Brontide

Sue McPherson

Cover

Brontide

Title Page

Brontide

Sue McPherson

Dedication

To Steve, Jardi boy and Jye Springall, Pancho and Tony Ryan

Author’s Note

Author’s Note

G’day! My name is Sue and I’m the author of Grace Beside Me. Not that long ago I was asked to help with a storytelling workshop at Taralune High School.

Taralune is a quaint, old hippy beach town, halfway between Rainbow Beach and Noosa in mostly sunny Queensland. My plan was to recharge the battery, read, eat, enjoy the sunshine and help a few kids write a story. I honestly thought the trip was all about me and having time out … I was wrong.

Taralune was fantastic – the school, the people and the sleepy beach culture were perfect for anyone needing a break. Workshops were held at two schools, Taralune High and St Nicholas Lutheran College.

We had a ball. Most of the kids enjoyed telling and writing a good yarn, especially a young lad named Pen. A few saw it as a bludge but put in anyway. And then there were Rob, Benny Boy and Jack who hated anything connected to reading or writing. They thought they had better things to do.

Those three lads didn’t see themselves as storytellers but their doggedness to tell a yarn was both inspiring and profound.

The words, thoughts and images in these pages are theirs. I just asked questions, recorded and collated the information given to me.

I’m not trained in interviewing. Looking back now, my techniques were, at times, clunky, unconventional and embarrassing.

Like many, I felt the storm brewing but I didn’t think it would hit. Many of us played hard growing up, but somehow we avoided tragedy. I assumed the same would happen in Taralune. My lack of intervention has caused me many sleepless nights. Should have, could have … but didn’t. Writing this now, I can barely see the words as my tears well.

This is not my story, it’s theirs. Stay strong, stay safe.

Everyone has a story.

Sue McPherson

Rob

Name:	Rob Bower
Age:	17
Year:	12
Pet:	Nig
Brothers:	Joey
	Pen (Kane)
Mum:	Shaz (Sharon)
Dad:	Dave – Pain in the Arse

Rob

Rob

Monday, 9am

Taralune High School, Library Room L4

Sue:	Where do you want to start?
Rob:	Miss, I don’t want to do this.
	It’s ucked.
Sue:	Oi!
Rob:	I didn’t use the f.
Sue:	We’ve talked about this. I can’t transcribe swearing.
Rob:	So, I can’t swear?
Sue:	Use your imagination.
Rob:	I did. And anyway that sucks, cause I’ve got shitloads to say.
	Hey, Miss? I reckon the word shit’s okay.
	Can I say shit? Because if I can’t, well, then this isn’t gonna work.
Sue:	If you have to.
Rob:	And I don’t want no flappy ears listening.
Sue:	It’s a double room and we’re at the back. Nobody can hear us.
	Look around … See? They’re all busy.
Rob:	People think I’m always angry.
	It pisses me off what they think. People piss me off. They think they know me, but they’re full a shit.
	I said shit and you said it’s okay?
Sue:	Keep going.
Rob:	If I’ve got somethin’ to say, I’ll say it. I’m not like all those others-who-big-note all the time. Big mouths when they’re all together but on their own quiet as mices.
	Mouses.
	Weak pricks, that’s all they are. I’ll stand up for meself. I’m definitely not weak so let’s get that right. Okay?
Sue:	Okay. Who are your mates?
Rob:	There’s Foot and Trev. I talk to them all the time, can’t shut me up ’cause they’re me mates, ya see. We got lots to talk about.
	And I’ve got Joey. Joey and Pen are me brothers so that doesn’t count, does it?
Sue:	Why not? If you have things in common and you get on?
Rob:	Yeah … well, okay.
	Taralune is our hometown. Shaz’s – Mum’s – great-great-grandparents pulled up here years ago in a bullocky wagon after trying to scratch a living out west.
	If you look through the window, you’ll see.
	This window, Miss … across them hills, it’s blackfella country. Trev’s mob comes from there too. Probably was his mob that worked for me great-great-grandparents.
Sue:	Tell me about Trev? He’s obviously a blackfella?
Rob:	Yep, but he’s not one of those lazy black bastards you see around.
Sue:	Don’t hold back.
Rob:	I’m not. It’s my story, remember?
	But Trev’s good. And his mum and his sister, they all wear shoes and they’ve got their own house. And Trev’s mum is the best cook ever, even better than Shaz.
Sue:	You say Aboriginal people are lazy black bastards?
Rob:	Most are! So what?
Sue:	So, it’s derogatory. It’s inappropriate. Not right.
	What if I called you a lazy white bastard?

