Writing mates & a possum story
Matt could feel the moisture against his face as he walked under heavy grey skies along Redfern Street towards the small corner cafe. He checked the weather app on his phone. Temperature twenty-seven. Feels like thirty-one.
As beads of sweat rolled down between his shoulder blades underneath his black singlet, he decided that he only liked humidity away from Sydney. The humidity was fine in Bali, Lombok, or anywhere else in Southeast Asia. Here in Redfern, it was a burden. It was a big black backpack filled with wet sand.
He stood outside the cafe and looked in through the front window. Searching through the crowd, Matt could see Dave, sitting in the corner, dressed in a light blue Hawaiian shirt, with a small glass of coffee and ice in front of him.
Matt stood looking at him for a few seconds before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He exhaled, opened his eyes, walked into the cafe, and was immediately consumed by the aroma of fresh coffee and the chatter of the patrons.
Dave saw him as soon as he walked in and raised a hand in greeting. Matt raised his eyebrows in response and made his way across the bare wooden floorboards, weaving through the small crowded space.
He dropped down into the dark wooden chair and looked at his friend sitting across the small round table. Dave's eyes looked glazed and vacant. ‘Merry Christmas, Dave. How ya goin'?’
Dave slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. ‘Heaven be in turmoil, the skies have turned red, the story of the possum, it doth fuck with one’s head.’
Matt stared across the table for a few seconds then looked up at the ceiling fan turning slowly above them. ‘Yes, that's kinda why I’m here. I think, well, there’s more than just me ... We think this short story has gotten to you. It has messed with your head.’
Dave sat in silence for a few seconds. ‘God made me Sisyphus and this story my boulder, it doth be the Albatross that drapes from my shoulder.’
Matt closed his eyes, dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d just opened his eyes when a waitress walked over to them, pen and order book in hand.
Dressed in black, she'd pulled her blonde hair tightly back into a short ponytail. Her small features and fair complexion seemed to accentuate the ring in the columella of her nose. ‘May I take your order?’ Her voice was as fragile as her stature.
Matt looked up. ‘Could I have a short black, and a bacon and egg roll with sweet chili sauce, please?’
The waitress nodded her head and walked away.
Matt turned back to his friend. ‘Dave, listen to me closely. Anything this short story has become is because you have made it that way. It has nothing to do with God.’
Dave’s eyes drifted from Matt and his face fell. ‘With hideous devil, I share this dark cell, only the Saviour can free me from hell.’
The waitress leant over the table and placed a small steaming cup of black coffee in front of Matt.
Matt glanced up at her. ‘Thank you.’ He turned back to Dave. ‘You’re lucky tomorrow is Christmas Day.’
Dave turned his palms upwards and looked at the ceiling as if he were gazing into the heavens. ‘Choirs of angels sing holy verse, the Saviour doth come - I will be free of this curse.’
Matt stirred a single teaspoon of sugar into his coffee, took a sip and looked Dave in the eye. ‘What really gets to me is the whole self-importance of it all. I mean your stuff was always a little conceited, but this is just total self-indulgence.’
Dave's arms fell to his sides and a light seemed to flick on behind his eyes. ‘Me ... self-indulgent? Matty, you think I’m self-indulgent?’
Matt sniffed. ‘You’re not gonna put that into some godforsaken ecclesiastical poetry?’
Dave blinked and stared at Matt. ‘I’m not sure I’m able to.’
Matt took another sip of coffee. ‘This is a good first step. How are you going to spend Christmas?’
‘I was gonna go to midnight mass and sing hymns until dawn.’
Matt waved it away. ‘Don’t do that. You used to surf. Do you still own a board?’
Dave nodded. ‘Yeah, it's out in the garage somewhere.’
Matt levelled his finger at Dave’s chest. ‘Then you go home and dig that board out of the garage and at first light tomorrow, you go for a surf and don’t come in until midday. I want you to sit out there for hours staring at the horizon. You understand?’
Dave blinked. ‘Yeah Matt. I understand.’
The waitress glided between the tables and slid a bacon and egg roll in front of Matt. He breathed in the rich scent of the bacon mixed with sweet chili sauce.
Matt looked up at the young woman. ‘I’m sorry, but could I order another one of these for my mate, please?’
David Benn
Copyright: text David Benn; photos mfsprout & cv williams.
Posts on this SSOA blog are published to showcase the work of emerging writers who meet weekly to workshop stories. The posts comprise just some of the responses written in just 10 minutes as a warm up to the meetings.
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