Room To Breathe

By

Romantic Idiot

Country towns are places to escape from not escape to. Except if you’re my mother, who never does things the right way.

Country towns like Gympie all look the same. They are all riddled with retirees who sit waving tattered Japanese fans over their faces in the summer because they can’t afford an air conditioner. Besides, they tell you, it reminds them of better days. Country towns have the same grey Australian sclerophyll trees that make you wish you were English just so you could see a proper ‘wood’ and not a ‘bush’. They have the same dying cars that have faded so much in the sun you know them by their number plate not their colour. And they have the same kids; bored, tired, frustrated teenagers who should be going to the movies not kicking a fallen Coca Cola can over streets more pothole than road.

--

We pushed open the front door of our new ‘home’ and two of us tried not to cry. My mother reserved judgement until we’d opened the tatty curtains and disinfected every surface. My brother sat down on a box marked ‘Phil’s Room’ and bashed his gameboy on his hand until the batteries spluttered back into life. I refused to take my shoes off because the floor was so dirty you could see footprints imprinted in the muck, and then claimed dibs on the room furthest away from the rest of the house.

Then guilt kicked in and I began helping Mum clean up. I could already tell she was going to be washing her hands every few hours as it was. Some time later a knock on the door startled us from our respective cleaning sulks (not including my brother who was now futilely unpacking his lonely box even though the furniture hadn’t arrived yet), and we approached the door cautiously, wiping Ajax smeared hands on our jeans.

“G’day,” the man said. He was a small, stocky man with stubble beginning to creep over his face.

“Hello,” Mum and me chorused. Phil looked sullen.

“Are you our new neighbour?” Mum added.

“Nah,” the man said, “I’ve come to read yer water meter. Won’t be a sec.”

We watched as he disappeared around the corner of our house. He was dressed in faded light blue jeans with so many grease spots on them you would have thought they were a designer label. His old grey work shirt looked as though it was held together by a total of two whole threads, and it hung untucked, covering the seat of his pants.

I looked down our driveway to his car, which we somehow hadn’t heard pulling up. Looking at its condition I wondered if we’d be obliged to offer him dinner and a place to sleep. It was a beaten up old commodore, and had been coated in the compulsory layer of dust. The number plate 516 FTV was dented, faded, and dangling off the back like a hangnail. But the car wasn’t interesting at all; it was the boy sitting in the passenger seat with his feet up on the dashboard and headphones in his ears that caught my attention. I couldn’t see very well from where I was standing, but he looked as though he was about my age. He glanced over at me as though I wasn’t worth the attention and tilted his head in acknowledgement. I gave him a half smile in return and turned my back on him to continue cleaning.

The cleaning was familiar, boring, and methodical. Spray, wipe, spray, wipe. I found myself lulled into thinking of other things. Such as all of the things I was determined not to think about.

The beginning of the end had been when I got my results from QTAC and realised my O.P wasn’t high enough for any of my chosen courses. I suppose that’s one of the side effects of trying to get into law. The system looks at the fact that you didn’t get straight As in Biology, but not that you can recite almost all of the Constitution word for word.

I was sitting in a lounge room chair with my non-acceptance letter dangling between my fingers, staring out the window, when Mum walked in. I suppose she must have been nervous about talking to me, because otherwise she couldn’t have missed the devastated expression on my face. It was then that she uttered the words that led me to this place;

“Merry, we’re moving to Gympie.”

“What?” I blinked.

“We’re moving to Gympie,” she said again, and avoided my eyes.

“Gympie. Right, of course we’re moving to Gympie. I mean, why not? Why would we want to move to someone good? What’s the reason this time, Mum? You can’t have many left,” I ticked off reasons on my fingers. “We’ve had ‘I don’t like this neighbourhood’, ‘your schools aren’t doing you and Phil justice’, or there’s your favourite, ‘I just need a new start’.”

“I do need a new start, Meredith!” Mum said, angry and upset. “You know how hard it’s been for me, after the divorce-.”

