A Reason to Exist

Chapter 16

Dad and I had brunch on Acland Street, at a St Kilda institution. I ate a massive second breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon, mushrooms, sweet potato fritters and sourdough toast and a big green smoothie.

'You're hungry. You've worked up an appetite,' dad said. 'Tell me if you're too tired, but I've heard about a skate centre in Cranbourne, called the Skate Shed. Apparently Renton Miller helped design it. There's a foam pit where you can practice tricks. Do you want to check it out?'

'Really? That'd be awesome.'

'Now that you're on a roll and everything.'

We drove out to Cranbourne. It took forever. People preferred Holden Commodores to Land Rovers out here, copycat houses, arched roses, wind chimes and water features. The Shed was busy. The roof amplified the noise of the scooters, BMX bikes and skateboards. As we arrived, a kid lost his grip on a scooter as he did a trick and it went flying through the air like a helicopter.

'That could decapitate someone,' dad said, frowning.

We paid our entry fee and made a beeline to the foam pit.

This place was a paradise for skateboard training. It had a street course, different sized bowls and flows and a state of the art airbag to cushion a fall.

I skated up the ramp and launched into the foam pit, laughing as I fell off my skateboard into the foam. The next time, I attempted an Ollie in the air. It failed. But I giggled as I landed gently. Dad laughed too. 'Who ever knew falling off your skateboard could be so fun?' dad said. I attempted more and more daring tricks, winning a war against myself. Anything seemed like a possibility when concrete is replaced with a soft landing.

Somehow it got to 4pm.

'We have to go,' dad said. 'I need to get you home by 5pm.'

'Can't we stay?' I asked, aware of the toddler-like whine in my voice. 'Just till five when it closes, I'm sure it'll be okay.' There was apprehension on dad's face, but I persisted. 'Come on, just till five. I'll call mum and let her know. It's just an hour.'

I called mum's phone using dad's phone. She didn't answer, so I left a message. I was pumped full of adrenalin and excitement. I found myself blabbing: 'Hi mum, me and dad are at the Skate Shed in Cranbourne. It's so cool, there's a foam pit and airbag, the best training place, like ever. Anyway, I really, really want to stay for another hour because I'm getting so much better at doing tricks. This place is ace. I'll be home at six. Just wanted to let you know.' And then, as an afterthought, I added, 'I'm wearing my helmet.'

I handed dad back his phone. He did that twisting thing with his lips when he's unsure about something.

'She'll be fine,' I said. 'Come on, let's do the airbag. We can't leave without trying the airbag.'

I skated and torpedoed myself onto the airbag. The landing was soft. The fall made me giggle. If only life could be an airbag, we could all live daringly. I did aerial tricks again and again, becoming my own favourite stuntwoman.

Dad had just given me his 'we need to leave in ten minutes warning' when we saw two policemen arrive. A hush fell over the centre. Everyone's wheels slowed and activity was dialled down to barely audible. It's probably some kids suspected of vandalism or something, I thought. I pretty much ignored the cops, because I only had minutes left there and I still had tricks I wanted to attempt.

I did a twist in the air, landing it well. I looked over to see if dad had been watching. The two cops were speaking to him. I walked over, holding my skateboard to my chest like a teddybear.

The taller policeman was apologetic to my dad.

'I'm so sorry, I'm sure you're a good man. It's tricky in cases like this.'

'Dad, what's going on?' I asked. Dad's face was pale. I had the feeling that someone had died. Panic brainwashed me.

'Your mother called triple zero,' the policeman explained, 'to say that your father had to get you home. You're late and it's against the court orders.'

'The court orders?' I repeated. 'The court orders? She called because I'm late home? She's crazy.' From panic and fear, I now felt rage. This tectonic shift in emotion constricted my airways. I felt like punching a wall. 'I'm not going home,' I blurted out. 'I'm not going back there. She's crazy. Calling the police on my dad? He's my dad. We're having a nice afternoon together. He spends time with me. How is that against the law?'

'Macy, it's okay, we'll just get you home,' dad said quietly, wanting to avoid even more of a scene. He looked at the policemen, 'I'm sorry for wasting your time.'

One of the policemen touched dad on the shoulder and said, 'I'm divorced too. Don't worry, it gets better.' It was a beautiful act of kindness from the policeman. Yet he didn't know it'd been four years and it hadn't got better, it had gotten worse. And this was rock bottom. My mother's fetish was punishing my father and controlling his life in whatever way she could.