Bite by Bite, Bit by Bit (LJ Idol entry)
“G’day, mate! How ya doin’, Murray? Yer missus getting over her hives yet?” Rupert met his old pal from the tractor club by the front gate.
“Come on around to the back porch. I’m watching little Chad, the charmer. This way I’ll be able to keep an eye on him. Or at least make me missus think that’s what I’m doing.” Rupert chuckled. ”Say, I got us some fine brew today, not that ever-lovin crap you like. Pfft, Foster’s. How can you stand that stuff?”
The two friends clumped up the wooden stairs to the shady porch. Rupert yelled into the dark reaches of his bungalow. “Hon, could you bring us that Prickly Moses I got chilling in the fridge?” He turned to Murray, “Now that’s a decent bevie for a hot arvo, it is.”
Rupert used his burly arm to sweep the cat and a yellowed stack of old newspapers off an old, red, fake-leather armchair. The cat shot away like a torpedo; the papers merely flapped to the porch. The two old friends sighed with relief as they sank into the welcoming craters of Rupert’s ancient porch furniture. Noticing for the first time the armada of beer bottles standing mostly at attention on the wooden makeshift table, his thick arm reached out to sweep those away, too, until he thought better. Sighing, he grabbed the smelly bottles two by two by their necks and set them down against the wall.
The wooden screen door banged shut behind Tillie. “How you doin’, Murray? How’s Rose? Hot enough to kill a dingo, isn’t it? Hey, I brought you guys some popcorn to wash your beer down with.” Rupert turned his attention to the new brew. At last the bottles were opened. Refreshing, revitalizing liquid found grateful guzzlers.
"Now, Rupe, this one's a beaut, it is." Murray happily swiped the foam off his lips with his arm.
“Hey, Dad, hey Dad,” Chad suddenly appeared grabbing at Rupert’s knee. “Come push me on the swing! Come push me on the swing!”
“Sorry, mate. Can’t do it now. Can’t you see Murray’s here?"
Suddenly Chad caught sight of the bottles lined up on the floor. "Can I have one of those Dad? Can I? I'm so thirsty."
"Nawr, Chad, you're too young for beer. And those bottles are breakable. Go ask your mum for some cordial in your plastic Ironman cup. Then go back out and swing yourself. And don't forget your hat!”
“Ah, Dad.” Dejectedly Chad scuffed off to the back door where he yelled in to his mum like his dad had. Once he had his cup in hand, he sprinted back out to the swing set.
Murray spoke up, “Fine little joey you got there. How old is he now?” A big handful of popcorn followed a hearty swig of Prickly Moses.
“He’s five. I wish he was a little more independent. I guess he’ll find his way.” Rupert shoved popcorn into his maw.
“Oh, he will. Just wait ‘til he’s thirteen; then he won’t want to have anything to do with you. Believe me, I speak from experience.” Murray winced.
Chad shouted from the swing, “Watch this, Dad!”
“Mainly I hope he’ll be there for me when I’m ancient and decrepit. The rate I’m going, it will happen before I know it.” Rupert shook his head. “Why just last week, the doc told me there’s a mysterious spot in my lung.”
“Crap, no!” Popcorn crumbled out of Murray’s mouth at this pronouncement. “I thought you quit smoking.”
“Well, I’m trying.” Rupert looked a little embarrassed. “And I’ve got these bad knees from playing footy. But you know what they say, ‘No pain, no gain.’ I don’t think I’d want to live without football, though.” To assuage his pain, Rupert opened another bottle of Prickly Moses. He poured a good portion straight down his throat. "Ah, now that's good stuff."
“Dad, Dad! Watch me swing upside down! Lookey me!”
Murray reached for his second bottle. “Damn, it’s a hot one. But would you look at that, a mozzie! Doesn’t she know it’s against Union rules to be working at these temps?! Next thing you know, we’re all going to have heat stroke.”
“Drink up!” Rupert admonished. “Stay hydrated.”
Rupert held the cool bottle against his forehead. “I didn’t tell you the latest, though. Just last week the doc told me I have a melanoma.”
“Crikey!? A melanoma?!” Murray looked agape at Rupert. He shoved another fistful of popcorn into his mouth.
Rupert savored the next swig of the golden brew. “Yeah, first it was the Act-TIN-ic Ker-a-TOS-is plague. Every year like clockwork. First three, then five. One year I had twenty-one. That’s Australia for you. Skin cancer capital of the world.”
“Apparently beer is not the cure.” Murray snickered.
“Or popcorn!” Rupert winced and shoved another handful in his mouth.
“Or vegemite.” Murray patted his rounded belly.
“Nawr, that’s health food.” Rupert made it clear what he thought about that.
