Read Online Another Night in Mullet Town by Steven Herrick - Free Book Online
Authors: Steven Herrick
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job.
Mum could use the extra cash,â she says.
âDonât,â I say.
She flashes me a sad smile.
âWhy not?â
âNo-one believes Angelo,â I say.
âHe can go fuck himself,â she says
and sighs.
âI only walked away with Patrick
because Manx â¦â
She laughs bitterly.
âWe sat in the caravan,â Rachel explains.
âI wanted to talk.
He wanted something else.â
She looks at me.
âIâm not that desperate.â
Rachelâs brother calls from inside.
âIâve gotta go,â she says.
I walk to the gate
but, before I open it, I call,
âSee you at school tomorrow.â
Rachel smiles.
âIâll be the one wearing trousers.â
My reflection
Iâm woken in the morning
by noises on the roof:
a thump and skittering roll.
I quickly pull on my school clothes
and run barefoot to the verandah.
Manx is bent over in the driveway
picking up another rock.
âHey,â I yell.
He smiles and tosses the rock anyway.
It pings off the iron
and lands somewhere in the backyard.
He leans his bike on the fence and comes up the stairs.
âI reckon we should visit Tipping Point tonight
with a handful of smooth rocks.â
âI know just the house to hit,â I answer.
He follows me inside
and I look for my shoes,
while Manx bangs around in the kitchen.
When I walk in,
heâs set the table with two bowls,
a carton of milk
and a packet of Weet-Bix.
âOther peopleâs food always tastes better.â He smirks.
I fill my bowl and spend the next ten minutes
calling him a freeloader,
even though Iâm grateful heâs here
and Iâm sharing breakfast with someone
other than my reflection.
Waiting
Manx and I
sit behind the counter of his dadâs servo
and wait for something to happen.
Weâve got an hour
before school and weâre
in charge of the pumps,
the liquid gas tank out back
and the cash register,
while Manxâs dad
visits the hardware in town.
The highway motorists speed by
with barely a glance;
no matter how low
Mr Gunn sets the price
the all-nighter in Balarang Bay goes lower
and offers clean washrooms,
a restaurant and espresso coffee â
even if they spell it expresso .
I look at the percolator
on the hotplate in the corner
and wonder how long itâs been brewing.
The cups stacked above
are chipped and old.
A calendar on the wall
is of a semi-naked woman
leaning across the bonnet
of a Ford Mustang.
In one hand she holds a can of petrol,
in the other a pistol.
âI canât work out whether she wants
to shoot the photographer
or douse him in fuel and light a match,â Manx says.
He leans back
against the shuttered display of cigarettes
and closes his eyes
singing a tuneless refrain:
âAinât nobody stopping today.
Ainât nobody stopping,
no matter what we say.
Ainât nobody stopping today.â
An advertising sign bangs in the breeze.
Jonah thinks smart
Iâm sitting against the paperbark tree
overlooking the school oval
when I hear a voice behind me.
âJonah sits quietly.â
Ella walks from the shadows
and sits beside me.
I shuffle across to give her room
against the tree trunk.
Ella leans her head back
against the trunk and looks down
at the boys playing force-em-backs on the oval.
Manx takes a long run
and boots the ball
clear over the school fence.
Everyone groans.
âWhy do boys always measure themselves?â
Ella looks from the oval to me.
I could answer that in a thousand words
and be talking for the rest of lunchtime.
Instead, I hold up one little finger
and wiggle it around.
Ella giggles.
âBecause we donât know whatâs enough,â I say.
I hold my breath, waiting for Ella to answer.
Angelo climbs the fence
to retrieve the ball.
âJonah thinks smart,â Ella says.
We both smile at her flawed English.
âJonah big
Mum could use the extra cash,â she says.
âDonât,â I say.
She flashes me a sad smile.
âWhy not?â
âNo-one believes Angelo,â I say.
âHe can go fuck himself,â she says
and sighs.
âI only walked away with Patrick
because Manx â¦â
She laughs bitterly.
âWe sat in the caravan,â Rachel explains.
âI wanted to talk.
He wanted something else.â
She looks at me.
âIâm not that desperate.â
Rachelâs brother calls from inside.
âIâve gotta go,â she says.
I walk to the gate
but, before I open it, I call,
âSee you at school tomorrow.â
Rachel smiles.
âIâll be the one wearing trousers.â
My reflection
Iâm woken in the morning
by noises on the roof:
a thump and skittering roll.
I quickly pull on my school clothes
and run barefoot to the verandah.
Manx is bent over in the driveway
picking up another rock.
âHey,â I yell.
He smiles and tosses the rock anyway.
It pings off the iron
and lands somewhere in the backyard.
He leans his bike on the fence and comes up the stairs.
âI reckon we should visit Tipping Point tonight
with a handful of smooth rocks.â
âI know just the house to hit,â I answer.
He follows me inside
and I look for my shoes,
while Manx bangs around in the kitchen.
When I walk in,
heâs set the table with two bowls,
a carton of milk
and a packet of Weet-Bix.
âOther peopleâs food always tastes better.â He smirks.
I fill my bowl and spend the next ten minutes
calling him a freeloader,
even though Iâm grateful heâs here
and Iâm sharing breakfast with someone
other than my reflection.
Waiting
Manx and I
sit behind the counter of his dadâs servo
and wait for something to happen.
Weâve got an hour
before school and weâre
in charge of the pumps,
the liquid gas tank out back
and the cash register,
while Manxâs dad
visits the hardware in town.
The highway motorists speed by
with barely a glance;
no matter how low
Mr Gunn sets the price
the all-nighter in Balarang Bay goes lower
and offers clean washrooms,
a restaurant and espresso coffee â
even if they spell it expresso .
I look at the percolator
on the hotplate in the corner
and wonder how long itâs been brewing.
The cups stacked above
are chipped and old.
A calendar on the wall
is of a semi-naked woman
leaning across the bonnet
of a Ford Mustang.
In one hand she holds a can of petrol,
in the other a pistol.
âI canât work out whether she wants
to shoot the photographer
or douse him in fuel and light a match,â Manx says.
He leans back
against the shuttered display of cigarettes
and closes his eyes
singing a tuneless refrain:
âAinât nobody stopping today.
Ainât nobody stopping,
no matter what we say.
Ainât nobody stopping today.â
An advertising sign bangs in the breeze.
Jonah thinks smart
Iâm sitting against the paperbark tree
overlooking the school oval
when I hear a voice behind me.
âJonah sits quietly.â
Ella walks from the shadows
and sits beside me.
I shuffle across to give her room
against the tree trunk.
Ella leans her head back
against the trunk and looks down
at the boys playing force-em-backs on the oval.
Manx takes a long run
and boots the ball
clear over the school fence.
Everyone groans.
âWhy do boys always measure themselves?â
Ella looks from the oval to me.
I could answer that in a thousand words
and be talking for the rest of lunchtime.
Instead, I hold up one little finger
and wiggle it around.
Ella giggles.
âBecause we donât know whatâs enough,â I say.
I hold my breath, waiting for Ella to answer.
Angelo climbs the fence
to retrieve the ball.
âJonah thinks smart,â Ella says.
We both smile at her flawed English.
âJonah big
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