“Garbage,” Paul said. “We’re a fifteen minute walk to High Street Highway.”
“Far out,” Christine argued. “We’ve got a good hour’s walk ahead of us.”
“We head south to High Street Highway,” Paul said opening out their map.
Tom didn’t blame Jud and Christine for their doubtful faces. The map looked wrinkled and messy with its wavy lines and dots and stars. To an untrained person, it didn’t even look like a map.
“You want to lug him down all those winding tracks for over an hour or trust our orienteering skills for fifteen minutes?” Paul asked.
“You’d better know what you’re talking about,” Jud grumbled.
Paul and Jud carried the front poles and Tom and Christine the back. They moved slowly along the end of the gully and through the thick bush. It actually took twenty minutes to get out as Paul tried to avoid the steeper gullies.
They reached the wire fence that marked the edge of the reserve! There was the welcome noise of traffic on the main highway. They put down the stretcher carefully. Paul and Jud waved down a car.
Paul spoke to the driver and pointed to Gerry, lying on the stretcher. The driver nodded and spoke into his mobile phone.
The ambulance arrived. The ambulance men examined Gerry, praised the boys for having the sense to make something flat to carry him on and shook their heads over the nasty angle of his leg. He was put in the ambulance and driven away.
Paul and Tom offered to go back with Jud and Christine and help them get the bikes out. Paul checked the compass and led them straight back to the old quarry.
Gerry’s bike had a buckled wheel. Jud and Christine’s bikes had broken front forks. They dragged the bikes out of the steep gully and half-carried and half-wheeled them along the winding tracks that led out.
“You’re right,” Christine said. “It is a lot longer along the tracks.”
“Can I join the Orienteering Club?” Jud asked.
“It would be cool to be able to find our way through the bush,” Christine agreed.
“You wouldn’t be allowed to go trail bike riding with the Club,” Paul warned.
“I’ll stick to the regular places to ride from now on,” Jud said. “Our parents are going to get uptight when they discover where we’ve been riding.”
“Very uptight!” Christine agreed. “Orienteering sounds cool. Can you really find your way around with just a compass?”
“Anywhere,” Tom said proudly.
The next day, they were allowed to visit Gerry in hospital. He had his leg in plaster and up on a traction hoist. He had a headache from his concussion, but he was pleased to see them.
“It was ace that you got me out so quickly,” he told them. “The doctors said if it wasn’t for your help, I could’ve been in a lot worse mess.”
“It was Paul,” Jud said. “He navigated straight through the bush with the compass. Christine and I are joining the Orienteering Club.”
“I’ll be stuck home for weeks,” Gerry said. “I’ll join as soon as I can walk again.”
Paul and Tom grinned. They had three recruits for the Orienteering Club and the problem of the trail bike riding on the bush reserve was solved.
It was a good ending to an unpleasant accident.
Back to top
Andre’s Surprise
Elizabeth Smart
“Pa’s coming, Pa’s coming,” Andre shouted, racing to the gate for his first sight of the familiar car. “I’ll probably hear it before I see it,” he called back over his shoulder to Mum and Dad.
“It’s funny,” he muttered to himself. “Pa’s car is just like him, old and dented.”
Andre loved Saturday lunches and being entertained by Pa’s funny stories but, most of all, he loved his surprises.
Andre scampered onto the footpath when he heard the familiar roar of Pa’s car, heralding its approach. He watched it jerking towards the house, hesitate and then commence its painstaking parking manoeuvres
Grinning, he spotted a new scratch on the side door just below the old rust patch. Poor Pa, his car was always collecting scratches and he said it was never his fault. Not even when it happened in his garage!
Slowly, Pa eased himself out of the seat, steadied himself upright and hobbled towards his grandson.
How can anyone walk so slowly? Andre wondered in that second before flinging his arms around his Pa’s middle.
Pa held him tightly then patted his back before releasing him. Stepping back, Andre gave his cheek a quick rub. Pa’s old tweed jacket with the patches on the elbows was scratchy but he didn’t mind. That, and his stale musty smell, was his Pa. There was no one else like him.
