Vagrants

I watched Coral's cigarette steel grey powder cinder to her bed. I noticed the gold-coloured filter of the smoke as Coral rolled a strand of her golden hair through her fingers.

She started, "I don't kiss…."

I cut in fast to divert her from talking about Josh.

"I'm sorry, Coral; I never meant to blurt it out. Besides, what you do next counts, and you'll be…."

I smelt burning and yelled, alarmed, "Your pretty doona is smouldering!"

Ash scorched a sunflower.

"Oh hell," she squealed before she spat using a demure action into her palm and smeared it over the dark char singe.

Coral rolled off her bed, "I need a glass of water; give me a few minutes."

She stubbed her second smoke.

At her bedroom doorway, she turned. It ended my enjoyment of stalking the cute lambs gambolling across the back of her pjs.

She heaved, "I only ever kissed one boy."

I chose to look at the lambs on her pj's, where the buttons clasped. The joining cut the lambs in half. I avoided my bestie's eyes. Coral sprung away; her lambs capered before I gained the courage to meet her eyes.

I heard her in the kitchen, a cupboard opening, a tap turned on and off. It allowed me time to scan her bedroom. I searched for my Coral in the present and what she brought from her past.

Don't let there be endless Josh stuff; I nearly prayed.

I tried to convince myself - she moved on-she kissed Ruby at the spring. 

Twisting my head, I peered behind. A superb framed print of Pollock's Lavender Mist greeted me above her pillows—my connection to Coral.

Art wasn't Ruby or Josh. A limited-edition Schiele sketch dominated the curtain-drawn side of her room: a female nude, a stark study of the body sexual. I struggled to understand her love of this artist. The sketch triggered thinking about my bestie's sketchbooks.

I wondered if she kept them and still drew. I did what you shouldn't do in anyone's bedroom; I sidled to the edge of her bed and opened her drawer. No guilt pierced me. Luck assisted me in my search or an organised Coral.

Her sketchbooks lay in a neat pile on the right side. On the left side, a yo-yo and a spinning top. The yo-yo spurred the memory of a teenage Coral buddy-buddy with Ruby. The exquisite top revived the first time I ever saw my golden girl. I contemplated the evidence; Coral cared for her memories. I flipped through the first sketchbook. It contained Melbourne scenes. Some triggered a personal connection.

I lingered at the boathouse drawings, especially where Coral drew me unawares, reading on the sofa. I dwelt with nostalgia at a sketch of the spring. I wanted to tear out the one of Ruby reclining on the lawn at Coral's house. Josh, fishing off the jetty, like Coral drew it from memory; I turned the page fast.

I skipped to the last page, as you do.

Unreal.

She pasted in a photocopied portrait of the artist Klimt holding his cat. And his famous Self Portrait as Genitalia sketch. It took me back to college.

Coral thought about our sexual signatures. 

My bestie was overstrained, but I accepted, no asking about it tonight, as I carefully replaced the sketchbooks in her drawer.

Coral returned carrying a glass of water.

"Past love," a tad glum, my bestie offered, "What to do with it?"

I tried to get up to speed quickly with her thoughts.

She referred to Simon, I hoped.

I instinctively knew Josh.

She downed half the glass.

"Coral, I'm not sleeping with you again, ever."

I drilled straight into her green eyes.

No deviation as she replied, "Agreed, I'm here now. It's not now I want. I want my yesterdays moved into tomorrow."

I couldn't tell a mellow Coral; she yearned for two things at once: commitment and control.

It overwhelmed a young Josh.

I lacked the grit to say to her what to do.

My mind swirled, confused every day, chasing Ruby.

Coral said, "Geez, Luke, we're both drifting."

Drifting.

We were vagrants in our minds; we both needed to settle with a life partner.

Coral sipped her water.

"You said something similar once; …at…at the beach, with seaweed. Like we drift if we don't pair. We become detached like broken seaweed."

I refrained from adding to her youthful recalled insight, her wistful yearning to interlace Josh's and her life.

"Wow, the things we say and don't recall."

Coral was genuinely surprised, her brow creased, revealing she didn't remember.

She gestured; she needed the toilet.

In her absence, I scanned the rest of her bedroom.

I paused at a photo-framed-sized copy of The Kiss on a shelf. From her bed, I couldn't see the famous toe curl.

Other shelves of plush soft toys evoked her childhood. A cute button-nosed bear recalled a Luna Park sideshow. Josh sort of gave it to her after winning it. She named it Baloo. When younger, Coral loved the Disney movie The Jungle Book. Josh was once her cuddly bear.

Goldilocks and Baloo - what a combination. 

I shook my head!

Her dressing table evidenced a perfectionist, neat as a pin, arranged moisturisers, eyeshadows, lip balms and brushes. Her copious perfume vessels were religiously organised by height and colour, forming a rainbow.

I heard the loo flush, and Coral returned. She launched directly as she came through the door.

"Are you avoiding Ruby? It seems like it. She never talks to me about you and Paris."

Coral lit up.

I composed a reply.

"I haven't seen her much since Europe. We are busy."

My bestie scrutinised my face before saying, "Ah, you two were shaking the sheets in Paris?"

I had yet to speak about Ruby to Coral beyond being vague on the phone and saying I crashed on her apartment couch.

I provided a doleful, "I need to forget the girls in my life, okay?"

