A Scene from the story

The south end of Maroubra beach was where I always spent my afternoons after school. The sand was always clean down there and the smell of the salt spray and seaweed crashing into the rocks at the end of the beach filled my hair and drove Mum crazy with the comb. It was my place, my fortress from the darkness and out of his reach. Straight from school I would ride my bike to the surf club and pull my board from beneath the club rooms and head into the surf no matter what it was doing, how it was running, big or small. I’m pretty sure I only even got half way out the back, that place where the blokes in the car park and club rooms talked about, but it seemed I was never really closer to shore than all of them, but I didn’t know.


Out there the wind would blow against my back and whistle in my ears and I felt the calcium growing in the canals and the dull pain it bought with it. I loved the rocking water and the speed the rip took me out to sea. I would jump in with my board, trying to miss the rocks and sail myself out to the horizon with no more than a quick dip of my hands in the water. The rip would drag us out away from the beach and I felt like one of those prisoners escaping from Long Bay and running as hard as they could without turning to look back. I could feel his rotten grip loosen on me as the swirling water rushed to deliver me to sea.

After school me and Ben would run out from the building, all greys and greens of the other kids wagging behind dreading the homework. We would launch our bikes and head straight for the beach. The club was cold and never open when we got there, but we had a safe place for the boards that only old Gray knew about and he told us they would be safe there. I couldn’t leave my board at home. He would probably smash it when he was drunk and had no one to hit, so I left my beat up fibreglass board with Bens under the club where we would get changed in the dark, dumping our school uniforms and bags in the dirt.

Without fail we would be in the water by half 3 and we could surf for at least two and a half hours most days before we had to go home. Some days Ben would have to leave early for music lessons or something like that and I would stay out in the water catching waves and staying away from there as long as I could. I never had to go anywhere, I never had to be home early and even if I had to I would have stayed at the beach anyway. When it got too dark I would paddle in or simply let the ocean push me ashore and I would stash the board under the club and get changed back into my school clothes. Sometimes when I knew he would be home I would stay out after it got dark, but one night I thought I saw a shark surface just near me, so now I paddle in and just walk my bike home slowly, until he would be asleep in the chair.

Our house was only three blocks from the beach in a row of housing commission houses that filled our suburb. I knew everyone and everyone knew me because my father was one of the guards that stood watch of some of their fathers, uncles, brothers and sons. I’m sure everyone hated him and I think he liked that. He would yell and scream at the lady next door when he was drunk and playing his stupid music too loud. She would scream from the backyard through our kitchen window and Mum would have to move aside when he rushed the window and yelled back at her. One night he ran outside with my cricket bat in his hand and I was sure he would knock her head off if she hadn’t of disappeared back into her house.

Being that close to the beach didn’t mean our neighbours loved the ocean. Most of them, like us had nothing and violence seemed the only thing we had in common. It filled the nights and you could bet on the number of times the police or ambulances came and took someone away. My father thought he was better than most of them, he had a job and I suppose that did place him above most of the others, but he shared a demon with them too. He would drink himself drunk everyday and it was only the shift work which bought a reprieve from him each night. On the days he worked nights or early shift he would be passed out when I got home each day so I didn’t have to speak to him or listen to his shouting.

Mum though had to put up with it day in, day out. I would come home and as always she would be in the kitchen making tea or simply staying out of his way and he would be in that chair in the lunge room yelling at the TV or asleep. Even when he was passed out, the smell of beer would be in the room and I never bothered going anywhere near him. I would go into the kitchen and answer Mum’s questions about my day, but I would leave out the part about me going for a surf after school and would make up stories of how Ben and I had ridden here or there on our bikes. Mum couldn’t swim although she loved the ocean, and she would have kittens knowing I was surfing.

I wasn’t afraid of him, I just didn’t want to deal with him or be near him. The other boys fathers would be at little league on the weekends and sometimes they couldn’t come to the beach or go to the dam because they would be going somewhere with their families. We never went anywhere and I used to make up stories about our trips to the coast on long weekends when I knew everyone would be gone and I would wander the beach on my own, trying to stay away as long as I could.