The heat was pleasant,
in the distance of several fence-lines a lawnmower hummed against the melody of a Sunday afternoon. The smell of dry-cut grass, the call of laughter from the park across the road, every piece had been interwoven into a tapestry of the perfect day and its beautiful simplicity was awashed with a sanguine hue.
‘Beer?’ Michael asked us, to our chorused reply harmonised into something alike agreement,
‘They jump out at you on days like this,’ he laughed, plunging his arms into the frozen tundra of the esky and returning with a cradle of ice and cans, ‘must be the light when you open the lid that scares them,’ he finished, dropping five drinks for five friends upon the table, there was a short moment of everyone wondering when life had last been this simple.
The radio warbled with a stereo description of some cricket match far away but still close to heart, a plane above held all those who we chose not to remember and then dragged away our troubles with a cresting trail of cloud behind it, it was as if this perfect little slice of afternoon was already a painted memory. Things really were simple.
‘Do you have any wine glasses?’ Theo asked while inspecting the can, his internal logic often blooming in questions that reminded me of a M.C. Esher painting.
Theo had come from the coast, for three hours he sat on the train to get here and the unchecked timetable that was stuffed into his top pocket showed little concern for his journey back to his home. ‘Trains can be missed,’ he later said, while eyeing off the allure of Mike’s couch, ‘I wouldn’t have missed a chance to catch up.’
He was free. From an awkward daydreamer, who I first met while walking to school, Theo became was so joyful within himself now, he had travelled the world, smiled at hundreds of new friends, found love, and found himself a home. We were always surprised when he started renting with Bec, his life of rambling had made us think that he was too full of energy to ever sit still. You could go months without seeing Theo, he’d be fruit picking overseas, running guided tours of parks that he’d never heard of, just when you thought that you’ve lost track he’d walk into your backyard, sunburnt and unannounced, everything would continue as if he had never left.
‘Beer tastes better in a wine glass,’ he said, defending himself against our laughter, ‘try it or be a coward, both works.’
Oi, sleepyhead, where do you keep you keep the wine glasses?’ Mike pushed at his partner gently, refusing to be called a coward by a man who has never owned a car.
Gail was asleep, eternally two weeks behind, the exhausted nurse had been taking little naps like this for longer than any of us could remember. We once had a tally of how many pubs that she’d been kicked out of for sleeping and thought about throwing her a party when it got to one hundred. Jokes like these fall away, and as we all lost track of time it became easier to visit each other at home.
She worked hard though; you could always rely on her to remember the small things that most would forget. She was dedicated all the way down to her cotton socks and, despite sleeping like a cat, Gail was probably the most reliable person that I’ve ever known; a little serious at times but there was a kindness behind the bags under her eyes, one that stopped us from encouraging her two-year-old from drawing on her face with lipstick…for a while anyway.
‘N-next to the beer glasses,’ she said in half-roused perplexity, turning over the question asked by her stupidly endearing partner to see if it was in anyway a trap.
‘Yep, should have known that.’ Mike clicked followed by another chorus of laughter, himself yelling a few good-willed insults back at us as he left to get some glasses.
Hughes had leapt to his feet and snatched up the two-year-old, dizzily waltzing her round the yard as she laughed with delight.
He was good with kids; I was always jealous how he could make them laugh with just a face or a small joke that only they would understand.
He’d been a soldier for a few years and had returned a different man. He was quiet now, once so excited to lead us all in song or argue about nothing until the sun rose, he’d sit in silence now, happy just to be in the company of friends. I was never brave enough to ask about his time away, but I think that he was thankful for it to be left in the past. It seemed an injury that was still too close for words.
He couldn’t stand to see someone sad, when Gail and Mike’s child had lost her bear, Hughes took her to every bird and every flower that they could find to ask if they had seen it. After an afternoon of searching, he found it under a pile of leaves, placing it on the front step as if it were waiting for her to come home.
A tower of a man with such a gentle heart, we really don’t deserve to know a friend that’s so quietly kind.
‘It’s not bad Theo,’ I said holding the golden glass up to the sun and watching the beer bubble within. Ambrosia was trapped within this shining hour of memory and joy, I closed my eyes and became scared that this feeling was only a memory, that even as more moments of revelry were to be shared with these friends, one day they will come to an end. A candle cannot burn forever and as Mike strikes a match to light a mosquito coil, I smile, exhaling slowly and looking once again to the wine glass filled with beer and the light of the setting sun within.
‘You’re a mad bastard, but it’s not bad.’
J. McCray
2022
Sunday Short Stories 