“Which was ten years ago,” I pointed out.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Meredith,” Mum said. “You’ve never been divorced.”

“No, but I don’t think I’d drag my kids all the way to Gympie because of it,” I spat out. “Do you even care I didn’t get into my Law course? Did it even occur to you that I would?”

“Merry, you can stay here with your Dad if you want, or get somewhere in the city and work-.”

“Mum, I couldn’t leave you,” I snapped. “As if you didn’t know that.”

I left the room and the non-acceptance letter slid off the chair to the rug, where it stayed until the day we moved.

After being faced with those two life-changing events in the space of a day, it was no wonder Stephen took one look at my face and made me a cup of tea.

The problem was that I had to tell him the news, too.

“Merry,” he said to me. “I … Well, I really don’t know what to say. This is all … a bit sudden, isn’t it?”

“You’re telling me,” I said bitterly and dropped my head into my hands. He moved closer and held me to him.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said quietly. “How can we … Gympie, I mean, that’s a long way …”

“I know,” I whispered. “And you’ll be studying and working nearly all the time … and you’ll meet another girl, someone who’s really into business and all, and I’ll just fade away into nothing …”

“Don’t be silly, Meredith,” Stephen snapped. “You know that would never happen.”

“Yeah,” I said, but I didn’t believe him. Which is good, because days before I left we decided to let each other go free.

“It just wouldn’t work,” I said, and studied my chipped nail polish very carefully, because I wasn’t going to cry.

“No,” Stephen agreed softly. “But, you know, Merry, you’ll always be … well, you know.”

“Yeah,” I said, “Ditto.”

--

“Oh my god, Merry! It’s you, it’s really you!”

It was the first phone call I’d had from my friends in the entire two months I had been gone. Before the end, I was glad, because I learned that nothing can highlight your misery more than a phone call from successful friends who are living your life.

“You did call my number,” I said dryly. “Who were you expecting, Margaret Thatcher?”

“Who? Look, never mind. We just called to say we love you and we miss you!”

“We? Who else is there?”

“Oh, everyone! The whole gang. We’re going out tonight, and we’re halfway through a bottle of vodka, and we just thought we’d call and see how you were doing – oh, hang on, Kris wants to say something, here -.” There was the sound of the phone being passed between people, and dropped on the floor. I listened patiently with my heart aching to the sounds of muffled laughter, and suddenly there was a voice on the end of the line again.

“Meredith! Oh my god, it’s really you!”

“We established that,” I said.

“Whatever, but oh my god, it’s so good to hear your voice! You’ve been gone, like, what?

Two, three weeks?”

“Two months,” I said.

“Oh shit, that long? God. When are you coming back? You have got to meet Nick. He’s got eyes to die for, you can totally drown in them, you know? God. Miss you so much, hey. We’re going out to that hot club we saw that time, when we were out, you ‘member? We’re going out to drown our sorrows ‘cos you’re not here! Oh god, miss you babe, so much, hey. It’s like, boring central here without you.”

“I get the picture,” I said. “You miss me. Who else is there?”

“Oh, everyone, hey. Sam, Loz, Kisha, Michael … oh, god, everyone. Oh, hey, Stephen said to say hi, whenever we spoke to you. What’s happening with you guys?”

“Nothing,” I said quietly. “We-.”

“Hang on, Sam’s trying to shot vodka. Oi! Sam! We haven’t even left the place yet, don’t get pissed before we leave, k? God, these girls, Merry. Look, I gotta go, okay? They’re gonna tear this place down. But we miss you, okay? Try and stay cool in Hicksville! We

love you!”

“Bye,” I said softly and hung up. I was cocooned in a strange silence once their laughing

voices faded away and my link to the world of the living was extinguished. I put the phone gently down and lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. It had a chart of the Australian court hierarchy pinned to it. The only court I would be seeing any time soon was the courtyard where I picked my brother up from school.

