. Always wondered what it would be like to get hate mail. What is it with girls and notes anyway? Den and I have been mates for ten years and the only time he’d ever written to me was when they were on holiday a couple of years ago in central Australia. A postcard of the big red rock with three lines on the back. ‘Dear Wayne, we made it to Uluru (Ayers Rock). I didn’t climb. Your mate, Dennis (the menace)’. I can still remember it. The note from Kerry felt like a school report. I wanted to know what was in it but only if it was good news. Excited and terrified by it at the same time. I washed my plate, dried it and put it away. The disease was infectious.

  I pulled the envelope out from under my pillow. Kerry’s writing all right. Flowing and scratchy. It smelt like paper. I couldn’t open it. I stuffed it back and went for a long shower. I soaked until all the hot water was gone and realised when it got cold that I hadn’t washed my hair or anything. I found some trackies and read the note.

  Dear Wayne,

  I love you. That’s for certain. Nothing you do changes that. I want you to be free. Go out with Mandy if you want. Even though I won’t like it (let’s face it, I don’t like her), I will still love you.

  Love Kerry

  Whatever happened to good old hate mail? ‘You fucking bastard, I hate you’ sort of stuff. I ripped a piece of paper from my English folder and wrote ‘Dear Kerry’ on the top and sat there with my pen for ten minutes. I didn’t know what to write, wouldn’t know what to say. Shit, I’m flat-out wishing someone happy birthday without going red. I screwed the paper up and chucked it on the floor. There must be a way to get the message across to her that Mandy and me are like two magnets north to north. Even if we wanted to be together the laws of science would push us apart. Kez and me? That’s a whole different story. I’d never really missed anyone until then. And it wasn’t the mashing of faces I missed either, it was walking the bloody dog together.

  Chapter Six

  IT’S OKAY TO SLEEP IN ON SUNDAY. MUM DOES. ERNIE DOES. I lie there until my bladder is bursting then bolt for the dunny. Sometimes I sit down on the toilet, like when I’m not quite awake and my aim is a bit unreliable or I have half a fat. If we had a lemon tree at the back of the flat, I’d use th
at in preference to the dunny first thing in the morning. Wouldn’t matter how wild my aim was or how high I peed. Look Mum, no hands. I suppose I don’t need a lemon tree, I could be like Ernie and just go wherever. When I got him he used to squat like a girl dog to have a pee. Now, in the morning, he’ll sort of half lift one leg and go until there’s nothing left. Well, it would seem like there was nothing left but when I’d had some breakfast and we’d gone for a walk, he’d still manage to squirt on every other tree or lamppost. Maybe he switched on to reserve bladder before we walked.

  We went to Game Zone. I know I’m bored when I go to Game Zone on a Sunday morning. That’s desperate. Maru doesn’t usually open the doors until eleven o’clock. It was probably about half past eleven when we got there. I tied Ernie’s lead to the bike rack and found the big fella cleaning the Raiders pinny.

  ‘Good day Wayne. How are you going?’

  ‘Good, Maru. You want a hand?’

  That’s desperate.

  ‘Yeah. That would be good. I’ll get another cloth.’

  So I spent the next hour cleaning the screens on video games and the thick glass tops of the pinnies. When we’d finished, I went to the counter and had a peek at Ernie resting with his golden head on his golden paws, his eyes watching everything and his head motionless.

  ‘That your dog?’ Maru asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘He’s grown. Very beautiful animal. Is it a dingo?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe part dingo.’

  ‘I think it is. We saw some—me and Christie, my wife—when we went to Fraser Island. Beautiful wild creatures, only they tore our rubbish bag apart. Here Wayne, have a few dollars. Thanks for your help.’

  He handed me some coins.

  ‘Nah. Don’t be silly, Maru. I don’t want any money. Had nothing else to do.’

  ‘A free game on Terminator III?’

