Lifespan of Starlight (14 page)

After a while the truck sounds a security warning, and the kids bolt with hoots of
laughter. Kess steals a glance my way as the kids run off, pausing mid-sentence to
check my reaction. It’s almost as if she’s asking for permission to find it funny.
Of course, I’m doing the same thing, so we end up sharing a chuckle that gets bigger
as we let go.

We finally calm the giggles and she picks up the conversation again. She’s telling
me about her twin, Malena, who only made it into a tech school. She’s hoping for
a transportation apprenticeship.

‘She wants to travel, see a bit of the country.’ Kessa sighs. ‘So I guess it makes
sense …’

Transportation workers only make D-grade rations at best. Maybe it’s because they’re
twins, but it seems sort of harsh to have their lives mapped out so differently already.
Kessa’s set to make at least B-grade if she plays her cards right.

‘So how is she about you making it into Karoly High?’ I ask cautiously.

‘Yeah. She’s okay. Pretty good, I think. I mean, she would have sat the test if she
thought she had a chance, but we all have to do what we can, don’t we? Use the skills
that we have to contribute.’

It’s straight out of a textbook or a political speech. I’m not sure what to say.

‘So you’ll take the emergency stream if they want you to?’ I ask.

‘Yeah. If I’m better suited to that. Definitely if there are more jobs.’

‘But don’t you want to make your own decisions about your life?’

‘Yeah, sure, I guess. But I’ll take their advice if they give it.’ She tilts her
head towards me, a slight crease in her forehead. ‘We’re pretty lucky to make it
into such a good school, don’t you think? So we owe something back for the opportunity.’

She’s textbook talking again. Her confidence in the system strikes me. Such unquestioning
trust.

‘So, what about you, Scout?’ Kessa asks. ‘Which junior school do you go to? I never
understood why you didn’t come to Footscray Primary.’

‘Yeah …’ I lift one arm and flick at some invisible insect. Brushing the idea away.
‘I go to a school near Mum’s work. It was easier that way.’

‘Of course.’ She nods meaningfully, trying to show that she understands. Although,
of course, she doesn’t. ‘Cos she’s … is she … is it just you both?’

She must have been dying to ask that question for years. ‘Yeah, Dad’s …’ I pause.
‘He’s not with us anymore.’

It’s sort of true.

Kessa places a hand on my shoulder while I guide the conversation back to her. Changing
the subject fast.

I can’t tell her the whole truth, at least definitely not until I get to know her
better. And even then, I’m not sure it would be fair to dump her with that sort of
thing. Once I tell her, she won’t have the choice not to know.

For the rest of the afternoon I steer away from certain topics by asking Kessa more
questions about herself. Safe stuff. I’ll have to be careful if we’re going to hang
out together. All she has to do is add up a few key facts, and my whole world could
fall apart.

‘Ready?’

‘Just one minute, yeah?’ I’m sitting next to the whiteboard in Mason’s garage, legs
tucked to one side. A light blue blanket lies ready in front of me.

Mason must be kneeling rather than sitting cross-legged
like he usually does. His
head and shoulders are visible. The comscreen is on the coffee table in front of
us, the stopwatch running. We won’t have anyone to hit start like we did when Mason
was the only one jumping, so we’re using the two-minute mark as zero.

The digits spin up to 1.45 and keep racing.

‘Okay. Let’s do this,’ from Mason. The stopwatch reaches 02.00, and I hear a faint
breath beside me.

My eyes close, shoulders relax and I exhale. Let myself sink. It’s different with
someone else here, harder to let go of my connection to the world around me.

Especially since that someone is Mason.

It takes longer than usual to still my thoughts and allow my sense of time to slow,
but soon I find myself deep inside timelessness, a familiar place that’s also foreign.
My senses are mute as I drift forwards.

It’s a safe amount of time, one minute. I pull up to the surface and gasp with the
rush of it: the weight of my body against the floor, the truth of my own heartbeat.
After being shut down in the tunnel, each sense is deliciously alive.

