I sat
in my house, on my own, and ate some steak
for lunch. It was my special Melbourne Cup
treat, but it didn't cheer me up.
It was
the first Tuesday in November, the day of The
Melbourne Cup. The one day of the year when
the whole of Australia stands still. Why?
It's a bloody horse race? For some bizarre
reason all the grinning masses who would
usually turn their noses up in disdain at the
thought of betting on a horse race, go ga-ga
on this day. They dress up, have parties and
drink champagne for lunch, and all sit around
a huge TV screen borrowed just for the day,
to watch a bloody horse race.
But I
was at home.
Because
I live in Melbourne, and it is the
"Melbourne" Cup, which means the
race is actually run in a racecourse in
Melbourne, then all the workers in this city
have the day off, presumably to actually go
to the race, or to go to the parties. In the
past the bosses must have found that few
people worked on this day.
It is,
for those who don't know, the most
prestigious, and richest, horse race in
Australia.
Big
deal!
Nobody
had invited me to a party. But then again
they never did. And I didn't know anyone I
could invite to one.
So here
I was. Alone.
I was
used to it; I had been alone since I left
school. No, I was alone at school. The high
school in the small town I grew up in didn't
know how to deal with someone who was gay.
No, I'm wrong again, they did. They bullied
them and spat on them and beat them up; and
when they weren't doing that, they just
ignored them, as if they were invisible.
Move to
the city, join the "gay community"
there. Sure. I got a job in the toy section
of the Myer department store in the centre of
Melbourne, the biggest city in the state of
Victoria. I love the kids; they accept me as
I am. I'd love to just sit down and join them
as they played with the toys. But you don't
meet a lot of gay people in a toy store.
I'd
been in Melbourne for three years. Twice I
tried visiting the gay bars, but ended up
quickly walking past them. They frighten me.
To walk into one would tell the whole world.
And the people in there? Effeminate party
goers or hairy bikers popping pills and
injecting crystal meth...
I
turned the TV on. Just senseless faces
smiling and giggling as if there were
something special about the day. Vapid
commentators and women in stupid dresses, all
faking an interest in race horses. I switched
it off.
If I
went walking outside at three o'clock, the
time of the race, there would be hardly
anyone about.
I got
out the four DVD's I had rented, and opened a
can of beer. There was no escape from today.
I would simply get drunk, as quickly and
thoroughly as I could, fall asleep while
watching the DVDs, and wake up tomorrow
pretending the day had never happened.
SCREEEEEECH!!!
I
jumped out of my chair, dropping the can of
beer on the floor.
"Shit!
What was that?" I listened carefully for
a loud crash after the screech, but heard
none. "Just a bloody hoon careering down
the street in a beat-up car. Hasn't he
anything better to do on this day?"
I
picked up the can and stepped on the beer
that had spilled out, treading the froth into
the threadbare carpet. It would dry by the
next day. I sat down again, picked up the
remote, and was ready to skip back to the
scenes I'd missed on my DVD.
BANG!
BANG!
"Shit!
Who is that?" I carefully put my beer
down on the floor where the wet patch was.
Who the hell would be knocking on my door,
especially at three o'clock in the afternoon
in Melbourne on the first Tuesday in
November? I went toward the front door, but
then hesitated. Should I answer it? It
wouldn't be anyone I know, it couldn't be. No
one from work ever visited me, my parents
lived out of town, and my brother only rang,
dutifully, about once every six months, even
though he lived just a few suburbs away. He
never invited me to any of his parties.
I could
just go and sit down again. It must be a
salesperson trying to get me to change my
phone company. I made a step back toward the
lounge room.
BANG!
BANG!
Shit!
That was loud! I pulled the door open in
reflex.
"Hey
there, buddy."
"Buddy?"
I had never seen this person before. He stood
over six-foot tall, dressed in black
motorbike leathers. That must have been his
bike I heard screeching before.
"
'Mate' - sorry, forgot you Arssies say
that." I assumed he meant Aussies.
He
grinned, a white smile shining in the dim
shadows outside the door.
"Well...hi.
Who are you?"
"Hal's
the name. I've rented an apartment here. I
was looking for the janitor, to help me find
my apartment so I can move in. But it don't
look like there's anyone around."
"No,
well, to start with we don't have a janitor -
or landlord - as such, and secondly, it's the
Melbourne Cup."
"Oh....the
what?"
"Never
mind. But I'm sorry; we don't have a
landlord. You'll have to go back to the real
estate agent tomorrow."
"Well,
I tried the agency where I rented the
apartment on this address here--" He
stepped into the flat and held out a crumpled
piece of paper, a map. He leant over and
peered at it, but his loose, dark curly hair
obscured the map for me. "--but, they
seemed to be closed," he continued.
"Yeah,
they would be."
"Why?"
he turned his head and looked at me. I caught
my breath. Olive-skinned, solid jaw and
beautiful kissable lips, and his eyes; light
brown, clear and bright, under dark eyebrows.
"It's
ahh...it's the Melbourne Cup."
"Oh....well,
listen bud - mate - sorry, I've come straight
down from Sydney, an overnight trip, and I'm
beat. Could I come in and at least have some
coffee, or...is that beer I smell?"
"I
guess so."
"Thanks,
buddy." He thumped me on the back and
stepped into the flat.
"I
meant, I guess it is beer you can
smell."
"Your
Arssie beers are something else. You wouldn't
have one handy would you? Driving hundreds of
miles on the wrong side of the road has
really worn me out. Is your living room in
here?" I watched his body as he moved
past me and made his way into the lounge
room. His shoulders were wide and solid; I
could only imagine the muscles underneath his
leathers.
He sat
down on the couch and waited for the beer, so
I went to the fridge and brought him one of
my precious cans. I handed it to him,
watching as he reached out to take it from my
hands.
Perhaps
after he had the drink he would leave.
"Will
the agency for the apartments be open
tomorrow? Or is this like, the weekend for
you Arssies?"
I had
to laugh. "No, it's not the weekend.
They will be open tomorrow."
"Oh,
good."
"How
long have you been here, in Australia, I
mean?"
"Just
a few days. I flew to Sydney, bought a bike,
and I was on my way to freedom."
"Why
didn't you just fly into Melbourne?"
"Goddamit,
I didn't think of that." And he laughed
a hearty laugh. The sound echoed around the
room. It felt strange to hear such a sound in
my flat.
I sat
down in my chair and picked up my beer. The
DVD sat staring at us frozen on the TV
screen.
"Hey,
you been watching a movie. Yeah, that'd be
great, what you got?" He went to pick up
my pile of DVD's.
"No!"
He
looked up in surprise. "What was that,
bud? You don't want to watch a movie?"
"No,
I mean, yes, I mean..."
He
started sorting through the DVDs. Oh well,
this will get rid of him, I thought, once he
sees what the DVDs are.
He
sifted through them, placing one on top of
the other, until the one on the bottom, the
one I had chosen to fall asleep to, was now
placed on top. He put it on down slowly and
deliberately, then glanced up at me, looking
directly into my eyes. Maybe I could drink
the beer out of his can when he left, and
feel the residue of his mouth that was left
on the rim - the closest I would ever get to
a kiss.
"Brokeback
Mountain, eh?"
He kept
staring at me. I swallowed. But I kept
staring back at him; I wasn't going to back
down first.
He
smiled slowly, took a swig of his beer, then
looked up at me again.
"My
favourite movie," he said. He put his
beer down on the coffee table, leant back and
smiled wide. "I'm gonna enjoy living in
these apartments, mate."
I
invited him to stay for tea.
© 2006
Alex Hogan
