Mindf**k (13 page)

TRACK 36

I'm still breathing

It was a voice from above that woke me up. But I kept still, lying there with my eyes closed.

‘Is he dead?' asked the man's voice.

‘I don't know. Have a look.'

I heard someone jumping into the hole.

‘He's breathing.' The man tugged at my wet clothes. ‘Hey, boy, are you okay?'

I opened my eyes. It was an old man. Probably a fisherman.

‘Are you okay?' repeated his friend, who was still standing on the edge of the hole.

‘Yes, I'm okay.'

‘Why are you lying here in the hole?'

Partygirl! They would see her!

I moved my hands over the ground, felt the mud pushing in underneath my nails. The memory of Sky and Kerbs came rushing back like a tidal wave. But my head felt clear from all the crying.

She wasn't there. I jumped up.

‘What are you looking for, did you lose something?'

It was the second time that I had stood there and someone had asked me that.

Then I saw it: the drag marks leading away from the edge of the hole into the water.

‘No, nothing, sir. Nothing. I think I found what I was looking for.”

‘Where? In that hole? What's it for?'

‘It's only a hole.'

‘Only a hole?' The guy frowned. ‘I'll never understand you young people. Let's go, Frank. I'm cold. The fish won't bite in this weather anyway; only thing you'll catch is a cold.'

His friend laughed at his stupid joke.

I watched as they walked away. Luckily they didn't see the drag marks.

Again I stared down at the place where she had been. Now I knew that she was real.

In a way it made me feel better, but then again … somewhere in my mind there was a sadness that slowly, like poison, spread through my body, paralysing my arms and legs.

 I curled myself up in the hole again. From the deep water of the dam a distant voice called out to me, like in my dream: ‘Burns … Chris …' The echoes washed over me, dissolving in the misty air.

The cold enveloping my body made me realise that I had to go home.

But first I had to take the stolen car back to the café. Perhaps the car's owners were still around. If not, someone would probably let them know that their car had been returned.

I hitched a ride back to Bloemfontein. It was a talkative man with an old car that picked me up. He spread a blanket over the seat and wanted to know what I was doing on this road. Why were my clothes covered in mud? And, and, and …

I didn't tell him everything.

He stopped at the Jakkelsdrif roadside
café to find out if they sell coffee. I waited outside for him and watched the cars speeding by on the N1.

It was the black car with the flames on the doors that caught my attention. The windows were rolled down. There were three people in the car.

One of them, the girl, waved at me.

HIDDEN TRACK

The End

I waited in the hospital bed. My dad would be visiting me in a while. And later my mother, without her toy boy. He would remain in the car.

My dad eventually found a job. He now peddles TVs at Game. My mom started with divorce proceedings. And all was going well. They were geared for a Disney divorce. Clean, safe, quick. No surprises. All that was missing was the soundtrack by Phil Collins or Elton John. Something like:

The end came like a car crash
And if you ignored the broken bones
And flesh and blood
You’d have to say:
Now wasn’t that fun?

The pills lay in my hand. I felt them getting soggy with sweat.

‘You shouldn’t drink it, Burns,’ said Kerbs. ‘Fuck, buddy, they’re going to poison you with that shit.’

I stared at the trees outside my window. Kerbs sat with his back against the wall. Sky sat at the foot of the bed. And Angelgirl held my hand in her pale, pale hand.

‘They found a girl in Aldam,’ I said when the silence lasted too long. ‘At first they reckoned she had drowned … but then they found this massive hole in her head.’

I sighed. And placed the sweaty pill on the tip of my tongue.

Swallowed.

I am just 17 and my life is over. Head spinning, hands shaking, I need to throw up again. The lights are so bright I can only squint. I can hear people passing, but they’re just blurs.

Sitting here, sweat carving lines through my make-up, I feel as if everyone is judging me. The seats either side of me are empty. People are standing, rather than sit next to me – the junkie. Funny, isn’t it, that I’m drowning in a sea of people, but if I died in front of them, it’d be alone.

I came here with Mai-Ling but they took her away, through those clear plastic swing
doors. She was totally out of it. I thought she had just partied too hard when she fell on the footpath and started throwing up. But then blood started trickling from her ears and nose and I panicked. I got her here as fast as I could but it was hard, no-one would help. I haven’t seen her since and nobody’s telling me what is happening.

You think I am self-pitying. You’re thinking I’m another spoilt rich kid whose daddy gave her everything. Shit, they called the cops before they called my father!

The only time anyone comes near me is to question me again. They want to know everything but I can hardly think, let alone focus on what they are saying. I’m still too smashed to concentrate and they know it, but they keep hammering me. I don’t care what they want to know, I just keep on back at them: “Is Mai-Ling OK? Is my friend alright?”

They act like they don’t hear me.

On and on they go with the same fucking questions, “What did your friend take? What did she drink? When did she start losing consciousness?”

I keep saying to them, I’ve already told you everything – just leave me alone!

“Fuck, I’m going to throw up again!”

It’s been half an hour since I spewed but my stomach won’t settle. My father is still not here, even though I’ve called him like a million times. I have no-one and I’m scared.

“Carrie Jones?” a voice startles me from behind. As I turn I am face to face with two cops. I can hear the whole waiting room exhale. The cavalry has arrived! Someone to take the druggie away.

“Carrie?”

They want me to talk to them but the room is spinning and I can only hold my head in my hands and nod.

“I am Constable Adams and this is Constable Cummings, we need to ask you about what happened tonight.”

Taking my hands from my face, the neon lights burn. I see a woman who could only be three or four years older than I am. The realisation is starting to hit me that I’m in a shit-load of trouble and things have gone way too far. If the police are here then something really terrible must have happened to Mai-Ling. Or am I still tripping and this is not real. But it feels real – too real.

I swallow hard to stop the tears, “Is
Mai-Ling
..?”

The Constable’s face is blank as she glances at her partner. It is as if they are talking in some kind of silent code to each other.

“Is she alright?”

Still no answer.

“Is she?” I am screaming now, I need to know! “For Christ’s sake, will someone tell me what is happening with Mai-Ling?”

My words have poured themselves into my tears and I can hardly catch my breath. “She was just pinging, right? You know, she’s just high. She’ll be okay now that she’s spewed, right?”

The female cop sits down next to me and looks me straight in the eye. She’s freaking me out. My heart is racing and sweat is pouring down my face. My hair is dripping wet and I can’t stop shaking. She is still just staring at me like she’s searching for a way to break the terrible news to me.

She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Mai-Ling is still unconscious. This is very serious. We don’t know yet …”

Fanie Viljoen is a well known Afrikaans South African author, living in Bloemfontein. A full-time writer, illustrator and artist, Fanie has written numerous short stories, radio plays and books for children and teenagers. Several of these books have won awards for children and youth literature in South Africa.

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