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Autumn. We re well into April now, so it had to arrive
sometime. I m as cold as anything, shaking I m so cold,
which must be why I ve woken up early. I ve only got a sheet
over me and I get up to find my doona, which is lying
crumpled on the floor at the end of the bed. Then I think I
may as well make the bed so it s nice to get back into. I get
as far as yanking the bottom sheet straight and lose
interest.
I m restless. I went to sleep irritated by what Danny said
to me about not surfing and I ve been chewing on it all night,
even while I slept, because it s still irking me. I don t feel like
going back to bed. This panics me a bit if you want to know
the truth, because it s only six-thirty, which means there s a
lot of day to get through before it s time to go to work. But
maybe I can go back to bed later. I hope I ll want to, that I ll
feel that heavy tiredness again, because now it s gone I can
see how safe it was.
Right now I need to get outside because it doesn t feel
like there s enough air inside the room. I wrap the doona
around me and go out on the deck, where I have to squint
because the world seems too sharp. There are no clouds
or wind, the sky is an eye-aching blue, the sunlight undercut
by the chill rising up from the earth. Summer s over, winter s
coming, but right now is the in-between, the change. I ve
always loved this time of year the most, always loved
Easter more than Christmas. It s because of surfing. The
swell s mixed, which means you still get runs of easterly
swell, not like winter where it s usually coming from the
south all the time. And there s not much wind about, or if
there is it s often offshore. The ocean s still warm but the
sand is chilled. The water loses the emerald green of
summer and starts to keep secrets, turning a deep, dark
sapphire blue.
Most of all I love the light. I love how everything is golden,
precious. Some days it makes things so beautiful it hurts.
My first time was at Easter. I was nine. It was school
holidays and we were at Wamberal with the complete set of
Lee aunties and cousins. We d set up camp down the
south end, near the entrance to the lagoon where you can
hire paddleboats and canoes and the little cousins could
splash about in the water with floaties on their arms.
Those holidays Dad had dug out a battered old
shortboard: thick knobs of dirty wax on the deck, pastel
blue at the tail morphing through a range of eighties fluoro
colours to a hot pink tip, Maddog slashed across the nose.
At the time he acted like he used to ride it, but I think maybe
he d found it somewhere or it was somebody else s old
board given to him to try. Anyway, he wasn t a surfer.
I was standing waist deep in the water, getting buffeted
by the lines of foam, watching Dad pushing Keith onto
waves on the board. Dad got impatient when I asked him if
I could have a go, probably because I was desperate I
was sure I d be able to stand up with him watching, and I
wanted to beat Keith.
Being pushy won t do you any favours, Carla. He stared
just past me, not at me, when he said this, which is what he
did when he got annoyed. It happened when I tried too hard
or wanted too much, which was most of the time. Why
wouldn t he look at me? I was just like any other kid: back
swayed by the forward thrust of my tummy, freckles, plump
lips slightly parted, pushed apart by teeth that were a little
too big I looked like I was always about to question him,
even when I wasn t, so that probably didn t help matters. But
did he see a bad girl? Did he know something?
He turned back to Keith, dragging him out to the
unbroken water, steadying him on Maddog while they
waited for another mound of swell. I considered staring at
the sun and blinding myself Then they ll be sorry! but
got distracted because a wave was coming. Keith was up
on his elbows, gripping the rails tightly, legs slipping
sideways off the board because he kept looking back over
his shoulder. He was shit scared, I realised, which cheered
me up a bit. Dad shoved him into the wave too late. It was
already starting to curl, clenching like a fist. Keith was off
balance and he nosedived, Maddog shooting straight up
into the air a moment later like a rocket launched from his
arse.
That was enough for Keith. He got the shits and went in,
marching through the white water as rigidly as a soldier. He
reached the beach and threw himself down on the sand
near Mum, Auntie Yvonne and Auntie Patricia, who were
reclining on their special beach chairs, watching over our
younger cousins playing in the sand. The three women
asked him questions which he didn t answer.
Frantic, I went after Maddog, hauling myself through the
water. I knew I had to be quick because if I didn t & But I
was already too late. Dad was going in, too.
Later, Carla. You can have a turn later.
It stung. He wasn t going to watch me. I would have done
anything to have him watch me, because things were only
ever really good if he was watching. Burning, I high-stepped
like a fancy horse through the whitewash, dragging Maddog
with me, going deeper and deeper. I was waiting for the call
from Mum: Not too deep, Carly. Carla! Get back in here
now! But it didn t come, which meant I had to keep going.
So I kept going, out the back, where the waves hadn t
broken and the water was green and clear. Out the back,
where Dad had taken Keith. My jaw was clenched and I
was shaking. I wanted to show them so badly. Once there, I
pulled myself up on the board and paddled around
awkwardly. I spent a bit of time talking to Maddog, too,
because by now the board had taken on some real
personality and, right then, was the only friend I had. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl rafalstec.xlx.pl
Autumn. We re well into April now, so it had to arrive
sometime. I m as cold as anything, shaking I m so cold,
which must be why I ve woken up early. I ve only got a sheet
over me and I get up to find my doona, which is lying
crumpled on the floor at the end of the bed. Then I think I
may as well make the bed so it s nice to get back into. I get
as far as yanking the bottom sheet straight and lose
interest.
