Along the Western Highway

Jangling keys. Loaded bags. Thudding doors. Seatbelts on. Handbrake off and the car’s steady acceleration out of the driveway.

The engine purred as we drifted down the street.

“We’ll meet your mum and sister on the other side of the border. In Adelaide, okay?” my father said, turning his head to look at me in the seat behind.

“And we’ll stop at the bakery when we reach Ballarat. You can get anything you want.”

I replied with a grunt. The promise for sweets was a cushion, meant to soften the blow of keeping me in the back seat. I was still too small and still too young to ride in the front where the big kids sat. He turned to face me again.

“Son, does that sound good?”

His upturned mouth and shining eyes created a sort of sympathetic puppy-dog expression and I betrayed myself, accidentally smiling at the silliness of it.

“Yes, okay Dad.”

He smiled his kind smile and spun to face the road again, fiddling with the radio frequency on the car’s sound system. Morning talk back. Irate voices, muffled and quick, assaulted the silence.

My attention floated out of the car to the waking world outside. The sky, a sheet of gunmetal grey; an edge torn off by a faint line of white on the horizon. First light. I held the tips of two fingers to the window’s edge and ran them along the road outside, making them jump every time a house or light post zipped past. The car began to jolt and my finger action-man fell to his tragic end.

“How are the hermit crabs? Dad asked.

I examined the container resting on my lap. Two brown shells sat motionless on the hard plastic. My beloveds. We would only be gone a week and Dad said it would be too much hassle to pay a house-sitter to ‘just take care of two crabs.’ So, it was decided. Hermie and Claws would make the arduous journey with us.

“The bumps are making them scared Dad. Can you slow it down a bit?”

An audible thump sounded from near the front of the car and we were lifted off our seats for a brief second.

“Dad! The crabs!”

My plea for reform was heard and the needle on the speedometer dropped a few notches.

“Sorry, son. It’s the potholes. I’ll take it slowly until we’ve passed them.”

I stroked the grooved shells of my beloveds and whispered to them.

“You’re both very brave. It’s just part of the adventure.”

*

Gear in reverse. Beeping sensor. Careful judgement. Handbrake on. High-pitched humming as constrained limbs stretch out to their full length.

We had reached our first stop and I was excited for the prospect of a sweet treat. I waited in the car while Dad jogged to the bakery. He never allowed the boundaries of his schedule to be stretched and warped. If he promised an arrival time of 6pm, we’d be there not a minute later.

I undid my seatbelt buckle and climbed into the front of the car, making myself comfortable in the passenger seat. I placed my beloveds on my lap and switched on the radio to one of the three channels I could remember. The sounds of a piano, bright and sharp, and an airy voice flooded from the speakers. ABBA. One of Mum’s favourites. I tapped my foot and bobbed my head to the rhythm. The car door opened and Dad handed me a brown paper bag. I peered into it. Lemon slice.

“Oh, Classic FM. Good choice!” he said as he peeled back the cardboard flaps of a small milk carton. The action drew my attention.

“Dad, what’s so good about that iced coffee anyway? You always drink the same one.”

He smacked his lips. “Farmers Union Iced Coffee. There’s nothing better,” he smiled a toothy grin and took another sip.

“Not better than strawberry Big M though.”

“Want to try some and find out for yourself?” I nodded eagerly and reached my hands out towards him.

“Urgh. I hate it! Coffee is gross.” He chuckled at my disgust.

“When you’re an adult I’m sure you’ll like the taste of it.”

*

Open highway. Cruise control. Foil wrappers. Speakers on. Music playing and the sound of a voice singing along to an upbeat melody.

A blanket of green hills, their slopes gentle and rounded, extended into the distance. Imposing columns of white stretched into the sky with blades sitting atop them, spinning in silence, or otherwise, not spinning at all. We were passing through one of my favourite locations of the journey; the wind farm. I found a comfort in the looming presence of the structures. Their stability was reassuring, their height inspiring. The towering turbines shrank me to the size of a pebble, reminding me that there were things in the universe far bigger than my small self. I was surprised to find solace in the thought.

As we drove on I watched the wind farm shrink in the distance and felt myself become normal-sized again. The song on the radio changed; a mid-tempo beat, smooth bass guitar and a deep voice speaking in dulcet tones, lamenting the loss of a toxic lover.

“Yes!” Dad exclaimed. “Love this song! Do you know it, son?” He rotated a grey knob and the volume swelled.

“Uhh… don’t think so Dad.”

“What? You know Boyz II Men though, right? Otherwise I’ve failed as a father.”

“Yeah, they did that song that goes ‘Oooh, no baby please don’t go.’”