I reached for my remote and turned my cd player on. I stared at the display screen for a while, counting mentally with the timer as it measured the seconds. Those are seconds you’ll never get back, I told myself. You could have been studying for an exam on contracts, and instead you’re watching the seconds on your stereo system.

“You’re maudlin,” I said suddenly, and reached over into my bottom bedside table draw and pulled out a sheet of paper and my Daffodil Day charity pen.

Dear Stephen, I wrote. And stopped, got up and poured a drink of Vanilla coke, sat back down and stared at the page. How are you? I hope you’re doing okay. How’s uni and stuff? I’m working now, I’m so rich. Just at a checkout, but still. There’s not much to spend money on here except saving to get away, so I’ve got heaps of money. You won’t need to buy ice creams for me anymore, it’ll be my treat. Remember how Kris told us that McDonalds soft serve is made from pigs feet and we boycotted until we couldn’t handle the cravings?

I stopped and looked back at what I’d written. This was stupid. All I wanted to say to Stephen was how much I missed him, and that was the last thing in the world I should write.

“Get over it, already!” I told myself. “It was two months ago, let go, you stupid girl.”

“Merry?” Mum’s voice floated down the hall. “Who are you talking to?”

“Just the walls, Mother,” I muttered under my breath, but added louder, “Oh, just trying to remember something from Chapter 5 of ‘Laws of Australia Since 1984’.”

It’s a credit to my mother that she didn’t say ‘that’s nice, dear’, but the lack of response and the sudden humming of the vacuum cleaner just about said it all.

--

It was the three-month anniversary of my life in No-Man’s land, and one of the worst days at work I had ever had. I picked Phil up from school and drove home with unnecessary force. It got worse when I pulled into our street (street? I mean clearing in the bush) and realised that what seemed like the entire population of the town was congregating in our little corner of the world.

“Great, people!” I said and savagely jerked the handbrake on.

“And bad music,” Phil said, covering his ears. I closed my eyes, counted to five and pried an eye open optimistically. Nope, it was still happening. Phil and I looked at each other.

“Well, come on,” I said bracingly. “Mum’ll get freaked out about the noise and the mess eventually.”

We wended our way through the people, ignored the music of the forgotten 50s, and cornered our mother near the hosepipe reel.

“Mum,” I said patiently. “There are people in the house. These people weren’t here when we left. What happened between us leaving this morning, and us arriving back here this afternoon?”

“And what’s with the music?” Phil put in.

“We’re having a barbeque,” my mother said and shrugged. “Get over it. It’s my house, and I’ll have friends over if I want to. And I will listen to 50s music if I want to, Phil.”

“Mum, you don’t know these people,” I said. “You have only been working a week, and today was your day off.”

“Don’t speak to me like that, Merry. You can’t have your own way all the time. I was talking to Bill and he mentioned that their barbeque had broken, so I said he should come around here for tea. He said he was expecting guests, so I said they could come too. Honestly, Meredith, it won’t kill you to be nice for once.”

“I’m nice all the time,” I replied, but she had already side stepped the hose and was making her getaway into the house full of people. I sighed, prayed for rain, and Phil and I headed back into the house. He went to hide from Chuck Berry, and I to secure anything in my bedroom that might be of interest to anyone. Which wasn’t a lot, really, so I ended up wandering back out in search of food. I didn’t find much of that, either, because I’d arrived a bit late and sulked for too long, but there was a charred garlic sausage and a crust of bread so I snatched that and coated it in tomato sauce.

I was sitting near the bird bath on the front lawn reading “Proctor” when I heard yet another chug, chug, screech as a standard grey commodore appeared amidst the other grey atrocities. It sort of reminded me of being on an army base where everything is khaki coloured. Then I recognised the particular shade of dust, and recalled the number plate, and with the recollection of the number plate came the recollection of whom the number plate and grey commodore belonged to. I valiantly strove not to roll my eyes and returned to my article on family law.

I was really getting in to the loco parentis theory when my book was unceremoniously removed from my grasp. My head snapped up and I found the book suspended in front of the boy from the car, who was looking at it as though Torts was some dangerous animal that might eat him.

