After the Next Two Songs

You travel along the sandy dirt track, the 4WD bouncing, music loud — The Cranberries playing. We hurtle though the national park, making new tracks on the untouched sand. It’s too loud to talk, so you hold on tight to the grab handle, anticipating the dips and bumps.

It’s Dylan’s birthday today, and all he wanted to do was go to Bribie Island, sit on the beach, listen to loud music with a couple of beers.

Dylan is focused on driving, and you do your best to navigate until you reach the smooth sand next to the ocean. The waves are small and predictable, the sky grey but no rain. Still warm enough to swim, even in late autumn.

You drive and drive, not sure where to set up. You figure it doesn’t really matter — it’s beautiful.

You watch Dylan unpack, eager to help. You watch him open the solar panels and you roll out the canopy together. He pulls out two large speakers and a subwoofer and sets the chairs up for "optimal audio immersion".

The beach stretches north and south, as far as you can see. No footprints, only some tire tracks that have been washed partially away by the tide.

You get the snacks ready and beers while Dylan gets his playlist sorted. Not sure what is planned, you sit.

“You ready?” he asks as he fiddles with his phone.

“Sure! You mean to put the music on?”

“Yep. But remember, I just want to listen. I might have to ask you to shut up if you keep talking.”

You laugh. “Alright. It’s your birthday. All good.”

It begins.

Energetic club music blasts out of the speakers. You sit there, not sure what to do with your body. The bass shakes your teeth, vibrating over the sand-dunes. You start to feel fidgety. You are not drunk enough to deal with this.

You look out to the ocean, waves lapping gently, birds flying overhead. The music is jarring.

Sometimes; someone might bring a small speaker, playing quiet acoustic music.

That felt good.

This did not.

You look to Dylan, but he is blank, lost in the rhythm. After a moment, you do catch his eye.

“Ahh… I think I need to go for a walk.”

You don’t want to ruin his birthday, so rather than ask for a change in music or to turn it down, you decide you can fix your own comfort.

“Okay, I’ll come with you.”

You walk about thirty meters, and Dylan stops.

“I can’t go far… the car and my speakers. I spent a lot of money on those. Anyone could take them.”

You haven’t seen anyone since you set up, but you understand. He wants to protect his things.

You head back.

Heavy metal is next.

Tension builds behind your eyes.

“I’m going to take another walk. You can stay here. Just listen and relax.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

You walk the other way until you can think again. The music fades and then nothing... Peace. You can hear the gentle waves, the birds, and the wind rustling through the trees.

A crunching sound from the dunes. You spot a wallaby in the scrub. It stands up, watching you carefully. You don’t want to scare it, so you break eye contact and look interested in something parallel to it. The wallaby slowly lowers its head and continues grazing, intermittently looking up to check your status.

You feel at one with nature, thinking that you are lucky, to be alive right now.

You return to Dylan, excited to tell him about your wallaby friend.

“Yeah, cool. There are heaps of those around here. I’m going to put on a song I think you should hear.”

A track vibrates out of the speakers that reminds you of trauma.

“Hey, do you want some more cheese?”

He puts one finger up to his mouth, indicating you should stay quiet and listen.

You feel sad listening to it. Focusing on the lyrics might help.

You’ll never sleep again, feel the crash from the bedroom upstairs…

Ew. Okay. This is full on.

Your mind wanders, not wanting to go down that path, yet the song can’t be ignored. When it finishes, Dylan looks at you expectantly.

“What do you think?”

“Um… nice drums. The lyrics are full on.”

“Oh, I don’t really listen to the lyrics.”

You sit through two more; your mood is declining, “I’m going to build a sandcastle!”

Together you and Dylan scrape the wet sand into a mound. Conversation is possible.

You tell Dylan your mother used to write before she passed.

“Oh yeah, my mum too. She was published a few times.”

Your curiosity is piqued. “Cool! What were her stories about?”

“I don’t really know. I haven’t read them.”

“Why not?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “Well… I don’t want to get into her mind space. She lives in a fantasy world.”

“Oh okay. Fair enough. I’d like to read them one day.”

“Maybe. One day.”

You go back to the seats.

Melancholic tracks. Inescapable. Dylan notes, “I think I’ll have to turn it up — the sound of the waves is distorting it.”