Rob:	Sick shoes, Miss.
Sue:	Tell me about your home.
Rob:	Most houses here are Queenslanders, ours has been in our family since way back. Poppie added a few new rooms when he had it. Since him and Nan died we’ve painted all the rooms, dug a pool and built an entertainment area …
	A new picket fence for the front and Shaz put in a real cool garden. It’s tropical but full of sick things like garden sculptures and seats and water features and shit.
	Good shit, but!
	Kids around here love it when we have an open garden.
	Yeah, we also took down the shitter out the back, no need for a pit toilet these days, and we installed new fans and a wood heater inside.
Sue:	How about your mum and dad?
Rob:	When Dave came back the third time …
	Dave’s me dad.
Sue:	Where did he go?
Rob:	Dunno. He just pisses off and leaves us to it.
	Anyway, when Dave came back he built a big shed out the back for his tools and trailers and bits of wood and stuff. He’s a builder.
	Joey, me brother, works for him and I’m a first-year apprentice even though I’m still at school.School three days, two days at work. Except that’s changed now, cause school’s nearly finished.
Sue:	Perfect! You’ve started your apprenticeship and in three weeks you’ll have your school certificate as well.
Rob:	Yeah! I have to complete Year Twelve and do an apprenticeship; Joey had to do the same.
	If I did a different apprenticeship, Dave would have to change his signs to Dave Bower and Son, not Sons … and the ads in the paper and his Facebook page …
	Dave said I’d be the dickhead if I changed me career.
Sue:	What about Pen?
Rob:	Pen’s different. Dave said Pen won’t be working with us.
	Just me and Joey.
Sue:	Why’s Pen different?
Rob:	Everyone knows he looks like Shaz.
Sue:	I don’t get it?
Rob:	Don’t worry, Miss, I’ll tell ya later.
Sue:	But it’s your life, you boys should be able to choose your own career.
	Rob?
Rob:	Not in our house … Having your own life isn’t part of Dave’s plan.
	We are his plan.
	So, the business is really takin’ off. Dave’s got eight blokes workin’ for him, plus Joey and me. A new bloke started a couple of weeks ago, his name’s Jack. He’s my age, another apprentice, so, yeah, that means ten workers and the new bloke makes eleven.
Sue:	Where’s Jack from?
Rob:	From here, this school. He come up from down south. Dave reckons he’s a bit of a bogan sook.
	They’re a different breed down south, that’s what the old man says. I wouldn’t know, I haven’t been there, eh!
	So, three more weeks and I’m finished with Education Queensland.
	Me and the boys will head down to the Goldie for schoolies, go apeshit for a week then back home and on the job as apprentice chippy.
	Can’t wait.
Sue:	You don’t like school?
Rob:	Just because I’m doin’ Year Twelve doesn’t mean I’m good at it, ’cause I suck.
	I’m exceptional at maths, me report even says that. I understand gardening, it’s easy and fun. Playing in dirt and looking after flowers and trees and growin’ things isn’t work for me, I actually enjoy it. And I’m good at it.
	But I can’t stand writing and thinking about writing and people talking to me about writing.
	I’ve never read a whole book in me life. But I’ve watched all of Harry Potter.
	I’m no good at all those other subjects. I’ll get passes but that’s it.
	I’ve already got a job so who the …
	P
	H
	U
	K
	cares?

