This one is safe to read, there is no wallowing
 
 
WITH THE END OF MOMENTUM + DIRTY WHITE BREAD & 1991 THE YEAR I BROKE – (2. having adhesive qualities) x I AM THE NAVIGATOR
 

I will be fifteen this Tuesday. He’s in his last year at a different high school. I was in Intermediate when I met him at table tennis. Table tennis is not cool in New Zealand so none of my mates know that I play. I get coached once a week. I bet a boy last week to win another under-17 Canterbury title. He is older than me and should have beaten me on paper but my coach taught me how to serve throwing the ball way in the air and that is how I beat him. I beat him by aces. My dad pointed at the fact that he didn’t shake hands after the game and he and his father had stormed out; they didn’t even stay for his runner-up certificate or the supper.

My father laughed when he found out that I hadn’t told anyone at school that I had represented my province in a National competition earlier in the year. He rung my teacher and I went red when they mentioned it in assembly. I no longer do any good at school so I think everybody was surprised that I had talent. It is not a cool sport so I also didn’t tell anyone that I hold numerous Canterbury titles and have won heaps of club competitions.

Table tennis is not cool but my mate there is. He is so cool. We laugh and carry on the same until it’s match time. He has haemorrhoids so he is called The Brown Flap. I go pink when I’m hot so I am called the Pink Flash. My friend speculates that I have a pink penis with a curve. I speculate that his piles look like chocolate cornflakes. I like people with a sense of humour. His father has five or six British racing cars. My favourite is the red Austin Healey 3000 with pipes down the side but I have never seen it outside his father’s garage.

Weekdays my mate drives a Toyota sedan but every now and again he gets the soft-top Austin-Healey Sprite on a weekend. It is white with a red leather interior. We have developed a good routine in the Toyota. I am the navigator. My mate reclines the chair all the way back so he cannot be seen and I look straight ahead and steer the car by the bottom of the wheel with my right hand and tell him when to brake. People point and stare. I tell him when they were staring or pointing and we both laugh. Our other routine in the Toyota is my mate pulls the front of his t-shirt up over his face and I steer.

The sun was shining and my friend had the top down. The Sprite was not designed for six foot-three. I sit out of it like Asparagus with the wind in my face. We always like going past the beach and he often toots at girls. The horn sounds like Herbie’s. My face always blushes at their reaction when they turn and see such a cool car. It was Saturday and it was hot so we headed out to Sumner. My mate drives barefoot like Possum Borne and performed all sorts of tricks and revved the engine almost the whole way there. His father’s car sounds like a small aeroplane. Lot’s of blokes turned and gave thumbs up but none of the girls responded they way we thought they might (hoped they would) (tear their clothes off).

We were so happy tooting at girls. A girl wouldn’t understand why we do this but a boy just wants to be noticed. I was staring at the girls on my side and he kept saying things like, auuuughhhh nah look at her, until the sedan ahead of us suddenly stopped. I looked back at the road and saw it’s brakelight’s bright red as we hurtled towards it. My friend turned and slammed on his brakes but it was too late and we hit it. There was no screech of tyres. Hitting just sounded like metal. Everything went silent with the end of momentum.

The seatbelt around my waist didn’t stop my head from slamming onto the top of the windscreen. The metal clasp that the soft-top attached to stopped my skull. My head rang and ached as I ricocheted backwards and then forwards again. I hit the clasp just above my left eyebrow. My head thumped numb and my neck burned. I looked at the latch and saw it was rusted in parts. I put my hand up to my head and it felt sticky. My fingers were covered in a clear liquid.

I looked over and saw my mate still looking at the car in front with his hands on the steering wheel. I cannot describe the look on his face. I wondered why he wouldn’t let go? We had stopped. These thoughts happened in a split second until the adrenaline took over. My whole body suddenly felt cold and wet like I’d been swimming. The man in the car in front had gotten out and was looking at the damage to the rear of his car. He looked down angrily at us. I saw the bonnet of the Sprite had crumpled on impact.

My head felt so numb. I put my hand up to my forehead and brought it back down in front and saw that it was scarlet. It was blood. The blood was a bright red and now my fingers were actually sticky (2. having adhesive qualities). I unclasped the belt, stood and went to the front of the car. I looked at the damage to the sedan in front. I wanted to run but there was nowhere to run to so I started to pace up and down the Sprite. My face burned. What were we going to do? We were crashed in front of the Service Station on the way to Sumner.

My mate didn’t say a word as he slowly got out his side. The man we crashed into the back of had walked up and was telling my friend off. I could see my friend couldn’t hear him. He was telling him off and when he finally saw that he could not hear him he walked over and started telling me off. It looked like he wanted to fight. I saw something dripping down in front of me on to the car. In a millisecond I saw it’s colour was blood.

My blood looked better out of me on the car. It looked so cool as it rained down on the bonnet. It looked better than a movie. The blood dripping down on the white Sprite looked so cool. The man kept asking me what we thought we were doing? I couldn’t give him an answer because I couldn’t talk. I stood mute and watched my blood drip out of me. I didn’t feel dizzy but I was not all there. My head felt light like it wasn’t even attached. I could do anything. … I know, I thought, I should just fly out of here! I swung my arms and head dramatically as if to fly back home but only saw the blood fly and land on the windshield of his car. The front of my head felt hot. I looked down at the car and the blood looks so cool on the bonnet. His car, his poor bloody car. My mate hadn’t gotten out of it and I wanted to run like I was guilty.

 
 
 
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I saw the service station across the road so I ran over to it. It was full of customers and it appeared that they all had been standing watching us. I looked but couldn’t see the toilet. I asked where it was walking through the service station. Nobody said a word. Everybody looked at me like I was in a circus. Some people even stood with their mouths open. There was a kid my age pumping gas so I walked back out and asked him where the bathroom was. The lady getting her car filled told me that it was closed. She told me it had been closed for the last two days.

I walked around the back and saw a mechanic in blue overalls sitting eating a tomato sandwich. There was grease all over his hands and the white bread. He froze when he saw me. I walked up to him and asked for something to stop the bleeding with. He looked around but couldn’t find anything. He stood and reached to his back pocket and handed me an oily rag. I said thanks and brought it up to my head. It would do. The mechanic had looked at me like I was in a circus too but was ultimately unfazed. He didn’t say anything else. He shrugged his shoulders and sat back down to dirty white bread.

When the ambulance came they took me to the hospital and they put over a dozen stitches in a v on my face. I can’t be certain but I am quite sure that the needle to anaesthesia me hurt more than the stitches going in. They have been in for a day and a half and it hurts every time I open my mouth. He is still my friend and he is still the coolest guy I know.

My mum says that I don’t have to go to school on Monday but I’ll see if I can drag it out a bit longer. My dad says I am never allowed to drive with him again. I will wait and see how I feel when they take the stitches out.

I hope this doesn’t affect my forehand

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Andrew Stuart Buchanan