Nona and Me (2 page)

I must drive down it a thousand times a year, but today every patch of scrub is etched with memories. There's the turn-off to Rainbow Cliff, where we painted ourselves in
gapa
n
, smearing the white and orange clay on our bodies in made-up designs. And the airport road that took us to weekend swims at Goanna Lagoon. And the spot where I first tasted
guku
, sweet bush honey scooped straight from the tree into my waiting mouth. Like the road, all my memories lead in one direction. Nona.

There's a crest in the road, where it arcs over the cut red earth of the bauxite mine. From there the drive is straight and flat.

We're close to home now. The parade of signs begins.

Welcome to Yirrkala.

Don't drink and drive.

Kava licence area.

Go slow – kids around.

You are now on Aboriginal land – do you have your access permit?

The bus slows as we turn left into the community. I see that familiar glimpse of gleaming turquoise ocean, palm trees swaying in the breeze. We pass Nona's old house. It is low-slung, clad in blue corrugated iron. A concrete verandah stained with years of dirt and the sweat of living. Her grandmother, Rripipi, still lives there, with a crush of relatives I no longer know.

We turn right up Balnguma Road, drive up the hill past Teacher's Row, and lurch to a stop outside Yirrkala School. I stand and say bye to Aiden, but he hardly registers my farewell. He's off in another, more musical world. I walk up the aisle, thank Tony, the driver, and get off. The heat engulfs me. I walk home, over the crest of the hill, scanning the horizon as I walk. The ocean reaches far into the distance, as if trying to hold hands with the sky. I can't see any fishing trawlers out today.

Before I know it, I'm down the hill and I'm home. Our place is wedged in just behind the art centre, propped up on metal poles. I trudge up the wooden stairs, open the unlocked door, and swing my school bag onto the hallway floor. In the lounge room I turn the ceiling fan on to three, its highest setting, and sink into my favourite armchair. The soft, crumpled velour hugs my back and legs. I close my eyes. Nona's face appears again, her features etched with hurt.

“Hey, darling.”

My eyes flick open to see Mum ducking in the back door. She's wearing a red batik bandana to hold her fly-away hair off her flushed face. She moves through the kitchen, to the lounge, and turns the fan down. “It's not that hot.”

I sit up, guiltily. “Shouldn't you still be at work?”

“Forgot my lunch so I just popped home. Lucky we live next door, hey?”

I check the clock on the wall. “Mum, it's three o'clock.”

“Yeah, it'll be a late lunch. Might just have an easy dinner.

Fruit okay?”

“Fine by me.”

Mum picks up her forgotten sandwich. “I've had the craziest day, driving all over looking for Waltjaṉ. She was supposed to come in and sign these prints – it has to be done before I can send them off for framing – so, sure enough, she's nowhere to be found. I went out to Ski Beach and Birritjimi … oh, I saw Guḻwirri there.”

The mention of Nona's mum grabs my attention.

“She seems much better. Well, better than before they left. She said Nona's back at school. Did you see her there?”

“Yeah.”

“It's great she's studying again.”

I think of Nona's coloured-in letters and swirly margin. “Yeah, it is.”

“Do you want to have her over one day? She could catch the bus home with you after school.”

“Maybe.”

I can feel Mum's eyes on me, questioning. She glances at the clock. “I'd better run. I finally found her in town, blowing money on the pokies at the Arnhem Club. Waltjaṉ, that is. She's over at the art centre signing the things now. I'll be home around five. You want to make us that fruit salad?”

“Sure.”

The screen door bangs shut behind her. I'm grateful she's gone.

I turn the fan back up to three again.

*

Will Nona be here today? I try to put her out of my mind, as I get off the school bus and make my way to our usual spot.

As soon as I see them, I know they've been talking about me. Selena and Anya are huddled, heads close together, knees touching, on our bench. They look up as I approach. Selena gives me an easy smile. She has perfect teeth. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“We were thinking about going to the pool this arvo. You want to come?”

This is why I hate living in Yirrkala. I used to love it when I was little, when life was all about community. But now it's all about town.