“In Loco Parentis is Latin for ‘in place of parent’, and refers to the legal obligation of a school, teacher, or other designated organisation to take on duties and responsibilities for a child,” he read out loud and surveyed me over the top of the book. “What are you, some kind of lawyer-type?”

“Do I look like a lawyer?” I asked in annoyance. He looked me up and down.

“You do dress like one,” he said.

“Give me my book back,” I said, deciding to ignore the insult for the sake of regaining my book. He handed it to me willingly.

“I sure don’t want it,” he said and sat down next to me, uninvited. “What you doing reading that for, then? If you’re no lawyer-type? I’m Derrick, by the way.”

“I’m reading it because it’s interesting,” I said, trying to inch away. “And I’m trying to expand my knowledge.”

“Expand your knowledge? On what? How many ways there are to get busted? I can tell you that, don’t need any books, neither. No way to get busted out here ‘less you kill someone, and you don’t seem like the murdering type. And what’s your name, anyway?”

“Meredith,” I said shortly. “Was that a compliment?”

“Were you looking for one?” He replied.

“Not from you,” I shot back and pointedly reopened my book. He peered over my shoulder for a second.

“That’s not where you were before,” he said. I ignored him. “If you want people to leave, you should just say so.”

“Fine,” I said. “Could you leave, then?”

“Why are you so prickly? I’ve done nothing but come and sit here and talk to you. You looked like you were lonely, all alone here with nothing but your crusty bread and your doorstopper there.”

“Why do people immediately assume that just because someone is on their own, they’re lonely?” I demanded and thought about just walking away.

“’Cos it’s not healthy. Squirreled away with nothing but a load of rubbish isn’t good for anybody.”

“Don’t call Professor Dean Mulenburg rubbish,” I said indignantly, and I did stand up.

“Easy, easy,” Derrick said, holding up his hands and smirking at me. “You’re like a shy horse, you are. Easy now, easy now, bit a sugar for the road. I’d let you sniff me knuckles if I thought that’d get you calm.”

I gave him a disbelieving glance.

“You’re just too much,” I said, and walked away.

--

Grab, swipe, beep, bag. Grab, swipe, beep, bag. Grab, swipe, beep, bag. Grab, swipe, beep, bag.

It’s not the monotony that’s the problem. You sort of get a bit lost in the rhythm, actually. It’s not even that you have so much time to think you could have designed a new space shuttle in the space of a single shift. It’s that you are one of a hundred girls doing the same thing, day in, day out, when you are the intellectual equal of a thousand people doing a law degree but you missed out because of a stupid number.

“You look like you want to murder that soup.” A voice? Someone not asking why there are no eggs on the shelf?

“I do,” I said, and looked up for the first time in an hour. I saw yet another load of groceries on the belt, and then I saw Derrick. “It’s a violation of the Criminal Code to force torture on someone who hasn’t committed a crime.”

“If you kill the soup, it will be a crime.”

“By that time it won’t matter anymore,” I said, and sighed. “I’m sorry about the other day, at the barbecue. Let’s just say I wasn’t in a good mood.”

Derrick looked at me.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he said.

“Can you blame me?” I asked, gesturing to the line behind him, and the derelict supermarket I worked in. “And there was 50s music playing, don’t forget.”

“Mmm,” Derrick said. “I might have to forgive you on that point alone. That can make anyone pretty mad.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, and there was an awkward silence. “Um … so do you work for your Dad then?”

“Most days,” he said. “After the accident he can’t do all he used to. I do the hard stuff, like gutters and tank maintenance and all that.”

“Your Dad’s a plumber or something, then?” I asked.

“Near enough to,” Derrick agreed. “We just kinda do everything that needs doing that folks can’t do themselves. Pays the bills and all that.”

“Have you lived here all your life?” I asked. “That’s 103, by the way. Is this your Dad’s shopping?”

