Made in Mount Colah
no clothes chat today, just some fiction
At 9pm, the music turned down and Richard stood on top of the chair on top of the pergola he’d made with his own hands and announced that he was going to say a couple of words to the birthday boy. There were a few cheers of approval and a male voice yelled “Go you good thing, Rich!” — which Richard thought was fantastic.
He started by thanking everyone for coming to celebrate Tom’s 21st birthday and promising he wouldn’t go on too long. He said that every year for the past 15 years, the family — him, Cheryl, Katie and Tom — had been lucky enough to spend 10 days in paradise at the Kuta Beach Resort in Bali. This year, it was wonderful as usual, except for one small thing: Tom wasn’t there. He had other commitments, namely going to the 21st parties of some of his great friends (that’s you lot!) which of course, Richard said, he wouldn’t miss for the world.
And yeah, Richard said, it makes him sad that Tom wasn’t their with him, riding mopeds and eating nasi goreng and drinking large Bintangs at sunset. But it also made him proud that Tom had grown up into a pretty, actually, a bloody decent bloke. Not just a son, a mate. And though the two of them have had a few disagreements — over the past year or so… Richard stumbled his words a bit here and he took a big sip of his Crownie then told the audience and Tom that he and your mother and your sister love you, mate, and we’re all so proud of you.
Uncle Alan pushed over a wheelbarrow of ice and bottles and Richard announced that he’s made Tom something. That’s he’s spent the last few months working on an experiment — homemaking one of Tom’s favourite things.
With that, Richard presented Tom with a glass bottle full of dark liquid. It looked just like Tom’s favourite pre-mixed drink: Woodstock Bourbon & Coke. Except, the label had been appropriated to read TomStock, then in smaller type it said “To Tom on your 21st birthday. Your favourite. Love Dad.” And below, in eve smaller type it said “Aged in Bali barrels. Made in Mount Colah.”
Tom, already a bit pissed, stared at the bottle, grinned and hugged his Dad. Richard turned to the crowd, pointed at the wheelbarrow and announced that there were over 100 bottles of TomStock on ice, ready for consumption. Tom hugged his mum and his sister and everyone cheered and drank TomStocks and danced to a remix of ACDC.
Mums drank, smoked special occasion menthols and kissed grown boys on their hairy cheeks. Dads gave each other advice and dance with each others’ wives. Tom and his friends drank and snuck into the shadows to smoke joints.
At midnight, uncles and aunties and godparents began climbing in pre-arranged taxis. At 2am, the young people began crawling into swags and tents and onto couch cushions. At 4am, the last couple of lads finished their final bourbons, flicked their ciggies into the ashes of the bonfire and fell asleep where they lay.
-
Richard woke with the sun. He left his wife asleep, pulled on trackies and a t-shirt and made himself a coffee.
He walked onto the balcony. There were beer cans and plastic cups and cigarette butts all over the place. There were bits of cake and sausage roll stepped through the lounge and kitchen and one of the deck chairs was busted. His head felt something died inside it, but on the whole everything seemed pretty good. There were kids sleeping, fully clothed on every soft surface and Richard felt happy that none of them drove home like they would’ve when he’d been their age.
Richard wished his own mum could’ve been there to see his kids grown up. He thought about her now, filling the room with her noise and floral patterns and Peter Stuyvesant smoke.
He pulled a black garbage bag out of the draw and began wandering around the living room, grabbing cans and bottles. He realised that many of the vessels still had a few drops or more of liquid in them, so would need to be emptied outside or into the sink.
Halfway through the thought, Tom emerged in ugg boots and a hoodie. His face looked bleary but he was smiling and Richard smiled back.
“When you turn in?”
Tom shook his head. “Don’t remember? Maybe 3 or 4?”
Richard nodded. Tom was an apprentice pastry chef. Even after a late drinking session, his body clock wouldn’t permit a sleep in. Tom grabbed a garbage bag and began picking up bottles.
He grinned, looked up at his son: “Your mum had a chuck.”
“Ha!” Said Tom. “Did she?”
“Yeah. Too many champagnes. She tried to be sneaky, but I sprung her.”
“Hahaha. Everyone was so pissed, hey.”
“It was a good party.”
Tom picked up a two-thirds full bottle of TomStock, gestures nods at Richard. “These went down a treat.” Then he looked at the ground. “Solid present. Dad.”
Richard smiled. “They were alright, weren’t they?”
Tom smiled, shook his head. “I was wondering what you were doing in the friggin’ shed.”
They finished with the indoor and top balcony bottles and Richard suggested they cook up some breakfast for everyone still asleep. Soak up the booze.
Richard lit the 8-burner on the deck while Tom went inside and fetched eggs, bacon, bread rolls and barbecue sauce.
He scraped the last barbie’s remains off the warming hotplate and Tom threw the kettle on.
Richard winked and suggested that, how about instead, they have something a bit stronger?
Tom walked over to the canoe, fished about in the pool of water and pulled out two bottles of TomStock and Coke. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and popped the tops of, handed one to his Dad.
They clinked them together and took a sip. The bacon hissed and the eggs fried and formed a natural grid on the outside of the whites.
Cheryl, now awake and with two Nurofen Plus kicking in breezed through the living room in trackies, uggs and a dressing gown, singing a made up tune about how lucky she was to have so many handsome young men sleeping on her floor. She stood in the kitchen, calling to the sleeping by name and buttering up a bunch of bread rolls.
The noise of the morning and the smell of bacon wafted through air, luring the crashers out of the spare room, off the dismantled couch cushion beds, out of their swags and tents in backyards. They pulled on booze stained jeans and jumpers and headed to the balcony to collect their bacon and egg roll on a paper pate.
Cheryl laid out a few picnic rugs and everyone seat and ate their breakfast while the early spring sun rose and warmed the back of their necks.
Richard smiled as the young people ate their breakfast and sipped their bourbon, assuring him that the taste was almost as good as the original. He outlined the saving per bottle of making them at home and they all agreed it was an absolute no brainer.
Richard bit his bacon and egg roll, squeezed Cheryl’s shoulder and lay back on the picnic rug, let the sun hit his face. His insides felt horrible, but it was Saturday. There’s two codes of footy finals on and good waves at Narrabeen. Footy’ll be done, then there’ll be cricket, tennis and then footy again. And then, as if nothing’s happened, it’ll be next June. He’ll be indicating left, into long-term parking at Kingsford-Smith Airport and the family — the whole family — will be on a plane to Denpasar, set for two weeks in paradise at the Kuta Beach Resort.