feeling they get when they paint stuff in illegal places. Leo says he gets this fast-moving fear swinging through him, running from his heart to every place under his skin. I paint so the fast-moving fear stops. I paint to close those doors.
Lucy stares at the birds tonight. I stare at her and try to work out what she’s thinking. Dreaming about some guy that doesn’t exist, I guess. A guy with the ocean pouring out of his can and words pouring out of his mouth, saying things she wants to hear. I wonder what Shadow looks like in her head. What he sounds like. She turns and catches me staring. ‘Come on,’ I tell her. ‘Train’s coming.’
Train’s coming and you have to go to a party to look for a guy you’ll never find. A guy who exists in your head, not the guy who did that piece. Not the guy who’s me.
The train belts along the line and the world outside the window rockets and blurs. Jazz and Leo take two seats on the left of the door. Daisy and Dylan take two on the right. There are no seats for Lucy and me so we swing with the motion of the train, listening to two separate conversations.
‘I bet they have air conditioning on the Camberwell train line,’ Jazz says. ‘They could at least give us windows that open.’
‘Kids’d stick their heads out and bam,’ Leo says. ‘Blood everywhere.’
‘Who’d be stupid enough to stick their head out of a moving train?’ Jazz asks.
‘It’d be great if you could stick your head out of the window,’ Dylan says to Daisy. She licks her finger and writes ‘idiot’ on the glass.
Lucy laughs and I can’t help laughing with her. We sway round each other, the train jolting as it shifts tracks to go south. Through the window I see flames shooting from the refinery and half a moon hanging that wasn’t there before. It makes me think of a wall that Leo and me did once. A graffiti moon cut by the shadow of power lines. A prisoner moon , Leo wrote.
I made drawings of that moon in my book before I painted it. I wanted it to be like one of those Dali dreamscapes Bert and me had seen at the gallery. I couldn’t get those watery images out of my head and that night I dreamt of a moon locked up by shadows.
‘Why’d you leave school?’ Lucy asks out of nowhere.
‘I was worried you’d beat me up again.’
The train stops and people push on. I let a few get between us so I don’t have to answer any more questions about why I left. Beth asked me once, too. I told her I got a job offer and my mum needed help paying the rent. It was half of the truth, the better half of it. The bad half was that I got caught pulling an essay out of my pants.
It was our first in-class Art essay. Until then I’d typed what I wanted to say and Leo had looked it over for me and fixed anything that didn’t make sense, like he’d done in primary school. But from Year 10 on we had to do all our work in class to get ready for Year 12 exams so I was stuffed. ‘You’re not stuffed,’ Leo said. ‘I’ll write what you want to say and then you sneak it in.’
If Mrs J had been at school that day the whole thing would have gone down different. She was sick, though, and Fennel was the substitute. He caught me taking the paper out of my pants and went off. Like me doing that was somehow all about him. He said to the class, ‘If anyone else’s brains are in their trousers they can come sit with me at the front of the class.’ What sort of idiot says trousers?
I didn’t look at Lucy all class. I wanted to look. I wanted to give her some sign that I wasn’t a cheat but I couldn’t think of what that would be since I’d just taken an essay out of my pants.
When the bell went she left with the others and Fennel shoved me towards the office. While we were walking a kid came up behind him and made this clown face and pretended to wank himself. I knew it’d be all over the school in a second. When I think back to that day all I see are wanking clowns.
Fennel got this
Lucy stares at the birds tonight. I stare at her and try to work out what she’s thinking. Dreaming about some guy that doesn’t exist, I guess. A guy with the ocean pouring out of his can and words pouring out of his mouth, saying things she wants to hear. I wonder what Shadow looks like in her head. What he sounds like. She turns and catches me staring. ‘Come on,’ I tell her. ‘Train’s coming.’
Train’s coming and you have to go to a party to look for a guy you’ll never find. A guy who exists in your head, not the guy who did that piece. Not the guy who’s me.
The train belts along the line and the world outside the window rockets and blurs. Jazz and Leo take two seats on the left of the door. Daisy and Dylan take two on the right. There are no seats for Lucy and me so we swing with the motion of the train, listening to two separate conversations.
‘I bet they have air conditioning on the Camberwell train line,’ Jazz says. ‘They could at least give us windows that open.’
‘Kids’d stick their heads out and bam,’ Leo says. ‘Blood everywhere.’
‘Who’d be stupid enough to stick their head out of a moving train?’ Jazz asks.
‘It’d be great if you could stick your head out of the window,’ Dylan says to Daisy. She licks her finger and writes ‘idiot’ on the glass.
Lucy laughs and I can’t help laughing with her. We sway round each other, the train jolting as it shifts tracks to go south. Through the window I see flames shooting from the refinery and half a moon hanging that wasn’t there before. It makes me think of a wall that Leo and me did once. A graffiti moon cut by the shadow of power lines. A prisoner moon , Leo wrote.
I made drawings of that moon in my book before I painted it. I wanted it to be like one of those Dali dreamscapes Bert and me had seen at the gallery. I couldn’t get those watery images out of my head and that night I dreamt of a moon locked up by shadows.
‘Why’d you leave school?’ Lucy asks out of nowhere.
‘I was worried you’d beat me up again.’
The train stops and people push on. I let a few get between us so I don’t have to answer any more questions about why I left. Beth asked me once, too. I told her I got a job offer and my mum needed help paying the rent. It was half of the truth, the better half of it. The bad half was that I got caught pulling an essay out of my pants.
It was our first in-class Art essay. Until then I’d typed what I wanted to say and Leo had looked it over for me and fixed anything that didn’t make sense, like he’d done in primary school. But from Year 10 on we had to do all our work in class to get ready for Year 12 exams so I was stuffed. ‘You’re not stuffed,’ Leo said. ‘I’ll write what you want to say and then you sneak it in.’
If Mrs J had been at school that day the whole thing would have gone down different. She was sick, though, and Fennel was the substitute. He caught me taking the paper out of my pants and went off. Like me doing that was somehow all about him. He said to the class, ‘If anyone else’s brains are in their trousers they can come sit with me at the front of the class.’ What sort of idiot says trousers?
I didn’t look at Lucy all class. I wanted to look. I wanted to give her some sign that I wasn’t a cheat but I couldn’t think of what that would be since I’d just taken an essay out of my pants.
When the bell went she left with the others and Fennel shoved me towards the office. While we were walking a kid came up behind him and made this clown face and pretended to wank himself. I knew it’d be all over the school in a second. When I think back to that day all I see are wanking clowns.
Fennel got this
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