	Did you get that, Miss?
Sue:	I got it.
Rob:	Clever, eh? See! I’m being creative.
Sue:	Tell me about girls, do you have a girlfriend?
Rob:	Women?
	What can I say? I’m a chick magnet.
	Like, I’m not one of those stay-with-the-same-girl-for-twenty-years type of blokes. I’m more of a show-me-what-you’ve-got-and-how-often-can-you-give-it-to-me type.
Sue:	You’re killing me.
Rob:	Well, women bore me. Leslie Peters, Mia Rose, Chrissie Lucas are all horny and hot as.
	Good-lookin’ but booooorring!
	They always want the same thing.
	Let’s go to the movies.
	Let’s go out.
	Let’s hold hands.
	Let’s say we’re in a relationship on Facebook.
	Let’s get jealous whenever another good-lookin’ girl walks past.
	Blah, blah, blah – they’re all the same.
Sue:	All?
Rob:	Well …
	Well, no …
	Not Sharni Manning, Trev’s sister …
	She’s different.
	She’s nice …
Sue:	She’s what?
Rob:	You heard.
	Too bad she’s …
	Well, it’s too bad Dave doesn’t see her as a good catch for his boys.
Sue:	Sounds like a good bloke, your dad.
Rob:	Miss, I’m not stupid, I know sarcasm.
Sue:	She won’t be Dave’s girlfriend, she’ll be yours. And I never said you were stupid.
Rob:	I know that.
Sue:	Tell me about your mum.
Rob:	What abouta?
Sue:	Well, who is she? What’s she like?
Rob:	Shaz loves music from the ’70s and ’80s. She listens to music a lot, just zones out and gets on with her work in the garden or in the house.
	She loves it here, the house is just about how she wants it, light and airy.
	A happy Queenslander living in a happy home.
	Well, sometimes … It’s happy when Dave goes on a fishin’ trip or when there’s work down the coast or in Brisbane or when he goes piggin’ with his crusty old mates.
	Yeah, it’s happy then.
	The block out at the Retreat has just been cleared. Dave hopes to start building the new house early next year, which is soon. It’s going to be a big place with everything in it.
	Shaz will live like a queen. She’ll even have her own cleaner.

	Anyway, Shaz just smiles. She’s more Mother Earth and simple.
	You know …
	A honey-and-milk type of girl.
	That’s what Nan and Poppie used to call her.
	She’s goin’ to the Goldie on the weekend. The community bus’s goin’ down. She likes bus trips.
Sue:	How about hobbies? What do you like to do in your spare time?
Rob:	Heaps, I …
	We like to go tarpin’.
Sue:	I don’t know what that is?
Rob:	Well … it’s this thing we do, like I’m sure others do it but we’re probably the only ones doin’ it here. Tarpin’ all started from a dare, probably about two years ago. Dave used to do it when he was young. He says that tarpin’ is an easy way for boys to prove themselves.
	Like, this is how real men play.
	Down the pub, they all know about Dave and how he went tarpin’ when he was only fourteen. He travelled all the way to Caloundra on his first ride.
	His parents were pissed. They had to go down and pick him up.
	Didn’t stop him, but.
	He’s good like that, he’s tough.
	We decided to give it a go, but no one wanted to go first except Pen. Which is stupid cause Pen was only thirteen at the time.
	He’s fifteen now.
	Joey said he’d do it if we offered cash. Sixty bucks later, Joey climbed under the tarp of a Toyota Hilux parked outside the pub.
	You’ve gotta do it by stealth or there’s no fear and if there’s no fear then there’s no use doin’ it.
	We didn’t know the owner but we knew he was local.
	No, actually … Pen said the driver was a teacher at the Lutheran School. Pen said this guy’s wife, who’s real bonkable, is also a teacher.
	She upped Pen once for a bit of graffiti on the back of the school library. Pen used to go to the Lutheran School before he got booted out.
Sue:	So, you climb in under a random tarp without anyone knowing and you wait there until they stop driving?
Rob:	Yep!
	See, Joey had his phone, sweet as. When the Toyota Hilux stopped, he rung us and we picked him up.
	It’s an easy dare.
Sue:	Does Shaz know?
Rob:	Nah.
	Miss, that’s a dumbest question.

	Why ya shaking your head?
Sue:	I reckon things could go horribly wrong.
	It’s a stupid idea.
Rob:	Yeah, well, like I said, that’s the whole point. Something could go wrong, that’s the fear part and that’s why we do it.
	Probably would be stupid if Sue was doin’ it cause women are nothing but weak sooks.

