In the Desert, There Were Seeds by Elizabeth Tan

Author:Elizabeth Tan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Margaret River Press

Sometimes Close, Sometimes Distant

Laurie Steed

SOPHIE WAS ALWAYS LATE. Jen had told her: 10:15am at the latest, park out front. She had arrived at 10:31, mouthing some nonsense about Hutton Street, two-car pile-up, flashing lights and a freeway crawl up to Karrinyup Road. Which was fine, but it would not stop Steven’s flight from arriving at any later than the scheduled time of 11:15, and Jen was keen to at least try to get there before the kids did.

For her part, Sophie was adamant she’d left in good time. And as they took the Northbridge tunnel, ten minutes into the trip, Sophie was grip, release, tremor on the wheel, and teeth biting her bottom lip.

“What’s wrong?” asked Jen.

“Nothing,” said Sophie.

“Seriously,” said Jen. “What’s this about?”

She tapped the steering wheel. “Luke’s birthday.”

“Oh,” Jen said. And then, “It’s been years.”

“Still miss him. You always miss your brother.”

They turned left, and on to the Great Eastern Highway, although no one really knew what exactly was so great about it. The Burswood Casino? Cut-price Vegas. Belmont? Cheap foils and bucket bongs. And as for all those motels, well, Jen hoped that someone, somehow, had stayed there straight and sober.

She guessed it depended on where a person found their rock bottom, and whether, having found it, they were able to get themselves to a meeting—We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable—and from there, stay on the straight and narrow.

“I guess you’re never ready for someone to leave,” said Jen. “And you can never prepare for it.”

“You get it, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” said Jen. “A bit different for me.”

“He would have been forty-four.”

“What would he have made of us, do you think?”

“We’ve done alright,” said Sophie.

“We’ve aged,” said Jen. “Like chairs left out in the sun.”

Sophie pulled into a petrol station car park, staring out as cars sped past. “Your Latest Trick” came on the stereo; in a second the saxophone intro had filled the car, and Sophie had to turn it off.

“Is this the radio?”

Sophie shook her head. “The album.”

“What, the album?” said Jen. “You mean you still have the tape?”

She nodded, tapped the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” said Sophie, but Jen still felt sick to have missed it.

They’d been driving to Karrakatta, 14 July, 1985. It wasn’t Sophie’s first funeral, nor was it Jen’s, though it felt so much closer than the goodbyes to grans and old family friends. She had worn a lemon yellow dress, hair clipped up to the side. Sophie had worn a pantsuit, borrowed from Jen.

Jen had made it to the funeral, but not the wake. Her brother, Trent, had not made it to either. He’d not been seen much since the news of Luke’s passing. Jen had told him, it’s important to say your goodbyes, and he’d said, it’s a bit late for that, don’t you think? And things felt somehow different this time, no longer brother/sister banter but rather a gap in where they’d go from here, and how, if at all, they would move on from his loss.

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