“No, that’s Chicago. Different band!”

“Well they sound kind of similar though.”

“What? They’re from completely different decades.”

“Well they both sing about similar stuff.”

It was the lead-up to the chorus and Dad used the remaining bars to prepare for his solo.

Come to the end of the road, still I can’t let go.

He misfired on most of the notes and his baritone voice quickly switched to falsetto to compensate for a register he could not reach. An untrained singer, his voice cracked on every third word. But the squeaks failed to smother his conviction. I gritted my teeth, grimacing at the spectacle. I watched him, amused, as the final chorus played out. I think the song felt relieved to be over.

Then a terror struck me. My beloveds. Where were they? I searched for the container which had become their temporary home. I couldn’t find them. Panic rose within me. I craned my neck to scan the back seats. I investigated the space underneath them. The side compartments. Even the glove box. Dad sensed my alarm.

“What on earth are you looking for?”

“Oh no,” I said.

“What is it?” Dad asked.

“Where are my hermit crabs? I can’t find the container. I didn’t leave them at the last stop, did I?”

A strange expression washed over his face, a mixture of concern and disbelief.

“Son.”

“If they’re hurt, Dad, I’d never forgive myself.”

“Son.”

“I literally just had them on my lap before. I don’t understand.”

“Son!” The volume snapped me out of my conniption and I stared at him. He continued.

“I can’t believe I have to tell you this.” His tone was serious but soft. “You don’t have any hermit crabs.”

I shook my head as if it was a battery, hoping it would suddenly spark my memory.  

“What?”

“You used to, Son. But they died years ago.

“Remember?”

*

Nervous energy. Careful instruction. Indicator on. Waiting to merge. A collective sigh of relief as the car safely makes its way into the next lane.

I sat in the driver’s seat while Dad stared ahead from the passenger’s side. He was a bundle of anxious energy.

“You could’ve waited a bit longer with the indicator on before you got into the next lane,” he said. I rolled my eyes.

“I waited two seconds so surely that’s enough time for them to know.” My tone was sharper than I intended but it didn’t pierce Dad’s thick skin.

“It’s always better to be on the safe side when driving. People can be unpredictable.” I knew he was only looking out for me but I was growing tired of his constant criticism of my driving.

We were in rural country. Bushy shrubs and eucalypts claimed their territory on the russet earth. Lakes of murky brown spilled over the plains of grass from a recent rainfall. The koala-grey road continued to guide us through the countryside.

An extended silence left us to our private thoughts for entertainment. It wasn’t awkward. It was never awkward. I thought about school and my friends, the book I was reading, planet Neptune, my stomach, SpongeBob, and the warmth of the sun shining through the windows. I put my sunglasses on. Dad broke the silence.

“What units do you think you’ll choose for school next year?”

“Really, Dad? It’s school holidays.”

“Well, you’ve got to plan for your future.”

“I don’t want to think about the future. It’s too stressful.”

“It’s going to come at you sometime. Better to be prepared.” I bit the inside of my cheek as I stared at the road. Dad noticed. He always noticed.

“What are you worried about?” he asked.

I inhaled the air and held on to it tightly. It escaped in one quick gust of breath.

“I’m worried I’ll choose the wrong thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I like biology but I really want to do those music units instead. But I know it’s not going to lead to anything for a long-term career really.”

I glanced at him, searching for an answer in his expression. He was looking out the passenger window, eyes moving rapidly from right to left as he skimmed each section of the passing landscape.

“Son, I’m going to give you some advice. I’ve enjoyed my life and am so grateful that it led me to be a parent to you and your sister, but I always wish I’d taken more risks when I was younger. Life is about taking those risks and they might not always pay off, but at least you won’t live to regret it.”

A warmth spread through me. I smiled at him. He scanned the road through the windows around him, checking to see if any cars were approaching from behind.

“Now, this time wait at least 5 seconds to indicate, then merge into the next lane.”

*

Road works. Tedious riddles. Warm Coke cans. Petrol top-up. Lively chatter as the car passes the halfway mark.

The sun drifted to the west ever so slightly. We ate the last bites of our salad rolls from a bakery in a nearby town, ignoring the sign hanging out front boasting ‘the best pies in the state.’ I continued to drive and this part of the journey was another carried out in silence. The road trip was a form of therapy for me. I created a five-year-plan in my head and then created three more backup options in case the first one fell through. I knew deep down that all of those plans would probably be made superfluous by an unpredictable universe but it soothed my anxiety to formulate them anyway.

