‘Um … it’s OK. When Mum first told me we were moving here, I was really pissed off. I didn’t want to leave all my friends. But now I’m glad we moved. Mum’s a lot happier down here. For one thing, she’s further away from Dad. So, that’s pretty cool.’
‘What happened with your folks – if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘No, I don’t mind. Dad ran off with a younger woman, that’s all. I’m sure he’ll soon get bored. But I don’t want Mum and Dad to get back together. I can’t forgive Dad for what he’s done. It was really hard for a while. Mum was so miserable and I didn’t know how to help her. But, eventually, she got better and now I think she’s happier than she’s been in a long, long time.’
‘That’s really cool. Good on your mum.’
‘Yeah. I suppose it doesn’t really matter where you are. Sometimes it just matters how far away you are from certain people.’
‘Yeah. But I can think of better places to be in than Middleton.’
‘Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.’
‘Rhonda, don’t lie for my sake, please. It’s a hole.’
‘You’re right! It
is
a hole!’
‘Now, that’s more like it.’
‘Well, even though Middleton’s a hole, I’m really glad we came here. Otherwise, I would never have met you.’ Rhonda pokes me in the arm with her finger and from that moment on I can’t get a ridiculously conspicuous grin off my face. I want to cover it up with a hand but then I’d look even more stupid. I’m completely awestruck. This beautiful girl has more or less just told me that she thinks I’m all right. Jesus, Mary and Joseph
and
the Thompson Twins!
Just then, U2’s ‘With or Without You’ begins to play. It’s a decent song and I decide that this is the perfect time to follow Mr Rogers’ advice. ‘Do you wanna dance?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
We find ourselves a spot on the dance floor, safely hidden between other couples so that we can’t be gawked at. We hold each other, not too close, and sway. My hands quiver where they rest above Rhonda’s hips, but it’s not nerves; it’s electricity. I look right into her eyes and feel in complete control of myself. My nervous twitch is nowhere to be seen, and I feel certain that Bruce won’t be making an appearance tonight either.
I’m doused in confidence. Before I know it, words are leaving my mouth. ‘Rhonda, I’m so glad you moved here. I mean, this might sound crazy, but it’s like you were meant to move to this town.’
‘Really? Why’s that?’
‘I don’t know, exactly. It’s just a feeling I have. Have you ever had a feeling deep down in your stomach that something major is going to happen even though you don’t know what it is?’
Rhonda tilts her head to one side as she considers the question. ‘I can’t say I have.’
‘Well, I have. I’ve got that feeling right now. Something big is going to happen and you’re going to be a part of it.’
Rhonda looks at me and I sense that she feels a bit unnerved by my prediction. I’ve come across too strong and now she thinks I’m a weirdo.
I try to rectify the situation. ‘Jesus, I’m sorry. I must sound like a basket case.’
Rhonda smiles and I instantly relax. ‘You know, sometimes I wonder what’s going on inside that head of yours, Stan. It’s like you’ve got some big, dark secret.’
I laugh. ‘There’s no dark secret. But, it’s weird, I can’t shake the feeling that something big is coming.’
‘Well, when you find out what that big thing is, make sure you tell me all about it, OK?’
‘You’ll be the first to know. I promise.’
‘Thanks. I think.’
I pull Rhonda in a little closer and we continue swaying together. I brazenly whisper in her ear, ‘You’re beautiful.’ She laughs a little and her lips brush against my cheek. Jolts of adrenaline course through my body and I know that I’ll remember this moment for the rest of my life.
After we dance to several songs, Rhonda excuses herself. ‘I don’t want my new friends to think that I’ve abandoned them for a boy.’
‘Hey, who are you calling a boy?’ I playfully flex my muscles in a macho pose and Rhonda pushes me away.
‘But don’t think this is the last dance we’re having, mister!’
‘Of course it won’t be.’ I wink at her and she turns away in search of her friends.
I wander around, looking for Mike. I head into the men’s toilets and call his name. There’s no answer but Brenton’s there. When he sees me, he leans against a cubicle with his arms folded.
‘Hey, Kelly, I see you’ve been dancing with Rhonda.’
‘Yeah. She’s a good dancer. You should ask her yourself.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do, poofter!’
‘OK.’
‘It makes me sick to see scum like you with a girl like that.’
