by Van Badham
I was buoyant when I reached the rotunda. The alcohol had well and truly worn off now and an inspection revealed my dress had not actually been destroyed by my slam into the highway barrier.
I stopped walking, just for one second, to soak up the moonlight and breathe in the salt air.
‘What are you doing here, 1919?’ came the voice from the steps of the rotunda. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be at a party in Sydney?’
67
I froze. He was just a dark shadow on the steps of the rotunda, but of course – of course – it was him.
‘Was it a party or a coronation?’ he asked, standing up. ‘Nice hat.’
I could barely say the words, ‘What are you doing here?’
He came down the steps but did not walk closer towards me. ‘I went to a really sucky party,’ he said, ‘so I needed to let off some steam. Sometimes the drunks tumble out of the pub and come down here, looking for a fight. A bit of ultra-violence on a couple of drunken dairy farmers and I can go back to selling ice-creams and sitting in a classroom, worry-free.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ I said.
‘The other kids do,’ said Brody.
‘Because you want them to.’
‘Maybe.’
I knew that at this point, whether I liked him or not, I was supposed to say ‘Seeya later,’ or make some other dismissive farewell and walk off, like I didn’t care, so he’d have to chase me to keep my attention. But I didn’t.
Behind us, the waves crashed on the beach. He didn’t step any closer. Even in the dark I could feel that strange energy between us. Whether it was good or bad, as protective as his warm arms around me or as dangerous as shattering glass, now was my time to find out.
‘Thank you for yesterday,’ I said.
‘Least I could do,’ said Brody.
In the distance, I heard soft thunder. I looked up, distracted, and the sky was purpling with thick clouds. ‘I think it’s going to rain,’ I said.
‘I’ve got no territorial claim on the rotunda if you want to step out of the weather. It’s safe,’ he said, slapping the wood of the archway. ‘No broken windows.’
Brody didn’t move, but clouds were now sailing, at a gathering pace, over the moon. I took some steps towards the rotunda. As I did, he backed into it and was swallowed by shadow.
‘Do you think the storm will pass over?’ I said.
‘Hard to tell,’ came his voice from the shadows. There was more distant thunder. ‘They blow over the sea a lot, but they don’t always come in to shore.’
I was in the darkness now. ‘How long should I give it?’ I asked him. ‘I have to get home and I can’t just—’
‘Give it fifteen, give or take the quality of the conversation.’
Even without seeing him, I knew he was smiling. The thunder grew a little louder and, beyond the horizon, lightning rippled the sky in a bright white flash. It was enough to illuminate our two bodies in the dark; Brody was a lot closer to me than I’d realised.
Exposed by the lightning, he emerged from the shadows of the rotunda into the dull luminosity of the town’s electric streetlight. My eyes were still adjusting to the light, and I perceived his frame in silhouette. Maybe it would make it easier to talk to him if I couldn’t see him properly. Maybe it would be easier to suppress the memory of his green eyes shining at mine, leaning towards me in the classroom, touching the pendant at my neck.
My blood heated at the thought. My hand went to my pendant, and as if he’d overheard the thrum of my blood and was suppressing something too, he turned his back to me and faced the sea, gripping the rotunda’s handrail with both hands.
I followed him and we both stared at the white flickers and racing clouds above the distant ocean. The clouds were churning so fast now that there were only intermittent patches of moon. When the moon was revealed, swathes of the ocean were slicked with sparkling silver. When it was covered, the ocean was dark. The waves continued to crash. The air was strange: not warm, not cold, but thick with the tension of a storm.
‘This is the second storm this week,’ I said.
‘Yes. The one on your first day was pretty nasty.’
‘We got stuck in a car crossing the highway on the way home,’ I told him. ‘It was frightening.’
‘Not the world’s luckiest person, are you?’ said Brody. We were still not looking at one another. ‘How’s your hand?’
‘How’s the glass in your back?’
‘What an overreaction,’ he grunted, ‘I didn’t need to go to hospital to get the glass out. I’ve had worse.’
‘Are you still cut up?’