I turn to find Mason watching me. Our eyes meet but I don’t say anything because
it’s hard to find words while I’m still being hit with here and now. He’s breathing
hard too, his face open and amazed.

‘You saw me come back?’ I realise it’s the first time he’s seen it. Still breathless.
I have to find my brain somewhere in this flood of sensations. I reach forwards for
the blanket.

His eyes follow as I pull it awkwardly around my shoulders, then drop once in a nod.

With two soft corners held to my chest, I shuffle around so that I’m facing him and
lift a hand to rest on the whiteboard. ‘Amazing, hey?’

‘Better than amazing.’ There’s a pause as he keeps watching me but then he blinks
as if making a decision. He shuffles in a quarter turn and places a hand, firm and
warm, on top of mine.

We’re here,
his expression seems to say.
Real and okay
.

We don’t need to speak, because I know. You crave any sort of contact after the buzz,
confirmation that you’re back.

He hasn’t reached for his blanket but the screen shields him from my view. I can
see the even skin of his chest and shoulders but nothing lower.

‘I forgot to check the stopwatch,’ I say as I remember. We both turn to the comscreen
but it’s pointless by now because already it’s flown past 6.45.

Our hands haven’t moved. He’s already watching me when I turn back. ‘Did you see
how long you were gone?’ I ask.

‘About one minute and five seconds.’

‘And me?

‘One thirty, I think.’

I let out a sigh. ‘So I was late.’

‘Maybe not. How long did it take before you went in?’

‘Don’t know.’ But I see what he means. ‘A while, I think. Maybe as much as thirty
seconds.’

‘You did it, though,’ he says. ‘Jumped with someone else here. Even though you weren’t
sure you could.’

‘So did you.’ I shift my position, but my hand stays in place. I don’t think I could
move it if I wanted to.

‘Did you get any sense of me in there? With you?’ asks Mason.

Head shaking. ‘No. Did you?’

The drop of each corner of his mouth shows the answer: no.

I tug my thumb free and hook it over his. ‘I don’t think we even
exist
when we’re
in there,’ I try. ‘So how could we sense someone else?’

‘We exist, I think,’ Mason says. His eyes drift to my thumb. ‘But we’re part of everything,
you know? That’s how I think of it. There’s no difference between you and me.’ He
looks up. ‘No separation.’

Strange, but I know what he means. Until I knew how to skip it wouldn’t have made
sense to me. But now I feel the truth of it without being able to explain why, that
sense of being everywhere and nowhere at once, both insignificant and limitless.

His hand doesn’t move but I sense a change about him. ‘Again?’ he asks.

‘Now? But I … I’m not ready.’

‘We can wait if you want.’ His hand drops but his face is still open.

‘I’m not even sure I –’

‘
Scout
. Don’t stress. It’s okay.’ He cuts me off with a grin.

‘We have all the time in the universe.’

I
’M UP AT
six on the morning of Mum’s birthday, my head too full of plans to sleep
in.
The
extras from last night’s delivery are stashed in a cupboard so I lift them onto the
bench and quietly get mixing: flour, real egg and milk, plus a dash of vanilla. The
batter waits on the bench while I dress and set up the breakfast tray.

The second pancake is ready to flip when Mum’s alarm sounds. There’s not much movement
from the bed, so I wait for her to wake to the sizzles and aromas of her birthday
breakfast. She’s barely moved, but her eyes crinkle in a smile as I carry it all
over.

‘Oh … sweetheart.’ Mum sits up, rubbing her cheek as I pat the doona flat and position
the tray in place.

‘Happy birthday, Mum!’ She’s warm with sleep as I lean in for a hug.

‘This is lovely, Scout. Thank you.’

Mum’s quiet as she takes it all in: two pancakes and a jug of real maple syrup on
the side. I tried to get strawberries too, but that line was flagged ‘unavailable’.
Sliced lab banana had to do. Her present is carefully placed on the side of the tray,
wrapped in pale blue tissue paper from the recycle shop.