“Yeah,” he said, and took out his wallet. “And yeah, I’ve lived here most of my life. We lived in Bundy for a while, till I was three, then came down here for a holiday and Dad decided we were never leaving. Mum was here too for a while, but eventually she bailed for the big lights of Brizzy,” He gave me a sidelong glance as he pushed his PIN into the EFTPOS machine. “You’d understand bout Bris and all that, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s like … a whole other world down there. Guess that’s why I’m so jumpy. I’m not used to the place yet.”

“S’okay,” Derrick said, and picked up his groceries. “The place grows on you after a while.”

--

Be ready in an hour, the message said.

I waited in the lounge room for Derrick to show up, reading my year ten legal studies textbook. It had a good chapter on contracts. I heard a loud droning noise and stood up to see what it was. I glanced out the window and realised the sound was getting louder … and louder … and pulling into my driveway in the form of the most beaten up old motorbike I have ever seen. Actually it was an old Yamaha farm bike that had been repaired, renovated, and expanded until it looked as though it could in no way hold two people. But Derrick jumped off the bike full of pride and threw me a spare helmet as I emerged cautiously out the front door. The helmet was a study of scratches and dings; it wouldn’t have passed a safety test.

“Come on!” Derrick shouted over the top of the engine. “I can’t turn her off or she won’t get going again before it’s over!”

“Before what’s over?” I shouted back, holding the helmet as though it was going to fall apart.

“You’ll see,” he yelled and jumped back on the vibrating monstrosity. He shook and juddered along with it; it made them look like some strange beast that had crawled out of the underworld. “Hurry up!” He gestured to the helmet.

I swallowed, and put my life into the beast’s hands. The helmet fit tightly over my head, and the visor blocked out some of the sound, which made me feel slightly better. I wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs and clambered ungracefully onto the creature, throwing my arms unthinkingly around Derrick’s waist.

“All right!” Derrick shouted gleefully, and the moment I gave him a terrified ‘okay’ signal, he gunned the engine and we roared away.

After a terrifying half hour on dusty roads, we slid into a spot between a tree and a large rock, and Derrick turned the machine off. The silence hurt as much as the bass from a dance floor. I pulled the helmet off and shook my head to clear the ringing from my ears. Derrick leapt from his seat and held out his hand to help me off. I took it, feeling a little shaky and unsteady and finally took a look at our surroundings.

We were in a clearing of a very Australian forest. The trees were brown, prickly, and unfriendly, and leaves littered the ground like carpet. The bike was the only thing of colour, and as I grew used to the silence I realised Derrick and I were the only creatures that seemed alive there. I felt a chill down my spine.

“Come on,” Derrick said. “This way.”

He led me towards what sort of resembled a path, and we made our way carefully through the bush. With every step I felt more as though I was walking towards the depths of the earth. It was so quiet it seemed as though Derrick had warned every creature I was coming, and to leave before it offended me.

Eventually we came to a bigger clearing, and as I looked I saw that it was some kind of hideout or retreat. There were tables and chairs pilfered from various outdoor dining sets, gas bottles, gas cookers, a ring of stones for an open fire, and a tarp that was strung between a set of trees. It created a sort of shelter, and in looking at this I realised that Derrick and I weren’t alone at all.

There was a circle of teenagers lolling lazily under the tarpaulin. Some were in deck chairs, others on picnic blankets, and others sprawled wherever they had fallen. Cans of coke, chip packets, and bottles of rum and coke were scattered like bits of wrapping paper on Christmas morning.

“Hello!” Someone called, and Derrick waved. “We heard you coming from a mile off. You and that great bike, Rick. One day we gotta get you some real wheels.”

“They get me here, don’t they? Better than you, anyway, borrowing Daddy’s car all the time,” Derrick replied, and pulled me forward. “This is Merry, told you bout her the other week.”

‘G’days’, ‘his’, and ‘hellos’ were dragged from the group and I waved cautiously.

