At 6.37 AM I go to open the door to my apartment. I rattle the sticky lock free, forgetting to unhook the chain, and when I pull on the door I nearly tear the fixings away. With a blink and a grimace I look through the slit opening. Gino stands on the landing, dressed in a tight short-sleeved patterned shirt, white belt, and salmon dress pants, his loose, dark curls on the right side of wild. He\u2019s taking mouthfuls of candy floss from a pink cloud that nearly covers the complete view of his trim upper torso. I see myself in the twin mirrors of his knockoff Ray-Bans. My doppelg\u00e4nger reflections resemble a lead singer who got fired from the band three years ago and hasn\u2019t been seen in public since. There is the sense Gino\u2019s eyes are smiling behind his lenses.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re taking a trip,\u201d Gino says.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre we?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes we are, brolio! Grab some clothes. I\u2019ll wait in the car.\u201d<\/p>\n
I bolt around the apartment, unearthing an outfit not unfit for the outside, at least at a distance. I take too long getting my shit together.<\/p>\n
Finally, I make it outside my apartment building onto the wide, hilltop street. The houses on the opposite side of the road crouch under warm morning mist, and the hills roll out dozily behind. It is one of those days where the sound of traffic and far off construction is the concern of someone else, like the world has turned its face away.<\/p>\n
As I walk up to Gino\u2019s sky-blue wheels he is in the driver\u2019s seat, lackadaisically using the wooden stick he has relieved of its candy floss as a baton to conduct the string section of a track playing at an adventurous volume. He holds up the baton to point it at the rearview mirror, conducting away, and checks his reflection. The music sounds like a gathering of housemaids snorting into a bassoon. Shouldn\u2019t work, but at that moment it\u2019s the best thing I\u2019ve ever heard. I jump in the passenger.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is way too early for me, I know you know that,\u201d I say, and flash a performative grin. \u201cYou even had any sleep?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSlept like a rock. Now, let\u2019s get going.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Gino drives us downhill, through the latent city outskirts, and breezes coast roads, taking cliff corners as smooth as 33rpm. I don\u2019t ask him where we are going until he glides the car up to an angular building with wide windows. Vines and wayward trees encase the building\u2019s facade. There is a hint of cedar and citrus in the air. A dirt track made impenetrable by overgrown briars sits at the side of the house, and I catch glimpses of grove trees somewhere out back. The upper-story front balcony uses thickly lacquered wood rails to disguise dark glass double doors, in contrast to the faded cream stucco that decorates the majority of the building.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd where exactly is it we are going?\u201d I lean forward, straining to raise an eyebrow to inhuman levels.<\/p>\n
Gino smiles and kills the car. \u201cThis isn\u2019t our destination, but it is a vital stop on the way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCryptic,\u201d I drawl.<\/p>\n
He laughs. \u201cNah, it\u2019s just a place owned by this guy I know. He owes me some money so I suggested I could stay here rent free until he pays up. Seemed pissed off at first, but I\u2019m pissed off at him. Balance is restored. It\u2019s a cool place. There\u2019s a boathouse out the back, down a trail. That\u2019s where we are staying. Not in the main house. Looks like the type of location notorious for a mass killing in the ’70s. No thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Gino wrestles with some wayward scrub, eventually clearing us a path to the rear of the main building. He gives me a smirk that suggests he hasn\u2019t been here in a while, maybe no one has.<\/p>\n
Heat hangs heavy as we walk a chalk path through near bald citrus trees. The path enters a section dense with gangly tree trunks and I follow Gino as he wends his way through dusty curves and slopes. Eventually, he pauses at a point deep in the trees where a few steps are carved into the path. Dry heat presses on my lungs.<\/p>\n
Leaves crack around us as parched air breaks them up. Gino scours the area and raises an arm, pointing a little way ahead. Through the trees sits the boathouse, neatly camouflaged by its wood-panelled exterior, which mimics the blue-tinged bark of the surrounding thicket. One dark window peers directly at us.<\/p>\n
Down chalk steps the path widens out and as we approach the building the tree canopy thins, letting light through. Soft inklings of moisture in the air give way to the sound of low lapping water, although the density of the trees around the end of the boathouse farthest from us allows no view of the waters that must exist beyond it.<\/p>\n
