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Authors: Karen Foxlee
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footprints on the snake river's back. The snappy gums still lay where they had fallen when the river last ran. Yellow grass grew up through the broken fences.
“This is it,” I said.
We walked beside the crumbling bank where the giant ghost gums arched their backs and stretchedtheir smooth white arms toward the river. We dipped our heads beneath the branches and ran our hands over the satin skin.
“What?” said Angela.
A sand track ran behind the bank. Beyond that the gums straightened themselves up and stood tall. They were perfectly spaced, as though they had been planted in an orchard. It was a quiet place. We walked between them, stepping over fallen branches, not speaking.
“What?” whispered Angela again.
There was no wind. It was almost as still as the day it happened. I could feel it, almost, hanging in the air.
We had arrived at the place of the kiss.
We stood where Beth had kissed the boy with crow-colored hair on a hot still February day. She kissed him beneath the trees beside the sand track and the empty river.
By then the light had started to fade from within everything. Nanna had stopped asking if she had a halo around her head.
“Is there any light at all left?” she asked Beth instead, hopefully.
“No,” Beth said.
“What, none?”
“None. Everything is ugly again.”
“Ugly?”
“Earth-colored.”
Nanna looked at me and back to Beth.
“Tell me again, what did you see that day at the lake?” she asked.
“Nothing,” said Beth.
Beth kissed the boy for a dare but straightaway recognized something terrible in him. I saw the way she looked at him. It was just the way she looked at a bird with a broken wing.
Marco rode a trail bike and was seventeen. His hair was thick, lustrous, worn long like Chachi's hair in
Happy Days.
He had a little mustache. It was just a few wispy hairs at the corners of his mouth.
He didn't speak. Another friend, Tony, did all the talking. Tony wasn't Italian. He had sandy hair and a face full of freckles, even on his lips. He had watery blue eyes and he stank of sweat.
“What are you doing down here?” asked Tony. “Don't you know this trail is only for motorbikes? I could call the fuzz on you for trespassing.”
Tony spoke to Beth and Miranda. I was left out because of my age and size. Miranda put her hands on her denim-clad hips. Beth pushed her hair behind her shoulders and tilted her head to one side.
Marco stood silently beside Tony. He looked at Beth from underneath his long black eyelashes but only once. Then he looked everywhere but at her. Heran his eyes over the satin-skinned trees, the long grass in the paddocks, the sand road that bent away into the bush. Beth ignored him back while Tony dared Miranda to a ride.
“No,” Beth said. “We're going home.”
Marco's eyes came back to her from a close examination of the sky and then fell quickly to the ground. He jumped to start his bike. It roared to life. It drowned out the sound of Tony's daring. It exploded the silence between the two of them. Her mouth was open, as though she had something else to say, and then closed.
She looked angry all the way home but Miranda was excited.
“He loves you,” she said. “I know he loves you.”
“Don't be stupid,” said Beth, but her voice came out breathless, as though she had run a mile.
Whenever they walked along the creek Marco and Tony followed them. The two parties ignored each other but watched each other out of the corners of their eyes. The first kiss was for a dare. The boys were doing wheelies and burnouts and great clouds of dust rose and hovered in the air. We were at a place where the river bent and widened, dangling our feet in a small pocket of brownish water that had remained long after the rains had gone.
“I can just tell he wants to kiss you,” said Miranda.
“Don't be stupid,” said Beth.
She kissed him at noon when the sun beat down on the rocks and stones and the creek bed burned white. The trees were
“This is it,” I said.
We walked beside the crumbling bank where the giant ghost gums arched their backs and stretchedtheir smooth white arms toward the river. We dipped our heads beneath the branches and ran our hands over the satin skin.
“What?” said Angela.
A sand track ran behind the bank. Beyond that the gums straightened themselves up and stood tall. They were perfectly spaced, as though they had been planted in an orchard. It was a quiet place. We walked between them, stepping over fallen branches, not speaking.
“What?” whispered Angela again.
There was no wind. It was almost as still as the day it happened. I could feel it, almost, hanging in the air.
We had arrived at the place of the kiss.
We stood where Beth had kissed the boy with crow-colored hair on a hot still February day. She kissed him beneath the trees beside the sand track and the empty river.
By then the light had started to fade from within everything. Nanna had stopped asking if she had a halo around her head.
“Is there any light at all left?” she asked Beth instead, hopefully.
“No,” Beth said.
“What, none?”
“None. Everything is ugly again.”
“Ugly?”
“Earth-colored.”
Nanna looked at me and back to Beth.
“Tell me again, what did you see that day at the lake?” she asked.
“Nothing,” said Beth.
Beth kissed the boy for a dare but straightaway recognized something terrible in him. I saw the way she looked at him. It was just the way she looked at a bird with a broken wing.
Marco rode a trail bike and was seventeen. His hair was thick, lustrous, worn long like Chachi's hair in
Happy Days.
He had a little mustache. It was just a few wispy hairs at the corners of his mouth.
He didn't speak. Another friend, Tony, did all the talking. Tony wasn't Italian. He had sandy hair and a face full of freckles, even on his lips. He had watery blue eyes and he stank of sweat.
“What are you doing down here?” asked Tony. “Don't you know this trail is only for motorbikes? I could call the fuzz on you for trespassing.”
Tony spoke to Beth and Miranda. I was left out because of my age and size. Miranda put her hands on her denim-clad hips. Beth pushed her hair behind her shoulders and tilted her head to one side.
Marco stood silently beside Tony. He looked at Beth from underneath his long black eyelashes but only once. Then he looked everywhere but at her. Heran his eyes over the satin-skinned trees, the long grass in the paddocks, the sand road that bent away into the bush. Beth ignored him back while Tony dared Miranda to a ride.
“No,” Beth said. “We're going home.”
Marco's eyes came back to her from a close examination of the sky and then fell quickly to the ground. He jumped to start his bike. It roared to life. It drowned out the sound of Tony's daring. It exploded the silence between the two of them. Her mouth was open, as though she had something else to say, and then closed.
She looked angry all the way home but Miranda was excited.
“He loves you,” she said. “I know he loves you.”
“Don't be stupid,” said Beth, but her voice came out breathless, as though she had run a mile.
Whenever they walked along the creek Marco and Tony followed them. The two parties ignored each other but watched each other out of the corners of their eyes. The first kiss was for a dare. The boys were doing wheelies and burnouts and great clouds of dust rose and hovered in the air. We were at a place where the river bent and widened, dangling our feet in a small pocket of brownish water that had remained long after the rains had gone.
“I can just tell he wants to kiss you,” said Miranda.
“Don't be stupid,” said Beth.
She kissed him at noon when the sun beat down on the rocks and stones and the creek bed burned white. The trees were
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