Lennox Street Stories: The First

How do you tell if the person you're speaking to is on smack? Wait two or three minutes and they will tell you.

It wasn't until our third night out when Amy told me her dad was a killer. We were walking down Lennox in Richmond, down fifty from The London when she told the story.

"First he killed the woman he was with at the time. I never liked her. She wouldn't talk to me on the phone when I used to call him. He killed her with a hatchet."

"Then he came after us."

I remember gazing into a public phone box, then her short skirt, leg, to her neat Doc Marten boots.

"He stormed into our house yelling all this crazy stuff. And then pushing at Mum. My big brother, Steve got between them and they started punching each other and Steve fell and one thing leads to another and Dad pulls out the hatchet from the shed. He swung at Mum, hitting her in the tummy and her chest and then the police came."

"And that's why I think I have trouble trusting guys."

It was our third night out.

Pink Flag

Another Friday night.
I'm strutting through The Glen shopping centre
Listening, and I'm the only one in here doing this,
Listening to Wire's Pink Flag record on the ipod.

Did the same, listening to Wire on the walkman seventeen years ago.

But tonight I'm uppity
And pissed off
With
The Three Chord Rhumba.

A Friday Night.

I took her on the Geelong train to show how we do a night on the turps in Melbourne. A simple plan. We get picked up at the station, drop our shit back at me family house, meet some mates somewhere on the Glen Waverley line, off at Spencer Street and then to the Carron Tavern. The BeeHive. A night of the coolest back then 60’s stuff dj’ed by public radio “celeb”, DJ. So fucking cool the music he plays. The Doors, The Kinks, The Stones and shitloads of Beatles. Shitloads of Beatles. I Wanna Hold Your Hand. He could even make you believe Neil Diamond was cool. Yeah, Sweet Caroline. Play Sweet Caroline for our friend Carolyn. I dare you to go up there and request it. Come on. Do it for Carolyn. Do it for me. But doesn’t the DJ try to crack onto 18 year olds like me who go up there and ask for The Doors? Doesn’t he?

And tonight was going to be special. A friend of James or someone said he was going to bring some mushrooms. Yeah, mushrooms. All nighters on amateur speed and mushrooms. Love it. Love it. We’re going to laugh so much. It might get crazy out there. I reckon tonight’s going to be the night. As long as someone’s bought some port or something. I might have to raid the cabinet.

So me and her are in the back of Dad’s car just picked up from Spencer Street. Snug back there. Hands lightly touching. Mum, Dad, this is Andrea. Nice to meet you. Yeah, lives in Geelong with her mum and we’re in the same psych class. We’re meeting Nic and Stew later.

"Glenn. "

"Sorry Andrea about this. Glenn. Matthew. Matthew Lloyd."

"Yes. What about him."

"Matthew took his life on Monday night."

"The funeral was yesterday. "

"We couldn’t call you because you have no phone in your place in Geelong. No, we decided it was best we didn’t tell you and leave it until the weekend. "

"How did…."

"He locked his garage and led a pipe from the exhaust into his car. The funeral was very sad. John and Judith were devastated."

"Sorry you had to be here for this, Andrea. Glenn and Matthew have been…. Matthew is I mean was Glenn’s closest friend since kindergarten. "

Poor Andrea held my hand tight while I watched two raindrops race each other to the window seal.