After Lisa drops me off, I lie on my bed and read Floundering by Romy Ash for the second time.

Her characters destroy me.

One day I want to write a book where my characters destroy people.

My iPhone vibrates and I look down.

It’s my friend Jack from Brisbane.

He’s texted me this thing that just happened.

The message says how he was nervous about his arms smelling for his dinner with Esther and how he didn’t have time to go home for a shower but he remembered that army men used baby wipes sometimes to stay clean when they were in the bush, so he doubled back to look for a store that sold baby wipes and had to pass a real raw-looking guy with bootcut pants and neck tattoos and he thought, if this guy hurts me, if this raw-looking guy takes my bag or hits me and I need to talk to the police and tell them what I was doing and where I was turning around to go to and what I was going to buy, I would lie to them — I would lie and tell them I was buying paracetamol for my mother, who gets headaches.

The message says, ‘It was the first thing I thought.’

I laugh.

It feels good to be in my bed, laughing.

To be alone and okay.

And I think about how when I was a child I used to have trouble sleeping.

How, on that first night in Texas, I couldn’t sleep.

How Mum had said we weren’t allowed a clothesline because the neighbours found underwear rude.

And how there were large trees banging against our windows.

This rain fell lightly, but I could only see the rain and not hear it because we no longer lived under a tin roof.

And I remember the next morning the sun came out, almost as if the rain had never fallen — except that there were leaves scattered all over our driveway, and some branches were down, splintered over the grass that was too long because no one had lived in our house for some time.

I walked onto the street and wondered if the storm had only hit our place or if I’d just imagined the whole thing because the street was completely clear, and my eyes were filled with the glare from the windows of the houses all around.

I remember hearing nothing: a complete, dead silence, which was finally broken by the sound of a lawnmower.

My iPhone vibrates again and it’s Bear.

I answer the call.

Bear says, ‘Hello.’

And I say, ‘Hey!’

Bear says, ‘So, I’ve got this new nickname at work.’

I say, ‘Oh yeah?’

And Bear says, ‘Yeah. Harracetamol.’

‘Harracetamol!’

‘Yeah, Harracetamol. But do you get it? ’Cause it’s like paracetamol and I’m a paramedic, but then it’s also my name, like, Harry, but then at the end it’s also our last name. So it’s, like, tri-level.’

I say, ‘TRI-LEVEL.’

Bear says, ‘Yeah, triple-bunga.’

I say, ‘TRIPLE-BUNGA, BABY.’

And we laugh.

There’s a pause.

I say, ‘Bear.’

And he says, ‘Yeah?’

I say, ‘What do you remember from our first night in Texas?’

And Bear says, ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember much from the first night, but I do remember other things. Like, I remember the kitchen walls had fairly terrible wallpaper.’

I laugh.

Bear says, ‘And I remember saying grace and not knowing why I was thanking someone I couldn’t see or even imagine at the age of six.’

I say, ‘I remember that too. I don’t know why we did that. Mum and Dad weren’t even religious.’

And Bear says, ‘I remember attending Sunday school every week and feeling out of place without my personalised bible. It seems so dumb now, but at the time I was like: where’s my personalised bible?’

I say, ‘Personalised Bible … seems like a secular emo band.’

And Bear says, ‘“I play guitar in Personalised Bible and it gives me a reason to live.”’

I laugh.

And Bear tells me other things: how he remembers skate-boarding for the first time with Big Bret, this guy who lived at the end of our street, and how he stepped onto his board and fell and cut his hand.

He tells me how he loved skateboarding — even though he kept falling, he didn’t care.

He says, ‘I remember skating with, like, fifteen older kids in the neighbourhood every afternoon after school. And then, in Year Two, riding my skateboard every day to school. Strapping the board into this Santa Cruz backpack once I got there and going to pledge allegiance to the American flag at Galatas Elementary and hearing the teachers say, ‘GO GREYHOUNDSSSS!’

And I say, ‘GOSH-DANG GREYHOUNDS.’

And Bear says, ‘God-dang greyounds, god-dang it.’

I say, ‘I remember that talent show you and Brigitte did.’

Grinning.

And Bear says, ‘Yeah! It was the same day as the “go as your favourite book-character” day, and I went as Harry Potter. I went as Harry Potter at the Dursleys’ house, who lived in the cupboard under the stairs. I had holes cut into my t-shirt, bruises on my shins from skateboarding, and Mum had drawn a lightning bolt drawn on my forehead. I remember people laughing at me a lot. All the other kids were dressed as Spiderman or normal Harry Potters or pirates or princes or princesses. No one else was dressed like me, and all the kids laughed at me and made jokes about how I’d been abused. I remember the school calling Mum, saying, “We’re concerned about the safety of your son,” and Mum laughing, and the school saying, “We’re not joking.” Mum had to come in to assure them that everything was okay at home.’

I laugh. ‘I don’t remember that.’

‘And she brought my talent-show clothes with her. I was wearing some shorts and a green t-shirt because it matched Brigitte’s greeny-blue outfit. I felt really good. Brigitte was dancing to Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive”, remember? While I just skated around the stage. At the end, I got my skateboard and ran towards the ramp, holding my board — just ran towards the ramp and jumped off, and, in the air, I put the board beneath my feet. When I landed on the stage, some kid screamed, “Bomb drop!” and the teachers looked around nervously. But I guess they were impressed ’cause remember they asked me to teach skateboarding lessons for forty dollars an hour? I thought I’d won the world. That, in Year Two, I’d won the entire world.’

I smile.

I say, ‘You did, Bear.’

And Bear laughs.

We pause.

I say, ‘A lot of America felt really fucked up, for me.’

And Bear says, ‘I know. Me too. I mean, at the time it seemed normal … but looking back, it’s like: everything seems insane.’

I say, ‘You remember Halloween?’

Bear says, ‘Yeah, you remember the other Bret? Little Bret? And how he was all dressed up like Jason with one of those blood-mask things and a chainsaw? He was gonna come trick-or-treating with us and Mum and Dad but then his mum, like, ran up the street and yelled, ‘Bret … We’ve spoken about this. You will not be leaving the street. It’s not safe out there.’

We laugh.

It’s all we do.

We just laugh.

Bear clears his throat.

He says, ‘You know, you can put all that in your book if you want.’

And I pause.

I say, ‘Are you sure?’

And Bear says, ‘Yeah.’

And I say, ‘Thank you.’

Thinking: thank you.

Bear tells me he’s got some days off.

I say, ‘What are you gonna do with them?’

And Bear says, ‘I’m coming to see you, ya bish.’