Ha'penny

"SOLD! The 1923 halfpenny sold for $20 000 to number 93. Congratulations. Next up we have a 1916 mule halfpenny in…"

"$20 000" she mouthed, as the crowds attention fixed on the next item. Her eyes remained on the small coin now being carried away, admitting to herself that she will miss that bit of copper. Yowie had been so proud of it, but this was a chance he would want her to take.

"One day, little Possum, this ha’penny here will bring ya luck! Or maybe a chance." Yowie had said, taking the tin box from his mantel, unfolding the tissue and revealing the coin to her.

"Is it magic?" she had asked.

"Nah, this ha’penny is special because of the year written just here, 1923. Its rare and certain collectors would pay nicely to own it."

"Did you pay for it?"

He had laughed, "Nah, Possum, our sort can’t afford to buy these things. But the world is beautiful in its balance. We can’t afford to buy this, but we can take the time to check our loose change and see if anything is something more. I was lucky to find this. Not everything old is valuable, as most of this old shack can tell ya, but this true fortune here will be yours to do with as ya like."

"Why don’t you just sell it and have lots of money now?"

"Because it’ll be wasted here, spent on the necessities of life. The things that tie me down; debt, food, fixing this rotting old house. You’re young and can still do anything. Change the story this town has set out for ya. Leave it before they try to tie ya laces to the ground. Throw those shoes off completely and run. See everything, meet people that spark life into ya and write ya stories." He had said this as he walked to the mantel again, grabbing his little black book of ideas.

She currently held that black book in her lap, while sitting in the auction house, only a priceless treasure to her. Opening to the page of the charcoal rubbing, she traced the edge with her finger, being careful not to smudge anything.

He had told her to be very careful, "We don’t want to scratch or damage the coin." He had grabbed a bit of charcoal from the fire place and began scratching fine black powder, with his pocket knife, onto the page resting over the coin.

"Okay and now take ya finger, and gently rub this charcoal powder to see the coins details." he instructed. "There ya go, that’s it, and now we’ll do the reverse side. Good job! Now, we will always have a smudging of this lucky little ha’penny of ours."

He had wrapped the coin back up, while she wrote a little ‘P’ at the bottom of the page, with her blackened finger. Every creation they made had been signed with his name and her little ‘P’. Yowie had once proudly proclaimed, “Every piece is only complete with Possum's input.” Whether that was “exactly the line” the painting needed or “the perfect nail hammered” to a veranda that, Possum had known, would never pass any inspection.

The pain that comes from mixing love and sadness hit. So, she stood and left the loud voice of a man trying to sell stuff to people with money to burn. She clung to the black book and let it strengthen her for the next steps. They had not planned for her to take these alone.

When the money was transferred, she bought the van offered for $15 000. It was not fancy, but it was beautiful in a makeshift way. She walked the van, checking it the way she imagined Yowie would have. He would have liked the cupboard door that flipped down to double as a table. He had built something similar in his house, the sketch still alive in his black book. She could imagine Yowie’s approval, “It’s nothing shiny but it will get us from A to B with some comforts of home and some spending money to spare. We can fix it as we go, but let’s go!”

So, she arranged the money with the man telling her of his adventures in the van, “The high wheels are strong and sturdy if you plan on going on any rough terrain. It’s seen me all the way to the NT and back, where do you intend on taking her?”

“Everywhere”

He laughed at that, “Ah to be young and free again. The missus and I were always so sure we would take this van out again, but the bub came along and this old girl was just being wasted here. Glad she’s about to have a hell of an adventure again. But be careful out there, don’t get caught out, be prepared if anything happens.”

“Thanks, I will.” The visceral hurt returned. Realising, all over again, that she was truly on her own.

“Alright then she’s good to go. Also, don’t be afraid to rev her if she gets a bit clunky before you get going.”

Yowie’s memory was in the passenger seat beside her. The first time she was allowed behind the wheel, he had made a giant show about putting his seatbelt on.

“Alright! First, handbrake on, in neutral and now engine on. Good, put her in first gear. Yep, that’s it. Now, slowly let the clutch go and hold it when ya feel like its shaking a bit. Old cars are handy like that. There! Did ya hear that change? Thats the spot. Now, push down on the accelerator a tiny bit. Perfect! So, slowly take the hand brake off as ya ease the rest of the clutch off and there ya go, Possum, keep your foot steady on that accelerator and WE’RE OFF!” Yowie had whooped and laughed as he held on for dear life until the bunny hops slowly turned into a steadier drive.