I stand there staring at Brenton, waiting for his flow of insults to stop. I realise that I don’t give a shit about him. He can say anything he likes to me. He can call me every name under the sun. It’s not going to change anything.
He already looks defeated anyhow and, judging from his next words, I think he realises this. ‘Now fuck off out of here, scumbag!’
‘Sure.’
I walk out of the toilets and continue searching for Mike. I finally find him, seated in a dark squash court, cradling a bottle of Scotch.
‘Mike, what the hell are you doing? Where did you get that?’
‘Steve had some bottles hidden under a bush outside. He gave me one when I asked him nicely.’
‘Why are you getting drunk?’
‘Because I hate this fucking place! I hate this fucking town. Don’t you hate this town? Don’t you feel like you’re being swallowed up by ordinariness?’ Mike gets up. It takes him a while to steady himself and he uses the wall for support. ‘It’s like the streets around this town are the rim of a black hole and we’re in the middle. We’re stuck in a big mass of nothingness.’
‘Nice analogy, Mike.’
‘Thanks. And why are you suddenly Mr Cool? Who gave you permission to progress? I thought every inhabitant of this town was doomed.’
‘Well, we are, aren’t we? I agree with you. This town has nothing to offer us and that’s why we’ll all eventually move away.’
‘You’re not leaving me, are you? You can’t go!’
‘No, I’m not leaving. Not yet, anyhow. My parents would kill me! Jesus, can you imagine that?’ A scared little laugh escapes me.
‘No, I can’t. I can’t imagine much at the moment. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. What was I thinking? That I’d come along to a school social and have a grand old time? Who am I kidding?’ Mike takes another swig from the bottle.
‘Hey, stop that.’ I pull the bottle out of Mike’s hand. ‘Anyway, you’ll probably leave this town before I do, so what the fuck are you worried about? Your rich parents will send you to a private school in the city.’
‘No, they won’t. They’re pissed off about my grades. They reckon I’ll be staying in Middleton for Year’s 11 and 12. Fuck! And, meanwhile, I have to pretend that I’m some sort of upstanding, moral citizen!’
‘Oh, come on, Mike. It’s not that bad. Let’s get rid of this bottle and I’ll walk you home.’ I help Mike out of the squash court. It’s a bit of an ordeal getting him through the Perspex door. On the way to the exit, we pass Strickland, who smiles at us sadistically.
‘What a fucking freak!’
‘Mike, shut up,
please
.’
The night is warm. I lean Mike up against a brick wall. ‘Just wait here, OK? I’ll be back in five seconds. Don’t go anywhere!’
I go inside to say goodbye to Rhonda. I pull her aside from her group of friends.
‘What’s up?’
‘I’ve gotta go. Mike’s drunk. I’ve gotta walk him home.’
‘He’s drunk?’
‘Yeah. I wish I could stay. I’d really like to dance with you again.’
‘That’s OK. We can dance anytime.’ Rhonda raises herself up on to her toes and kisses me on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you at school.’
‘You sure will.’ I almost dive in, right there and then, but decide that now is not the time. Our first real kiss can wait until later. Instead, I kiss her on the forehead and she blushes.
Just before I reach the exit doors, Susan, Mandy’s best friend, rushes up to me. ‘Mandy wants you to know that she hates you. She also wanted me to give you this.’ Susan slaps me on the cheek so quickly that I doubt whether it really happened at all. But then I feel the pain. I look at her in disbelief.
‘Well, do you have anything to say?’ She stands there with her hands on her hips, waiting for an answer.
‘No.’
As I walk, and Mike staggers, home, I feel a contentedness that is new to me. Even the slap from Susan hasn’t produced any ill feeling in me. The moonlight shrouds us in a comforting blue light. There’s a crispness to the night and it feels special and significant. It reminds me of Van Gogh’s painting,
The Starry Night
. I look at the houses we pass and imagine the people inside, asleep in their beds, oblivious to us passing by.
Even though Mike’s drunk, it’s nice to be with him now, walking down this long blue street. It’s safe to say that Mike and I are best friends. We share something that I don’t have with the other guys. He’s by far the most insightful of the group and whatever happens to us all, I know that Mike and I will succeed. We’ll get out of this town and we’ll make something of ourselves. He’s just hit a low point. Something has got to him.
‘You’ve got to get a grip on things,’ I say. ‘I mean, Jesus, man, is it really that bad?’
‘You don’t know what it’s like.’
