Reserved Park

“What’d I tell you, mate? Best fucking sunset in Straya!”

“Too right, mate. Never seen anything like it. It’s magical.”

“One hundred ninety-eight feet deep, mate. Do you know that down there in the middle of the crater, there’s acacia and eucalyptus trees twenty-six feet high?”

“Crikey. That’s deep.”

“Yeah, nah mate. Deep ain’t even the word. Three hundred thousand years old but wasn’t discovered until nineteen fucking forty-seven! That’s how remote this place is.”

“Yeah, mate. You could die out here.”

“You could die anywhere, mate.”

“Nah, yeah. Fair point.”

“What’s more, is that this rim we’ve parked the Ute on, is another thirty meters above ground.”

“Yeah, I was going to mention that, mate. We alright parking here? I mean, it is a National Park. There must be rules.”

“Fuck that, mate. Who’s gonna tell us to move? Park Rangers? See any around?”

“Nah, yeah but aren’t we encroaching on local spiritual ground?”

“The only spirits I’m worried about are the tins of Wild Turkey in the Eski.”

“Yeah, nah. I’ll stick to beer, mate… Must have been one big fire storm when that meteorite hit.”

“A fifty-thousand metric tonne piece of rock travelling at fifteen KPS, Whump! Right in the middle, down there. Second biggest crater on the planet.”

“Wot’s KPS, mate?”

“Kilometers per second, mate. About as quick as you were on Alice Dutton that night behind our school gymnasium – all those years ago.”

“Never touched her mate. Nothin’ but a myth.”

“Not according to Alice Dutton. You never wondered how you got your nickname?”

“Wot, Speedo? That was on account of that fine I got for going sixty in a school zone, while wearing nothin’ but budgie smugglers; then crashing through the school gates, after I lost control from doing burnouts.”

“Yeah, nah mate. Think again. Yous were all hyped up that night, coz you just lost your cherry after rooting Alice, then went off on one, like a frog in a sock.”

“What I lost, was me wheels. Had to settle for me bicycle and rides from you, after I was banned from driving for six months.”

“Yeah, I remember. You sulked for weeks, like you’d had your favourite toy taken away from you and crushed.”

“Had to start all over again with L plates.”

“You always were the reckless one, mate. I reckon if you could have driven a meteorite back then, you’d have crashed it into this place.”

“Nah, yeah. At 15KPS, I reckon I’d have gone down in history as the first human to have caused a mass extinction of life.”

“Yeah, mate. You would have been the one responsible for completely wiping out the Kangasaur.”

“Yeah? Nah… Wot’s a Kangasaur?”

“A bit like that herpes you caught from Alice Dutton that night.”

“Wot? Oh, fucking funny, mate. I never kissed her, anyways. That was just a cold sore, mate… Was there really a Kangasaur?”

“I suspise not.”

“Wot’s that word?”

“Suspise?”

“Yeah.”

“It means to be suspicious of, when in doubt.”

“Like the word, Reckon?”

“I reckon.”

“Well, I reckon that’s another of your made-up words.”

“Good one, though, yeah?”

“Yeah, nah mate.”

“Wot? That belongs as a permanent entry into the Urban Dictionary.”

“What’s an urban dictionary?”

“It’s a book of sayings and words that young cunts make up, trying to change the English language. The official term is called, Crowdsourced.”

“Fucking Millennials. Why can’t the drongos just leave the English language alone.”

“Yeah, keep things in the status quo. Don’t change our tongue, mate.”

“Nah, yeah! Status Quo, mate! Down down, deeper and down.”

“Get down, deeper and down.”

“Fucking Coles commercial!”

“Yeah, nicked that from the annals of great songs, didn’t they.”

“Yeah, nah. Came out of someone’s arse, that’s defo for sure. I reckon people who write tv commercials have no clue about creativity.”

“Howzat?”

“Well, they’re either shouting at you to listen, or they get some Bogan to save money by employing their family members to act in the commercial. Might as well use wooden planks as actors. They’d be more convincing.”

“Yeah, specially in the hardware store commercials.”

“Nah, yeah. Put a cap on a two-by-four, draw some eyes, a nose, and lips on it, and film it with someone talking off camera, like We’ve got bargains galore at Bunnings! I Wooden lie, haa!”

“Yeah, or like, Don’t let the sawdust settle on your barbie, cut yourself another stake.”

“I reckon you’ve got a future in tv commercials, mate.”

“Yeah?”

“Nah!”

“Time for a little Slim Dusty?”

“Why not. Got coverage for iTunes?”

“Yeah, mate. Two bars. Here, listen to this. A pub with no beer.”

“Classic, maaate!”

“So, how long till sunset?”

“You know how to tell?”

“Yeah, nah.”

“Lift your hand in front of your eyes and position your index finger at the top of the sun, then count how many fingers down to the horizon. Each finger counts as five minutes. How many can you count?”

“Half a finger.”

