Читать книгу Hard Cuddles - James Harding - Страница 19

LOST INNOCENCE

‘Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Realize the strength, move on.’

—Henry Rollins

Carlos and I were sixteen and the song on the radio that summer was ‘Breakfast At Tiffany’s’ by Deep Blue Something. We were all off to a house party in Ormond and it was the night that would change our lives forever. Carlos, who was always working at the local pizza shop, managed to swing a night off. The party was set to be huge. I had my tall, blonde, leggy missus there—she was a bit of a show-stopper, even at that age. The Flower (my missus) had a lot of Maria Sharapova about her and tonight she was wearing this short, black, skin-tight, Quicksilver dress and white sandals. She was the original surfer chick.

As we walked to the party from my place I had the feeling that it was going be a special night. When we arrived at this beautiful two-storey period home, our gang Ramey, Duey, Carlos, Tiles, Ripley, the Flower and myself, said hello to everyone and settled in for a good night. We knew everyone there as we were friendly kids that didn’t look for trouble. I never used to drink, which gave me the opportunity to observe with a clear mind. Carlos and the Fainter were getting stuck right into it. Carlos’ dad would drink to oblivion, so it was no surprise that Carlos was doing the same. He was paralytic in a short space of time and was hugging me and telling me how much he loved me. I used to get around and talk to as many people as I could. Being a teetotaller was fun because you got to see how the drink would make certain people happy or sad or aggressive. It didn’t bother me; I enjoyed talking to people and connecting. What I did find interesting was when people got drunk they found it easier to be honest and real with their emotions. So even though I wasn’t drinking, it was the honesty and vulnerability that I enjoyed sharing with people at the party. Once I had connected with someone, I would eventually find myself talking to other people. As the evening wore on and the alcohol began to flow, so did the hugs and kisses. It was pretty cool.

I guess you could say I was reasonably tuned in to people’s moods and I had a good understanding of how to read a situation. My intuition has always been a great strength of mine and, as luck would have it, I could sense things happening. That night seemed no different but there was a sinister feeling I couldn’t put my finger on.

The Flower’s dad picked her up from my place at 11pm, so we would walk home at about 10 to give myself plenty of time to work my night moves. We would both get into my back bungalow and start throwing shapes. Then, sure enough, at 11pm you could hear the rumble of the vintage V8 Statesman her dad had; what a beautiful car the old Statesman was. After the Flower left I went back into my bungalow and lay on my bed for a little while, contemplating calling it a night. Something I felt deep inside called me to get up and go back to that party, so I did.

When I arrived back, I noticed it was in full swing—there was a new bunch of guys there, guys I had never met before. There was one particular bloke, an older guy who was really agitated, Charlie.

Being the outgoing type, I made my way over to introduce myself and gauge his temperament. Charlie was a lean, Arabic-looking bloke with light eyes and an unsettled vibe about him. He had a Lebanese cedar tree earring in one ear. Charlie told me that no one would let him play his song on the juke box and it had upset him. Some other guys I knew, blokes that you would call young hoods, were making it clear to Charlie that his presence wasn’t wanted. There was definitely going to be a fight if Charlie stayed, so he did the smart thing and went home. Little did anyone know how seriously Charlie took his song playing and selection at the juke box. We were about to find out. As he left I crossed him in the hallway and asked him why he was going, he said ‘Yeah those guys are being racist and won’t let me play my song’, so we said goodnight and left it at that.

Timing is an incredible thing: a couple of seconds here or there can make a lifetime of difference. Carlos and the Fainter were steaming drunk and completely unaware of what they were doing, so I slowly started rounding them up to take them home. I could have easily just walked home by myself, picked up some Maccas and been home within half an hour. But big Carlos felt compelled to say goodnight to every single person at the party, including people he had never met before.

We were all now out the front and rejoicing at what a great evening it was. Carlos rarely got out so he was enjoying the last moments of a night on the town. At last we managed to break free from the throng and walk down Park St towards McDonald’s. Part of me was thinking, ‘Okay we are on the home stretch here we can just relax and enjoy the drunk talk’, which was always one of my favourite parts of going to a local house party. Another part of me was still very much aware that there was still a bit left in the evening.

Three-quarters of the way down the street towards Maccas is where it all went down. I was just a little bit ahead on my skateboard when I turned around to see an old, greenish Celica right behind Carlos and the Fainter. Much to my shock that car drove over the top of Carlos. All of a sudden, Carlos screamed, ‘Hey Cassa! It’s me Carlos, it’s Carlos.’ Poor Carlos was so pissed he didn’t realise he was in danger. He thought it was one of our mates Cassa. It was clear to me then and there that this situation was about to get real. I picked up the skateboard as a weapon and prepared myself for what was about to take place.

Both the passenger and the driver doors opened and the assailants stepped out of the car. It was dark and even though the lights were shining brightly from the car, they were shining towards us. I couldn’t see that one of them had a large pruning saw and the other had a blunt object. One of the assailants charged towards me and the other towards Carlos. I held the skateboard like I was about to swing it and started walking backwards quickly. So quickly I launched backwards over a brick fence and lay there.

