Brontide Page 2

  If I don’t say the F or C word I can say whatever I like?

  Sue: Pretty much.

  Rob: But it’s my story.

  Sue: It’s your story.

  Rob: You’re full of shit, Miss, cause I should be able to say whatever I want.

  Miss?

  Okaya!

  I get it.

  Anyway, an hour or so after the Hilux drove off, Foot and me and Trev was driving Foot’s old man’s Patrol out to meet Joey.

  Sue: So, Foot had his licence in Year Ten?

  Rob: Na! Course not.

  Sergeant Cole was out of town.

  Anyone can drive if the copper’s pissed off for the day.

  Well, Joey wasn’t himself when we found him, that’s for sure. He was heaps away from the cabin. He must have bolted.

  Joey was quiet.

  Joey doesn’t know quiet. If his mouth isn’t movin’ I bet you fifty bucks his arse is.

  He’s a smelly bastard, Miss. His farts could win wars.

  After Joey calmed down enough to light a durry, he told us what happened.

  Sue: Well, what happened?

  Rob: Hold ya horses, I’m getting to it.

  It was big …

  And after he told us, we agreed …

  We all agreed dealing drugs isn’t our thing.

  Long story short, that’s how we found out Mr Lawrence, the deputy principal from the Lutheran School, had a little secret his loyal and very bonkable wife doesn’t know about.

  Say something, Miss?

  Sue: Maybe his wife’s part of it.

  Rob: No way, she’s too uppity.

  Joey peeped through a crack in the boards. He said there was heaps of it on the table and on the floor.

  Sue: Heaps of what?

  Rob: Ice, Miss.

  He upped it out of there real quick.

  Sue: Did you tell anyone?

  Rob: Dave …

  He talked to Miss Piggy about it.

  Sergeant Cole.

  It was handled at a higher level, that’s why it wasn’t in the paper.

  Sue: Sergeant Cole’s a policewoman?

  Rob: Nah, he’s a he.

  A bit gay, that’s all.

  Sue: Glad we cleared that up.

  Rob: Not that it matters, Miss.

  The whole man pluggin’ another man thing doesn’t worry me. As long as they don’t plug me, all good.

  Sue: Great to hear you’re not homophobic.

  Rob: Who’s he? Nah, just kidding, of course I’m not.

  Like, how long has it been?

  Three

  Four

  Five years since gay marriage become legal.

  It’s law now so you just shut up and accept it. That’s what I do. As long as I keep me thoughts to meself, I’ll be fine.

  Sue: What do you mean?

  Rob: Cause, if Dave ever found out I was agreeing, I’d get a floggin’ for sure. And so would Shaz probably, cause obviously those types of thoughts would come from her side of the family.

  Sue: What’s it like under the tarp?

  Rob: If you can stretch out like I do, it’s a sweet ride. When you’re under there with a whole heap of tools and shit, well, then it’s not fun.

  And that’s when you wish you didn’t beat the others to the dare.

  Sue: What does it feel like after the trip, after you make it back to your mates?

  Rob: It’s like Christmas when you were six or something. Not when Dave’s home Christmas.

  Christmas morning without Dave is the best time ever.

  See, if you make it through to the end of the ride, the bigger the pay-off. You can actually make pretty good coin if you get a sweet ride. Fifty bucks to get under the tarp and a dollar for every kilometre you travel.

  Everyone’s expecting the big cash, like a trip to Brizzy or Byron or something, but we haven’t cracked it yet. As soon as the ute stops at a servo or somethin’, that’s it, your trip’s ended.

  We never do it for nothin’, there’s gotta be a pay-off, cause why else would you do it?

  When I’m underneath a tarp, layin’ back and waitin’ for ’em to stop, you’d think I’d be scared or freakin’ out or goin’ off me nut or somethin’ but, nah, I just start thinkin’ about shit.

  If ya go tarpin’ ya can’t be a sook, sooks wouldn’t last ten minutes under a strange person’s tarp.

  Only us blokes enjoy the buzz.

  Sue: Did Pen have a go?