Anya tilts her head, using a sing-song voice. “Nick will be there.”

Their in-joke smiles decide me. I can't afford to be left out. “Could I borrow some swimmers?”

“We'll go past my place on the way there.”

“Cool. Deal, then.”

I smile, trying to look confident, but I'm already dreading the negotiations with Mum.

Selena looks past me, towards the front entrance. I turn to see Nona has just arrived. She's wearing a uniform today, but no shoes. We watch as she walks towards the cultural centre.

And then Selena comes out with it. “Anya said you were best friends with her in primary school.”

She says it like she's testing me. I realise this must be what they were talking about. I look at Anya. She gives a small shrug, as if the information just happened to slip out.

“What happened?”

I take a deep breath. “She moved to Elcho. We lost touch.”

It's the truth. Good intentions and weekly phone calls dwindled after Nona left for Elcho.

Selena's voice is a mixture of fascination and disgust. “Dad reckons they're totally primitive on Elcho. Did you ever go there?”

I wanted to. To visit Nona. But we never did. “No.”

“He went on this massive week-long fishing trip. Moored off Elcho and saw a huge crowd of Aboriginals on the beach. The old ladies were beating their heads with rocks. Blood everywhere, he said.”

Anya adopts the expected look of disbelief, which is ridiculous because she's been here since primary school. Her dad's a doctor at the hospital and her mum coordinates the Yolŋu apprenticeship program at the refinery. Anya knows about Yolŋu culture, but now she's not letting on.

“Must've been a funeral.” It comes out so soft, I don't know if they hear me.

But they do. Selena nods. “Yeah, obviously. But still – as if you'd beat yourself with a rock. Crazy.”

Anya nods in animated agreement. “Totally.”

*

Nona has doodled her way through another lesson. This time it's English. I see our teacher, Mr Stephens, pretending not to watch her. He's probably wondering the same thing I am: can Nona write? Would she find it embarrassing if he asked her about it?

The bell rings for lunch. We all gather our books and exit the classroom. Selena passes Nona on her way out. She indicates her bare feet. “What happened to your shoes?”

From the tone of her voice I can't tell if she's making fun of her or innocently asking.

Nona keeps her eyes down and mumbles, “Grew legs.”

“What?”

A bit louder now. “Grew legs.”

“What does that mean? They got stolen?”

Nona stares at the ground. I can see she feels shame. I can guess what happened. An aunty probably asked to use her shoes that morning. She would've given them to her without blinking. I'd seen it happen heaps of times when we were kids. I think about explaining this to Selena, but by the time I open my mouth Nona has walked off.

Selena says, “Talk about rude.”

She watches Nona's retreating back, her eyes narrowed. The last person who offended Selena was Anita White and she's practically a social outcast now. I close my mouth again.

*

“Please, Mum. Pleeeeease.”

I hear her sigh through the phone. “I don't want to be driving in and out of town all the time, Rosie. Petrol's expensive.”

“I'll earn it back somehow. I'll wash the car.”

“We're printing again this afternoon. I can't leave just to pick you up.”

“I already told them I'd go.”

“Well, you should've asked me first.”

“You want me to have no friends.”

There's the sound of her smothering a laugh. “Oh, come on –”

I know I'm being melodramatic but I'm desperate. “You always say it doesn't matter that we don't live in town. That you'll drive me in when things are on –”

“This isn't a ‘thing', you want to go swimming.”

“Yeah – with my friends.”

“With Selena.”

Mum doesn't like Selena. So I quickly add, “And Anya.”

Mum hesitates. She thinks Anya is a good influence, and maybe she was – Before Selena (BS).

“You'll have to catch the bus home.”

Hardly anyone catches the public mini-bus. It only runs three times a day and I've never seen a Ŋäpaki person on there. I picture Selena watching in pity and horror as I climb on.

“Mum … come on …”

“If you don't want to do that then just come home. You can go swimming another day.”

But I don't want to leave Selena and Anya alone. I already feel out of the loop. “Fine. I'll catch the bus.”

