SQUID: No. I’d been at sport. Was a Tuesday.

TAMARA: Was a Tuesday.

Something moves in the bushes behind them, screeches, flutters into the night.

SQUID: What the fuck? Scare you?

TAMARA: Na. A bit.

SQUID: Scared me.

TAMARA: Did it?

SQUID: Na.

TAMARA: Why they call you Squid?

SQUID: Told ya that.

TAMARA: But you didn’t tell me the story.

SQUID: No.

TAMARA: Why?

SQUID: Don’t remember it.

TAMARA: Is it from the dreamtime?

SQUID laughs.

SQUID: It’s just a story Mum made up.

TAMARA: Hate this park—just a fucking dog toilet.

SQUID: Used to be nice.

TAMARA: Yeah? When?

SQUID: Used to come here when I was a kid. With my mum and brothers.

TAMARA: Yeah?

SQUID: Seemed much bigger then.

TAMARA: Everything from when you were a kid seems bigger.

And better, ay? Before things went to the shitter.

Where’s your mum, Squid?

She looks up and holds her palms open to the sky.

It’s spitting, dickhead, look.

Told you it would, you fucking clueless cockhead…

I look back and you are crying.

A tear on your cheek.

You? Squid? Jasyn? Crying?

I want to outline the tear trailing down your face with a pen so I don’t forget it. Don’t know what to say. You blink—look straight ahead—don’t know if you know I noticed.

SQUID: What?

He reaches for TAMARA’s hand squeezes it.

TAMARA: Nothing.

Your hand lets mine go

runs up my leg

opens buttons

squeezes inside

taste of salt from your cheeks on my tongue.

We kiss—your tongue in my mouth licking around inside it and you push me down on the grass it’s soft and wet

hands gentle to start and then you lift up my t-shirt unzip my jeans

cold air and your warm hands against my skin.

I’m lying on the grass in the dark looking up at the sky—the dark—like ink all around me getting deeper and deeper this ink splashing staining me—I cannot breath down here/

SQUID: You okay?

TAMARA: Yeah.

SQUID: Kiss me.

They kiss for a moment.

TAMARA: Up the top where the light is, it’s a long way above me.

Struggle to get free to get to the top.

What holds me there is you. Your arms reach out, touch me, hold me keep me there.

Gently, but they do.

Your hands press me—your breath pins me.

And I need to let go, I need to breathe, need to be here with you, stop pushing back.

I stop pushing back, stop thinking and sink down into the ink. The ink is velvet and the lights at the top are a long way away now.

SQUID: You okay?

Pause.

TAMARA: Happened quick.

SQUID: What do you mean?

TAMARA: Just.

SQUID: Didn’t. You okay?

TAMARA: Stop asking that.

SQUID: You okay?