Sue:	What happened next?
Rob:	Finally this teacher bloke comes out with a mate. Both were wearing boardies, the passenger wore a T-shirt and Vans, the teacher a shirt with thongs. I remember the clothes because I had the exact same T-shirt as the passenger and the exact same boardies as the teacher.
	Coincidence, eh?
Sue:	True.
Rob:	There was nothin’ strange about ’em, as far as we could tell. They looked like mates goin’ home to watch the footy, ’cause the footy was on.
	Essendon vs Collingwood. It was a good game. The Bombers won.
	Up the Bombers!

	You know how I said it was an easy dare?
Sue:	Yep.
Rob:	Well, this was our first time. All of us were a bit freaked out. My guts churned around like somethin’ bad was gonna happen.
Sue:	Who’s the sook now?
Rob:	It was the first time, Miss.
Sue:	Whatever.
Rob:	I went through half a roll of those anti-acid lolly things so I wouldn’t throw up or fart out a pebble turd or somethin’. ’Cause, really, when ya head starts thinkin’, everything gets blown out of reality. These two blokes could’ve easily been serial terrorists or mafia gangsters or bikers undercover.
	None of us knew them, not well enough to say g’day or how’s it hangin’.

	Yeah, things were a bit tense there for a while.
	I was even thinkin’ about what I’d say to Dave if Joey didn’t turn up for work the next day.
	Not even kiddin’, the old man would totally throw a mental and then I’d be in the biggest, deepest shit.
Sue:	What happened next?
Rob:	Thankfully Foot received the call a bit after an hour later. The longest time ever, Miss.
	Joey rang from the end of Buchanan Road, a mostly dirt track on the other side of town. Apparently the Hilux pulled up outside an old cabin backed up high in the bush there. Heaps of us know about it. It’s dusty with cobwebs and huntsman spiders and probably pythons and browns. Nothin’ much inside except a stone fireplace, a scratched-up wooden table and a few odd coloured chairs.
	We used to camp out there when we was in Year Nine.
	Just us blokes.
	We’d say we were staying at each other’s houses so parents didn’t get suspicious. Joey just got his licence so he would drive us out with all our swags and food and grog and a few foils and bongs and stuff.

Sue:	I’m listening.
Rob:	I said we were taking drugs and you said nothin’.
Sue:	It’s your story.
Rob:	So, as long as I don’t say the F word …
Sue:	Or the C word.
Rob:	Come on, Miss? What’s wrong with the C word? Everyone says the C word.
	The F and the C words are the most used words in the whole Aussie dictionary.
	Every cunny funt knows that.

	Miss?
	Okay … okay.
	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

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

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

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 …
	Ten …
	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.
	I hate waitin’.
	So, there was this kid sitting in the park opposite. He’s in Pen’s class. A few tools short.
	He’s there all the time …
	We call him Legless.
	He was drinking from one of those big Coke bottles.
	Anyway, he moaned. He fell off the seat, Miss.
Sue:	Was he all right?
Rob:	Yeah! He was pissed.
Sue:	How do you know?
Rob:	Me name’s not Billy Hunt.
	Billy Hunt …
	As in …
	Silly …
Sue:	Stop!
	I get it.
Rob:	Anyway … like, we all know what’s in the bottle …
	Rum … scotch … vodka for sure.
	He’s a loser. He’s always sitting in the same spot.
	Soon as school finishes he goes straight there on his skateboard.

	Why doesn’t he go home?
Sue:	Why didn’t you ask him?
Rob:	As if.
	I went over and sussed him out. He hit his head and he had spit hanging from his lip. He was out of it. The dirty bastard even pissed himself. I could smell and see it.
	Like, who pisses themselves in public?
	Dirty bastard.
	Anyway, I thought of taking a picture.
Sue:	Why?
Rob:	Post it online. He’s a loser, Miss.
	I left after that, Pen had to walk home by himself.
Sue:	What’s your definition of loser?
Rob:	What?
Sue:	You heard.
Rob:	A loser is someone who does nothin’.
	Drinks …
	Does drugs …
	Doesn’t care about anyone.

	What, Miss?

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