Fragments (2 page)

He raised his right arm high into the air and I sucked in a breath as the familiar horsewhip came into view. I knew it was my turn next.

Before I could brace myself, movement at the kitchen window caught my attention and my eyes locked onto a pair of bright blue, tear-filled ones. She stood there speechless and my chest seized in fear at the thought of my father seeing her. In a desperate attempt to get her out of there, my eyes hastily widened and flicked to the side, a silent plea for her to leave. As I watched the only girl I could ever love run off in the distance, the shadow of his whip, loomed over me as it came crashing down on top of me. The burning pain tore through my side as I toppled towards the ground, vowing to keep my feelings distant. This world was no place for her.

Winter, 2005

The husky rumble of my pop’s Chevy drove into our dirt-laden driveway. 

“Lily!” I called. “Pop’s here, let’s go!” Too impatient to wait, I opened the door and raced out, throwing my duffle bag over my shoulder. Pop idled in the driveway, a broad smile lighting up his face. I waved to him as the front door slammed behind me, and the footsteps of my sister soon followed. 

“Shotgun!” I yelled, racing to the front.

“Like I even want to be in the front when all you guys talk about is cars,” mumbled Lily, rolling her eyes.

I opened the passenger door and slid in beside Pop, throwing my bag onto the floor. His left hand clasped my shoulder in greeting, the firm grip squeezing me hard. 

“Hey, Al, ready to help me today?”

“Shit, yeah!” I fastened my seatbelt as Lily got comfortable in the back.

“Good.” Pop laughed, turning to Lily, his eyes softening as he stared at her. “You’re looking more like your gran each time I see you, Lil.” She blushed, gazing down at her lap.

“Thanks, Pop.” She said, biting her lip, her cheeks reddening.

“Nothing to be ‘shamed about, honey; she was a looker.” He cleared his throat. “So, where are you playing today?”

“At the fields,” she answered, pulling out her basketball timetable to double-check. “Says I start in half an hour.” She folded the sheet and haphazardly threw it in her bag, while rustling around searching for her lip-gloss.  Her lips smacked as she coated them in a strawberry glossy film. 
Yuck.
I reached out to the console and pushed in the cassette tape that was protruding, and the unmistakeable bass-baritone of Johnny Cash’s voice filled the cabin. 

“Righto, let’s go!” Pop kissed the photo of Gran that he kept by his speedometer and reversed out of the driveway.  Gran’s smile looked back at him; he never went anywhere without her.    

In my early teens, one of my favourite pastimes was rebuilding Chevys with my pop.

He’d been part of the Hot Rod Club, and one of his passions was recreating and rebuilding vintage cars. On weekends, I used to stay with my grandparents when I wasn’t hanging out with my

friends, Robbie and Bea. Pop included me in all his remakes, from dumping his latest piece on its guts to sliding in the new V8 engines.

Those weekends used to be an escape for me. I never told him about what my father was like at home, but I think he suspected. He’d call me up every Saturday morning to see if I wanted to be picked up or if I was going to be at our neighbour’s house. He was always looking out for me.

We arrived at his garage after dropping Lily off to basketball.  My eyes zoomed in on the trailer that held a body of a car, covered by a dusty sheet in the centre of the room. My hands were itching to touch it. Pop strolled up to it and tore the sheet off. A worn out, dilapidated ’48 Chevy truck lay underneath. There was more rust than car. My heart sank. This was the worst carcass I had ever seen.  The doors were bent in, the roof damaged, and the interior was completely gutted. We were looking at a skeleton of a car.

Each car we remade held a story. Some were for friends of his who had travelled around Australia and wanted to rehash their childhood. Others were just because he loved all things vintage. This one looked like it already had several stories to tell. 

“Alex,” he said, “I’ve got a special project for us. This rust bucket will be our best work yet.” I looked over at the carcass on his trailer. It didn’t look like it could be saved.

“Really, Pop? This piece of crap looks too old to fix.” He smiled and gestured for me to come closer to inspect it. Already in my teens, I was taller than he was, but those gestures of his made me feel small. Placing his hand on my shoulder and drawing me in closer to speak in my ear, he used his right arm to point out the bonnet.

