Boxed In 

It’s almost light when I wake her. Just nudge her a little with my nose. She murmurs something I can’t understand, her breath is sweet and stale. The ground is cold like stone before the sun hits. I ask if there is any food today. She reaches into the bag and pulls out some broken up rissoles. Then she rolls back over and tucks her head into the hood of her jacket.

I get the message.

I eat alone.

Later, when the rain starts, we watch it from the mouth of the garage. The roller door is stuck open, there’s no shutting it out.

She sings softly looking out at the grizzly sky.

“I get no kick from champagne. Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all. So tell me why should it be true, that I get a kick out of you.”

I try to join in.

“Sshh Billy, someone will hear us and then where will we go?”

The squelch of footsteps in the mud can be heard a way off, and she quickly withdraws from the doorway. We tuck ourselves in behind the debris. The whole place is filthy. There’s been no car kept for years. Just bins and some old moving boxes along the wall. My face is pressed close to the cardboard and I can smell the damp. It’s meaty and wet, like beef stock made with old bones.

It says UTENSILS on the side, and someone has drawn an arrow. THIS WAY UP, PLEASE. The next one says BEDROOM.

Her hand is on my neck. It’s warm with soft fingers that make small circles. The pressure is light. She leans close and whispers in my ear.

“We just have to be quiet for a minute. Just a minute.”

I heard them coming before she did, but now they are loudly crashing up the hill, there’s no mistaking the sound. They are running.

The rain is driving down in sheets.

A girl squeals.

“Here! Look, come in here!”

She’s in the garage now. Between UTENSILS and BEDROOM I train an eye on her. I feel the pressure on my neck intensify.

“Fuck. I’m fucking soaked.”

“I can’t believe how wet it is.”

She is laughing. His shirt sticks against his body. She is looking. Her hair is like spaghetti. It is dripping down her back. A lock sticks to her forehead and he pushes it back.

A rough rumbling crack of thunder resonates in the cavernous room. She jumps. The sky lights up behind them.

“I think my phone’s dead. Fucking saturated.”

She paws in her bag.

“Mine’s OK.”

They look out. They look at each other. They laugh.

The ground is muddy puddles. They won’t sit down. He looks towards the boxes.

“Who’s garage you reckon this is?”

“It’ll be the people up above.”

“Which ones, left or right?”

“Not sure. Wonder why it’s open.”

“Fucking lucky it’s open. Could drown in that storm, the way it is.”

She’s nervous but she moves closer to him.

“We could run to the car, we’re already soaked.”

“Too far. We’re at least two blocks away. It’ll pass soon enough, then we can go.”

The other night when we found the garage, she strung up a line stretching across it. “So we can dry things out in the night,” Cassie had explained to me.

Now, he sees it.

He starts to unbutton his shirt.

“What are you doing?” She’s even more nervous now, but I can hear the excited edge in her tone.

“Trying to dry my shirt.” He gestures to the line. “Look.”

“Oh.”

He rings it out and slings it over the line. He’s comfortable without it.

I look at Cassie. Her face is white. She is tense. I lean against her, push my body close to reassure. She squeezes my neck again.

Last week we moved four times. The first place was the best one, but we couldn’t keep it. Some men found us and Cassie felt it wasn’t safe. “Nice smile darlin’, come over here an’ keep me warm,” the biggest one had said.

They smelt like alcohol. There was menace in their tone.

We’d bundled out as fast as we could.

Last night, as I’d tucked in close to her, I heard her crying again. She never said why. I felt the uncontrolled shudders. The compulsive, heaving jolts as I pushed up against her belly – the rough fabric of her shirt scratching against my back.

Sometimes, when we’d had a good few days and our bellies were full and our clothes were dry, Cassie would smile. She’d sing to me and let me join in.

Now, I could hear her humming quietly under her breath as she watched them.

“Do you think they even use this place anymore?” she asks him.

He’s pacing back and forth, restless.

“Doubt it. What a shithole. Wouldn’t put my car in here, looks like the roof might cave in.”

He stops pacing and looks towards the boxes.

Cassie stops humming. She’s frozen now, and I can’t even hear her breath. She closes her eyes.

He starts to walk towards us.

“Wonder if there’s anything in here.”

“It’s just rubbish. It’s probably full of spiders anyway.”

There is a spider in between the flap of the UTENSILS box and its side. I have been watching it out of the corner of my eye for some time now.

He’s almost here. Surely he will see us. I tense up, get ready for the confrontation. Cassie’s still holding her breath.

We’d come across the garage in the middle of the night. Down by the river on a back lane, almost no foot traffic came past. At first we’d been after a spot in the park, under one of the Moreton Bay Figs. With their wide canopies and dramatic root systems, they make a good home.  But in this stretch there was little cover, and it was late.  Along the lane no cars were parked, and the garages were all closed up.  They were at street level, built into the hill. The houses sat on top, off a ways. Lights were off throughout the neighbourhood, and Cassie noticed the open garage. Empty, with some cover at the back.