‘What what’s like?’
‘Never mind. Forget I ever said anything. I’m just drunk.’
‘If there’s something you need to talk about, I’m all ears, Mike. I mean, you can tell me anything, OK?’
‘Yeah. I’ll tell ya sometime. When I’m good and ready.’ Mike pulls a cigarette out of his pocket. He tries for some time to locate the end of the cigarette with the flame of his lighter. He finally manages to light up. ‘Anyway, when are we gonna get serious about our band, Stan?’
‘God, I don’t know. We haven’t even come up with a name yet, have we?’
‘Hey, I forgot to tell you!’ Mike stops in the middle of the road and takes hold of my arm. ‘I thought of a name. Are you ready for it?’
‘Oh, shit, here we go. What is it?’
He lets go of my arm, does a drum roll in the air and spins around as if surrounded by mounted toms, his cigarette end burning bright from the movement. He almost falls over, but regains his balance in time to finish off his drum roll on an imaginary crash cymbal.
‘The Night!’
‘The Night?’
‘Yes – The Night!’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yeah, man. It rocks!’
‘I’ll ask you about that tomorrow when you’re sober.’
Mike starts singing one of our songs, slurring the lyrics. It’s a pretty good song, though. I join in and we sing all the way home, walking down the middle of the road, as free as two fucking birds.
When I get home, Dad’s already in bed and I’m immensely relieved. I’m really not in the mood to brief him on the night’s events.
The alpha waves have already set in and I’m ready to sleep. I’m sure I’ll have the best sleep I’ve had in a long time, and that soothing dreams will take me to my favourite desolate landscapes. I’m sure that Rhonda will be there too, ready to join me in my sci-fi explorations.
Middleton is a small town. First and foremost, that’s how I’d describe it. Have you ever heard that song ‘Small Town’ by John Mellencamp? He pretty much nails it. I still dream about getting to that big town he sings about. If I don’t make it to that big town, what am I going to do? Get married, have babies, work my guts out and then die? No, thanks, that’s not for me. Other than small, I’d describe Middleton as being insular. Have you heard the expression ‘small town mentality’? Well, that’s what I mean by insular. Anything that happens outside Middleton is of little interest to its inhabitants. The upcoming chicken and spaghetti night, the school fête, the Middleton Show, the sausage sizzle in the shopping centre car park, the next football or cricket match (depending on the season): that’s what’s important to the residents of Middleton. About two thousand six hundred people live here, which means that everyone knows what’s going on in everyone else’s backyard. Some thrive on this and others suffer. It’s very hard to shift camps once you’ve been deemed either a thriver or a sufferer. There are those who don’t fall into either camp, but they’re considered weird, mainly because they don’t waste their time trying to impress or belittle others.
But to understand Middleton, you’ve got to understand the industry behind it. Nelson’s Abattoir is situated about three kilometres out of town, off the highway that winds south. Dad used to work there as a meat inspector, and he’s told us countless horrific stories about that hellhole. Cramming too many people and too many animals into a building with too many sharp instruments just isn’t a good idea.
You can always spot an abattoir worker down the street. They’re cloaked in defeat; they wear it in their stoop and in their step. Their hardened faces, which become this way from their heavy consumption of liquor and cigarettes, are usually lowered, with their eyes nervously tracing the footpath before them. It goes without saying, doing a job that involves cutting up animals would have to have some sort of effect on you.
Ashley Eaton works at the abattoir and he’s one of the nastiest bastards I’ve ever known. But he doesn’t have enough of a conscience to lower his eyes to the footpath. No, his head is always held arrogantly high. He’s in his early twenties and he drives around in a hotted up metallic blue Torana, which he thinks is the pig’s shit. He always has a different girl in the passenger seat. I guess most of them come to their senses after a date or two and stay the hell away from him. One day, I saw Ashley down the street. He was talking to his girlfriend of the moment, ordering her around and telling her that she was a useless bitch. It was a horrible scene that has since played over and over in my mind. I told myself right there and then, that if I ever came face to face with him in a darkened paddock, I’d smash the shit out of him. But that scenario has never come to be. Rumour has it that Ashley has turned to the bottle in a heavy way. I just hope that some girl isn’t waiting on his every drunken need. I imagine him sitting on a couch that’s seen better days, surrounded by empty beer cans, the TV his constant companion. That’s sad, even for an arsehole like him.