Waiting Room

James looked over at Skye and saw her yawn, again. It was only quarter time. So, he ambled over to the drinks table, punched Dammo in the arm, grabbed a handful of chips and stood behind Skye’s chair, supposedly on his way back to his own. He was still waiting for an answer to the big question he’d asked her. Maybe he should start smaller. She tipped back her head, blonde ponytail dangling down her chair and smiled up at him.

“You wanna go for a walk?” He hoped he wasn’t pushing it, but after a quick glance around the room and one more at the telly Skye sounded relieved when she answered.

“Yeah.”

Fuck, she said yes. He tried to walk out casually. Like he was going to the kitchen, showing her to the loo, anything but sneaking off with the girl he’d invited to the party. As they passed Dammo, James was still taunted with a kick and a meaningful wink. Well, it was a bit more than a wink, but he pretended not to notice. He grabbed a couple of beers. Beers? Should he have risked swiping one of Mel’s girly drinks? Nah, beers, Skye might be enjoying slumming it with him and his mates, even if she wasn’t watching the game. Beers it was.

“Fuck I hate the Footy,” she said as they left the house. “I don’t get it.”

James didn’t really want to miss the Semi-Final, but then, he really liked this girl.

“You wanna head down to the river?”

They cut across the park and down to the riverbank, not talking, just basking in the sun and the newness of whatever this was between them.

“What a perfect day,” she said, smiling up at the sun. “Too nice to be indoors.”

Her nose ring was sparkling in the sun. Skye’s parents were loaded, but very into permaculture. Her dad was a Uni lecturer, her mum worked for the CSIRO. They were what James’s Aunty (a bit of an academic herself) called “academic hippies”. It looked like Skye would turn into an academic hippie too. Was that just a hipster? She already did slam poetry. What was he even doing with this girl?

She smiled as he handed her a beer. Fuck, she was hot. He elbowed her as they sat down, pretending to fight for space.

“This brings back memories,” she said, breathing in the fresh river air.

“Does it?” He asked with a smile, still worming his way into her personal space, but Skye was staring off into the distance.

He lay back on the grass. He felt open, as open as the sky above. Open to the sky… Hmmm…. Open to Skye…

“So, about going to Surfers’ for Schoolies… have you thought any more about it?” He asked hesitatingly.

“Hmmm…” Skye mumbled and smiled, before laying back on the grass, basking in the unusually warm September sun. “What’s your first memory?” She asked suddenly.

And because he felt so open, he went with the truth, almost.

“The waiting room.”

“At the doctor’s?” She sounded more disappointed than questioning.

“I was sick a lot as a kid. Asthma.”

But his explanation did little to fill the silence. It was a pebble in the ocean of all that lay between them. He did remember the doctor’s surgery, and the hospital. He remembered the times when his lungs refused to work like they should, remembered his Mum telling him stories as they sat in the bathroom late at night, all the taps running as it filled up with steam. These were some of his earliest memories, but his first memory was most definitely of the methadone waiting room at the local pharmacy. So why didn’t he tell Skye as much? It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his Mum. Shit, he was proud of her. When she’d found herself pregnant with him she turned her life around and never looked back. That was the real reason he only told Skye half of the truth. He didn’t want this stuck up rich girl judging his mum for making poor life choices.

Every afternoon, until he’d been old enough to get himself home from school, had been the same. Like every other mother and kid combo they’d head to the shops. Only their routine was slightly different. He remembered how he’d get annoyed if other people were already waiting at the pharmacy. If he couldn’t get a chair. For a kid who never normally sat still he felt strangely possessive of those waiting room chairs. He loved the way the pharmacist’s face would loom suddenly at the little window. The ritual exchange of empty brown bottles for full brown bottles. The way Greg asked him about school. If he went into the store today the old pharmacist would still ask him how he was going, and he seemed as proud as an uncle when James told him he was planning on TAFE after he graduated. “Studying to be a sparky. That’s a great trade.”

When James looked back at Skye she was lost in her own dark memories. Probably something to do with beer and boys and rivers, so he nudged her once more and said something about wanting to get back before the game ended.

She walked just ahead of him the whole way across the park. That didn’t seem like a good sign.

When they got back to the party he caught Dammo’s eye behind Skye’s back, pretended to be upset and whispered, “No go.”

James still didn’t have an answer to his question, and realised he wasn’t likely to get one. Dammo just smirked and took a sudden interest in Skye’s back for the rest of the game. Probably imagining he’d play the vampire and go to town on Skye’s neck. James didn’t know if he cared whether Dammo wanted Skye or not. Shit, he didn’t know any more if he even wanted Skye or not. He caught Mel shooting him dagger looks as her eyes went from him to Skye and back again. James smiled and relaxed into his chair. Maybe he should have asked Mel to go down to the river and to Schoolies. Maybe next time he would.