As I watch, her head lifts to check out the bench and the bottle of maple syrup left
there – the expensive stuff, of course – but she doesn’t need to worry because I
bought it with my credits, not hers.

She looks back at the present, and then up at me: ‘So, um … what first?’

‘Whatever you like, Mum. It’s your day.’

Her answer turns into a yawn, but at least she seems pleased with the spread.

‘Or have a shower first, if you like? I could keep the pancakes warm.’

A short pause, then: ‘Actually, that would be lovely.’

‘Okay, here.’ I hold out the envelope with my chip in it. ‘Swipe with this, and use
all the hot water you like.’

‘Oh, Scout. No, I can swipe for my own shower.’ She collects her pants and shirt
from the back of a chair but I step between her and the door, waving the envelope
seductively in the air.

‘Come on, it’s my shout. You don’t have to swipe for anything today.’

‘Sweetheart, no.’ I can tell from the creases on her forehead that I’m not going
to win this one. Other than following her to the shower and beating her to the sensor,
there’s not much I can
do, so I let her go and retrieve the pancakes, stashing them
in the mini-oven to keep warm.

Two more rest at the top of the stack when she comes back, hair wet and pulled back
in a bun. She seems crisper now, her lines in better focus than when she was fuzzy
with sleep.

We sit with the tray between us on the bed, eating from the same plate like we used
to when I was little. It gives me the tiniest twang about how it felt to share her
food when we were so hungry. Maybe this is only one compared to thousands of meals,
but at least it’s one closer to paying her back.

I eat my second pancake rolled in one hand while brewing her a cup of tea, sweetened
with a teaspoon of honey as a treat. I carry the steaming mug over to her, licking
the last traces of maple syrup from my fingers.

She blows on the tea, places it on her bedside table and checks the clock. Still
twenty minutes before she has to leave and anyway, how could they be angry with her
for turning up a little bit late on her birthday?

‘Come on.’ I hold out the present.

She unwraps carefully, gently pulling off the tape to be saved for another day. Inside
is a big box with two layers of homemade chocolates, a mix of soft centres and hard.

Her eyes go wide and she bites a lip, pulled tight from her smile. ‘Yum. Thank you.’
She doesn’t look quite as happy as I thought she would, but I’ll chalk it up to surprise.

‘That’s just the start.’ I pick up the itinerary and unfold it for her, a whole weekend
of fun and indulgence already booked:
a Spanish movie at the cinema this evening,
then tomorrow afternoon a full hair treatment before dinner with her two best friends.

Her mouth shapes some of the words as she reads down, her eyes growing larger with
each item and her eyebrows drawing closer. She reaches the end and looks up, confused.

I act as if I haven’t noticed. ‘What do you think? A whole birthday weekend of indulgence
…’

Her focus drops as she reads aloud from the list. ‘2.15pm, hair treatment at the
Riphair Salon?’

‘Yeah, you deserve to be spoiled.’

Her confusion barely shifts. ‘But a hair treatment? Scout … you realise how much
those things cost?’ She shakes her head.

‘It’s a present. You don’t need to pay, I’ve already booked you in.’

‘But we can’t afford anything like that,’ Mum keeps going. ‘When have you ever seen
me go to a
hair
salon?’ Still, she doesn’t get it.

‘But that’s the point. You would have been able to save up for this sort of stuff
if not …’ I wave my hands around to complete the sentence.
If not for me
. ‘So now
I have my own credits, I’m paying you back. A little bit, at least.’

It’s only the slightest shift, a kind of fading in her face until she’s staring across
at me through a fog. She’s meant to be happy.

‘It’s a present, okay? So you have to accept it.’ My hands rest on my hips as I add,
‘
And
enjoy it.’ There. She’s been told.

Still she just stares at me so I pick up the tray, carrying it back to the kitchenette
while she stays on the bed.

‘Better get ready for work,’ I call over my shoulder.

I’m sponging stickiness from the plate when I feel her hands on my shoulders.