I could tell she wasn’t sure whether to stay there. But she was tired. And so we stopped, made a space hidden from street view in case anyone should walk by, or the owners should park the car. That first night, she’d slept heavily.

I stayed awake to make sure we were safe. I counted four possums, a colony of bats and, as the sun came up turning the river a muddy brown, a golden orb weaved an expansive web from the power line to the closest frangipani.

I saw no people.

The first runner woke her, and we watched the neighbourhood come alive as people went to work. Some kids rushed past on their way to the bus, but nobody even noticed the open garage.

Cassie smiled.

“Maybe we can stay here, Billy.”

But now we were almost discovered. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rising.

I drew a deep breath.

The thunder broke so close that the whole room shook. I saw the lightening as it connected with the gum across the lane. A violent crack broke the drum of the rain as a heavy branch was cleaved from the trunk.

The girl screamed.

The boxes were forgotten.

Cassie was breathing again, as she watched him rush towards the doorway.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Holy shit. Did you fucking see that Rebecca?” he shouted.

The girl was shaking.

The rain was heavier still, the river swollen and swirling.

Thunder, again. The sky brighter than daylight.

Rain was rushing past in the gutters – choked full of leaves, sticks, smallish branches.

This was the biggest storm we’d seen for a while. I was glad we were dry.
“Yes I fucking saw it. Fuck. Can we get out of here?”

“No way, it’s not safe. The storm is right overhead.”

“Fuck.”

He pulled her in for a hug, distracted her with a kiss.

Cassie looked away.

When Cassie and I met there’d been a boy. He was lanky and dirty. He smelt like cloves and mushroom. He held her hand and smoothed her hair. He found them places to sleep, places to score. He held the strap when she needed it.

Cassie smiled more then.

She sang more.

There were no quiet tears while she pretended to sleep.

One day he was agitated. His muscles tensed under his skin, tight, coiled. Clenched fists. His eyes bulged, their bright centers flicking from side to side.

He pushed her.

She started to cry.

I got between them and he backed away.  He looked at her, disgusted.

“Fuck this.”

He picked up his bag and left.

Cassie had sat on the ground for a while. I don’t know how long. She didn’t say anything. Then she packed up her stuff and walked away.

“Come on Billy, time to get moving.”

I had followed, like always.

Another rumble, but the lightening didn’t come right away.

“It’s passing over,” he said, breaking their embrace and walking towards the entry.

She was calmer now.  “Lets go. I just want to go.”

“Give it a minute.”

The rain was staring to ease.

He turned again, and looked at the boxes. “Might as well see if there’s anything good in here.”

I tensed up. Cassie drew a deep breath.  He started towards us.

The day I first found Cassie she was asleep in an alley. She smelt like rain and sour milk. Her blanket was big and woolly. In her bag I could see there was some food. As I moved quietly towards it, she stirred and opened her eyes.

I froze.

She was startled, but not scared. She remained calm, assessing me.

“Hello.”

I stayed quiet.

“Do you want some food?”

I looked at the bag. I could smell sausage.

She smiled. Reaching in she pulled out some bread, and a thin cold sausage. She broke it in half and gave some to me.

I hadn’t really eaten for a couple of days. It was gone before I’d tasted it.

She laughed.

“Hungry indeed. I’m Cassie.”

He had come around the corner then, and seen us together.

“Hey, get away from her!”

But Cassie had placed a hand on me protectively.

“It’s ok. He’s ok. He’s just hungry. He’s harmless.”

“Can’t just feed him Cass, he’ll never go away.”

“That’d be alright.”

Just like that we were a team.

I was ready to fight. As he covered the concrete between the doorway and the boxes I tensed up. I set my jaw.

He was headed for BEDROOM.

Suddenly he was there. Standing over us. Startled to learn he’s not alone. He looks at Cassie first. She is silent. Staring back. Shaking.

“Hey,” he exclaims. “What are you doing back there?”

I don’t think he’s dangerous. But Cassie is worried and so I curl my lip and bare my teeth.

He steps back a little. Eyes locked on me. “Hey, come on now.” He’s got his arms up, palms facing me.

“What?” the girl says from the doorway, alert.

I begin to growl, low at first, throaty.

He steps back again, but he’s taking too long to get out of our space.

The rain is heavier, but I don’t care.

I bark. Loud, angry, sharp.

The girl screams. He is backing off much faster now. I move out from behind the boxes, knocking UTENSILS over in my rush to intimidate.

They are running. They are in the rain. I hear her squeal, and watch them retreat up street, away from the river.

His shirt is still hanging on the line.

Cassie digs around in the bag. A rissole. She throws it so I can catch it in my mouth.

“Good boy, Billy. Good boy.”

This story was runner up in the Footpath Library Short Story Prize, 2013.