CHAPTER SIX
"The trick is to keep breathing." (Garbage)
"Let's have a vote," says Joel, after three minutes of high-pitched lively argumentative conversation. "Does anyone actually know where they want to go?"
There's a pause, and then Raisa responds. "I was thinking we could drive, and then pull over when we see something interesting."
"Do you even understand the concept of fuel cost?" Joel snaps, "Raisa, this car is anything but efficient. Not to mention I doubt it could even get from here to Bondi without breaking down."
"Bondi?" I say.
"What about it?" Joel cranes his neck to see into the back seat.
"Could you get us to Bondi?"
"I propose an axiom." Raisa butts in before Joel can say anything else. Joel and I stare at her until she augments a translation; "Let's go to the beach."
"What about fuel consumption don't you understand?" Joel groans, exasperated. He firms his grip on the steering wheel and I see his shoulders tense as he draws a slow breath. The car is silent. Well, except for the tumbling rumble of the engine running on idle—I wonder if a car is supposed to sound like that—and the zoom of other cars and buses going by. "I'll tell you what," Joel offers, "If you pay for petrol at some point, I will consider driving you both to Bondi Beach." Before we can chant out a celebration, he adds, "And we're in this as a group, right? I'm not your chauffeur. Okay?"
Raisa nods, and I echo it. "Of course." I say.
"Right," says Joel, and reverses the car out of the parking space.
-
We stop for fuel and cheap one-dollar coffees at Leichardt. Raisa makes fun of the suburb's name—she originally pronounces it Leek-hard, with the 'h' sounding like a motorcycle engine. I give Joel my only twenty dollar note and Raisa pitches in three two-dollar coins. Joel accidentally (?) slams his door as he marches into the service station.
"So," Raisa turns around to face me. "What was your name again?"
I try and find the effort to be offended, but I get distracted by discovering that Raisa has diamond-stud earrings when he places a strand of white hair behind her ear. "Nathan," I say, in as strong a voice I can muster, so it might cement in her memory this time.
Raisa mouths my name. "Hi, Nathan. I'm sorry, I'm the worst with names. You haven't forgotten mine, have you?"
"No way," I say. "I could never forget a name like Razor."
We share a laugh, hearing it bounce around the tiny space that is Joel's car. Just like that, whatever strange barrier that was between us is now broken, shattering into pieces that scatter around Raisa's and my feet. I stop laughing when I see Raisa's eyes roaming around my face, almost like she's a robot, scanning me.
"What's the bruising?" She blurts. She points to my neck, just where the bottom of my chin meets my throat.
I stare down at my thighs, studying a loose thread in my jeans, just above my knee. I think about saying, 'oh, that? Yeah, that's nothing,' but Raisa's eyes are piercing and her brain is sharp enough to see past that. What's the loss in telling the truth? She is a complete stranger, and will forever remain that way. So I tell her fragments of the truth. I say it was an accident. I say I didn't mean to. And that's true enough, isn't it?
After listening to me, Raisa adjusts her position so she's kneeling on the passenger seat, her entire body parallel to mine instead of opposite. She gives me a look like I've made no sense, and I sigh, folding my hands in my lap and picking at my fingernails. I didn't make any sense, did I?
"What do you mean you didn't mean to? You did that yourself?" Raisa presses. "Did you try to—,"
Joel comes crashing back into the car. Coffee jumps from one of the cups and splashes on top of the gear stick. Joel grumbles some kind of obscenity, and passes our coffees out. "I didn't know what you guys wanted," he explains, "But tonight's going to need caffeine of a high caliber. Also, I've just picked the coffees based on stereotypical choices, so I apologize if I've got you wrong. Nathan, I got you an American Espresso." Joel thrusts the steaming cardboard mug into my hand, and I consider telling him an American Espresso is for all extents and purposes coffee-flavored water, but I leave it unsaid. "Raisa, since you are female, I got you a skinny latte. I don't know—my mum and my sisters and Alice used to like it."
Raisa frowns at her takeaway cup. Steam curls up in wisps from it. "Do you think I need a skinny latte?"
"Don't be like that," Joel says. "It's the stereotypical drink for a teenage girl. Sorry." He doesn't sound at all apologetic, but it puts a dent in Raisa's frown so it looks a little more like a smile. She drinks it nonetheless.
"Who's Alice?" I say. I sip gently on my coffee. It just might be the bitterest thing I have ever tasted in my entire life.
"My ex-girlfriend. She used to always make me order her a skinny latte..." Joel says. "With artificial sugar. I kept telling her that if she was worried about the fat in it, like, a) a black coffee has zero sugar and b) she didn't need to worry about it. Maybe that's why she broke up with me."
"She didn't tell you why she broke up with you?" I ask. I deem it safe.
"Well, yeah." Joel allows. "She gave me a whole list of reasons. But they didn't seem real, right? They weren't things that were so bad we had to break up over them. One of the reasons was that I was holding her back, or something, and she wanted to be more independent. I didn't understand... Nathan, isn't the entire quest in life to find love? Isn't that it?"