She waved to the man and his small family as they said goodbye to a way of life they were willing to move on from. She drove till the tarred roads became filled with pot holes, slowly becoming more dusty and bumpy, before turning to dirt roads with craters to dodge.

Yowie had drawn a rough sketch of the Australian Coast over two pages in his black book.

“The whole eastern side would make for a great road trip.” He had said after speaking to a few travellers, always eager to hear their stories. He tapped his finger, on his map, where he had drawn trees with a tiny waterfall amongst them, “This waterfall will be the first stop.”

The only instructions the man had given Yowie was to stop at a rest stop within the mountains.

Yowie had excitedly explained, “apparently, it’s a pit toilet and one picnic bench, theres no bush walking tracks but if we’re lucky we’ll see a nice easy wallaby trail to follow up the hill, away from the coast and over its crest. Then we’ll go down the other side and rock hop the rest of the way up the river till we hit it.”

She left the van near the picnic table and stood on the edge of the dirt road facing a scrub dense mountain. Months ago, the fires had raged through here as well. Now, the bush has renewed itself. Fresh growth sprouted from the ground, climbing the black gum trunks. Every plant seemed to be fighting for space. In a few years, the older growth will take deep root and thin this tangle of life out.

She couldn’t see a wallaby track, or any animal tracks. So, she just started walking. Throwing her body through the mess that embraced her. The density of it thinned more as she climbed up the mountain, still thick, but no longer towering over her. She made her way up, tapping her boots hard on the ground to warn off any slithering friends. The smell of eucalyptus surrounded her and a slight scent of lemon drifted past.

Yowie had shown her the tree with the lemon scented leaves, “Here ya go, Possum, we should wash up before lunch. Grab a bunch of these leaves. Now, crunch them a bit in ya hand. That’s it. Here’s a bit of water and rub ya hands together with the leaves, there ya go! See it soaping up?”

Without him the leaves and trees all looked so similar. She looked down at her hands, covered in charcoal from the old burnt trunks she clung to for support. She could hear Yowie’s past warnings, “Be careful, Possum, not everything left standing is sturdy.”

She continued on, over the crest of the hill and then down a steep rocky decent. Dropping down from rock to rock, keeping clear of the ones being held in place by a thin crust of dirt. She was glad she came down to the river bed where she did. Further up there were pools of water that she waded through and a fallen tree she had to climb over. Easy obstacles, compared to the steep flat rock faces that plunged down towards her now. There was no way she could have made it down from the bushland standing metres above.

She kept breathing and listening to the familiar and comforting nature around her. Having grown up amongst the trees, with a creek just down from the house, she knew the bush was not quiet. It had always been vibrant.

Yowie had helped her focus on everything around her, “Close ya eyes and listen, Possum, can ya hear the water running and leaves swatting and swaying against each other? Notice the birds calling, the little lizard darting amongst the dry debris and ya own breath amongst it all. You're part of the life here.”

She reached a lone fig tree with a bowed trunk that plunged from the rocks above and hovered over the river. He would have said, "Now, that’s a marker if I’ve ever seen one. Something beautiful is up ahead, Possum, keep going." The floating evergreen leaves were a sharp contrast to the surrounding grey rocks. Improbable life, finding a way, was natures own kind of magic.

Reaching a plateau, she followed the trickle of water through a narrow rock formation that opened to a hidden water fall. She let out an exhausted laugh and released tears, easing the unrelenting sadness. The beautiful clear water gently cascaded down a twenty metre drop to a large rock pool. With water warmed by the summer sun bouncing off the plunging white stone walls circling the pool. Water trickled away, the way she had come, filling the smaller pools and tiny waterfalls before following the course of the river she had climbed. She placed her hand on the white walls feeling the powerful heat and noticing the mixture of whites, greys and browns.

“It looks like a giant gum trunk” her voice too loud in the gentle place. She whispered to the stone, “Definitely worth our pretty ha’penny. I miss you, Yowie.”

His voice did not come, but when she finally moved her head and hand from the warmth of the stone, smudges of charcoal remained.

The swim had been healing and she sat down on a large flat rock to dry herself. As soon as she had stepped down the natural rock steps and completely submerged in the calming waters, the tree’s charcoal, her own blood from battling the bush, sweat and tears washed away. She opened her bag and pulled out two little black note books. One was older, its pages thickened from use, the other was new and in it she began to write about the start of an adventure.