  Rob: He used to, but … it’s not his thing.

  Pen loves a joke and that but he’s different. He’s smaller than me and Joey.

  He’s more of a big-thinker-type person.

  Sue: I’m with Pen.

  Rob: Thought so.

  Sooks stick together.

  Sue: Aren’t you scared?

  Rob: Nah!

  Scared of nothing.

  Spare Time

  Monday, 2pm

  Taralune High School, Library Room L2

  Sue: Did you beep me at lunchtime?

  Rob: Yeah! Me and Pen yelled out but you were too busy getting fuel.

  Did you see me new ute, Miss?

  Sue: I saw a ute but I didn’t know it was yours.

  Rob: A Ford Falcon XR6 BA. It’s exactly the same as Dave’s.

  Sue: Black with bars?

  Rob: Sick, eh, Miss?

  Dave’s present for finishing school.

  Sue: But you haven’t finished yet.

  Rob: Close enough.

  Smoke ’em up, eh, Miss!

  Sue: Young people and cars …

  Rob: Chill, Miss. I’m a good driver.

  I’m gonna tell ya about Pen, Miss.

  Miss?

  Sue: Okay.

  Rob: Pen’s small but he’s the funny one. He knows lots of jokes and shit. And he’s funny because of what he does … he cracks us up.

  Pen’s work can be seen all over the district.

  He’s famous online and everything.

  I’m not sayin’ Pen’s the next Banksy or anything ’cause he’s not.

  Sue: So, he’s a graffiti artist?

  Rob: Yep and he’s good.

  But the only thing he’s good at painting is dicks and ballbags.

  Miss?

  Sue: I heard.

  Rob: Well, say something.

  Pen paints big dicks,

  small dicks,

  red dicks,

  blue dicks,

  green dicks.

  He has to use a ladder for the big ones but the rest are easy. They can be found at the servo on Bells Road …

  The big Shell in town …

  Umm, let me think …

  The school.

  The community hall.

  The back of the RSL.

  All over the joint.

  There was a really cool one on the back of the toilet block of the Catholic Church but this blackfella woman painted over it. It was huge.

  Sue: The giraffe?

  Rob: Yeah!

  You saw it?

  Sue: Couldn’t miss it.

  Rob: It looked like a giraffe on steroids, pretty bloody funny, eh!

  Miss?

  Now every time Pen makes art, this blackfella …

  Lady …

  Comes along and paints over it.

  We didn’t notice her here until about three months ago. Everyone reckons her work looks funnier than Pen’s ’cause every animal she paints looks like a big dick with legs and a face.

  Like, she’s getting better, but …

  Well, you know…

  She needs more practice, eh, Miss?

  Sue: Bless her cotton socks.

  Rob: I don’t know nothin’ about blessin’ people.

  Shaz goes to church every time Dave pisses off, but … I don’t know how church works. Do you, Miss?

  I’ll have to ask Shaz.

  But it’s not good for Pen when Shaz goes to church. Mrs Watson’s there and she threw the biggest mental. Poor Shaz got a mouthful.

 
So, yeah … now the Catholic Church’s a no-go zone.

  Sue: But why doesn’t Pen paint something …

  More appealing?

  Rob: Because.

  Sue: Because why?

  Rob: Because he doesn’t wanna.

  And because adults don’t like seeing big dicks and knobby nuts painted around town.

  Sue: Ask a dumb question …

  Rob: What?

  Sue: Nothin’.

  Rob: Anyway … there ya go, that’s how Pen got his name.

  Pen is short for penis.

  Sounds stupid now I say it out loud … he probably should be called Pee.

  Stop laughing, Miss.

  Shhhhhh! Everyone’s lookin’.

  Sue: What’s your nickname?

  Rob: Well …

  It was going to be ‘stud’ because of me killer blue eyes and awesome sixpack. But everyone thought I was up meself, so now it’s just Rob.

  Rob the heart-throb.

  Sue: How about Foot?

  Rob: Foot’s got size seventeen feet or somethin’.

  Sue: Thank God ’imself you got that right.