The land we drove through was dry and the scent of smoke crept through the crevices of the car. A black plume ahead revealed the cause; a controlled area of back burning. Orange flames flickered up the black trunks of trees. They became charred and motionless with no leaves to carry the wind. In time, fresh shoots of green would spring from the scorched bark and the trees would grow taller than ever before. That was the thing about life, it always found a way to adapt after its darkest hour.

We continued onwards. The silence carried a heaviness with it now. I looked over at Dad. He was watching the world zoom by at 110 kilometres per hour, eyes darting back and forth, back and forth. A sign flew by, indicating that the border into the next state wasn’t far off.

“Son, stop the car up ahead.”

“Why?”

“I need you to stop the car up ahead.” We were approaching a small turnout lane and I pulled the car over and turned the engine off. A fear tingled my fingers.

“What’s wrong, Dad?”

A pause.

“I can’t go any further. I’m sorry.”

My voice wavered and I cleared my throat.

“I don’t understand, Dad. We’re nearly at the border. It won’t be long after that.”

He stared ahead. I continued.

“Do you need something? We can stop at the next servo if you want.”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s hard to explain. But I can’t go any further. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t understand. I was getting angry. We’d come all this way and done this drive a million times before. Why couldn’t he give me a reason?

“Just tell me why.”

“You can still go. You’re old enough to drive on your own now. Tell your mum and sister I’m doing alright.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

My voice carried a heat with it. He smiled at me. His kind smile. It was intended to soothe but the frustration in my chest prevented me from receiving any sort of consolation. I calmed my voice.

“We’re going to be late for family dinner if we don’t keep moving. I’m going to keep driving.”

I turned the keys in the ignition. The engine hummed to life and I merged back onto the highway. I could feel Dad’s stare on my face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

*

Heavy rainfall. Continuing silence. Wipers on. Headlights too. Counting down the hours as the journey begins to take a toll.

The car moved under a liquid, black sky. Driving conditions were dangerous. I turned on the radio, Classic FM, but the signal did not reach. Only crackling static buzzed from the speakers. Headlights from behind stabbed my eyes through the reflection of the rear-view mirror. I was blinded and blinked in quick succession to gain my sight back. Pools of grey obscured my vision as a convoy of semi-trailer trucks closed in on me. My breath quickened. I couldn’t distinguish the lines on the road. The rain fell. Hard. I wiped the fog from the window. The trucks, unpredictable and domineering, crept into my lane. I leaned forward and gripped the steering wheel, white-knuckled. A hidden pothole revealed itself from the darkness. Instinct took over. My hands spun the wheel until it hit its limit. Tyres slipped on the wet road and the trucks honked their angry horns. I managed to gain control of the car and pulled it back into the lines of the lane.

“Dad, I’m really scared. Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer.

“Dad? Is there anything I can do to get out of this?”

I turned my head to the passenger seat. It was empty.

“Dad?”

The realisation hit me with the force of a cement block. I felt ill, dizzy. I wanted to throw up but nothing came out. I choked on my breath and I coughed and I spluttered. Tears never came to relieve me from the tightness in my body. I blinked, rapidly, hoping that each time my eyes opened I would wake from this dream or enter an alternate timeline where everything was different. But each time the blackness cleared from my vision, nothing changed.

*

Windows down. Warm breeze. Iced coffee carton. Golden hour. Deep breaths as the birds sing loudly in the trees.

From my parked car, I stared out at the playground my sister and I loved to explore as kids. Behind the usual equipment of slides and fireman poles stood a long metal bar stretched the width of the park. A wheeled-carriage moved along it, a sort of manual monorail, that relied on gravity to propel it forward. The unique feature made the playground special and my sister and I used to plead with Mum and Dad to let us stop at the park to ride the carriage.

I watched it in action as a family played on it. The parents pushed the carriage along the rail and ran alongside it as their children zipped to the other end of the park. They squealed and laughed in excitement and their parents shared in their joy. I smiled, turned on the engine and merged onto the highway.

*

Paved driveway. Flowering garden. Handbrake on. Navigation off. Keys being pulled out of the ignition and the slow clicking of the engine as it cools down.

It was night now. I waited in the car long after I’d arrived at my destination. The 704 kilometres of road had given me plenty of time to reflect but I needed another 704. Maybe there wasn’t enough road in the world for me to think up the answers to questions that unsettled my mind. I indulged my thoughts a few minutes more.

My father’s mother came out of the house and walked to the passenger side of my car. I unlocked the door and she took a seat next to me.

“Hi Grandma, sorry I’m a bit late. We might have to push the dinner reservation back a bit.”

She hugged me and buried her face into my shoulder. Through tears, she spoke.

“I’m so grateful you made to journey to see me. I’ve really missed you.”

I felt a wetness on my own cheek.

“I’ve really missed you too.”