As I lay in the garden bed, what came out of Carlos are noises that I can never forget. Cries and screams of pain and innocence were lost as Carlos rolled around drunk on the road while the two armed maniacs attacked him. The sound of metal grating against the road, when the man with the pruning saw slashed at my sixteen-year-old friend. Carlos screamed and, as much as I wanted to be the hero, jump over the fence and attack these men with my skateboard, I couldn’t. I was frozen and I was terrified, the feeling was indescribable—that feeling of fear and not being able to be there for my best mate, who was now lying on the road of Park St in Ormond. It became a scar that I would carry for a long time, the scar of a coward. To me, it didn’t matter that it was over so quickly, I would not have been able to do much even if I had become involved. The shame I carried of being too scared for my own safety is a shame that was compounded when I finally did get up and see Carlos walking towards me with blood oozing out of two open wounds. All I could see of him was the whites of his eyes. There was blood everywhere.

Some people said if Carlos hadn’t been drunk this may not have happened, we may not have taken so long to leave the party. What I heard later at the hospital was if he hadn’t been so drunk, Carlos may not have been able to handle the enormity of the situation.

There was a wound the size and length of an adult ring finger just above his temple and a deep wound the size and length of an adult middle finger just above his jaw bone. The people who did this were serious about causing harm. He looked at me as he staggered towards me, his eyes said help. Blood was gushing out of the wound above his jaw bone.

The Fainter emerged from wherever he was and, surprisingly, Carlos wanted to head back to the party. Carlos and I both knew we couldn’t go to his parents’ house—his dad would have killed us.

When we arrived back at the party it was mayhem. I can safely say no one there had been around or involved in an ultra-violent incident before. The women and girls out the front of the party started hyperventilating and having panic attacks, the blokes were just staring, no one knew what to do or say. It was time to take control of this. I grabbed Carlos who had staggered up onto the front porch and I yelled at the Fainter who kept fainting and falling over. I grabbed them both and got them moving down the street. I started talking to Carlos and kept talking to him and encouraging him, ‘It’s gonna be alright mate, we will go back to my place and we will get some bandages, Dad used to work at Smith and Nephew, so we have heaps of gauze and stuff to sort it out.’ Carlos was actually in really good spirits, which helped the situation. He told me I could have his dog if he died and the Fainter could have his computer. In no time, we were half way home.

The blood had started to congeal on his skin. On the corner of Murray Rd and Cadby Ave Carlos asked me if it was bad and when he asked this question, he put his tongue through the wound in his cheek and touched it with his finger. You never forget things like that. I didn’t answer, we just kept moving. Soon we arrived at my place and I laid Carlos on the back lawn and the Fainter, well, true to form, he fainted next to him. I ran into my parents’ room and told then there had been an incident.

Mum and Dad were fantastic. Dad dressed his wounds and mum undressed him. We gave him some of my old clothes and mum washed what he was wearing. I remember this because she said the water turned red in the washing machine. Dad made the dreaded call to Carlos’ older brother, the Smoker, and explained what had happened. The Smoker was there within minutes. When he saw the state of his younger brother, who was bandaged and in much better shape than he was before, the Smoker just shook his head in disgust. I felt some of that disgust directed at me.

The trip to Monash hospital was a silent one. Carlos was sitting in the front seat with a bucket, the shock had now worn off and he was feeling drowsy. When he was admitted, Carlos managed to sneak off to the toilet where he passed out and smashed his head on the toilet bowl, he was found concussed. Carlos was operated on and had plastic surgery for numerous stitches on both wounds and there were many more superficial wounds on his forearms and body, where he had managed to defend himself. I slept in the Smoker’s car downstairs in the emergency carpark.

It turned out the music lover from the party, Charlie, had gone home and got his father and headed back to the party for revenge. Instead of going into the party and directing their revenge on the appropriate people, they just drove down the street and attacked some innocent kids. Now I would happily put up my hand and admit if we had done the wrong thing. But let me tell you, they should have known better. Both father and son did some minor jail time for grievous bodily harm.

This was the moment our lives changed forever. We lost our innocence in Park St, Ormond that night. The innocence of youth was torn out of our hearts by a revenge-stricken adolescent and his father, all over a song on a juke box. Carlos and I became suspicious of people, less trusting. We began to think everyone had an angle and was trying to harm us. It is awful to think that way and it took me years to understand the significance of the experience. Then even longer again to gain closure on the guilt I carried with me. I internalised the situation and made it my fault. After that I felt responsible for Carlos’ scars and for Carlos going forward.

The positive was that we became blood brothers over our dance with the devil and for years we became a team that was unbreakable. This was only the beginning of a wild ride; Carlos and I were like two bandits with the pedal to the metal.

Not long after this we both started experimenting with acid, which to me now was a good indicator of the effect this incident had on both of us. We longed to escape. The truth was we felt as though we had both been let down and violated by society. We were young and didn’t understand how to deal with our emotions, so we began to self-medicate. Acid was our first port of call. Most kids experiment with smoking and the drinking, not us, we went straight into the mind-altering world of LSD.

I have heard if you take more than ten acid trips in your lifetime you can be considered legally insane, acid never leaves your body like other drugs and this is why you have flashbacks. I once took ten tabs in two hours, there is no other drug like acid in my opinion, but it’s not for everyone. There are certain people who completely lose the plot if they dropped one. Carlos and I had lived a nightmare; we weren’t really scared of anything from there on in.