“Any surprise today, Pa?” he asked.
“Surprise, what do you mean surprise?” Pa smiled, his usual reply – their Saturday ritual.
Andre searched Pa’s pockets; the special game they played every week. There was always something: a tiny toy, a sweet, a shell, an interesting stone or some other trinket.
The search began, pocket after pocket, jacket, shirt, trousers. Nothing. No surprise. Andre felt the usual things; keys, hankie, wallet, nothing else. He looked up at Pa sadly. He had never forgotten before. There was always something.
“Look again,” Pa said, his voice shaking as his hands patted each pocket in turn.
Andre checked again. Nothing. Tears of disappointment pricked his eyes. Why had Pa forgotten? Why had he spoilt their game after all this time?
“I’m sure there was something, but I’m getting a bit forgetful,” Pa said, his forehead wrinkled with concern. “I’ll remember next week.”
Andre brushed away the escaping tear and, holding Pa’s gnarled fingers, they proceeded slowly towards the house.
The next week it happened again. Pa’s pockets were empty.
“It’s not really the surprise I miss,” Andre’s said to Mum choking back a sob. “It’s just that it’s been our special Saturday game ever since I was tiny. Pa’s changing. He’s different now somehow.”
“He’s getting old,” Mum said, “and forgetfulness is something that can happen with age.” She gave him a sympathetic hug. “I don’t like it either. Sometimes he forgets for a moment who I am, and he’s known me all my life too.”
Pa’s forgetfulness worsened. It was not only forgetting the surprises, but he kept forgetting his story endings as well. Saturdays weren’t the same any more. When Andre looked at Pa, he felt sad and cross at the same time. Pa still looked the same, his wispy grey hair struggling to cover his head, his lined face and his wrinkled clothes, but somehow he wasn’t. What was happening?
“I think he’s getting Alzheimer’s,” Dad said.
Andre looked quizzical.
“It’s an illness that affects the memory,” Dad explained. “It sometimes happens to old people and it can gradually get worse.”
“Well I hate it,” Andre retorted. “I want my Pa to stay the same. Why do things have to change?” he shouted stomping from the room and slamming his bedroom door.
One Saturday, Pa remembered. In his shirt pocket, Andre found a tiny, metal box. He gave Pa another excited hug before helping him into the house. Holding his little box aloft, he grinned at his parents. Everything was going to be all right.
But it wasn’t. Some Saturdays Pa was more like his old self. Sometimes he was quiet and he was crotchety.
Pa came to Andre’s tenth birthday party. He sat under a big umbrella laughing, clapping and cheering, enjoying the games.
Andre was glad he was happy but watching him made an uncomfortable lumpy feeling come into his tummy. He knew Pa had forgotten his birthday and that Mum had bought his present for him because he had seen it hidden under her bed.
The next Saturday, Andre swung on the gate as usual, waiting for Pa. He waited and waited. After a while, Mum and Dad joined him.
“Do you think something’s happened?” Andre asked. “Pa’s never late.?
??
“I’ve tried ringing,” Mum said, “but there’s no answer. Maybe he’s forgotten. I’ll drive over and see what’s happened. Wait here. I’ll ring when I get there.”
“I wish Pa would use his mobile,” Andre said as Mum drove off. “I’ve tried to show him but he keeps forgetting. He says he’s too old to learn new things.”
He gave Dad a rueful smile.
Pa wasn’t home, but his car was. Mum found him wandering along the footpath, lost, upset, confused and angry.
Lunch that day was miserable. They tried to be bright for Pa’s sake but he hunched over the table, his face drawn and white, just playing with his food.
“I’m worried about Pa,” Dad said later. “He needs looking after. Maybe he could go to a retirement home.”
“I agree,” Mum replied, “although I don’t like the idea of him leaving his house.”
“He could live with us,” Andre suggested. “There’s room for another bed in my room.”
“That’s a great idea,” Mum said giving him a hug. “But what would happen when Dad and I are work and you are at school? We don’t want him getting lost again.”