‘Want me to take my shirt off so you can see?’
I frowned. Despite his bitter tone, this was such a teenage boy thing to say. ‘Are you in any pain?’ I said with a scowl.
‘No … sorry about that.’ His posture changed and he stood up straight. ‘I didn’t mean you,’ he explained, sounding a little embarrassed. ‘Some stupid chick at Belinda’s was bothering me about it.’
Now it was my turn to straighten in alarm. ‘You went to Belinda’s?’
He looked at me. In the soft darkness I couldn’t see the colour of his eyes, but I could see slivers of the moonlight reflected in them. ‘I told you,’ he said, ‘it was a really sucky party.’
I felt somehow betrayed that he had gone. ‘Wow, she got quite a turnout.’ I turned back to the ocean. The storm on the horizon was consolidating into a single mass of cloud. It grew into the sky like a fantastic tree, bustling with foliage of clouds and vein-thin branches of soft lightning.
‘She certainly did,’ said Brody. ‘Why weren’t you there? I thought you were tight with that,’ his voice dripped with derision, ‘gang.’
I snorted, despite myself. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what he knew, what they might have told him.
‘They said that you were at some fancy party in the city,’ he said when I didn’t reply. ‘If you were, you wouldn’t be back here by now.’
I was cautious. ‘Who’d you talk to?’
‘Michelle Ozolins, Kylie Mundine.’
‘Why?’
Thunder sounded. Brody rocked towards the rotunda handrail, rocked back. When he said, ‘Why do you think?’, it was a statement, not a question.
There was a flash of lightning amongst the storm clouds, thicker and brighter than it had been before. It coincided with me turning my head towards Brody, and he turning his towards me. In the blast of light, the colours of his face were desaturated – his eyes were deep black, his jaw was white and his hair and his shirt were grey. I saw that his face had the shadow of a light beard. The checked shirt he wore had epaulettes and short sleeves that were rolled tight on his upper arms. At the cuff of the roll, the muscles of his arms bulged like those on a marble statue. He smiled. My heart beat like cicada wings.
Was he saying what I thought he was saying? I leaned my weight against the handrail. Brody slid into the same position next to me. More thunder. I realised that this was the closest I’d ever been to a boy before. Panic grew in me that he could actually hear my heart thumping.
‘I like the crown, by the way,’ Brody said, nudging my shoulder with his.
I couldn’t stand this. I shot bolt upright and my hand shot to my pendant.
Brody rolled onto his elbow. ‘You all right there?’
The truth flew out of my mouth on a ribbon of breath. ‘I wasn’t invited to Belinda’s. She was trying to teach me a lesson.’
‘What about the party in Sydney?’
‘I needed an excuse to not be at Belinda’s, but I got the date wrong,’ I stammered. ‘Belinda’s trying to isolate me – she wants me out of the group.’
‘Aren’t these people supposed to be your friends?’
‘Oh, fine, okay,’ I said, and I was surprised that my voice was so hot with anger. My eyes had adjusted to the light, now; I could see him reclining against the rotunda’s balustrade and it infuriated me. ‘I can’t play the distant p
sycho act and I don’t actually like sitting alone. I’m new at the school and these are the people who will talk to me and that’s what I’ve got.’
‘Steady on,’ he started.
My anger rose. ‘I stayed at home tonight,’ I said, ‘but then I was stupid and went for one stupid walk. No one was supposed to find out and now you have and I’m sure the whole school will know about it by Monday.’
‘Hey,’ he said, gently raising his voice, ‘I’m not the enemy.’
‘Everyone’s the enemy!’ I blurted. Fat tears were welling in my eyes and the words were coming out in a rush. ‘All the time, having to pretend I’m like this or like that and I know this about her but I can’t tell her because then she’ll be upset and she will hate me but she already hates me and …’ A couple of sticky tears travelled down my cheeks. All of a sudden, I heard laughter. Musical laughter. It took a couple of seconds to realise it was me. ‘Even Ashley Ventwood hates me,’ I said, half-laughing, half-crying.