  Rob: Yeah, eh?

  Foot’s always had big feet. His mum has to order his shoes in. I don’t know when they’ll stop growin’, can’t be too far away surely.

  Foot’s dad is another real prick. He comes and goes whenever he needs a good feed or a sleep or a roo … I mean a fornication.

  I reckon he gets plenty of everything wherever he is.

  Him and Dave are mates.

  Foot’s dad never turns up to any of our footy games. He didn’t even come to the awards night and his sons took out heaps of awards.

  Dave went, and me and Joey got a trophy each. We were stoked.

  But Dave wasn’t.

  We never heard the end of it. Apparently, we should’ve done better.

  Always gotta do better.

  Sue: What about Pen?

  Rob: Pen doesn’t play footy.

  I don’t want to talk no more.

  Sue: No worries.

  Draw or write, whatever you want. Use the tablet.

  Nig

  Tuesday, 9am

  Taralune High Sports Oval

  Sue: Tell me about this mirrigan of yours?

  Rob: What’s that?

  Sue: Man’s best friend, your dog.

  It’s a Wiradjuri word.

  Rob: Oh!

  Have you seen him?

  Nah, didn’t think so.

  His name’s Nig. He’s the bestest dog. His coat is black and shiny as.

  Sue: I figured he wasn’t white.

  Rob: Did ya?

  You must be psychic, Miss.

  Anyway, he’s a PB. A pedigree bitsa. A bit of this and a bit of that.

  I’m not being unfair or anything … but Nig’s the smartest dog I know. Me and Pen reckon he should be in the secret service or somethin’.

  Pen and Shaz are the only people I trust to look after Nig. You know, if we dropped Nig off down where that new kid comes from, he’d find his way home again. Like, he’s that smart.

  I know you won’t believe this but Shaz was cooking us dinner. It was a

  stew and she left it on the stove.

  Simmering …

  While she went outside to take the clothes off the line, she sees our neighbour, Mad Molly, pickin’ up sticks in her backyard. Shaz doesn’t mind talkin’ so she goes over for a yack.

  Now get this … Nig notices somethin’ not right with the stew and the stove. He barks but Shaz keeps yackin’. Shaz said she heard him but thought he was playing with somethin’, a stick or ball, ’cause that’s what he does sometimes.

  Nig races across to Shaz and pulls her over to the house by her shirt.

  Like, wow, what dog does that?

  By the time Shaz is in the kitchen, the stew’s boiled over, flames fired up by the gas were flickerin’ and spittin’ like that half-lady, half-snakehead thing.

  Nig saved the stew … he saved the pot. Maybe even the kitchen and when you think about it … I reckon Nig saved the house.

  Nig’s a legend …

  Yep.

  Sue: So, tell me …

  Who named him?

  Rob: Nig?

  I think I did …

  Nah!

  It was …

  Dave.

  Yep, it was Dave ’cause Shaz got me Nig for Christmas when I was still in primary school. Dave was away for ages, like two years, but he decided to come home for Christmas.

  I don’t remember much, but …

  He said we were too old for presents.

  Just as well Shaz got us some, eh?

  He said the pup’s name was Nigger. So, that’s what we had to call him. It got shortened to Nig.

  Shaz hates the name but she doesn’t have a say, does she? Not when Dave’s around anyway.

  But it’s a good name.

  Don’t ya think?

  Miss?

  Sue: Shaz isn’t happy with the name.

  Are you?

  Rob: Well, yeah! Nig’s my dog, Miss. ’Course I’m happy with it.

  Sounds like you’re not.

  What’s the big deal, Miss? Rappers in America use the word nigger all the time.

  What do they call it …

  Re …

  It’s um …

  Reclaimed.

  They use it in their own way so now the meaning of it’s all changed. It’s heaps positive. Like, it doesn’t sound so bad.

  You even spell it different …

  N

  I

  G

  G

  A

  It’s not … der … og … at … ory anymore.

  And don’t forget most of those rappers are black, Miss.

  So, it’s okay.