“You want a drink?” Someone asked as we sat down and held out a bottle of rum and

coke. I took it, feeling vaguely self-conscious. I didn’t really like alcohol all that much, but just about everyone had a drink in hand, and I wanted to fit in. I took a casual-looking sip and glanced at Derrick, who was watching me with a grin. He raised his own bottle to his lips and took a relaxed mouthful.

“So,” said someone else, “you’re from the city, eh? How come you’re in Gympie?”

“Um, my Mum,” I said. “She er … wanted to start again, you know?”

“In Gympie?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Don’t ask.”

“Hey,” someone suddenly said. “It’s fucking hot here. I’m going down for a swim, anyone coming?”

Immediately there was a swarm of people standing up, brushing grass and dirt off their clothes and disappearing from the tarp. I stayed where I was, knees tucked up under my chin, watching them.

“Come on,” said a boy as he walked past me.

“No, thankyou,” I said politely. “I’m not dressed for it, or anything.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said the boy. “We aren’t neither. Go in your clothes if stripping bothers you, we don’t care.”

“Er, all the same,” I said, “I think I’ll just stay here and … watch the birds.”

“But-,” the boy began.

“Leave her alone, Sean,” Derrick cut in, coming up behind me. “Merry’s from the city. She aint used to it yet. I’ll stay with her.”

The boy gave me a confused look, but shrugged, and disappeared along with the rest of them.

Derrick and I sat back on the cool grass under the tarpaulin, drinking quietly from our bottles of rum and coke. We watched the birds.

“Um,” said Derrick. “How about them Broncos?”

I laughed.

“You’re a real conversationalist, aren’t you?” I said.

“You aint doing any better,” he said defensively and I raised my eyebrows.

“Perhaps I was enjoying the peace and quiet.”

“Peace and quiet?” Derrick asked. “As if you don’t get that all the time in Gympie.”

“True,” I agreed. “But, you know, this is a particularly peaceful peace and quiet.”

Derrick blinked.

“You’re nuts.”

“So are you,” I shot back.

“Meh,” he said. “You love it.”

“Yes, I surely do,” I said, rolling my eyes and mimicking his speech.

--

I spent a lot of time in the retreat after that day. Sometimes there were other people with me, some times there weren’t. Derrick quite often kept me company so it was just the two of us with the Australian bush all around us, playing outdoor Monopoly. Outdoor Monopoly is great, because it’s exactly the same as normal Monopoly except this particular set came with its own paperclips for your money, and paperweights for the bank’s money. You learned pretty quickly not to neglect your paperclip, because the moment you did, you’d be chasing 500 notes around the clearing. It was a well-loved set, and it was obvious there had been many trials and errors regarding how to protect money from the wind; it was unusual to find a note without rips or dirt on it somewhere.

“I want to buy Pall Mall,” I said, considering my options.

“You can’t have it,” Derrick said.

“Yes, I can. I want Pall Mall, and I will have it now. Hand it over!” I demanded.

“No.”

“Yes.

“No.”

“Fine,” I said, and leaned over and quickly snatched the cards from his hand. I barely had time to grin triumphantly before Derrick was on top of me, wrestling them from my hand.

“Give them back,” he grunted, trapped beneath me momentarily.

“No,” I panted. “I want Pall Mall.”

“I’ll give you Pall Mall!” He said and shoved me over onto my back. I knew I had only seconds to come up with a plan. Derrick was bigger and stronger than me, and he could soon pry them out of my fingers. So I wrenched my arm from his grip and threw them as far away as I could.

“Merry!” Derrick exclaimed, “What did you do that for?”

“If I can’t have Pall Mall, then neither can you,” I said, and he laughed.

“Cheat,” he said, and collapsed on top of me, both of us breathing heavily and laughing sporadically.

“Get off,” I said eventually. “You’re heavy.”

He heaved himself up on his hands and looked down at me, and just for a second our eyes locked together. A breeze rippled through the clearing and stirred his hair into his eyes. I reached up and brushed it away, and it seemed as though Derrick was about to speak. Just then the sound of a motor reached us from the makeshift carpark, and Derrick sprung off me to search for the missing mortgage cards.