‘Now she’s a genuine psycho,’ Brody sneered. ‘She cornered me at Belinda’s for a while, talking complete garbage.’
‘Did she call you a demon from hell?’ I asked, my laughter subsiding.
‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘I think she was drunk. I only understood half of it. At least she didn’t try to take my clothes off.’
‘Who was that anyway?’
Brody shook his head. ‘I don’t know her name,’ he said darkly. ‘That was when I figured you weren’t going to show up, so I thought I might as well come down here and take in the view.’
‘And beat up dairy farmers,’ I said, smiling, but padding at my wet eyes with the back of my bandaged hand.
‘You could throw a rock over your shoulder in this town and hit a dairy farmer,’ he said. ‘The ice-creamery’s a front – I’m on the payroll of the milk mafia like everyone else.’
‘You couldn’t have gone to that party just to see me,’ I said.
‘I dunno …’ He was looking out to the storm again. ‘I was hoping that if you turned up Belinda’s house would collapse, or she’d bleed to death, or have a baby come out of her mouth or something. That would have been worth it.’
‘Sorry to let you down.’
‘I know you’re disappointed too,’ he said, raising a conspiratorial eyebrow.
I breathed in and dropped my pendant back to my chest. It was as if, with the fall of a few tears, the electricity in the air was switched to a different current. I was smiling, Brody was smiling, and what had been tense and difficult only a few minutes ago was now relaxed and easy.
So we’re friends, I thought, as he chuckled to himself; it was a nice sound. That will have to do.
The air was cooler around me – I put my little purple cardigan back on. On the horizon, the storm simmered, shrinking into the far sea. The thunder was very gentle now, the lightning flashes barely perceptible.
‘Look, I’m not going to tell anyone I saw you,’ he said.
I believed him. ‘I’m more embarrassed that you might think I’m a crying teenage girl.’
‘You are a crying teenage girl.’
I laughed. ‘I’m really going to have to go home. The storm looks like it’s over. My dad went out and if he comes back to an empty house he’ll freak.’
‘Where do you live?’ he asked me.
‘Up on Boronia,’ I said.
‘Do you want me to walk you home?’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘If it’s not too far out of your way.’
‘It’s Yarrindi,’ he said, gesturing me towards the steps of the rotunda. ‘There’s no such thing as far.’
68
We walked to the corner of the park opposite the petrol station and we didn’t speak.
It was comfortable, strolling with him in the low light of the parklands. I felt more than a little guilty for having lusted after him for the past week: Brody certainly wasn’t the secretive psycho he’d been described as, but it was possible he wasn’t the mysterious loner of my strange longings either. Wordlessly ambling beside him across the grass, I got the feeling that maybe his inscrutability was plain shyness, and I’d been lucky, privileged even, to have this strange encounter with him tonight. Maybe Brody, also, found it easier to talk in the dark.
Any serenity l’d gained from this walk died the instant Brody stepped into the light of a streetlamp. The glimpses of his body I’d caught in the rotunda paled into poorly developed monochrome compared to the full-colour digital reality the streetlamp revealed.
It wasn’t just that the shirt he wore showed off the muscles in his arms. Most teenage boys looked as if they’d been shoved into their clothes. Brody wore his as if they earned the right to be worn by him; a pair of simple charcoal jeans with a leather belt, and on his feet a pair of well-worn, grey snakeskin shoes. He had no shyness; he looked like a rock star. If I thought a few tears by the beach were going to cure me of my crush, I was completely delusional.
‘I guess we’re crossing up to Frankston?’ he said, walking over to the pedestrian crossing and pressing the button on the traffic lights.
I didn’t want to step into the light. I was sure that there was gravel dirt up to my ankles and that my dress, though not ripped, was at least marked from its encounter against the traffic island. Were my lips purple from the wine? And how stupid did I look in the plastic crown?
I raised my hand to remove it from my head as I nervously walked into the light.
Brody was still. ‘Keep it on,’ he said, swinging back to the traffic button, which he hit several times.
‘I must look stupid,’ I said, steeling myself as I joined him at the lights.