"I don't know." I say. "Probably. It sounds about right."
"And we had love," Joel continues. "I thought we did. She could be independent, but she could still be with me. And she was uncomfortable with my anger issues. I don't have..." His voice becomes raised and I shrink back in my seat. "—Whatever. She's...I don't care." He pulls out of the service station and resumes a slot on the busy road.
"How long ago was this?" Raisa says. I'd almost forgotten she was there.
"About two months ago," says Joel, then he sighs, "I feel like I've just raved out my feelings...someone else needs to confess something, I feel left out."
Raisa laughs quietly. "I've had boyfriends before, but none of them have stories," she says. "Like, no interesting anecdotes to share here. We would go and see a film, or maybe have lunch somewhere, and then we'd go back to our own lives. And then he'd break up with me, or I'd break up with him, just because it'd gone on too long. I've never been in anything so serious..." she pauses. "Something so serious you feel like your independence is being held back."
An eerie silence falls over all of us. I think back to my first girlfriend, when I was twelve. We went horse-riding at Penrith and bought ice-cream from a little café, and I may have been more excited over the fact I could buy something by myself with my own pocket money than the fact that I had a girlfriend. Her name was Hailey—spelled like Hailey's comet. Sometimes, I still see her at school. Hailey was my first kiss, but it definitely wasn't anything to hold to memory.
I gave up on girls around the time I gave up on a lot of things I love; English class, writing, and playing the guitar. It all seemed so worthless. It wouldn't matter what girl I took out on a date—I wouldn't feel the magical spark foretold in fairytales. And, evidently, neither did the girl. It was all trial-and-error, except without success. I used to be told I could play guitar like Hendrix, which were exact words my year eight music teacher Mr. Donnelly said. "You've got talent, my boy," he said. I used to idolize rock stars like John Bonham, or Pete Townshend. I used to spend hours practicing. But one day I played the wrong chord and I couldn't get my rhythm back. It was gone. Either that, or I just let it go.
Eventually the silence becomes too much and Raisa digs around in the glovebox, finds a Radiohead CD, sticks it in the CD slot , and we all relax a little bit. A few minutes pass as a familiar tune pours from the tinny speakers, and I recognize it around the same time Raisa sings the words, "I'm a creep, and I'm a weirdo". Joel follows, letting his smooth voice add a harmony that Raisa couldn't on her own. Then, I start singing too, even though I'm nothing good. But it feels better than being the only one not singing.
Joel drives a little faster, and then a little faster after that; swerving through traffic and winding his way through a red light. I don't think I've ever felt stronger—in this car, with two ridiculous people I didn't know until an hour ago—and the weird thing is, I really like it. I get a rush to my head, like all the nerve endings are trains speeding across the tracks of my veins to reach the station of my brain, and I decide that if this feeling were a drug, this scared and alone but together and powerful, I would go to any length to get my hands on it. I want it all the time.
Raisa taps Joel's shoulder. "Pull over, here," she says, and points down the road a little, in front of a park only dimly lit by street lights.
"Why?" Joel asks.
"Just do it," Raisa smiles. She's a loose cannon, this one. I can't wait to get to know her enough to be able to predict her. She's an unstable weather condition, whose next moves no-one is aware of. And, with the same power Raisa used to command me to wait for her outside the Silverchair gig, Joel drives in front of the park and cuts the engine. Radiohead snaps off the stereo.
Raisa unlocks the door and kicks it open. Joel goes to say something but shuts his mouth instead. Then, Raisa ducks into the backseat. She grabs my wrist, and yanks me out of the car. I stumble on the footpath, my feet scrambling as if they were attached to wheels. Raisa's smile is as white as her hair, gleaming, even in this dark. Her eyes catch on my wrist, which her fingers are still wrapped around.
Her smile vanishes, and her fingers slowly unfurl. I reflexively hold my arm closer to my body, and start walking off.
Raisa catches up to me pretty quickly. She says over her shoulder to Joel, "Hold on! I'll be back." Joel crosses his arms and leans against his car door. Soon enough, Raisa and I are walking side by side. I hold my wrist like it's broken, and then I let it swing just like Raisa's.
"Nathan," she says. Her voice is soft. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."
I think about denying, but there's no use. "It's okay, I mean, you don't have to apologize. I don't do that anymore—I'm over that." Raisa stops. Her hand grabs at my other arm.
"Are you okay?" Is what she says.
"Yes." It's a robotic response. I cough and repeat it in a less monotonous voice: "Yeah, of course."
She nods. This is the most serious I have seen her since we've met. It scares me a little. Her eyes stare at my feet; where my eyes are focused, and then they travel upward, over my knees and chest and up to my face. Raisa smiles a quiet smile. "Do you want to see something cool?"
I smile back. "Lead the way."
author note: hey, readers, i really appreciate you ! comment with your ideas :) Joel [Andrew Lymam] in the media