The thing I was writing for you isn’t finished! Here are a few vignettes from a novel I also never finished. The only thing fictional about it really was that the protagonist’s name was Jules not James. But maybe that is all novels and I just didn’t stick it out long enough? Anyway I’ll see you next week!
-
Jules grabbed one of the china cake plates theatrically, dropped two thick, buttered slices of bun onto them.
“Oh!” She leapt out of her chair, shuffled across the room. “*I* need to give you money.”
“Oh.” Said Jules. “Yeah cool, the sherry was $14.”
She walked into the adjacent room, formerly Grandad’s den, and returned. She walked to Jules, who was still sitting, pressed some folded notes into his palm with a stern look.
Jules threw his head back in protest, held the notes back out at her. “That’s too much.”
“You paid for the bun as well.”
“That was only $3.50.”
“And your petrol to visit me.”
Jules rolled his eyes. “It’s a three minute drive.
“Excuse me.” She held up her crooked index finger. Jules wasn’t sure whether her eyes were glassy from medications or just because she as old or something else. “Petrol is very expensive. And you’re a kind boy to come and see me like this, especially when you’re so busy with your University.”
Jules’ grandmother fixed her eyes on him and the love for her late husband, her children and all of her children’s children magnified onto him and Jules returned her gaze for less than a split second, then looked back to his cake, nodded, pocketed the money in meek, guilty thanks.
-
Jules left the group and walked down the stairs, off the lit balcony and onto the lawn. The grass was cooch — rich people’s grass — and was cool underfoot. Across the garden was the pool, dark green, surrounded with pebblecrete.
The pool ran along the left hand side of the garden, and on the right hand side were two taps, one connected to a coiled green hose, the other to a black plastic timing device for the sprinkler system. Jules disconnected the garden hose from the tap and pulled the connector bit and the spray nozzle off the ends.
He looked back at the balcony, lit up with the party. He was protected by darkness and a row of ferns. If anyone came down it’d just be one of the boys to do a piss.
Jules walked to the far end of the pool, crouched at the edge and pushed the coiled hose down into the water. The hose bubbled as it filled and the pebble-crete dug into his knees a bit. Jules’ dad had taught him how to siphon liquid from things years ago when he ran out of petrol and had to get some out of mum’s to get it started. His dad had to suck the hose to get it started, but you didn’t have to suck with a pool. As long as the hose was full and the dry end was lower than the wet end, gravity would keep it flowing until there was nothing left.
The hose stopped bubbling under the water, so Jules covered the top end with his thumb. He pushed the far end as far to the bottom of the pool as it could go then — holding the hose — hopped off the back end of the pool into the wood chipped garden bed behind it.
The Daniels’ backyard was on a natural downward slope, which meant that there was a decent drop off the back of the pool - ideal for siphoning. The half-salt, half-chlorinated water flowed urgently, quietly from the hose onto the garden bed. As the garden beds filled with water, the individual wood chips became little boats, sailing off the dirt, sailing over the edge of the garden bed onto the damp grass.
Jules watched the water flowing for a bit, he could smell damp soil now. He looked back across the yard at lit up balcony and living room. He could hear an Armand Van Helden song, Craig’s voice yelling about wrestling
He positioned a house brick on top of the hose to make sure the flow wouldn’t be interrupted until the entire pool was empty.
And then, drunk enough to feel okay about himself — and finally feeling like revenge had been served — he walked up the stairs and re-joined the party.
-
Once they got to the house, Jules asked for the wifi code:
network: pussylover
password: ilovepussy
Very cool.
-
