Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.
It was a bad night to be driving. Pot holes gape in the road, speed limits are never observed. The road asks for hot Holdens to wheel spin and drop black rubber as evidence of last night’s hoon attacks. Somebody once said this part of the world is where murderers would dump bodies. Everything is dumped here. There is a small greasy toy teddy bear holding onto the fence with its little sad paws halfway along the road. It was raining that night, the light was split into shafts of black and blinding white. Rainspots on the window, fork lightning cracking somewhere up in the hills.
Mates. there were always mates. Johnny had lots of mates. Mates for drinking, mates for drugging, mates for watching your back, mates for lining you up with women.
On this night it was the mates he went cruising with. They were all soldiers, good boys, they all loved their mothers. Just sometimes they did bad things.
It was the road. That fucking dirty, pot holed road in the middle of nowhere. The source for their inspiration.
I found a pair of shorts, a green t shirt a cigarette box and a beer can. All in a pile, like some poor soul has sat here, smoked, drank and taken off their clothes and left them here. Thistles grow around everywhere, the only bit of colour. Purple, the colour of hope and for God’s sake they need a truckload of it out here.
So Johnny what happened? Were you pushed or did you jump? Did that train slam you against those blue stones covered with bird shit and second rate graffiti. Or did you jump? You know if you jumped you couldn’t have killed yourself,it’s not high enough but who gives a fuck when it comes to suicide, just so long as you finish the job. And so here am I looking at you and your soldier boy uniform and thinking about you. You know what Johnny boy? I feel so sorry for you and your cross. And your dirty brass name plate. Sitting here amongst the crumpled cigarette packets and cheap whiskey cans. And rotten weeds. But you know there was someone who remembered you. Amongst all this shit. They’ve made you a cross and planted a cypress tree.
All bets were off. Whoever could bottom out the car under the bridge and get around that impossible corner won. Sam and Jake all got through.
Johnny was last. He missed the corner. The bridge took him out.
He sleeps here now, amongst the dirt and rubbish with the stumpy cypress tree sitting beside him. Johnny boy, lest we forget.