\u201cWeird, isn\u2019t it?\u201d Gino says and steps up onto a worn wood deck at the front of the place. From my point of view the building seems to be constructed in an L shape, the front entrance near us being at the inner side of the top of the \u201cL\u201d with the bottom of the \u201cL\u201d protruding out from the building farther down, obscuring what I expect to be a tree-lined water bank.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe way the humidity changes, in an instant. Like passing through a curtain.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, I noticed that.\u201d<\/p>\n
Gino fluidly unlocks the door and leads us in.<\/p>\n
A dusty ambiance greets us, with late afternoon sun dappling over the room. The large dark window that spied on us on our approach is situated at the very top of the \u201cL\u201d and gives a wide view of the trees outside. With fractured sun rays coming in from somewhere off to the side, high in the canopy, only the end of the room where we enter is illuminated, the rest of the space in quiet but warm gloom. A dark couch set is fitted against the walls at the shadowy end, and breaks only for a door that must lead to the other part of the boathouse. A bar area sits in the far corner.<\/p>\n
\u201cNice,\u201d I say and take a seat in a low chair next to the large window.<\/p>\n
Gino nods. \u201cImagine having a place like this and never using it.\u201d<\/p>\n
A low crack breaks at the far end of the room and a statuesque woman, wearing a long white halterneck dress covered in brown and orange splotches, emerges from the door by the couch area. She walks unhurriedly into the room like she\u2019s in the middle of searching for something.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, hi Gino,\u201d she says, while she continues to slowly glance around. \u201cI wasn\u2019t sure what time you\u2019d be here.\u201d<\/p>\n
Gino ventures over to a portion of the long couch and plonks himself down under a window that faces the decked porch we arrived by, that part of the property in pleasant shade.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou lost something, Joely?\u201d Gino says.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust a magazine I was reading. Has a great article I want to finish, about the UFOs that trucker saw just outside town. You remember? About a decade ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah. That never sat right with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
The dense scent of floral perfume reaches me as Joely wanders closer. A table with a glass top resides next to me, the light so strong the tabletop glares like the surface of a still lake under midday sun. A stack of old hardcovers is placed at the back of it, bathed in sunlight, with a couple of magazines draped over the top.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs this it?\u201d I say, reaching over and grabbing the magazines. The top magazine features a photograph of Jack Parsons as the main front cover image. I hand it to her.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, thanks. When I\u2019ve finished I\u2019ll leave it for you guys. Some really interesting stuff in here.\u201d<\/p>\n
Gino runs a hand through his hair.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Squelchy music sinks into the wood panelling. Lamplight amber glow lights the room. Outside it\u2019s so dark the large windows show nothing to us but blankness and a reflection of the inside space. Candles burn scents of rich rose and vetiver. Joely twirls long floaty scarves and tests my nerves as fringes skate by flames but somehow miss. Gino dances in jerky steps across the room, like he\u2019s play-stalking Joely without her knowledge. The couch enfolds me. I take a large swig of pink punch and it sweetly stings my throat on the way down, confirming a warm surge that kneads every muscle. Gino shoulder shimmies towards me to the rhythm of \u201cMy Girl\u201d by Chilliwack. Gone, gone, gone.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Subdued light greets my eyes upon blinking them awake. I\u2019m on a bed, having slept on my stomach, limbs splayed in various directions. Someone has removed my jeans, but otherwise I\u2019m clothed as I left my apartment. It\u2019s morning, sometime early, that\u2019s my best guess. My body complains as I move out of the awkward sleeping position.<\/p>\n
Gazing around the compact and clean room I spy fresh garments draped over a wooden-backed office chair pushed under a desk. Like the rest of the house, the room is dominated by a large window. Now I see water, as the room looks out onto a vast lake. The view is unbroken apart from an interruption far to the distant right, where a small bank of land provides some leafless trees, their boughs leaning over the tranquil surface. As my senses return I hear the water too, a faint lap and hiss from down below.<\/p>\n