Andre agreed, but he was still worried. Pa wouldn’t like living in a strange place.
“Maybe Pa could come here for the holidays and I could look after him then,” he suggested.
“Pa would love that,” Mum smiled. “Perhaps he could come for part of your holidays but you need time to do other things as well.”
After weeks of organising, Pa moved into his new home. He was grumpy and confused. He complained he couldn’t find anything. He didn’t like the food and said there were too many old people.
Mum and Dad chuckled.
“He’s probably one of the oldest there,” Mum smiled.
Then Dad sold Pa’s car. Andre was upset. That old car was part of Pa; part of their old life and Pa had loved his car.
“Why can’t we keep it?” Andre whined. “We could fix it and I could learn to drive in it.”
“You’ve seen it,” Dad replied, ruffling his hair. “It needs too much doing to it and where would we keep it anyhow?”
Pa continued coming for lunch on Saturdays but now Dad did the driving. Lunch wasn’t the same any more. Pa didn’t appear to know where he was, his stories were forgotten, he hardly spoke and sometimes he left the table and wandered off in the middle of the meal.
Andre’s tummy lump felt worse after each visit. Why was Pa changing?
“It’s his Alzheimer’s causing his memory loss,” Mum explained.
“Well I hate it. It’s a horrible disease,” Andre grumbled. “I want my old Pa back.”
“Sadly things do change,” Dad said hugging him. “Look at the way you’re growing and look at all my grey hair.”
Andre didn’t care about those things. He just wanted his Pa.
Then Pa had a fall and was confined to a wheelchair. There was no chance now of a holiday stay with Andre and Saturday lunches became impossible. Instead, the family visited him.
On fine days, Andre wheeled him round the garden and, although Pa didn’t speak much, he smiled and pointed. Sometimes Andre picked some lavender for him and watched Pa roll it between his fingers and sniff it.
Andre was pleased to find something for him to enjoy. But every week, seeing Pa shrunken and frail, sitting so still in his strange room, his bumpy blue veined hands resting on the arms of his chair, made that horrible lumpy feeling return.
“He seems to be disappearing,” Andre sobbed into Mum’s shoulder as they left his room. “I wish we could stop it.”
Mum hugged him tightly and kept her arm around him as they walked to the car. Andre looked at her sad face.
It must be terrible for her too, he thought. Her Dad.
Andre stayed with a friend during the holidays. On his next visit to Pa, he was shocked to see his dull eyes and blank face. Worst of all, Pa didn’t recognise him.
“Pa, it’s me, Andre,” Andre said, taking his wrinkled old hand.
Pa glanced at him before turning back to the window. Andre blinked away his tears.
“It’s me, Andre,” his voice quavered.
Pa continued staring outside.
That night in bed, sobs overwhelmed Andre as his tears cascaded into his pillow. Finally, he scrubbed them away, remembering how Pa hated seeing him cry. But, but... his Pa, his wonderful Pa, didn’t know him.
“Sometimes he’ll still remember you,” Mum said coming to sit beside him. “It’s very sad, but fortunately I don’t think he realises what’s happening. All we can do is show him our love. He’ll understand that. Just think about the happy times you’ve spent with him and remember those.”
Lying awake, Andre reminisced about the happy times, especially their surprise game.
I’ll never forget that, he thought. That was our special thing.
He wished there was something he could do to cheer Pa up and help him remember him. Tossing and turning, his doona tying itself in knots, he tried to think of a plan. Just as he was falling asleep, an idea struck him. He knew what he would do. He would make Pa a card surprise.
The next day, Andre couldn’t wait to start but, homework first.
“If only I didn’t have so much,” he complained to Mum.
“You don’t want to get into trouble,” Mum said.
He gave her a wry smile and busied himself in his books, longing to be finished so he could begin his surprise.
Every afternoon that week, Andre worked on his card; cutting, pasting and illustrating. Last of all, he pasted his school photo on the front and wrote his name underneath in large colourful letters.
