It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time
By Greg
1970s music blared from the two tacky speakers inexpertly mounted in the from door cards and dodgily connected to the cassette deck.
The old Holden was stationary in a deserted clearing near the Canning River, not far from Perth.
The women were drinking Brandavino from the bottle, each sipping, girding their loins to help swallow the sweet fortified wine. Then wiping the dribbles from their lips. It was a welcome break from long sessions of tongue kissing and fending off wandering hands.
The boys took the opportunity to open yet another can of Emu Export Lager, which were just a little warmer than they would like. All sat back on their seats, looking into the darkness.
Then Trenna, who in any group had the worst eyesight, but was always the most observant said “Are those people coming towards us?”
“Shit!” Said someone.
“Fuck! – it’s the pigs” said Earl, just imagining them putting the yellow sticker work order on his car.
In what seemed like a nano second Earl had started the old Holden red engine, pulled the column shift towards him and down. The car took off across the clearing jerking and spinning it’s wheels, heading towards a track that led into the nearby bush.
“Quick, hold me beer!” he called passing it to the girl next to him – at least the spilled beer disaster was averted.
As Earl accelerated towards the track it did not occur to him that he had no plan and hadn’t thought about the consequences of his actions. The benefits of youth!
The right front tyre found an indent in the earth, BANG! Went the suspension as it bottomed out, THUD! went their heads as they hit the roof. Screams emanated from the girls, fear from the boys.
By now the cops’ headlights were on high beam and their blue lights flashing, they were in pursuit.
“Earl, are you over point 0 8?”
“Fuckknows, is that cop getting any closer?”.
The fugitives’s car entered the track, more bouncing, more screaming.
It turned out that the bush track was only about 50 meters long and suddenly they were in the open again. The cops bleeped their siren but everyone already knew they were there, and everyone already knew what they wanted.
The Holden’s red engine screamed as Earl muffed the next gear change in his panic.
Then, suddenly the sedan was airborne as it hit a drainage ditch. CRASH! THUMP! BANG! It landed. Passengers bouncing all over the place, bumping heads and bruising arms. Beer splatted the dashboard, windscreen, roof, seats and floor.
Now, old Holden were uncomfortable, but they were near indestructible, it bounced a few times and carried on.
But the cops didn’t…. The blue light went out.
Cheers from inside the car.
Aftershock
Four days later and Trenna is at work at Girlock, she’s typing a letter.
“Tren someone’s here to see you”. Trenna is puzzled to see her Legatee standing at the counter. She is mortified when he says, in voice which she is sure is deliberately loud “I hear you’ve been in trouble with the Police”.
Trenna had been worried for days. She had no doubt that Earl was drink driving, well over the 0.08 blood alcohol level. She knew they were all not old enough to be legally drinking – why else would you be doing it in a car in a clearing?
Trenna made contrite muttering and the Legatee left, but she was seething that he would embarrass her in front of her employer and work mates.
She didn’t feel any better when she found out that none of the others in the car had got into trouble.
Trenna was convinced that all the blame had fallen to her because she was a Ward of the State.
It wasn’t fair, but she shrugged it off and in the end it was just another thread in the tapestry of her rich life.