  Sue: Is that right?

  Rob: Kin oath, Miss.

  Sue: The word …

  N

  I

  G

  G

  A

  historically originated from the word …

  N

  I

  G

  G

  E

  R

  Reclaimed or not, the word is connected to slavery. And slavery sucks. Black Americans were not the only black people enslaved in the world. Heaps of Blacks find the term offensive.

  Rob: But Nig’s my dog. I can call him whatever I want.

  Sue: But you didn’t, did ya?

  Dave did.

  He’s a special dog, you told me that. If he’s so smart and special, shouldn’t his name reflect that?

  Rob: You’re giving me the shits, Miss.

  He’s a black dog.

  That’s why his name’s Nig.

  Sue: I’m a black person, right?

  Rob: Yeah.

  Sue: Well, I wasn’t christened Gollywog, Suntan or Blackie?

  Rob: You forgot Petrol Sniffer!

  Sue: You cheeky little shit!

  Kid in the Park

  Tuesday, 11.30am

  Taralune High School, Library Room L4

  Sue: Hi, mate.

  Rob: Can we start?

  Sue: In a minute …

  Is this recording?

  Rob: Don’t press that …

  When this light’s on it’s recording, Miss.

  Gee!

  Sue: Thanks.

  Rob: All you oldies are hopeless with technology.

  Sue: Oi!

  Rob: Well, it’s true.

  Sue: What do you want to say?

  Rob: I had a nightmare thing last night.

  It kinda doesn’t make sense.

  Sue: You don’t have to talk about it.

  Rob: But it’s my story so I can say whatever I like.

  It was about the old tree on Little Pomona Road. You know the main road coming into town? Well, there’s an old tree there on the bend. It’s a good spot for drifting. Locals call the tree Old Man.

  It’s on the right.

  Probably …

  T
en …

  Twelve kilometres out of town.

  Sue: I know the one, I stopped there for a look on the way in. I had to go back and touch it.

  Rob: Yeah! Heaps do. The local Gubbi Gubbi,Trev’s mob, say Old Man’s special. He’s a giant eucalypt.

  A real good-looker and huge.

  Anyway …

  I don’t know why but that tree was in my dream, nightmare thingy.

  I wasn’t doing anything.

  And he wasn’t doing anything.

  He was just there right in front of me. Real close.

  I could see every detail. Textures, colours. I could even smell the bark.

  One night Pen was comin’ home late from somewhere with Shaz and he said after they passed Old Man he looked in the side mirror and the whole tree was lit up from below. Like someone had a big spotty and shone it up through the ground, straight up the tree.

  He told Shaz, but guess what? She didn’t see a thing.

  Heaps have got stories about Old Man. Some even reckon they’ve seen mass fireflies hanging around it. Like thousands of ’em. All tagging each other around the base.

  I haven’t.

  I reckon they’re full of shit.

  Sue: Did Pen tell Shaz to stop for a better look?

  Rob: You’ve got to be kidding. He wanted out of there.

  They say it’s sacred.

  Sue: I reckon all trees are sacred.

  Rob: Probably.

  I’ve got to leave early, Miss, ’cause I’ve got kung-fu.

  Sue: After school?

  Rob: Yeah, but I have to do a few jobs at home first for Dave.

  Sue: Got a note?

  Rob: Don’t need one, I’m nearly finished, remember?

  I’m a senior.

  Sue: So what?

  Rob: So, I can come and go whenever I want.

  Sue: Be buggered you will.

  Rob: Come on, Miss?

  Sue: Give me a note.

  Rob: Dave will up ya if you don’t let me go early.

  Sue: No worries. I’ll be here until four this afternoon.

  Rob: God …

  Sue: Apparently he’s everywhere.

  Rob: Hear that?

  Sue: Thunder.

  Rob: Come on, I need to help Dave before it starts rainin’.

  Miss?

  Sue: There’s not a cloud in the sky.

  Rob: Did I tell you about the kid in the park?

  Sue: Nah.

  Rob: It happened a while ago.

  I was hanging around waiting for Pen.