It appeared Coral would let me pass on Ruby.

Instead, hitching to my admission, "Ah, like I need to forget the boys in my life?"

I observed her smoking and thinking.

Finally, she probed and not for the brunette.

"What about Jenny, any future reignition?"

I remember talking about Jenny to Coral long distance by phone at Princeton.

"No, she's interstate somewhere. I tried to keep her rhythm."

My voice whispered as I spoke, and my head drooped to my chest.

Coral offered super kind, "It's not theirs or your rhythm; it's a together one," near-hush soft.

My fingertips joined.

Coral's eyes spread wide and alert, "Yeah, I need to take my own advice. Geez, I keep telling guys what to do."

She heaved deep.

Coral became self-insightful and reflective: "I don't pick them well."

She shook her locks and pushed herself up in bed, and the lambs on her pjs pranced in the folds.

The golden girl expelled a prolonged sigh before stating, "Except Josh."

She stretched out, either trying to let go or capture another thought.

I saw the entire lamb frolic beneath her armpit.

Josh's name didn't generate continued conversation. Josh was the chatter-stopper between us since the boathouse.

I tried to change the topic.

"Stop smoking; it's not you."

"The moustache- it has to go- so not you."

I grew it before the wedding.

We shared a stern smile, our lips compressed—way beyond laughing out knotty complex thoughts like teenagers.

I excused myself to the kitchen for water. Coral's kitchen was fabulous, and the appliances and fittings were ace. Her personal touch created a divine kitchen with verdant indoor plants. Greener, I inferred, courtesy of a large central skylight.

I returned to her bedroom and leaned in the doorway.

Coral stopped smoking.

"I won't stay," sure and respectful.

"I assumed you wouldn't," she completely relaxed, fluffing her doona —solo comfy.

"Let's keep it to galleries," slightly uncomfortable, aware I was in my boxers.

"Yes, galleries, that's us," delivering her widest smile of the whole night.

"Goodnight, I'll let myself out."

Behind me, her voice tender, "Be gentle with yourself, my bestie."

I strode to the hallway planter to dress.

My conscience stabbed my heart; I should have talked about Josh to Coral.

Out of the blue, I spied the popped button. I picked it up. I put my pants on and the button in my pocket. I stuffed my tie inside my jacket. Pulling up my socks, I realised they clashed with my tie.

I shut her front door behind me, picturing cute lambs. I orientated outside Coral's apartment block, on the street frontage.

Hell, a taxi at this late hour! 

I should have rung before I left Coral. I scanned the apartment block and decided against disturbing her.

Sketching or asleep, I hoped.

The modernist façade of the whole apartment complex struck me—a powerful and functional statement in concrete. My mind explored form before I centred on Coral and architecture. I sought her true architectural match to prompt me to her essence.

I aimed to avoid sex with my best friend in the future.

When I was younger, I liked to compare Coral to The Parthenon. It stuck for a long time; elegance balanced to perfection. I thought the classic order represented Coral. Here outside her apartment, a structured foramal no longer held.

A taxi dropped a guy at the apartments. Catching the unexpected cab occupied me. As the next passenger, I headed home. In the taxi, my mind drifted.

Memory retrieved, Baloo and Goldilocks. 

So easy to picture Coral and me on our first day at primary school.

Fortuitously, in the same class, Josh had a different homeroom. I relished the pleasure of introducing Coral to Josh during the morning break.

My mate rubbed his hands happily because we had enough players for Four-square at lunchtime. He introduced a classmate who owned a tennis ball. At lunch, we played foursquare. A fair match as we rotated through the king square.

I remember Coral occupied it when Josh's older mate, Max, interrupted.

He smirked, "Goldilocks and the three bears."

We kept playing, trying to knock Coral out of the top square.

I liked the secure way Coral beamed at Max, unfazed.

Coral embraced her hair.

Her golden kinks unfailingly fascinated me.

Even more, I treasured the patterns created by our shadows as they crisscrossed each other as we played.

Her nickname hung in the background over the next couple of years. Goldilocks became a more regular tag after our class photograph in year four. Coral, Josh and I were happy in the same year's class. We followed instructions to fill rows on raised seats for the yearly professional school photo shot. Standing in the back, Coral joined Josh and me, squeezed between us.

Our picture remained untaken as our teacher and the grey-haired photographer hunched heads. We stood waiting.

"Coral, you need to come out of the back row to the front and centre," instructed Ms Senior, our recently married teacher.

My bestie moved to her new photo slot.

The photographer confirmed, "Just right," giving a thumbs up.

He asked us to say 'cheese' a few times as he clicked his large tripod camera.

Just right acquired additional meaning over time.

Coral organised a young Josh and me for activities on weekends. Her golden locks led us to the mulberry tree, the spring, and her family boathouse. I appreciated Coral's lead. Her direction and organisation annoyed Josh sometimes as he chose 'big boy' activities alongside Max.

So, Josh called her Goldilocks in an offhand, teasing way.

I asked Coral, bashfully at the spring, our feet dipped in the water.

"Can I call you Bestie?"

Josh chose Max and drag racing on this particular Saturday.

"Yes, bestie," and she nudged me and urged me to kick and splash as high as she already led.

The cab dropped me at my apartment.

Exceptionally late and with conviction, I entered the bathroom and shaved off the moustache.