This amazes you.

You speak up. “Hey… this music… it’s all a little too much. Can we turn it off for a bit?”

That gets his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s loud and… sad. It’s making me really anxious.”

“Ah okay. Well… if it’s the noise, why don’t I turn it up to max, and you let me know if it's too much and I'll turn it down, a little bit at a time, until we find what you can handle?”

You need it off, not turned up to max and negotiated down incrementally.

“I’m going to go for a swim. Wanna come?” hoping to wash the feelings away in the vast Pacific Ocean.

“Nah, I’m okay.” He is looking ahead, not moving.

The water is refreshing. The push and pull of the waves is distracting. Diving is glorious; the water washes away any tension. You float, looking up at the sky, feeling grateful. The sound of seagulls, the majesty of the ocean.

You hope you will go home soon.

You look at Dylan as you dress, he is stuck in place. You are cold and it’s getting late.

Dylan offers cuddles to keep you warm. You lie curled up in his arms; the music now like something from a rave. It feels seedy, contrasted with the sound of seagulls roosting.

The sun starts to set. You pull your sunglasses up, resting on your hair.

“Oh babe… you have dark rings around your eyes.”

He pulls your sunglasses back down, hiding your unsightliness.

You laugh. “Yeah, I guess I’m a little tired. Should we head out?”

“We can go just after the next two songs.”

You lie there, defeated, waiting for the day to end. The songs drag on for — minutes, hours, days — until the playlist is finally done.

Dylan suggests packing up. You remember the process of unpacking and get to work, energised with the thought of getting out of there.

“Hey, you need to do it like—”

“I’ve got it!” you interrupt as you fold the solar panels in the correct arrangement.

The cheese is too soft, too warm. It is unsalvageable; it'll be thrown out. You don’t know what to do with the rubbish, kicking yourself for not bringing a receptacle for it.

“Can we just put the rubbish in the back? I didn’t bring a bag…”

“Just dig a hole and bury it.”

You look at him, disgusted. This is a national park — so rude.

He smiles quickly. “Just messing with you, babe.”

He never jokes like that, but you give him the benefit of the doubt and pile the rubbish into the boot.

You work quickly; the car is packed within minutes.

Driving back, you have to cross an inlet. Dylan drives into the water but it’s too deep. The engine stalls.

You freeze. No, no, no.

You don’t want to be stuck out here for the night. You haven’t seen another car in many hours. He turns the ignition and, luckily, the car starts again. You breathe, still unsure if the car will make it back home.

You merge back onto the highway, music pumping. He asks what your favourite part of the day was.

You answer honestly. “Probably packing up.”

“What, really? Your favourite part was leaving?”

You scramble. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that… more like we worked really well as a team.”

He grunts in reply.

You get back to the city and start to relax again. This confuses you. You love being in nature.

Later that night, you talk. He doesn’t understand why the music stressed you out. You ask if any of his exes had this problem. He says they never told him so. He reassures you that you’ll get used to it.

Relaxing into sleep a thought pops into your head:

How do I get out of this?

You had gone too far. Made too many promises too early. This was going to be a tricky exit.

---------

The next morning, you have a shower and think about what was so wrong about yesterday. Dressed and ready, you bring up the uncomfortable truth.

“Look, Dylan, I don’t think we’re well suited. Yesterday… the music was way too much. I felt so anxious. You took me somewhere and I couldn't leave. I didn’t feel like I could say anything, and even when I did, you wanted to make it louder.”

Tears accidentally escape down your face. He sits up, looking childlike.

“This isn’t a big deal. You’ll get used to it. I can use earphones around you. My dad used to play loud music in the house and my mum would get so upset. I don’t want to be like him.”

“Okay… but seriously, you build speakers as a hobby. I think that’s a compatibility problem.”

“I can change. I learn incredibly fast. Don’t make any rash decisions. You just have to tell me exactly what you need, and I’ll do it. My ex used to pull me up all the time.”

“I felt like I did tell you… but maybe I wasn’t forceful enough... but this is all you wanted for your birthday and I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Just work on telling my more bluntly, babe, and everything will be okay.”

You leave for work.

You carry on — well past the used by date.