Victories

• Alice Maher, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2010

Jessie and I based ourselves on the sort of people we considered to be ‘cool’. Sadly, in our urban youth this included people like the angst-ridden musicians we saw on the telly. We used to ‘artistically’ rip our clothes, and scrounge old cigarette butts to pretend to smoke. Once Jessie even nicked a half-empty bottle of vodka from her dad; both of us were hesitant to take the first sip, but after offering a bit to Tosco the old kelpie-cross, we deemed it drinkable. That was our first taste of alcohol, but it was far from our last.

Years later and poor old Tosco’s drinking problem had finally caught up with him, but Jessie and I were still going strong. We could now buy cigarettes and drinks for ourselves; and we did. Our friendship was purely platonic; more than once we’d had to dispel rumours that we were up to more than just mischief. Graduation night, Jessie and I let off several illegal fireworks, right on the wharf. We’d hardly begun when we heard the police sirens. Jessie and I just looked at each other wide-eyed, lighters still in hand.
“Crap!” was the only word she said to me before she lit one last defiant cracker and high-tailed it into the shadows. I grabbed the half-empty bag and followed her. We sprinted through the labyrinth of buildings, disorientated in the darkness our Zippos couldn’t dent. I shouted aloud when her hand suddenly shot out of the dark and clamped onto my shoulder. Another hand punched me in the chest to shut me up. Disgruntled, I followed her into an almost-invisible gap beneath one shed. It seemed like we had just tucked ourselves in when torches lit up the scene. The coppers had come. The sound of approaching footsteps had never been so ominous to my ears.

Then one step didn’t make a noise. Jessie’s hand had just been stepped on by a steel-capped, police-issue boot. It was my turn to shut her up; clamping my hand over her mouth before she swore aloud. The policeman wasn’t an idiot though; he had heard the gasp neither of us could muffle in time, and could probably feel each finger underfoot. He began to crouch down to our level. He still didn’t get off Jessie’s hand though, and I could see it was causing her pain. What a jerk. Any second and we’d be done-for.

Doing something both brave and stupid, I whipped my other hand out from under the shed. I still had my lighter, and used it to ‘encourage’ the copper to move. Just one flick of my thumb and his entire pant leg was on fire. Using the time it took for him to realise and react I slid free and dragged Jessie along with me, feeling like a Hollywood soldier.

We got away that night; and though there were other times when we weren’t so lucky, Jessie’s wonky, broken fingers always remind us of the little victories in life.