--

“Mum,” I said one day, cleaning the countertop as she peeled potatoes. “Have you ever … liked someone … but not been sure whether you should … you know … do anything about it?”

Mum studiously kept peeling the potatoes.

“What do you mean, Merry?” She asked.

“I just mean …” I fidgeted with the Chux cloth. “Well, if you liked a boy, and you thought he probably liked you too … but maybe you shouldn’t be … more than friends. I mean, what do you do?”

“Why do you think you shouldn’t be more than friends?” She was onto the carrots now, and she still wasn’t looking at me.

“Well, I think maybe … I don’t know, like … you like him, right? But something doesn’t seem quite right, like … maybe you have this feeling it won’t last, or something.”

Mum finally put down the vegetable peeler, but she didn’t look at me.

“Maybe you should just try it anyway,” she said. “Derri-I mean, whoever, might be feeling the same thing. Maybe you should just talk to him.”

“Talk to him,” I said flatly. “One does not talk to Derri-I mean, boys, about feelings and … and things … do they?”

“Search me,” Mum said. “I’m a fossil, remember? I don’t know what kind of things boys and girls talk about these days.”

“Oh, thanks a lot, Mum,” I said, and threw the Chux down in disgust. I met Phil coming into the kitchen just as I was coming out of it.

“I think you should pash him,” he said.

“I think I should kill you,” I told him, and swept away.

--

What is it with country towns and barbecues? At least once a week somebody has an entire-town barbecue, and everyone has to squeeze into backyards, front yards, and kitchens that weren’t built to withstand so many people. This time it was Derrick’s turn, and his house was turned into a melee of one-week reunions, one-week gossip, and one week kindling of arguments.

“G’day, Merry,” he said as he hurtled past, carrying condiments and sauces to the outside table.

“Hey,” I said to the empty air where he had been, and sat down at a rickety, well-loved outdoor table next to my brother.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” He said, squirting barbecue sauce onto his sausage.

“Who?” I asked, reaching for bread.

“Him, the one you’ve been talking to Mum about. The one you lurve,” He said, and bit into his sausage and bread, which squirted sauce over his shoulder.

“No,” I said. “And keep your voice down. I’m not in love with anyone.”

“Sure,” Phil said. “I hear you talking to yourself. Flipping coins over whether you should pash him. I told you you should. If he runs away, you won’t have a problem, will you? Of course, he probably will run away, so maybe you should keep wondering.”

He put his sausage and bread down on the table and I immediately picked up the HP sauce bottle and liberally coated his tea with his most hated of sauces.

“Enjoy,” I said and left.

Some time later I found myself around the side of Derrick’s house watching the sun go down.

“You realise you’re standing under the toilet window?” Somebody said and I looked around to see Derrick coming towards me and grinning.

“Well yeah,” I said. “But I can see best from here.” I nodded towards the sunset and Derrick didn’t say anything as he leant on the wall beside me. There was a long and (for once) pleasant silence between us. Feeling relaxed by the golden glow of the afternoon I let my hand drift into Derrick’s. I felt him start, but then he looked at me, and I looked at him, and he kissed me. Or I kissed him. And it didn’t matter if we weren’t going to last, or that maybe we’d be better off as friends.

--

One day a few months we lay together in the backseat of my car, Derrick’s head on my shoulder, and my arms around his waist.

“Derrick,” I whispered, not sure if he was asleep. He moved, and I knew he was listening.

“What will you do when you get older?”

“Do?” He asked.

“Yeah. Like, for a career. I want to be a lawyer, but what do you want to do? You’re 18 years old, you can’t stay here forever.”

Derrick didn’t say anything for a minute.

“I don’t suppose I’ll do anything,” he said with a yawn and shifted his position a bit. “Dad’s gotta have me here, aint he? I can’t bail like Mum did, or there’ll be nobody for him.”

