Monica Bloom Read Free Page A

out on a couple of horses before the day had got too hot, and they did it on a blanket on a creek bank. He told us how it was, from a physical point of view. He said there was some resistance at first, as if it almost wasn’t right, and then all of a sudden he was in and it was smooth. They did it four times altogether, and she had already written him one letter since he’d got home. He didn’t know what to do about that.
    I remembered a TV show, James at Sixteen , and James had done it on a blanket on a creek bank the first time, so I wasn’t sure about Chris Clarke’s story. Then I remembered James had done it in a sleeping-bag, so I figured it must be true after all. James had also gone through some embarrassing sequence of events involving a condom, but in Chris Clarke’s creek-bank scene those had been provided by Desley, who seemed to know what she was doing.
    Chris Clarke looked the same, other than some minor sunburn that particularly affected his nose, but I was sure he walked differently Maybe it was just all the time on horseback, but Chris Clarke had done it and we hadn’t. And the first thing he did on the first day of grade twelve was give up the details, and the whole day it made it seem like something that might actually happen to any of us that year. Some Desley might choose us, maybe on the bus or at a dance or anywhere, and we would do it without hesitation or reflection. She would be there, taking us through it step by step and we would blank our minds and do it. I wondered if any part of it was uncomfortable or very different to what Chris Clarke had expected, but no one was asking questions.
    We traded some stories, and more than likely a few lies. I said I’d gone to the coast and pashed a girl behind a boat on New Year’s Eve. That was one of the lies. I’d been at the coast, I’d been at the party, but when midnight came we all just shouted ‘Happy New Year’ and fireworks blazedfor ten minutes and then we went home to bed. Story of my life. I would have said her name was Amanda, if anyone had asked. It would have been a great moment, fireworks bursting in the sky and the light of the bonfire on her cheeks as she leaned in towards me and made the move.
    I wasn’t sure if Chris Clarke felt anything for Desley at all. My mother had made the point a couple of times — as mothers, I have since found out, often do — that it was better to wait until it was with someone you felt something for. It was a point I never openly conceded, but I liked the idea of it — feeling something for someone, and one thing leading to another. Bring on the fireworks, bring on the upturned boats.
    Chris Clarke’s story hadn’t been much like that. It was still an impressive act though, an impressive occurrence on a holiday. We felt nothing but admiration for it.
    That night we had two men from my father’s company over for dinner. They had come from head office in Melbourne and were off to the mines in the morning with him, but the flight left early so it was smarter to come up the day before and put in some time in the office in Brisbane.
    They came with him from the city and they shook my hand and Andy’s, and took their ties off when my mother offered to look after their jackets. My father, who would normally change into one of his most casual shirts beforedinner, also kept his business shirt on. In years to come he wouldn’t do that for anyone, but back then he still did, and we had a clear sense that we were ‘entertaining’ when work people came over — he stayed dressed for business and my mother made three courses.
    By the time Andy and I were in our late twenties it would be very different. I once brought a girl home to meet the family and before the meal was served I found my father going through the laundry basket, pulling out a dirty tracksuit top. He told me, ‘I’m not going to wear