“See that, Al? That’s the heart of the truck. We just put in a new V8 and it’ll be like a transplant.” He continued to point to the other surfaces. “Those edges along the frame are only a little bit rusted. We’ll give this car the best makeover it’s ever had. Even celebrities will be jealous of the nips and tucks we’ll do. The best-looking turd you’ve ever seen.” He smiled.

              Now that I was getting older, Pop had been sharing his rebuilding magic with me. Over the next few weeks, we began slowly working on the rust bucket, being mindful of treating it carefully. We sanded off the rust in parts, and smoothed the edges, maintaining the car’s original vintage feel. The other hot rods that were in town were deep reds, green, or blues, but Pop wanted this one to be different.

During one of our days together, he’d cracked open the tin of paint for the guys to spray paint, I was shocked to see that it was a cream.

“Why that colour, Pop?”

“Al,” he answered, “the inside of this car will have all the new-age bullshit that you youngsters need, with your air con and your fancy schmancy stereos to get the ladies. But this,” he pointed to the frame, “will keep its integrity. This is my favourite colour of the ‘40s. Every time I see it, I think of your grandmother and the trips we had in ours.” I’d nodded and pointed to the can.

“Okay Pop, load up the gun then. Let’s make Nan think of all those smooches you gave her in the back seat.” I’d wiggled my eyebrows. Pop had laughed and clipped me behind the ear.

“Don’t let your nanna hear you talk about that stuff. Your generation needs to have a bit more respect for your girlfriends. Sure, I know you guys will eventually want to taste the buffet, but this truck does not need to be soiled with the leftovers. You keep that cabin pure.”

I’d looked at Pop, confused by what he was saying. “What do you mean? By me?”

He’d handed the paint over to Jim, our paint guy, and led me outside. “Alex, I’m giving this truck to you. I ain’t going to be around forever. But a part of what we have shared over these few years will be something that you think about when you look at your truck.”

I’d felt my throat tighten at his words. “Alex, I might be old, but I’m not stupid. I know one day you’ll have your latest trash in here, but remember this.” He pointed to my chest. “In here lies the heart of a decent man, and in there,” he pointed to the cabin, “you will only bring the one you will cherish, you hear? If you are going to experiment when you’re older, then you do it over there!” He’d pointed to the tray at the back. I cleared my throat and focused on the cabin. I didn’t want to have the ‘sex talk’ with Pop. This was too embarrassing. Pop wiped his nose with a handkerchief and stepped closer to me.

“Alex, I’m not stupid. I know your life at home is hard—” I sucked in a breath and clenched my jaw, looking down at my shoes, “—and I wish that you or your stupid mother would let me in, but if you won’t, or can’t, then I will give you something to help hold these memories close. You can drive two friends around, or better still, one day you’ll have a special lady sitting by your side with whom you will want to create your own memories. Those floozies won’t mean a thing when you’re my age.”  My eyes raised to his genuine smile. I felt a warmth that I never got at home. I nodded and picked up a spanner.

“Right, let’s make this baby hot!” I winked at Pop, eager to get the remodelling started.

The last weekend we were meant to spend working together on my car, will be forever remembered in bitter regret. While putting my hoodie over my head, I’d walked out of my room towards the kitchen to tell my folks I would be leaving soon. When I’d turned the corner, I’d heard an almighty crash from the living room. I ran towards it and when I got there, my father had my mother around the throat and was squeezing her tightly.

“What the fuck did I say, Meg?” he’d bellowed. “You were supposed to get me a new fuckin' bottle of Wild Turkey. You deaf? Need me to shake some fuckin’ sense into ya?”

I’d run towards him and pulled his arms off her, then grabbed her arms and pulled her behind me. I’d been grateful that I had grown a bit over summer and was just taller than him.

“Keep your hands off her!”

My father had torn his drunken gaze from my mother and looked at me.

“What’s that, you little prick? You stickin’ your nose in where you ain’t needed?” he’d sneered, a bead of spit flying from his lips. He’d taken a step closer to me, his fists outstretched towards me. “You need me to teach you a lesson,
son
?”

I’d held my arm tight around my mother behind me. I had never stood up to my father before, but I was fed up. As he’d gotten closer to me, I’d heard a loud shout come from our front door.