I m restless. I went to sleep irritated by what Danny said
to me about not surfing and I ve been chewing on it all night,
even while I slept, because it s still irking me. I don t feel like
going back to bed. This panics me a bit if you want to know
the truth, because it s only six-thirty, which means there s a
lot of day to get through before it s time to go to work. But
maybe I can go back to bed later. I hope I ll want to, that I ll
feel that heavy tiredness again, because now it s gone I can
see how safe it was.
Right now I need to get outside because it doesn t feel
like there s enough air inside the room. I wrap the doona
around me and go out on the deck, where I have to squint
because the world seems too sharp. There are no clouds
or wind, the sky is an eye-aching blue, the sunlight undercut
by the chill rising up from the earth. Summer s over, winter s
coming, but right now is the in-between, the change. I ve
always loved this time of year the most, always loved
Easter more than Christmas. It s because of surfing. The
swell s mixed, which means you still get runs of easterly
swell, not like winter where it s usually coming from the
south all the time. And there s not much wind about, or if
there is it s often offshore. The ocean s still warm but the
sand is chilled. The water loses the emerald green of
summer and starts to keep secrets, turning a deep, dark
sapphire blue.
Most of all I love the light. I love how everything is golden,
precious. Some days it makes things so beautiful it hurts.
My first time was at Easter. I was nine. It was school
holidays and we were at Wamberal with the complete set of
Lee aunties and cousins. We d set up camp down the
south end, near the entrance to the lagoon where you can
hire paddleboats and canoes and the little cousins could
splash about in the water with floaties on their arms.
Those holidays Dad had dug out a battered old
shortboard: thick knobs of dirty wax on the deck, pastel
blue at the tail morphing through a range of eighties fluoro
colours to a hot pink tip, Maddog slashed across the nose.
At the time he acted like he used to ride it, but I think maybe
he d found it somewhere or it was somebody else s old
board given to him to try. Anyway, he wasn t a surfer.
I was standing waist deep in the water, getting buffeted
by the lines of foam, watching Dad pushing Keith onto
waves on the board. Dad got impatient when I asked him if
I could have a go, probably because I was desperate I
was sure I d be able to stand up with him watching, and I
wanted to beat Keith.
Being pushy won t do you any favours, Carla. He stared
just past me, not at me, when he said this, which is what he
did when he got annoyed. It happened when I tried too hard
or wanted too much, which was most of the time. Why
wouldn t he look at me? I was just like any other kid: back
swayed by the forward thrust of my tummy, freckles, plump
lips slightly parted, pushed apart by teeth that were a little
too big I looked like I was always about to question him,
even when I wasn t, so that probably didn t help matters. But
did he see a bad girl? Did he know something?
He turned back to Keith, dragging him out to the
unbroken water, steadying him on Maddog while they
waited for another mound of swell. I considered staring at
the sun and blinding myself Then they ll be sorry! but
got distracted because a wave was coming. Keith was up
on his elbows, gripping the rails tightly, legs slipping
sideways off the board because he kept looking back over
his shoulder. He was shit scared, I realised, which cheered
me up a bit. Dad shoved him into the wave too late. It was
already starting to curl, clenching like a fist. Keith was off
balance and he nosedived, Maddog shooting straight up
into the air a moment later like a rocket launched from his
arse.
That was enough for Keith. He got the shits and went in,
marching through the white water as rigidly as a soldier. He
reached the beach and threw himself down on the sand
near Mum, Auntie Yvonne and Auntie Patricia, who were
reclining on their special beach chairs, watching over our
younger cousins playing in the sand. The three women
asked him questions which he didn t answer.
Frantic, I went after Maddog, hauling myself through the
water. I knew I had to be quick because if I didn t & But I
was already too late. Dad was going in, too.
Later, Carla. You can have a turn later.
It stung. He wasn t going to watch me. I would have done
anything to have him watch me, because things were only
ever really good if he was watching. Burning, I high-stepped
like a fancy horse through the whitewash, dragging Maddog
with me, going deeper and deeper. I was waiting for the call
from Mum: Not too deep, Carly. Carla! Get back in here
now! But it didn t come, which meant I had to keep going.
So I kept going, out the back, where the waves hadn t
broken and the water was green and clear. Out the back,
where Dad had taken Keith. My jaw was clenched and I
was shaking. I wanted to show them so badly. Once there, I
pulled myself up on the board and paddled around
awkwardly. I spent a bit of time talking to Maddog, too,
because by now the board had taken on some real
personality and, right then, was the only friend I had. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]