  ‘Nah. Oh, okay,’ I said. Twisted my arm.

  ‘Where’s Dennis this morning?’ Maru asked. ‘I haven’t seen him for ages.’

  I shrugged. ‘He’s shifting.’

  ‘Yeah? To where?’

  ‘Fishwood. In New South Wales.’

  ‘Never heard of it. You will miss him, yeah? You two are closer than brothers,’ he said, and turned the key near the coin slot on Terminator. It let out a bark of military music and flashed on to the player select screen.

  I shrugged. Nearly hit the two-player button. Force of habit.

  Griz arrived half an hour later. I was still playing. Just popped 160,000. That had to be a high score. He stood behind me for a few minutes and I could feel him watching me. I could smell him—grease, oil, petrol, cigarette smoke and BO. What a charmer. Not that long ago the thought of Griz standing behind me would have guaranteed a major stuff-up in the game and a lost life. He was still bigger than me. He was still hairier than I’d ever be. But things had changed. I’d found out what really happened. He’d hurt me. He’d messed with the brick saw and I’d ended up losing my hand. Could say he’d nearly killed me and in an attack of the guilts had made me a hook to go over my stump. The hook was cool and that but I haven’t worn it. He hasn’t stopped saying sorry. He gave Ernie to me. Just gave him to me.

  There was a break in the traffic and I looked over my shoulder.

  ‘Wayne,’ he said, and nodded.

  I nodded and went back to the game. The carnage continued. 179,800.

  ‘Hey, Wayne?’ Maru shouted. ‘Wayne, there’s another dog up here.’

  ‘Shit. Griz, do you want to take over?’ I said, and handed him the pistol. I bolted out the front. Maru was leaning over the counter and watching the dogs prance around each other and tangle their feet in Ernie’s lead. The other dog didn’t have a tag. Didn’t have a collar or anything. Too many ribs showing. I untied Ernie and told the other mongrel to piss off. It wouldn’t go, just kept circling, trying to sniff Ernie out. I stomped at it and it backed off for about two seconds then came around from the other side.

  ‘Go on. Fuck off, you mongrel,’ I shouted, and someone came out of the milk bar.

  ‘Kelsey. Here. Come here,’ a woman growled, and the dog wrapped its tail under its bum and scampered off. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said, and untied a lead from the ‘no standing’ sign at the front of the milk bar. The dog had done a runner.

  I finally got over my hype and saw the dog’s owner. Mate, she was gorgeous. Maybe twenty years old, athletic, honey-coloured skin, blonde hair hanging free, and when she bent to put the collar back on her dog I could see down her front all the way to the waist band of her tracksuit pants. I nearly lost it. With her dog on a short lead she walked over and apologised again. Her face was familiar. A model? Probably a porno star or something. Ernie hid behind my leg.

  ‘Nah. Don’t worry about it. It’s cool. What’s her name? His name?’

  ‘Her name’s Kelsey,’ she said, and smiled. Her face went as red as a fast car.

  ‘Hi Kelsey.’ I reached out to pat her dog. It backed away, eyes fixed on Ernie.

  ‘Oh, this is Ernie. Say hello, Ern,’ I said, but Ernie was trying to bust his lead and piss off. ‘And I’m Wayne.’

  ‘Yeah, hi. I’m . . . I’m Angie.’ She nodded. ‘Got to get going. See you.’

  I watched her very closely as she walked down Garrison Street.

  I tied Ernie up again and ran in to see if my game was still running. Griz slammed the pistol back into the holster just as I got there. He looked at me and sighed so his lips rattled. Mopped his brow. ‘Lost it. Did all right though,’ he said, and pointed at the screen.

  It was flashing, waiting for a name to go into the high score list. 266,000. Massive score. I typed in ‘Griz’ and shot enter. The list popped up and there he was—right at the top. Highest score by 50,000.

  ‘Should have put your name in, Wayne. You did all the work and that.’