Saturday arrived. Andre could hardly wait to see Pa. With his surprise behind his back and a huge grin, he rushed into Pa’s room. Pa was sitting in his usual spot by the window.
“I’ve a surprise for you Pa,” Andre said leaning over him. “And you don’t even have to search my pockets,” he giggled.
Pa turned his head slowly and looked at Andre’s bright face. With a glimmer of a smile, he took the card.
Carefully, he turned it over and over. He opened and closed it, studying the decorations and illustrations, running his fingers over the detailed collage. Occasionally, he looked up at Andre then back down again. At last, he placed the card in his lap, Andre’s photo on top. He traced the colourful letters and looked up.
“Andre,” he said slowly, a smile curving his lips that almost lit up his eyes.
Andre laughed, giving his Pa big hug.
“Yes,” he said, “and now you won’t forget me.”
Andre still visits Pa on Saturdays. The beautiful card resides on the table beside his chair. Each time he visits, Andre hands it to him. Pa always looks at it carefully, as if it were new, opening and closing it.
“You still remember me, don’t you?” Andre whispers, putting his arms around the old man’s neck.
Pa looks up from the card and stares at him.
He doesn’t talk any more.
Back to top
Alteration
Lizbeth Klein
The feel of the air was changing, not in degrees, but in texture. Light dwindled. Mirrored sky lamps blurred. Sounds faded. The last thing Braeg heard was Caiwyn’s voice.
“You’ll be alright.”
She sounded hollow, caught inside a tunnel or something. She faded. Everything disappeared.
Awareness came, but no actual thoughts filtered through his head. They had ceased. He was aware of shifting. A continuous, unpleasant sound reverberated through him. Muted rumblings sounded far away... yet near. He did not have emotions and he did not know time, here, just existence. Lights flickered in his eyes. Eons passed. Braeg reached out and touched something soft. He could feel and move about.
Pain. He flinched. Something red flowed around him; now he was aware of discomfort and a sharp, cutting pain again. He writhed, opened his mouth, gurgling in the f
luid, then closed it again. He never had such alteration as this before and a sense of aloneness washed over him, and exhilaration. His hands reached up and something firm clamped over his wrists and held them down again.
Pressure! He couldn’t move. He felt sharp, excruciating pressure along his arms and legs, then more red fluid swam past his eyes. A loud shriek made him feel fear. It was coming from him. He struggled and kicked.
The feel of the fluid around him was changing, not in degrees, but in texture. A firmness. The pain receded to a distant thought. He tried to move his limbs, but the fluid had grown sluggish, like congealed pudding. Everything slowed down. An age passed and the stars wheeled overhead.
Braeg’s memory began to return. He was lifted, laid upon layers of soft furs. His neck felt too weak and wobbly to turn his head. Light shone dimly, so it wouldn’t hurt his eyes. He opened them in thin slits, then all the way and blinked several times. Blurred light; shadows passed. He lifted the new limbs where his arms had been. He could flap them. Yes, he saw shiny black flippers. A new body, remade for a watery existence. For a time.
Something came close to his face and he felt fear again. The thing made a sound and two blue orbs opened and closed. In a corner of his memory, he recalled that it was a human face. Caiwyn? That name was familiar. The face smiled and her long appendages tugged at something on his neck.
“You’re almost finished,” she said.
He understood her words. Yes, that’s what those sounds were.
“You look great. Sky Wind will be impressed.”
Impressed? By what? Braeg opened his mouth to ask her. A strange sound gurgled from his own lips. Lips? He glanced down and saw a black snout with long, wiry whiskers. He looked up at Caiwyn.
Please don’t forget I’m human! Please!
She smiled again. “We won’t. You’ll need the water, as soon as I adjust your gills. But not yet. Not until you’re strong enough. How do you feel?”
Scared, he admitted. Wish I could talk.
“That’s understandable,” she said and ran her warm fingers down his left flipper.
Her touching him like that felt so odd. His flesh tingled.
“Now rest. I’ll be back soon to release your gills. Promise.”