“Then, it’s almost time to get a cardie and trackie dacks on, mate. Once that orange ball disappears, your apricots between those tender thighs of yours, start to contract; and your donger shrinks. It’s the law of the desert.”

“What law is that, mate?”

“The, It gets fucking cold at night, law. Throw us another stubbie before Slim starts singing Waltzing Matilda.”

“Cheers, mate.”

“To the end of the day, cheers.”

“Fuck, it gets dark quick when the sun goes down.”

“Yeah, nah, the orange glow across the horizon will be our night light for a bit.”

“To Slim Dusty!”

“To craters in the sun!”

“Does the sun have craters?”

“Nah mate. It’s a hot ball of bubbling gases.”

“Maate! Is it my imagination, or is that hot ball of bubbling gases returning?”

“Stop blithering and keep drinking, you clown.”

“Take a look, mate.”

“Fuuck me. You’re right!”

“And does it look like it’s getting brighter and closer, like it’s heading right towards us?”

“Nah, yeah. What is it?”

“Dunno. But it’s taken on the colour of the landscape as it moves across the horizon.”

“Yeah, but it looks like it’s right in front of us.”

“It seems to be hovering above those Acacia trees in the middle of the crater.”

“Mate, you hear the sound of a didgeridoo playing somewhere?”

“Yeah, but it sounds like it’s playing on my phone with Slim Dusty.”

“He never used didgeridoos, did he?”

“Dunno, but Slim’s stopped singing. All I can hear is the haunting sound of that didgeridoo.”

“Mate, look. The sun is dimming, and it looks like a… door is opening on its side?”

“Yeah, nah mate. It’s a ramp and someone’s walking down it.”

“Wot’s he look like?”

“Dunno, the light behind him is too bright for a lengthy sticky beak.”

“He’s heading towards us. Is he… fucking floating in the air?”

“I suspise he is, mate. Wait, he’s waving at us, like he wants us to go to him.”

“What-cher reckon?”

“I reckon we have no choice. That didge is filling up my head and I can’t think much.”

“Nah, yeah. I hear it too. Streuth! He’s a…”

“Nah, yeah mate. That explains why this place is so important to the locals. It must be how they got here in the first place.”

“Let’s go say G’day.”

“He says only one of us… me, to be more specific.”

“How’d he say that. I didn’t see his lips move.”

“He’s in my head talking between the didge breaths.”

“How’s that possible?”

“Dunno, mate, but he says stop talking. You’re upsetting the trees.”

“They’re all the way down in the crater. How am I upsetting the trees?”

“He says you’re standing on their roots.”

“Don’t get too close, mate.”

“Nah, yeah. It’s okay. He says he has an important message for me to relay to you.”

“To me?”

“Yeah, mate… Okay, got it. Will do, mate. I’m coming back.”

“Where’s he from?”

“Dunno. I reckon he’s a local.”

“In a spaceship?”

“Nah, yeah. He mentioned something about being on patrol. But that’s not what he wanted me to tell you.”

“So, what did he want me to know?”

“He said that you can’t park here. It’s reserved for official vehicles only. And that the no parking sign must have been blown down by the wind.”

“What No Parking sign?”

“He says, the one that says Alien parking only. Violators will be abducted.”

“He’s acting a bit of a Galah, ain’t he?”

“Yeah, nah mate. Says he’s run out of fingers and toes to count the number of times idiots like you park in his spot. Says you’ve got two fingers in which to move your Ute.”

“Two…? Oh…”

“Yeah. Ten minutes, mate.”

“You hear that? The didgeridoo sound is fading.”

“Yeah, mate. He says his shift is over in ten minutes and you don’t want the next ranger to see someone parked here. Otherwise, it will be abduction and you don’t want that.”

“How come?”

“He says, because your clacker will be probed with all kinds of objects. Some, not so smooth that will make your little freckle look like a sore haemorrhoid. He’s gone from my head, now.”

“Yeah, and his ship is heading back over the horizon. What do we do?”

“Move the fucking Ute, mate.”

“Think we should head back to civilisation and tell someone about this?”

“Yeah, nah mate. Who’d believe us?”

“We just saw a UFO, mayte!”

“Yeah, nah. I can see it, now.  Scuse me Constable. Where do we report an aboriginal man flying a spaceship in the bush? They’ll drug test us for sure.”

“Yeah, nah. We don’t want that.”

“Nah mate.”

“Okay, fire up the barbie, while I move the Ute. I don’t want to provoke any alien probing me nuggets.”

“Yeah, nah mate. Another stubbie?”

“Yeah, nah. I reckon it’s time for the Turkey. Bring any Coke?”

“Nah, yeah. But the wrong kind.”

“Well, at least it will keep us awake to watch the sun rise over the crater in the morning.”

“Too right, mate.”

“What a night!”

“Yeah, mate.”

“Alien parking only. Who’d-a-fucking-thought…?”