“But … after that,” I said carefully. “When … I mean, nobody lives forever. Do you really want to be reading water metres and clearing gutters for the rest of your life? Is that what your Dad wants you to do?”

“Don’t think Dad thinks bout it much. It’s just what happens here. People do what their families do, and that’s right. Dad’s a handyman, I’ll be a handyman. Sean’s Dad’s a mechanic, he’ll be a mechanic. The town needs’em, Merry. If we leave, there won’t be a mechanic or a handyman. Then what’d happen? Nothin’d get done, would it? Can’t just up’n leave.”

“But … don’t you want to see stuff, Derrick? Like Brisbane, you haven’t seen that, there’s so much you’re missing. Going out and having fun in a club somewhere, or getting lost in the mall. What about other countries, like Greece, and Spain, and Britain. They’re out there, why don’t you want to see them?”

“There’s work to be done here,” he said, and he sat up. “It’s the way things are. Can’t change’em, no use fretting about’em.”

I looked at him properly for the first time, and wondered if he thought like this because he had to, or because he honestly thought this was the only life he could ever live.

“But you could go to university,” I tried.

“And what would I study at uni?” He demanded. “I got year 10 and that’s all. I can’t read no doorstoppers like you, and I don’t care bout letters after me name. Long as I got some wheels, and a good eye, and a solid back, I’ll be here. Aint nowhere else for me, is there?”

And he left, leaving me alone with my thoughts in the backseat of my car.

But long after he had gone, I was left there, thinking about what he’d said. I stared up at the misshapen lining of the roof of the car and wondered what else there was for me. I knew that both Derrick and I were too good for this place. I’d come here to support my mum, to help her start again and to look after Phil, and I knew that had been the right decision.

But was it still the right decision? It’d been nearly a year since we’d moved here, and Mum was settled in now. And she was, I was sometimes surprised to notice, the happiest she’d ever been. Phil was 15 now, I noted. That was long after the age I’d started to look after Mum, my brother, and myself. Perhaps, I thought carefully, courting the idea like a spider I didn’t want to get too close to, perhaps it was time to move on.

--

He didn’t get it. I stood in front of Derrick, my hands clasping the fence railing so hard I could feel the wire sticking into my skin.

“Please understand,” I said. “I’ve got to do this.”

“But why?” Derrick demanded. “Why are you so much better than us? Why is Gympie not good enough for you?”

“It’s not that!” I said desperately and grabbed his hand. “Listen to me, Derrick. If I stay

here, I’ll always wonder what it could have been like. Maybe if I’d been here as long as you, if I’d grown up here, I could be like you. But I’m a city girl, Derrick. I need to find out who I am, and be that person.”

“And what’s wrong with finding out who you are here?”

“Because…” I dropped my eyes. “Because of lots of reasons. Because here … everything is the same. Nothing ever changes. Out there … anything can happen.”

Derrick didn’t say anything, but he looked quietly at me, and the mood settled down a little bit.

I bit my lip and tightened my grip on his hand.

“Derrick,” I said quietly. “Come with me.”

He glanced up, surprised.

“What?”

“I mean it, come with me. Think of what could happen. You could be … anything you want to be.”

Derrick looked at me for a long, long moment, and acceptance finally settled into his eyes.

“No, Merry,” he said softly and disengaged his hand from mine. “I can’t go. My life is here.

My dad is here. This is all there is for me.”

“No,” I said, “There could be more for you, I know it. You’re brilliant, you could-.”

“Merry,” he cut in. “Be quiet. Just accept that my life is here, and I’ll accept that yours is out there.”

There was a silence.

“I’ll miss you,” I said softly. Derrick smiled and he leaned forward and kissed me softly, the first time we’d kissed where we could be seen.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I handed this in for assessment, so all the formatting has been done very quickly so I could post on here; apologies for inconsistencies.

For those people wanting info on Senorita; it’s on my to do list, and that’s all I’ve got to say.

Liz.