I pick up the clothes and head out of the door, quietly padding down a hallway I don\u2019t remember, to hunt out a shower room. A slatted door halfway along slides open and Gino emerges, wearing only a towel around his waist, and shades. Water droplets make trails down his large reflective lenses. He lifts a finger to his mouth to indicate we should be quiet, which tells me Joely is sleeping in one of the nearby rooms, most likely one she has shared with Gino.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s go out on the deck,\u201d he whispers.<\/p>\n
A short way along the hallway, in what must be the centre point of the bottom of the L-shaped layout of the boathouse, Gino takes us through a full-length glass door. It leads to a sizeable open-aired deck area, extending the section of the building that protrudes over the water. A weatherbeaten but solid wooden railing system encloses the deck and there is enough space for a couple of seating areas to be unobtrusive on either side of us. I realise the house has not serviced a boat for a long time, and must\u2019ve been converted from an old boathouse years ago.<\/p>\n
Morning sun appears as a fuzzed orb, sending its light in a silvery path across the dense haze that rises from the pale lake surface.<\/p>\n
\u201cI need your help,\u201d Gino says. He leans on the wide wood railing and looks out over the water.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, now it comes out,\u201d I say good-naturedly.<\/p>\n
He laughs and nods. \u201cYeah, this isn\u2019t just a fun excursion. I have to transport something down the coast, and then inland. If we leave early, within the hour, we\u2019ll be there by midday.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFine. But what do you need me for?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s kinda bulky.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you are using me for my strong physique.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou could say that.\u201d<\/p>\n
We laugh, lowly.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet ready. We\u2019ll go up to the main house and I\u2019ll show you.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Away to one side of the house extends a large garage, deeply shrouded by vines, on a part of the property previously unnoticed. Gino rips bedraggled greenery from a pitted metal door. The door\u2019s mechanisms provide a concerning screech as he raises it. Inside is a truck, and as I enter the garage, disturbed dust particles freewheeling, I see the faded signature of a removal company etched across the side of the vehicle.<\/p>\n
\u201cI hope this thing starts up,\u201d Gino says, swatting unnervingly large and agitated insects away. \u201cWe are screwed otherwise.\u201d He grins and moves to the back of the truck.<\/p>\n
The rear door to the truck opens up smoothly to reveal an upright piano, black, not looking so good. Gino hops up and moves inside, approaches the instrument and splays his fingers above the keys. \u201cMoment of truth.\u201d He puffs his cheeks and drops his hands. Sweet melody erupts and he beams. \u201cPerfect, I knew it,\u201d he says, letting his fingers skip around the easy music.<\/p>\n
\u201cSounds good to me,\u201d I say, projecting my voice.<\/p>\n
He stops, and takes a second, as if drinking in whatever this means. \u201cOkay. This is why you are here. I need you to help me move it.\u201d<\/p>\n
I shrug my shoulders in a why the hell not type way and smile.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Gino keeps the truck idling out front as I close the garage door before hopping into the vehicle\u2019s passenger seat. Joely emerges from the other side of the house and heads towards Gino\u2019s car, but changes direction after a few steps. She walks up to the driver\u2019s side of the removal truck. \u201cI nearly forgot to give you this.\u201d She hands up a canvas bag. \u201cSarsaparilla. For the journey.\u201d Gino nods his appreciation and she backs away. She finds Gino\u2019s car and takes it, heading down the overgrown driveway and out of sight. \u201cThat woman,\u201d Gino says, shaking his head. “Most trustworthy person I\u2019ve ever known.\u201d<\/p>\n
We drive coast roads and then across country. The air gets hotter, the buildings sparser, the sun whiter.<\/p>\n
The truck powers along desertic roads, the terrain on either side of us dry scrub and pale arid earth, blanched rock formations flatly underpinning fathomless blue sky. With the sun near its midpoint, Gino takes the truck through a section of road where two giant rock shapings terminate and create the entrance to a wide valley of white sand enclosed by ancient sedimentary mounds. He parks up close to an outcropping.<\/p>\n
We sit and gaze out, over a wide valley. It\u2019s quiet as hell.<\/p>\n
Near the very centre of the space, dark against the white sand, is some sort of marker, in what appears to be an obelisk shape.<\/p>\n
\u201cHere,\u201d Gino says, and hands me a drink. \u201cThis is going to be thirsty work. We can\u2019t take the truck any farther.\u201d<\/p>\n