“Dad, Dad, watch me do a cartwheel.” Chad made a valiant but unsuccessful attempt to stand up on his hands but only managed to fall in a lump on the hard-packed earth.” Waah! An over-loud cry split the yard.
“Pick yourself up, mate,” Rupert shouted from his chair. He believed in the school of hard knocks. “That’s what the professionals do.”
Tears streaked Chad’s dusty face. He pounded the dirt. He glared at his dad for awhile but went back to slowly rocking in the swing.
“Here’s my theory, Murray. Year after year the diseases come after you. Every time, they take a bite. Sometimes it’s just a little bite. Sometimes they’re big bites. It’s incessant. It’s inevitable. Bite, bite, bite. After a while, they’ve bitten you half to death. Bite, bite, bite. And then what's left? Not much.
“Remember a few years back when I mowed right under the bottle brush tree in the town park and got stung by a million bees? That was right after I got whiplash from being rear-ended by crazy Harry in his big old ute. Believe me, having a face full of nasty bee stings on top of a painful neck is no picnic.
“I swear, my warranty is up. I’m a gonner.”
Murray shook his head in sympathy. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re not alone. I figure if I don’t think about my aches and pains, they’ll disappear because I ignore them. You shouldn’t have gone to the doc. Now you have something to worry about. You’d really be much happier without him. You know what they say, old age is not for sissies. Might as well live it up while you’re still able to. Sore knees be damned.”
“Bite, bite, bite.” Rupert groaned. Then he perked up. “Bite, bite, bite. That makes me hungry. Is there any more popcorn? Might as well enjoy life while we can." Rupert held his bottle out to clink against Murray's. The two gave each other knowing smiles as the bottles chimed.
“Dad! There’s a giant lizard under my swing! It's as big as, as big as your bottles! Can we keep it? Can we, Dad, can we?
"I'm going to name him Prickly Moses."
"Well, the name's not bad," Murray said to Rupert. And the two chums clinked bottles one more time, once again contemplating the good times as well as the tough ones.
***
Picture Glossary:
arvo--afternoon
bevie--beverage
blue-tongued lizard--
cordial-- a non-alcoholic fruit juice concentrate
dingo--the native wild dog of Australia
footy--an outrageously popular sport that resembles rugby.
Mozzie-- mosquito
Prickly Moses--the local beer brewed in the Otway mountains. It is named after a prickly native bush
Austrailian school uniform--
ute--utility vehicle
vegemite--The Austrailian's answer to Marmite
“Come on around to the back porch. I’m watching little Chad, the charmer. This way I’ll be able to keep an eye on him. Or at least make me missus think that’s what I’m doing.” Rupert chuckled. ”Say, I got us some fine brew today, not that ever-lovin crap you like. Pfft, Foster’s. How can you stand that stuff?”
The two friends clumped up the wooden stairs to the shady porch. Rupert yelled into the dark reaches of his bungalow. “Hon, could you bring us that Prickly Moses I got chilling in the fridge?” He turned to Murray, “Now that’s a decent bevie for a hot arvo, it is.”
Rupert used his burly arm to sweep the cat and a yellowed stack of old newspapers off an old, red, fake-leather armchair. The cat shot away like a torpedo; the papers merely flapped to the porch. The two old friends sighed with relief as they sank into the welcoming craters of Rupert’s ancient porch furniture. Noticing for the first time the armada of beer bottles standing mostly at attention on the wooden makeshift table, his thick arm reached out to sweep those away, too, until he thought better. Sighing, he grabbed the smelly bottles two by two by their necks and set them down against the wall.
The wooden screen door banged shut behind Tillie. “How you doin’, Murray? How’s Rose? Hot enough to kill a dingo, isn’t it? Hey, I brought you guys some popcorn to wash your beer down with.” Rupert turned his attention to the new brew. At last the bottles were opened. Refreshing, revitalizing liquid found grateful guzzlers.
"Now, Rupe, this one's a beaut, it is." Murray happily swiped the foam off his lips with his arm.
“Hey, Dad, hey Dad,” Chad suddenly appeared grabbing at Rupert’s knee. “Come push me on the swing! Come push me on the swing!”
“Sorry, mate. Can’t do it now. Can’t you see Murray’s here?"
Suddenly Chad caught sight of the bottles lined up on the floor. "Can I have one of those Dad? Can I? I'm so thirsty."
"Nawr, Chad, you're too young for beer. And those bottles are breakable. Go ask your mum for some cordial in your plastic Ironman cup. Then go back out and swing yourself. And don't forget your hat!”
“Ah, Dad.” Dejectedly Chad scuffed off to the back door where he yelled in to his mum like his dad had. Once he had his cup in hand, he sprinted back out to the swing set.