I hang up on her before she can say bye.

*

It's a sunny twenty-four degrees at the pool. Some people think the water's getting too cold in May, but I swim all year round. I'm not a team-sports person. I value my underwater thinking time.

Selena and Anya have changed out of their uniforms into short skirts and singlet tops. They're sunbaking on plastic deckchairs that they've pulled onto the grass near the fence, so they can chat to any boys of interest who pass.

I swim smooth laps, up and back. Reflected light dances like broken eggshells on the pool's pebblecrete floor. My mind tries to untangle the mess of Selena and Nona. What can I do? I don't want them to be enemies. But even if I could get Selena to be civil, what would they talk about? I mentally scroll through the list of things Selena and I usually discuss. Clothes, boys, parties, downloaded movies, other girls. Our favourite foods, teachers, parents, holidays. I can't see Nona relating to any of that stuff.

My thoughts hit pause each time I reach the shallow end. Nick is there, teaching a lone Thai lady to swim. She flounders, her arms slapping the water in clumsy freestyle. Nick's torso and legs stand patiently nearby. I can imagine his calm, level voice coaching her. “That's it. Long, slow strokes.”

He's wearing boardies and a rash vest which keeps riding up. On lap ten, I catch a glimpse of something on his lower back. It must be a tattoo. I tell myself I'll swim ten extra laps if it's not the name of a girl. Please don't let it be the name of a girl.

By the time I next hit the shallow end, the Thai lady has disappeared. The lesson must have finished. I see Nick's legs walking towards my lane. I'm about to swim past him when he ducks under the surface and waves. I blush and stop, coming up for air. He's so close beside me I can feel his body heat through the water.

“Hey, Flipper.”

That's what he calls me. Flipper. I can't tell if it's affectionate in a you're-friends-with-my-little-sister way, or if it might mean something more.

“Hey, Nick.”

I fumble to take my goggles off. He watches with that amused look in his eyes. I'm sure he knows I have a crush on him.

“You still hanging round with that white trash?”

He nods towards Selena and Anya, grinning at his own joke.

I smile back, forcing myself to stay calm. “Hey, they followed me here.”

“And they won't even get in the water. La-zy. You want to race?”

“I've already done nineteen laps.”

“So you're warmed up. I'm not. It'll be even.

I put my goggles back on. “Alright, then – go!”

I push off the wall, giving myself a cheeky head start. The water envelops me, muffling his exclamation. “Hey! Not fair!”

I power forward. He's gaining on me. I push harder and touch the end wall just ahead of him. I'm all gasping smiles.

He dunks me. “Cheat!”

I can feel his skin on my skin. I'm laughing. And gurgling.

Nick pulls away. “I'd better keep going. You're nineteen up on me.”

He turns and pushes off. And then he's gone, swimming away. I watch his muscular arms plough through the water, then I turn and get out.

As I join the girls on their deckchairs, Selena shakes her head. She half-loves, half-hates that I've got the hots for her brother. “Flirt.”

*

At the pool gates, Anya stops, looking up and down the road for my Mum's troopie. “What time did she say she'd pick you up?”

“She should be here any minute now.”

“We'll wait then, yeah?”

Selena sits down on the footpath. Anya takes a seat beside her. I need them gone. The bus will be here any minute. I don't want them to see me catch it; I lied and told them Mum was coming.

“It's cool, guys. You go. She must be running late.”

“We're not in a hurry.”

“You just want to stay and flirt with Nick.”

“Not true.”

The bus comes into sight. It's turning the corner now. My stomach sinks.

“Seriously – just go.”

“I'm comfy now.”

Selena is sitting with her long, fake-tanned legs stretched in front of her in the sun. Her mini-skirt rides up, barely covering her undies. The bus pulls up opposite us. Two Yolŋu men climb out, both in shabby T-shirts, shorts and dusty thongs.

I should be walking over there. I should be getting on. The men cross the road and walk past us. One throws a disapproving glance at Selena's bare legs. The other man looks back, checking her out. I'm embarrassed, but Selena doesn't seem to care.