10:15 on a Saturday Night

I remember someone, somewhere, telling me never to catch the late train to Gawler.
'Catch the bus instead', they said, 'that way the driver's close and he can pull over if necessary. On the train there's no such luxury.'

My dad had warned me about the Gawler line as well, but his way of telling me was to say I looked like a poofter, and that Iıd get barbed wire shoved up my arse. So what possessed me to catch the train, just so I could go a party for a person I barely knew, is beyond me.

The train was almost empty. There was a scab-lady with her plastic shopping bag full of cans up the front. She kept sending furtive looks down the train, until Spike stuck his finger up at her. Then she got all funny and just played with her shopping bags. She actually started chewing one of the plastic handles. I'll get to Spike in a minute.

Besides the scab, there was just me and a few people I sort of knew. They were all going to this party too, but I hadn't really talked to them before, so I just sat looking at the industrial scenery with my walkman playing. Well I did until Spike stuck his finger up. It seemed to break the ice. Renee giggled and we all started talking after that.

Before, I'd been listening to early Cure - tried to fit the beat of 'Jumping Someone Else's Train' to the movement of my own train ride, and listened to '10:15 on a Saturday night', wondering if perhaps watching the tap drip (drip... drip... drip) at home was actually preferable to going to this party. But I took off my headphones, and sat with the others.

Spike used to have a mohawk and liked kicking in car headlights. Either he got sick of punk, or he didn't have enough punk points. He was thick enough for the punks to want to get rid of him. Either way, he left that scene and switched to ours. I don't know what his real name was, never bothered to find out. He spread himself out over a double seat, tapping some industrial drum line out on the facing seat with his steel cap boots. He still liked kicking in car headlights.
Renee sat across the aisle from Spike. Her long black hair was pulled forward to hide her face and she sat chipping the black polish off her finger nails. She was a real drama queen. All I heard her say before that night was 'Fuck I need a smoke' or 'Has anyone seen my ventolin?'
She looked like she was about to top herself. She always clutched a packet of Black Sobranies or Death cigarettes and had a tragic look on her face. She looked incredibly introverted, but I'd heard enough rumours about wild mood swings not to want to get too close to her. Apparently she was a really sick bitch and dissected cats for fun.

Then there was Andy. He sat like me, one arm on the window ledge with his head resting on the glass. I always thought he was okay, but I never really got the chance to know him. He was a friend of Peter's, who was going to go to the party with me, but in the end Peter had to stay at home and left me with these three stooges. Normally company makes me feel safer, but not this time.

Andy had a day job, and could make himself look like a normal, but tonight he was dressed up to the nine-and-a-halfs. He had on a fishnet t-shirt. I could never wear one of them, my back was hairy and it looked gross. But Andy was a pretty-boy and the girls loved it. I'd gone around to his place earlier, and we jostled each other for the mirror to tease and crimp our hair, put on the white base, apply the black lippie and do our eyeliner in the Egyptian style. One of my ex-girlfriends said I was worse than the girls when it came to getting ready to go out.

The train slowed down and stopped at another platform. I looked at the sign; still had another stop to go before we got out. It was raining outside. I could see the needles of rain as they passed through the field of orange light under the platform lamps. A group of about six guys scrambled on, just before the front doors shut. They were laughing and almost falling over themselves. A few still held stubbies in their hands. One had traces on vomit on his chambray shirt. We all stopped talking. Maybe they wouldn't notice us.

One of them pointed a finger at Spike. They all stopped, and were able to stand up straight.
"Oi! Gofficks!"
More rounds of side-splitting laughter. Spike scowled. I slouched in my seat. Andy grabbed Spike's jacket and hissed in his ear.
"Don't give 'em what they want. They'll have a go at you if you do."
Spike couldn't help himself.
"Oi! Faggots!"
I sunk down further in my seat. Andy groaned. Renee kicked Spike quite hard, but he didnıt seem to feel it.
"God you're a fucking moron!"

Now I wished I hadn't spent so much time in the bathroom. It seemed stupid, making myself stand out more than usual. I wished my jeans were new and blue, instead of black and held together with safety pins. I wished I didn't have long, black nails or rings on my fingers. I wished I didn't have a necklace, or teased black hair, or makeup on.
What difference did it make? I was a freak without the makeup. This way I was just a freak with a few cool points instead of being a loser. I had always been the kid who got picked on during lunch times because I liked books more than footy. People who hadn't met me before still knew I was a fair target for their hostilities. If anything was going to happen it would have happened anyway.
One of them began to make his way down the aisle, but the rest of them pulled him back. Spiked laughed and looked at the rest of us for confirmation that he was almighty.
"Please don't let them get off at the next stop." Renee had crossed her fingers.
We all stood up and moved to the back of the train. At least it had stopped raining outside. The train slowed down. Andy opened the back doors before it had stopped and we all got out, but not before Spike had yelled "Ah ya bunch of wusses!"

