***Editor’s Pick***
I spotted Damon in the crowd almost immediately, dragging his feet as he paced back and forth on the platform. One hand held his phone up to his ear while the other gripped firmly at his crotch. He spat on an empty bench as the train eased into the station, terminated his call and pocketed the phone. People began to approach the slowing train, carefully assembling behind the yellow line and keeping a noticeable distance from Damon. As if to demonstrate the sheer scope of his malice, Damon kicked a discarded bottle towards the passing train. The bottle met the train with a resounding pop, sending a shower of glass across the feet of the other passengers. Despite some grumbling and cursing, no passenger dared to confront the insubordinate reprobate.
Damon pushed past the disembarking passengers as he boarded the train. I moved through the carriages to head him off. When he saw me coming he raised both arms in the air and called out to me.
‘Boy-ee!’ he yelled with an elongated emphasis. He stood with his feet apart, blocking a woman’s exit from the train. She glared at him indignantly as she was forced to shuffle awkwardly around him. Damon reciprocated by barking in her face and stalking her to the door as she scurried off. I laughed at the moron, who returned with an exaggerated swaggering gait.
‘You’re late, nig,’ he said, poking an accusing finger at me in jest. ‘Late!’
‘Awww,’ I said with mock sincerity. ‘Wanna hug?’ I returned.
‘I’ll get you a watch for your birthday, hey? A watch. Make me wait!’
‘Too late. You’ve missed it. I’ll get you a calendar for yours.’
Damon smiled a crooked smile. ‘Just a couple of stops, bru.’ He peered in the tattered backpack between his legs, fingering some of the concealed objects. When we got off the train, Damon wordlessly took the lead. We were at the final stop behind a row of old suburban homes. Everyone headed out of the station. We went the opposite direction, jumping down onto the tracks and over to the other side, following the row of houses. Damon peered over each fence in passing and rattled the gates.
‘Here. Here,’ he said. He stood beside the gate and pissed on the fence, throwing caution, and discretion, to the wind.
‘Marking your territory?’ I muttered.
‘Man, you made me wait so long,’ he complained. ‘So fuckin’ long.’
When he was done, he inspected the gate one final time, then, without warning, threw his side against it. The battered wooden fence shuddered from the shock. He heaved himself into it one final time with the gate flinging wide open. Damon headed straight in. I glanced over my shoulder back towards the now desolate station and followed, eager to avoid any eye-witnesses.
This was a first for us, setting the bar far higher than it had ever been before. Damon was confident it would be a breeze. I was just glad to have a day away from the monotony of my job. Any break to the routine was welcome as far as I was concerned. I carefully raised the gate to its former position.
I had earned my wings as a trespasser early on, when I was only about eleven or twelve. My brother and I would jump the fence behind the canteen block at our local pool every sweltering Saturday. We’d wait until about midday when we just couldn’t stand the heat anymore and about the time when every one’s stomachs told them it was time to haul arse out of the pool to load up on foods of the greasy salted variety. People lumbered back and forth from poolside, to canteen, to the piss soaked bathrooms. It was easy blending in. We’d already be stripped to our boardshorts. We just needed to throw our towels across the fence so it didn’t snag our bare flesh, hoist ourselves up and tumble over.
‘This is it, boy. This is it. The “track lift”.’ Damon trudged through the garden with his hands in his pockets kicking the heads off tulips as he spoke. ‘On a silver-fucking-platter. A silver – fucking – platter.’ He repeated. ‘Free transport and me tools on m’back. We go in, we get out, hop on the train with a poker face and a bag full of loot and we’re gone, gone who-the-fuck knows where, ay.’
Jumping the fence at the pool, it never felt like we were doing the wrong thing. It’s not like the lifeguards and canteen girls weren’t going to get paid. We didn’t have our own pool and our parents never gave us so much as a dollar. It was jump the fence or die of dehydration as far as we were concerned!
There was this one time by the pool that always reminded me of Damon. For better or worse, it’s how I’ll always think of him. After another smooth entrance, my brother and I strolled casually through the crowd past the canteen block and over to the Olympic-sized pool. He always dived in headfirst but I liked to ease myself in. The toes of one foot, then the whole foot. The toes of the other foot, then the whole foot. By the time my legs were submerged, I’d built up enough confidence to raise myself up on my arms over the edge so I could slip down to the bottom in a final effortless plunge.
‘Best thing is,’ Damon continued as he pulled a car jack out of the backpack while lighting a smoke, ‘nobody will be home… unless it’s a mother, some dole bludgin’ wank or a “geri” in a fuckin’ nappy!’
On this one particular occasion, I’d only just worked my legs into the pool when I saw a bee caught up in the gentle current, thrashing in vain as it drifted towards my leg. I pulled my legs out in a panic and pulled back from the pool’s edge. I watched as miniscule ripples encircled the helpless bee, the current pulling it further along. I’d never been stung before but I always had that fear – a fear of the unknown, I suppose. I’d seen kids screaming and crying from bee stings before, but I figured they must have done something to set them off. I convinced myself that if I tried to save it, it wouldn’t sting me. It would know, it would sense somehow that I was doing it a good turn. And as I did what I did, and it did what it does, I felt I’d been taught a kind of lesson in the nature of things. The damned thing just couldn’t help itself.
Damon used the jack to bend the bars protecting the windows then battered open a window and slinked through the tiny entry. I waited, wondering if Damon expected me to follow. I was a little heftier than Damon. There was no way I was going through the window. I looked around at the windows of the neighbouring houses, searching for prying eyes or fluttering curtains. Then the door opened. I entered hastily and closed the door behind me.
narratorAUSTRALIA Volume Two Page 2