Over the next hour we move the piano over the sands, using flat white wooden boards, placing them one after the other, edging slowly forward. I feel the prickle of sunburn on my exposed skin.<\/p>\n
Gino stops us and directs the piano into position to rest on white sand, a few metres away from the obelisk.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere,\u201d he says, \u201cThat should do it.\u201d He stands hands on hips for a moment, and takes a full circle look at the layout of the valley. \u201cYeah, this is great.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sweat rolls into my eyes, and I step backwards onto one of the discarded boards, hoping its bright white might reflect some of the relentless heat away.<\/p>\n
Gino seems to approve of this. \u201cStay on there, okay? The sands are too hot.\u201d With this he undoes tape affixed to the piano stool which has been attached to the top of the main instrument, frees it and sits, ready to play.<\/p>\n
From across the valley a breeze sweeps in, coolness soothing the skin. Thoughts circulate, notional questioning. The sands in silence relent.<\/p>\n
Gino lightly skates his fingers over the piano keys, drawing out a melody, earthy and rapturous. He takes control of the song and when the time is right moves his voice along with it, spilling the lyrics all over the valley.<\/p>\n
An incredible crack resonates across the sands. I cover my ears in reflex, flinch and near fall over, but steady my feet. My head flips towards the truck and I refocus my gaze on the faraway vehicle. The back of the truck leans into the sands and the side is twisted so that the removal company logo is warped.<\/p>\n
Stunned, I place my hands behind my head and step around thoughtlessly while I stare. I turn to Gino but he isn\u2019t there.<\/p>\n
Sun stops and drops. There is a ringing, and I cannot tell if it is inside or outside of my head. The piano remains, but it is changed, and now made of clear green glass.<\/p>\n
I spin and the valley spins back at me. After a time a wooziness sets in, heat sloshing my brains around. I feel nauseous and guess I might pass out, so I numbly stagger across the sands and back to the truck. The vehicle is weirdly broken at its rear but okay up front. I climb inside the cab, turn on the air con.<\/p>\n
Time slips from me. I move my stare from the glass piano, glistening as sun rays travel it, to around the valley, and back to inside the vehicle, searching the dash for some sort of sign.<\/p>\n
Sarsaparilla brings me round and the hours provide a freshness in lowering light. My senses return, at least enough for me to persuade myself that I need to get away from the place. I grab what I can from the truck and leave the vehicle behind.<\/p>\n
Walking out of the valley, I take a glance back every now and then, until the lone piano is lost to my sight. Stars rise over dead roads.<\/p>\n
Weary, I hitch to the coast and find the way back to the house. Gino\u2019s car is out front, returned by Joely. She stands on the upper balcony of the main building in early morning light, dressed in a cream jump-suit with black edging, as if in anticipation of my return.<\/p>\n
I shift around while looking up at her, everything failing me, and my body returns to stillness.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d she says, \u201cI know he\u2019s gone.\u201d She wrestles with her right jumpsuit pocket and pulls something out of it. \u201cHere,\u201d she says, and throws the object down to me. Gino\u2019s car keys. \u201cHe wanted you to have it. The papers are in the glove box. Take it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWha\u2026I don\u2019t understand. I don\u2019t get any of this.\u201d<\/p>\n
She smiles, and puts on large mirrored sunglasses that have been hanging from the v in the neck of the jumpsuit. \u201cSafe journey,\u201d she says, and retreats into the building, swooshing shut a dark glass door.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I see myself in the twin mirrors of Gino’s knockoff Ray-Bans. My doppelg\u00e4nger reflections resemble a lead singer who got fired from the band three years ago and hasn\u2019t been seen in public since. There is the sense Gino\u2019s eyes are smiling behind his lenses. \u201cWe\u2019re taking a trip,\u201d Gino says.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":20219,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-19677","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-rebecca-gransden"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19677","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19677"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19677\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20220,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19677\/revisions\/20220"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20219"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19677"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19677"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19677"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}