The pack spilled out the other door and came towards us. Renee kicked Spike again.
"Jeez, you've got a head full of shit. Do you want us to get killed?"
Spike just stood there grinning.
"They won't do anything."
Andy began to move up the platform, "No, of course not Spike, just beat the crap out of you."

The station seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. There were no houses, just a wasteland of car parks and a few straggly plants that some hot shot urban planner decided would improve the desolation. We hadnıt worked out which way to go to get to the party.

We could actually make out what the leader was saying now. It was the guy who had tried to come down the aisle. "Ya like blood, do ya? Well you're gonna taste yer own, ya fuckin' freaks." I began to follow Andy.

"They won't do anything, 'cause I've got this." Spike reached inside his boot and pulled out a shiny razor tooth hunting knife. "Bought it this morning."

"So you thought you'd try to have a bit of fun with it did you?"
There was six of them and only one of him. Even with a knife, it wouldn't take long for them to disarm him. Maybe they'd use the knife on him. They were drunk after all, and already displaying a pack mentality. We couldn't leave him, he was so stupid that he would try to take them all on.

The leading one shoved Spike. This guy hadn't seen the knife, and just kept yelling at him, pushing Spike's shoulder all the time.
"You call us faggots and wusses, huh freak?"
"You with your boyfriends dressed up to look like dead girls?"
Spike looked at Andy and me, but we did nothing.
³Well come on freak. Bet youıre the fucking wuss. Come on, take me on.²

Spike pulled out the knife. That was their cue. With a group growl they began to circle us, laying punches where they could. Even Renee had to defend herself. She kicked for the groin. I was glad I wasnıt one of the guys who decided to pick on her. I heard at least one squeal as her boot connected with some guyıs goolies. Andy had managed to get stuck with the vomit man. He wouldnıt be happy if he smelt like sick afterwards. The vomit man kept swinging his arms wildly, but still held onto his stubbie.

I was suddenly appreciative of my long nails and silver acessories; they became extra weapons to defend myself with. I felt my ring get caught in someoneıs shirt and rip it, and I had a bit of some guyıs cheek under my thumb nail. But I had two of the guys to deal with, and I was beginning to feel sore, I never knew where they were going to hit me from next. My fights were always like that.

I heard the smashing of glass and turned around. I saw the broken bottle, but there was nothing I could do about it. Andy put his hand to his chest. Everyone stopped and just stared.
"Oh shit."
Andy looked at his hand, then at the vomit man, and half collapsed, half sat down. The dim orange of the lamp showed his hand covered in a black wetness. The guy took a few steps back, the weight of what he just did finally making itıs way through the alcohol fog in his brain. He dropped the bottle. "Let's go!", he shouted and took off through the carpark, the others following close behind. Renee sort of wailed. Andy looked up at me, his eyes wide and glassy.

³Where the fuck is Spike? Iım going to kill the fucking idiot, I am.² The black dribbled out the corner of his mouth as he spoke, and he spat at the ground.

It was only then did I realise that Spike was gone. Renee kicked the curb over and over. ³The bastard! Arsehole! FUCKWIT!², she screamed out into the car park, but I doubt Spike could have heard her. The chicken-shit had probably sprinted as soon the fight got rough. We should have left him on his own. If anyone deserved to get badly hurt, it was him, not Andy.

Soon we couldn't even hear the pack's shoes thundering on the bitumen, Andy was the only source of noise. He was wheezing, interrupting his own string of expletives. He kept coughing and making choking noises, and then it all stopped.

Renee pulled him into her arms like a tragic star-crossed lover. Still the fucking drama queen.
"What the fuck do you care? You didn't know him anyway." I yelled at her, but then began to laugh.
"He's probably better off this way."
Renee just kept stroking his hair. "That's not the point is it? It's not fair, it's just not fair."
I didnıt reply. I could hear her sniffing, even if I couldn't see her face. The dissecting cat rumours lost their credibility.
³Theyıll get away with this you know, even if we do find them. They were a bunch of yuppie yobs. Daddyıs probably a lawyer. All they have to say is ŒOh, but we were being good. The wierdos started itı, and theyıll be believed. Itıs not fair.²

It started raining again.
"I'd better go call an ambulance or something."
I left them in the gutter and began to look for a pay phone.

Michelle Wauchope ©1997

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