𝙾𝚌𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝙴𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢-𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗

The beginning of a horror film?

I don't think so.

I slide open the glass window and Benji pops off the flywire.

"Come with me," he says, holding up Billie's gumboots.

"Where to?" I ask.

"The Bus," Benji says, a grin on his face.

Benji's guitar is strapped to his back.

"Come on," Benji coaxes, "Before Billie wakes up with mozzie bites."

I climb out the window onto the wrap-around porch, take the gumboots and slide my feet in them. Having slid the flywire back into the frame, Benji takes off his jacket and places it over my shoulders. Benji strides off the porch and I follow, our feet crunching the leaf litter into the ground. The Bus, illuminated in the moonlight. Not much further now.

"I'm glad you ended things with Gabriel," Benji says.

"It's like a weight off my shoulders," I say before asking further, "But how come you say that?"

Instead of opening his mouth, Benji opens the door to The Bus. For me.

I step up into the space and Benji turns the fairy lights on behind me. The Bus glows warm yellow. Exhausted from the day, I crash onto the mattress dressed in Billie's spare linen. I submerge myself under the doona. Look up. The ceiling window showcases the stars. The sky looks as though a glitter pot was spilt over it. The smell of frankincense and black pepper scent the air. Benji has lit the incense, its holder in a nearby plant pot.

"You didn't answer my question before," I say, my arms now propping me up upon the bed.

Benji sits in the beanbag across The Bus. "Because we wouldn't be here now," he replies.

I breathe in, then out with the words, "I'm glad I'm here with you."

"We've barely spent time together this year," Benji comments.

It's true. Benji and I used to spend so much time together. With Billie or Reef. With Billie and Reef. But also, just the two of us. My fondest memory of us as kids were when Benji and I would go to the skatepark together. Benji was much better than me. In part because I was terrified of skateboarding on anything but a flat surface. Benji knew this and would hold my hands as I would incline to conquer a concrete bump. On time, he let go as I descended down the other side. Naturally, I moved my weight to the front of the board. I toppled and scraped my knee, blood streaming from the wound. Next door happened to be the town's police station where Benji sourced me a bandaid. I remember Benji sticking the bandaid on my wound himself.

Benji begins strumming his guitar, tuning it a little here and there. Then he plays a solo. I forget that Billie isn't alone in her musical genius.