‘Nah, it’s funny,’ he said, shooting me a quick smile. ‘It’s cute.’
On cue, thunder rumbled. Then I felt the electronic buzz of my mobile phone in my purse. Dad was home. Where are you?! he’d written.
I didn’t like to worry Dad. I bit my lip and started texting back.
Brody noticed. ‘Someone looking for you?’
I nodded. About fifteen minutes away, I wrote. Went on a walk. I almost pressed ‘Send’ but I saw Brody tuck a lock of his long fringe behind his ear, and considered how my father would react if he met Brody unprepared. I hastily added, with a friend and sent the message.
Brody and I crossed the road and wandered up the spiral ramp of the bridge. We passed a solitary trio of junior boys who were more preoccupied with cigarettes in their mouths than they were with Brody and I. It was only as we passed them that I saw one of the boys stop and look at us. I thought I saw him mouth the words ‘Brody Meine’ on his dull lips.
‘Why did you beat up that Shoalhaven guy at the football game?’ I heard myself say.
Brody was instantly a grey cloud. ‘Who told you about that?’
‘The girls,’ I said, seeing Brody’s fingers hook and unhook into the mesh around the bridge as we crossed it. Now this was not a relaxing walk but a homeward march.
‘You believe the girls?’ His voice was tense.
‘No. I’ll believe you. That’s why I’m asking.’
There was silence. We were halfway down the opposite side ramp before Brody said, ‘He provoked me.’
Again, thunder rumbled. I looked over my shoulder, and while my view of the horizon was obscured by the architecture of the bridge I could see the lightning was plumping up again. ‘I think the storm’s coming back,’ I said, eager to distract him from the dark thoughts blistering his mood. ‘I can go the rest of the way myself if you want to—’
He stopped. ‘Want to what?’
I met his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ I said, ‘asking about that guy.’
Brody stared at the ground. I couldn’t read his expression. ‘It’s not your fault,’ he said, looking up again. ‘I’m sorry, there are just things …’
We were a metre away from each another but in the depth of his gaze I felt as if our faces were centimetres apart. My breath caught in my throat.
He didn’t finis
h his sentence, instead he started to walk again, but at a slower, less determined pace. He sighed – not to me, but to the black mountains that were behind the crest of the hill.
‘There are things I don’t talk about,’ he said softly, and it sounded like a confession. ‘There are some things I will never talk about.’
We took a few more steps before I responded. ‘Okay …’ I said, taking a dramatic pause. ‘What about frogs?’ I flashed him half a smirk.
‘Frogs are great,’ he said with a sideways glance at me. Our eyes met. We both laughed.
Sooner than I expected, we turned the corner into Boronia.
Brody was quiet, and although we were walking closely beside one another now, my heart sank with each step towards his inevitable departure.
The storm had rewarded itself for its own tenacity. Here, metres away from my front doorstep, looking over Yarrindi and out to the ocean, the great tree of clouds on the horizon had expanded into a monster of burbling energy. Rather than being veined by lightning, fat bolts crackled and cracked like spasms in the body of the storm. A loud thunderclap made me jolt. This one wasn’t out to sea – it was behind the mountains.
A few more steps and I turned on my heel to a halt. We were outside my house. Dad’s car was parked on the street. Brody stopped.
‘Do you want to come in and wait out the rain?’ I said, taking a step towards my house. ‘It looks like the clouds will break any minute.’ The atmosphere was warm again now, charged with the thick particles of the coming storm. ‘I’m sure my dad can give you a lift home when it’s over.’
‘I don’t really do fathers,’ he said with a self-deprecating smile. He then yawned – drumming his fingers against his chest as he did – and looked at me. ‘I’ll be right.’ But he didn’t move.
‘Thanks for walking me home,’ I said. There was more thunder – not a clap this time, but the steady rumble that promised the onset of rain. The smell in the air was metallic – I could taste it on my tongue. I took off my cardigan. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come in?’ I said, taking a step back towards him, tucking my cardigan under my arm as I looked up at a sky whose stars were smothered by jostling clouds.
