An Odd Kind Of Wonderful

Chapter Six

                  

CHAPTER SIX
"The trick is to keep breathing." (Garbage)

                "Let's have a vote," says Joel, after three minutes of high-pitched lively argumentative conversation. "Does anyone actually know where they want to go?"

                There's a pause, and then Raisa responds. "I was thinking we could drive, and then pull over when we see something interesting."

                "Do you even understand the concept of fuel cost?" Joel snaps, "Raisa, this car is anything but efficient. Not to mention I doubt it could even get from here to Bondi without breaking down."

                "Bondi?" I say.

                "What about it?" Joel cranes his neck to see into the back seat.

                "Could you get us to Bondi?"

                "I propose an axiom." Raisa butts in before Joel can say anything else. Joel and I stare at her until she augments a translation; "Let's go to the beach."

                "What about fuel consumption don't you understand?" Joel groans, exasperated. He firms his grip on the steering wheel and I see his shoulders tense as he draws a slow breath. The car is silent. Well, except for the tumbling rumble of the engine running on idle—I wonder if a car is supposed to sound like that—and the zoom of other cars and buses going by. "I'll tell you what," Joel offers, "If you pay for petrol at some point, I will consider driving you both to Bondi Beach." Before we can chant out a celebration, he adds, "And we're in this as a group, right? I'm not your chauffeur. Okay?"

                Raisa nods, and I echo it. "Of course." I say.

                "Right," says Joel, and reverses the car out of the parking space.

                -

                We stop for fuel and cheap one-dollar coffees at Leichardt. Raisa makes fun of the suburb's name—she originally pronounces it Leek-hard, with the 'h' sounding like a motorcycle engine. I give Joel my only twenty dollar note and Raisa pitches in three two-dollar coins. Joel accidentally (?) slams his door as he marches into the service station.

                "So," Raisa turns around to face me. "What was your name again?"

                I try and find the effort to be offended, but I get distracted by discovering that Raisa has diamond-stud earrings when he places a strand of white hair behind her ear. "Nathan," I say, in as strong a voice I can muster, so it might cement in her memory this time.

                Raisa mouths my name. "Hi, Nathan. I'm sorry, I'm the worst with names. You haven't forgotten mine, have you?"

                "No way," I say. "I could never forget a name like Razor."

                We share a laugh, hearing it bounce around the tiny space that is Joel's car. Just like that, whatever strange barrier that was between us is now broken, shattering into pieces that scatter around Raisa's and my feet. I stop laughing when I see Raisa's eyes roaming around my face, almost like she's a robot, scanning me.

                "What's the bruising?" She blurts. She points to my neck, just where the bottom of my chin meets my throat.

                I stare down at my thighs, studying a loose thread in my jeans, just above my knee. I think about saying, 'oh, that? Yeah, that's nothing,' but Raisa's eyes are piercing and her brain is sharp enough to see past that. What's the loss in telling the truth? She is a complete stranger, and will forever remain that way. So I tell her fragments of the truth. I say it was an accident. I say I didn't mean to. And that's true enough, isn't it?