she can’t understand why women choose to paint their faces like clowns. Mum’s obviously had a change of heart on the matter. The thought of Mum walking into a shop to buy lipstick seems completely wacky to me.
I decide I’m going to keep a closer eye on her. I might suggest we start doing more things together as a family, as painful as that might be. Then again, perhaps I’m being ridiculous. Mum has a silly crush on Father Ryan – well, so what? I wonder what it’s like to be Mum’s age and have a crush on someone. Can that really happen? Can oldies really be attracted to one another?
A sickening feeling starts to build in the pit of my stomach, so I push such thoughts out of my mind. I’ve got a school social to go to and I’m not going to let the thought of old people lusting after each other ruin my fun. I don’t know how people can live with themselves when they get old.
5
I approach the recreation centre. Jon Bon Jovi is singing about livin’ on a prayer. There’ll be plenty of crap songs to sit through tonight, but Rhonda Parker will be worth every painful note. She’s different. Not only is she achingly beautiful, but she carries herself like she knows something the rest of us haven’t yet grasped. Best of all, she doesn’t go with the popular guys, even though a few of them have made it pretty obvious that they dig her. I think she has way too much substance to waste on some sweaty, sporty type.
Rhonda moved to Middleton with her mother, who works at our local art gallery. They’ve made the brave move from city to small country town – cue the duelling banjos from ‘Deliverance’. Since Rhonda arrived, it’s like the place has been transformed for me. I no longer walk dazedly down familiar streets; I now see things that I’ve never noticed before. I see the vivid colours of the gardens I pass and notice how certain plants have their own poetry. I see the pretty little fences that neatly surround the manicured gardens. I see the front porch furniture that residents have chosen and notice that the condition of the furniture often matches the condition of the yard. I see the cracks in the footpath and wonder how many love-struck individuals have walked this same path, before me. Middleton’s sky even seems to have changed colour. Most days, it’s a vivid electric blue. It’s as if this insignificant town has become the centre of the world, and there’s no place I’d rather be.
I open the glass doors and enter the recreation centre. Inside, there’s a horrific display of tacky streamers and balloons in vulgar pastels. I cringe. I see a few people on the dance floor, doing the ‘step to the left, step to the right’ dance. But most are seated around the edges in the semi-darkness, looking sheepish, trying to muster up the courage to get up and dance. I scan the venue, looking for my friends. They spot me first and come walking towards me.
‘Hey, guys, check out the cat with the funked-up threads!’ Jeremy stands back with his head tilted, taking in the full effect of my ensemble. He nods in approval. Jeremy has a great way of making the simplest moments seem incredibly consequential.
‘Hi, guys.’
‘Hey there, Stan,’ they mumble.
‘How long have you guys been here?’ They have stupid grins on their faces and I feel as though I’ve missed something.
‘Long enough, buddy. But it’s not too late. You’ve got to come and ride the mystery train with us.’ Jeremy breaks into girlish laughter and I wonder what the hell he’s on about. I follow Mike, Jeremy and Steve to the squash courts, away from the dance floor.
‘Now, just linger here for a bit. We don’t want to look suss,’ says Steve. But he looks very suspicious. With his fidgeting hands stuffed into his pockets, he resembles a pathetic Frank Spencer, in need of a toilet.
‘Well, you already look damn suss to me. You actually look drunk.’
‘Shhh, Stan! Do you want us hung by our balls?’ Jeremy’s eyes
I decide I’m going to keep a closer eye on her. I might suggest we start doing more things together as a family, as painful as that might be. Then again, perhaps I’m being ridiculous. Mum has a silly crush on Father Ryan – well, so what? I wonder what it’s like to be Mum’s age and have a crush on someone. Can that really happen? Can oldies really be attracted to one another?
A sickening feeling starts to build in the pit of my stomach, so I push such thoughts out of my mind. I’ve got a school social to go to and I’m not going to let the thought of old people lusting after each other ruin my fun. I don’t know how people can live with themselves when they get old.
5
I approach the recreation centre. Jon Bon Jovi is singing about livin’ on a prayer. There’ll be plenty of crap songs to sit through tonight, but Rhonda Parker will be worth every painful note. She’s different. Not only is she achingly beautiful, but she carries herself like she knows something the rest of us haven’t yet grasped. Best of all, she doesn’t go with the popular guys, even though a few of them have made it pretty obvious that they dig her. I think she has way too much substance to waste on some sweaty, sporty type.
Rhonda moved to Middleton with her mother, who works at our local art gallery. They’ve made the brave move from city to small country town – cue the duelling banjos from ‘Deliverance’. Since Rhonda arrived, it’s like the place has been transformed for me. I no longer walk dazedly down familiar streets; I now see things that I’ve never noticed before. I see the vivid colours of the gardens I pass and notice how certain plants have their own poetry. I see the pretty little fences that neatly surround the manicured gardens. I see the front porch furniture that residents have chosen and notice that the condition of the furniture often matches the condition of the yard. I see the cracks in the footpath and wonder how many love-struck individuals have walked this same path, before me. Middleton’s sky even seems to have changed colour. Most days, it’s a vivid electric blue. It’s as if this insignificant town has become the centre of the world, and there’s no place I’d rather be.
I open the glass doors and enter the recreation centre. Inside, there’s a horrific display of tacky streamers and balloons in vulgar pastels. I cringe. I see a few people on the dance floor, doing the ‘step to the left, step to the right’ dance. But most are seated around the edges in the semi-darkness, looking sheepish, trying to muster up the courage to get up and dance. I scan the venue, looking for my friends. They spot me first and come walking towards me.
‘Hey, guys, check out the cat with the funked-up threads!’ Jeremy stands back with his head tilted, taking in the full effect of my ensemble. He nods in approval. Jeremy has a great way of making the simplest moments seem incredibly consequential.
‘Hi, guys.’
‘Hey there, Stan,’ they mumble.
‘How long have you guys been here?’ They have stupid grins on their faces and I feel as though I’ve missed something.
‘Long enough, buddy. But it’s not too late. You’ve got to come and ride the mystery train with us.’ Jeremy breaks into girlish laughter and I wonder what the hell he’s on about. I follow Mike, Jeremy and Steve to the squash courts, away from the dance floor.
‘Now, just linger here for a bit. We don’t want to look suss,’ says Steve. But he looks very suspicious. With his fidgeting hands stuffed into his pockets, he resembles a pathetic Frank Spencer, in need of a toilet.
‘Well, you already look damn suss to me. You actually look drunk.’
‘Shhh, Stan! Do you want us hung by our balls?’ Jeremy’s eyes
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