“You touch my grandson and I will shoot your sorry ass, you piece of shit!”

We’d all turned and saw Pop storming in. He’d walked right up to my father and said, “You want to try your bullshit with me?”  He’d looked over at me before making eye contact with my mother.

“You,” he’d sneered towards her, “should know better than to put up with this.” He’d pointed towards my dad. “You need your son to defend
you
? You’re his goddamn mother!”

My mother cowered behind me. He’d been right. All my life, she’d never protected me. Instead, she’d watched as Dad had alternated between belting her, Lily, or me. She’d never said or done a thing about it.

              My father laughed and glared back at Pop.

“You old prick, this is my house and I will do whatever the goddamn hell I want. She is my wife! Stay the hell out of it!”

Luckily, my Pop would have none of it. “No, Meg and Alex are coming with me, and when Lily comes home, I’ll take her, too. In the meantime, you will pack up your shit and leave tonight before I come back with my rifle. I’m a good shot—I never miss.”

He’d marched over to us, grabbing both my arm and my mother’s. His heavy panting had alarmed me—I had never seen Pop react like this. As we’d turned towards the door, the grip he’d held on my arm had loosened and I’d looked down at where his hand had been. In my peripheral vision, I’d seen him sway, and as I’d turned, Pop clutched his chest and his face contorted into a wince.

“Pop! You okay?”

I’d reached over and grabbed him. Something was wrong. Looking over to my mother, I’d shouted for her to call an ambulance. I’d frantically moved Pop to a nearby chair, but he’d slipped and collapsed on the floor.

“Pop! Fuck!” Crouching beside him, I’d started unbuttoning his shirt buttons then tore my hoodie off to use as a pillow. I’d heard my mother murmuring in the background, but it sounded like it was far away. I was too focused on Pop.
What had they taught us in First Aid at school?
My mind had frantically searched for answers on how to help him. Fear had paralysed my heart, but I’d kept moving.

“Please, Pop, just breathe slowly. The ambulance is on its way.”

What had seemed like an eternity later, I heard the ambulance barrelling down our driveway. Shortly after, two paramedics were by Pop’s side assessing the situation. He gripped my shoulder, trying to tell me something. As they’d loaded him onto the stretcher, he grabbed my arm and panted, “Finish car … Yours … Leave here …”

I’d nodded, grasping his arm. “Okay Pop, try not to talk now. They’re going to help you.” I’d stepped back to let them put him into the van, the deafening roar of my pulse ringing through my ears.

As they’d driven away, I hadn’t known that he would be dead by the time they’d arrived at the hospital. With him gone, my guilt over not speaking up about Dad sooner began to manifest and I’d made a decision. I would no longer be the silent child.

              It had been obvious at the funeral that I did not want to be near our father. I sat away from my parents, keeping my sister, Lily, tucked in at my side. She was older, but so tiny. That night, when my father had tried to talk to me, he’d barely gotten a word out before I’d cut him off. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ touch us again, or I will end you. Pop taught me how to shoot, so you remember that.”

              I’d ended up taking a week off school to apply the final touches to my truck. There was no way that I would let it sit in his garage when he had treasured it like a piece of art.  One day, I’d be old enough to drive it, and I wanted it ready. Next to the speedometer, I placed a pocket-sized picture of Pop standing next to his own beloved car that he loved. He smiled at the camera, and I felt like that smile was directed at me.

Trice

Summer, 2006

Growing up in a country town was difficult as a teenager. Even though the population exceeded 20,000, everyone seemed to know everyone. If someone mentioned their friends’ aunties’ in-law’s name, you were sure to know her or someone with that last name. It was the most infuriating part of living here. Breaking free from the common mould was so difficult.  Going into town, you were bound to see someone you knew, and how you dressed, who you spoke to, and what you were doing seemed to be constantly scrutinised. The only solace a person had was to hide or be surrounded by good friends, if you were lucky enough to have them.  I was lucky to have a close group, but they weren’t always there when I needed them. For me, the majestic beauty of the river was a constant thing that kept me sane. The stillness of the current - soft to look at but potentially deadly underneath - reawakened me.  In those moments when I felt defeated, I could always rely on the calm flow of the river to soothe me.