  ‘Team effort.’

  ‘I’ll pay for the next game then,’ he said, and fished in his pocket.

  ‘Nah. I didn’t pay for this one,’ I mumbled, but he kept digging for coins. ‘Hey Maru. We cracked it. Top score.’

  ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘Next time I’ll give you two bucks and tell you to go home. Can’t have you cracking my machines.’

  Griz grunted. ‘Seriously. I’ll pay,’ he insisted.

  ‘Nah,’ I said, and walked off.

  He followed. ‘Let me buy you a drink then.’

  ‘All right. A Coke. You’re on.’

  He stopped at the bike rack and pointed at Ernie. ‘Is that the dog? The one I gived to ya?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Shit, it’s grown,’ he said, and smiled.

  I waited out the front with Ernie. Griz threw the little bottle of Coke at me and I almost caught it.

  ‘Oh. Sorry mate,’ he said, and picked it up out of the gutter. He stuffed his change back into his wallet. There were two fifty-dollar notes and a couple of twenties.

  ‘Shit Griz, you’re loaded,’ I said, and he chuckled.

  ‘Yeah. Got paid on Friday.’

  ‘Paid for what? Dope deal?’ I asked, and wedged the Coke bottle under my stump. Bouncing on the footpath had made the bottle swell up and I couldn’t get the cap off. Just kept twisting.

  ‘Nah, you wanker. Work. I work at Lincoln’s.’

  ‘Bullshit. How long have you been there?’

  ‘Since the eighth of January.’

  ‘What, going to school and working in the afternoon?’

  ‘Nup. Full-time. Shows how much notice you take. I haven’t been at school all year. I got an apprenticeship.’

  ‘Yeah? What as? Petrol bloke?’

  He laughed again and grabbed the bottle from under my stump, opened it and handed it back to me. For my worst enemy in the whole world, Griz is bloody useful sometimes. With enemies like him, who needs mates?

  ‘I’m an apprentice motor mechanic.’

  My eyebrows jumped and I took a swig of my drink.

  He flicked his head. ‘
Trade school on Thursdays and I get two hundred and twenty-seven dollars a week.’

  ‘That’s shit-hot. Two hundred bucks a week? Awesome.’

  I was impressed but really it amounted to nothing. He would be pissed if I told him I’d got a payout from my accident. He’d be shitted off if he knew that when he’d turned the tap off on the brick saw, I’d lost my hand and gained $104,000. That’s a lot of weeks at two hundred and twenty-seven dollars, even if it’s not mine until I’m eighteen.

  ‘Yeah, my dad knows Gary, the boss. He got me the job. Top job.’

  I could see him getting off on that. His hands have always been covered in greasy dirty shit. He pulled a pack of smokes out of his pocket and offered me one.

  ‘Nah,’ I said, but grabbed one anyway. What the heck. You only die once.

  Chapter Seven

  Wayne,

  So now you know or do you, Wayne?

  Am I too ordinary or plain?

  I’ll die of embarrassment or brain strain

  If I have to write a poem that rhymes just to let

  you know that you’re really neat. Hot. Groovy.

  Well, I think so anyway.

  Not so anonymous

  Bloody stupid game. Gone past funny now, getting a bit painful like more than one knock-knock joke at a time.

  Knock knock.

  Who’s there?

  Just open the friggin’ door before I kick it down.

  I sat next to Den in English. He was buzzing like a blowfly in a matchbox—his mouth going faster than his brain.

  I looked at him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. You’re a bit hyper this morning.’

  ‘Hyper? Yeah, overdosed on mega-multi-maxi vitamins. Should see the colour of my piss. Pure gold.’

  More like he’d nicked a handful of Hendo’s Ritalin. He switched himself on to slow-mo and cruised back to his seat like a cricketer on replay.

  ‘That better?’ he asked at half speed.

  ‘Yeah, much.’

  ‘Two weeks until we shift.’