Murray spoke up, “Fine little joey you got there. How old is he now?” A big handful of popcorn followed a hearty swig of Prickly Moses.
“He’s five. I wish he was a little more independent. I guess he’ll find his way.” Rupert shoved popcorn into his maw.
“Oh, he will. Just wait ‘til he’s thirteen; then he won’t want to have anything to do with you. Believe me, I speak from experience.” Murray winced.
Chad shouted from the swing, “Watch this, Dad!”
“Mainly I hope he’ll be there for me when I’m ancient and decrepit. The rate I’m going, it will happen before I know it.” Rupert shook his head. “Why just last week, the doc told me there’s a mysterious spot in my lung.”
“Crap, no!” Popcorn crumbled out of Murray’s mouth at this pronouncement. “I thought you quit smoking.”
“Well, I’m trying.” Rupert looked a little embarrassed. “And I’ve got these bad knees from playing footy. But you know what they say, ‘No pain, no gain.’ I don’t think I’d want to live without football, though.” To assuage his pain, Rupert opened another bottle of Prickly Moses. He poured a good portion straight down his throat. "Ah, now that's good stuff."
“Dad, Dad! Watch me swing upside down! Lookey me!”
Murray reached for his second bottle. “Damn, it’s a hot one. But would you look at that, a mozzie! Doesn’t she know it’s against Union rules to be working at these temps?! Next thing you know, we’re all going to have heat stroke.”
“Drink up!” Rupert admonished. “Stay hydrated.”
Rupert held the cool bottle against his forehead. “I didn’t tell you the latest, though. Just last week the doc told me I have a melanoma.”
“Crikey!? A melanoma?!” Murray looked agape at Rupert. He shoved another fistful of popcorn into his mouth.
Rupert savored the next swig of the golden brew. “Yeah, first it was the Act-TIN-ic Ker-a-TOS-is plague. Every year like clockwork. First three, then five. One year I had twenty-one. That’s Australia for you. Skin cancer capital of the world.”
“Apparently beer is not the cure.” Murray snickered.
“Or popcorn!” Rupert winced and shoved another handful in his mouth.
“Or vegemite.” Murray patted his rounded belly.
“Nawr, that’s health food.” Rupert made it clear what he thought about that.
“Dad, Dad, watch me do a cartwheel.” Chad made a valiant but unsuccessful attempt to stand up on his hands but only managed to fall in a lump on the hard-packed earth.” Waah! An over-loud cry split the yard.
“Pick yourself up, mate,” Rupert shouted from his chair. He believed in the school of hard knocks. “That’s what the professionals do.”
Tears streaked Chad’s dusty face. He pounded the dirt. He glared at his dad for awhile but went back to slowly rocking in the swing.
“Here’s my theory, Murray. Year after year the diseases come after you. Every time, they take a bite. Sometimes it’s just a little bite. Sometimes they’re big bites. It’s incessant. It’s inevitable. Bite, bite, bite. After a while, they’ve bitten you half to death. Bite, bite, bite. And then what's left? Not much.
“Remember a few years back when I mowed right under the bottle brush tree in the town park and got stung by a million bees? That was right after I got whiplash from being rear-ended by crazy Harry in his big old ute. Believe me, having a face full of nasty bee stings on top of a painful neck is no picnic.
“I swear, my warranty is up. I’m a gonner.”
Murray shook his head in sympathy. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re not alone. I figure if I don’t think about my aches and pains, they’ll disappear because I ignore them. You shouldn’t have gone to the doc. Now you have something to worry about. You’d really be much happier without him. You know what they say, old age is not for sissies. Might as well live it up while you’re still able to. Sore knees be damned.”
“Bite, bite, bite.” Rupert groaned. Then he perked up. “Bite, bite, bite. That makes me hungry. Is there any more popcorn? Might as well enjoy life while we can." Rupert held his bottle out to clink against Murray's. The two gave each other knowing smiles as the bottles chimed.
“Dad! There’s a giant lizard under my swing! It's as big as, as big as your bottles! Can we keep it? Can we, Dad, can we?
"I'm going to name him Prickly Moses."
"Well, the name's not bad," Murray said to Rupert. And the two chums clinked bottles one more time, once again contemplating the good times as well as the tough ones.
***
Picture Glossary:
arvo--afternoon
bevie--beverage
blue-tongued lizard--
cordial-- a non-alcoholic fruit juice concentrate
dingo--the native wild dog of Australia
footy--an outrageously popular sport that resembles rugby.
Mozzie-- mosquito
Prickly Moses--the local beer brewed in the Otway mountains. It is named after a prickly native bush
Austrailian school uniform--
ute--utility vehicle
vegemite--The Austrailian's answer to Marmite