Warm Beers

A streak of sunlight hits the windshield, so hot and bright I find myself in a headachy dream state that drags my concentration away. The white sunlight reminds me of the ‘jetty days’, age 14 through to 17. Every summer afternoon all five of us boys would go down there, eager to seem fearless as we drank shitty warm beers and backflipped off the railings. We would stand, sprawled against the thick wooden sun-bleached beams and attempt to pull the older girls from the college. They didn’t pay much attention to us. Back then, none of us had jobs, it was the end of year ten, our first summer without school, we were keen to not let anyone take away our newfound freedom. None of us wanted to continue with school, it just didn’t suit us.

A gust of wind from the sea hits the car causing sand and dust to fly up by the worksite. The plastic sheeting ripples and smacks against the framework of the new house. I start the ute, feeling the jolts as I drive on the dirt track, towards the road. Sometimes I wish I stayed in school; I wish I shut up, sat still, and did me work. Maybe then I would have had the opportunity to study some business shit in university, instead of being covered in plaster and drenched in sweat every day. Us boys never knew what hard work was until we got our jobs, all we did was complain about school and do absolute fuck all.

“Fuck sitting in a classroom, shitfaced and bored every day,” Bryce would say.

Blake and I wanted to become carpenters like our Dads, skilled ones, respected. Thomas and Kade wanted to be welders up at the metal sheeting place in the main part of town. Then there was Bryce, a drop kick, bad influence on all of us. He paid less attention to school then any of us did- and that's saying a lot. His life just seemed to be going downhill by grade 10, got caught for smoking a billy out the back of gym, big trouble with the school. Ended in a two-week suspension and a record. After his suspension he just sort of gave up completely, something changed in him. I always wondered if it had something to do with home, his Dad wasn’t happy with him. I remember seeing Bryce that weekend, pulling his shirt up to go swimming and I saw the bruises that trailed down his ribs. It wasn’t just Bryce’s dad, all our fathers were at us. Suppose that’s something that brought us together.

The fly screen door slams behind me as I stumble into the house kicking at my heels for my boots to come off.

“Shit, my bad.” I hesitate as I enter the kitchen, Dad’s already started on the beers.

“You’re home late.” He looks at me sternly, not one for soft smiles and hellos. Usually, he warms up to me if I keep ignoring his shitty mood.

“Yeah, work up on the coast, two hours’ drive. Boss said its good money.”

I walk over to the fridge and pull a can from the plastic casing. I push my hair back feeling the twists and knots in each strand as I walk over to the couch.

“Put a beer in the fridge for ye old man ay?” I turn to look at Dad’s face, smirking. Amused at the idea that he had to make me get up just as I sat down. I sigh while I push myself off the couch, stumbling as my calves tighten.

“No need to be such a prick about it, don’t you want to help ye dad out?” Dad’s face tenses with his rough, leather-like skin pulling at his eyes and mouth. Freckle’s dapple across his arms and shoulders while his work cap sits half straight on his head, all creased and dirty.

“I haven’t even done anything, what are you on about?” My voice cracks as I spit the words out. Dad leans forward,

“You watch your damn tone mate. You’re beginning to sound like your brother who hasn’t learned a damn thing about respect.” I turn to dad, standing tall, looking directly at him. There he goes again, always got some shit to say about Brain. My older brother never even calls home anymore, Dad’s always giving him the shits, ran him out of the house. It’s like he despises Brian for being his son.

He goes on again bitterly,

“You know when I was your age, I was working a real job, providing for ye mum and our child. Not doing some apprenticeship with a half-arsed company.”

“Its 5:30 and I’ve been up since 3:30 in the morning, driving two hours up the coast, just to put a roof up in the wind. I’m not just doing fuck all, I’m working my arse off.”

I drag my hands through my hair again, pulling at the ends, pushing it from my eyes. I turn to shove the cans in the fridge. Dad stays quiet, staring at the T.V, like he doesn’t care about me enough to listen.

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