It is January 1st, 1994. I am lead by the hand into a long beige hospital room. I am four years old. As we turn a corner I see my Mother lying in a similarly beige plastic-and-steel hospital bed with my father by her side. In her arms is a small bundle of coloured rags and sleeping pink, hairless flesh. I approach the bedside and meet the creature that is to become my only blood brother.
It is February 1st, 1996. It is the second day of year 2. I am six years old. As the class is about to begin work a tall woman appears in the doorway next to a small, pale blonde-haired boy. I recognise her; she was at my house just a few days ago and had a lengthy conversation with my mother. She recognises me also and waves. I wave back. The teacher notices this and points the blonde-haired boy towards the empty plastic chair besides mine. He sits next to me and I meet the creature that is to become my best friend.
It is October 15th, 1996. I am at the starting line of a 10-metre racetrack marked in white paint on green grass. I am six years old. My heart is pounding in my chest. I am not a very fast runner and even at this age understand that I will be teased by my peers if I do not show athletic prowess. A shot from a cap gun launches me and five other young boys forwards with our little collective might. An indeterminate but completely blank period of time later I am across the finish line ahead of everybody else. For the first time I feel the swell of pride in my chest. It will be the last time I ever win a running race.
It is March 4th, 1998. I sit in my school uniform in an anonymous mass of children at assembly. I am eight years old. We are sitting outdoors and it is very hot. Nobody around me is paying attention to the grey-haired man speaking on the stage and most people are talking amongst themselves. I ask the boy next to me to tie the laces of my shoes together as tight as he can so that I can undo them to entertain myself. He agrees and does so. I am unable to undo the laces despite my best attempts. The assembly finishes and we stand to walk back to our classrooms. I do my best to shuffle discreetly along with the others but after a few steps I fall, grazing my pink, fleshy palms on the sizzling bitumen. A teacher asks who tied my laces together; I tell her who did it but do not explain why. The boy is punished; I do not attempt to correct this. I feel shame.
It is April 3rd, 2002. I am in the car with my father. I am twelve years old. I have just purchased a copy of Nirvana's Nevermind. The opening notes of 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' spill from the CD player. My father turns the volume up just as the opening drum salvoes come in and a huge surge of adrenalin rushes through my body as the seemingly impossibly loud distorted guitars engulf the entire car. This is the first time rock music makes me feel a physical sensation. Years later the same recording will seem relatively mundane.
It is April 3rd, 2003. I am standing in a dilapidated car park behind the local corner store wearing too-big cargo shorts and a silk hockey jersey emblazoned with a giant plastic Fubu logo on the front. I am thirteen years old. A boy of no more than ten or eleven stands a few feet in front of me brandishing a foot-long screwdriver with a clear green plastic handle threateningly. "Give us the fucking camera, cunt!" Yells a large teenage boy from the window of a nearby parked car. My friend, the same one who tied my shoelaces together five years and one month earlier steps between myself and the child, arms out in a protective gesture. The kid grabs the front of my friends shirt and pull his him closer, raising the screwdriver and bringing it down hard through the front of his shirt.
It is March 20th, 2005. I am standing in the Perth domestic airport, frantically scanning the crowd pouring from the arrivals gate. I am fifteen years old. I spot the person I am looking for a moment before she spots me: A tall girl with long, perfectly straight brown hair and pale, flawless skin. She is wearing blue jeans, a black top and a black leather jacket and more make-up than is ordinary for her. I walk towards her, my heart beating in my ears, my face obviously flushing. Without a word we embrace. I bury my face in her hair. We have never met before.
It is 1am, November 3rd, 2006. I am lying in bed, talking on the phone to the same girl from the airport. I have been seventeen years old for one hour. She is crying. She hangs up the phone with no warning. I listen to the repeating tone of the dead line for almost a minute before I do the same. I will never hear her voice again.
It is October 1st, 2007. I am sitting behind my drum kit in the back room of a house in Spearwood. I am still seventeen years old. The smoke machine has filled the room to the point at which I can't see the back of the group of thirty or so people crowded around myself and the two other musicians on our make-shift stage. We are playing the Pixies' "Where Is My Mind?". Everybody in the room is singing along drunkenly and enthusiastically. I smile harder than I have ever smiled in my life.
It is September 28th, 2009. I am sitting out the front of the Esperance domestic airport wearing calf-length cowboy boots and sporting a shaggy, lopsided Mohawk. I am nineteen years old. There is nobody else here. I am returning to my parents home after a failed attempt at independence and ten days driving. I cry more openly than I have since I was hit with that cricket ball sixteen years and nine months ago. Nobody sees or hears it.
It is October 24th, 2009. I am standing at a stainless steel kitchen bench slicing whole squid into fine rings. I am still nineteen years old. A girl walks through the back door of the kitchen. Before I see her or even register that she is there, before she sees my face or hears my voice, she notices the Panopticon tattooed on the back of my neck.
It is 3:30pm, December 9th, 2009. I am lying in bed, inundated with boredom. I am now a full twenty years old. I think vaguely about the contents of the black leather diary on the windowsill and make a vague resolution to write some more. I go make a pot of coffee and sit down at my computer.
It is 5:07pm, December 9th, 2009.
No comments:
Post a Comment