- Blakehurst Honey -

I meet Kate at the playground opposite the domestic violence shelter. 

It’s a cold afternoon but the bruised and uncertain mums are still out, 

playing trucks and dinosaurs with their kids. 

I see Kate strolling toward me from the set of traffic lights up the road. 

I feel as nervous in her stride as a battered wife catching glance of their husband outside the shelter. 


Kate takes me to a small cricket pitch beside the river front. 

I lay in her lap on the AstroTurf. 

We talk of Chico Rolls and their mysterious contents. 

She tells me about the Wheelchair bound lady at the aquatics centre known for her stern teaching. 

I guess her anger stems from her inability to practice what she preaches.  


I find a tuft of grass wrapped and rolled into the shape of a heart by the hands of the wind.

 I tell Kate to close her eyes as I place it in her palm. We laugh at the lame but heartfelt gift as 

we slowly tear it apart. 

I wander off to pick a fight with a flock of magpies. 

I recite to Kate the epic of 

“That one time I punched a Magpie when it tried to staunch me”. 

I strategically leave out the part where a second hit knocks the life from the small bird 

and I walk to school in an existential shame. 

Kate and I cross the dual split bridge. 

We watch the fisherman bobbing in their lantern lit boats. 

I receive a guided tour of the dozen fish and chips shops littered down the highway like cigarette butts. 

I admire the local enthusiasm for the deep fried, deep sea. 

Kate makes an entrance through the busy burger shop front. She’s greeted by a girl 

that hated her in primary school. 

There’s now warmth in their speech. We order 2 Paul's burgers with the lot, minus the meat. 

Kate is vegetarian and I want her to like me. 

Kate takes me by the hand and drags me under the shrouded overpass. 

There's a small wharf. We walk to the end huddled in our winter coats. 

I confide in her, I’m too frightened to dangle my legs over the edge. 

I’ve watched far too many monster movies to trust the murky water below. 

Kate reciprocates the feeling. 

 The two of us sit cross legged sharing a bag of hot chips and becoming increasingly intimidated by 

the mere girth of Paul's burgers, still wrapped in paper.
I pull my phone from my skin tight skinny jeans to light our way. 

I'm definitely more scared of spiders than Kate is but I love her, so I continue forth. 

We trail down the gum laden track to a skinny stretch of beach. 

I take off both pairs of socks, layered onto my small feet in hopes of filling the empty space 

in my definitely oversized leather hand me downs. 

The sand is cold between my toes. 

Kate and I mosey up the beach, stopping intermittently to watch the rats play in the trees.

 She stands atop a displaced rock snuggled into the sand. 

Her arms wrap around my neck. The water wraps around my ankles. 

Kate looks down upon me, now with the height advantage. 

She loves nothing more than having me in a vulnerable state. 

She pulls my face to hers. 

Our bodies float on the soft grass behind the Wilko household. 

We can see the glow of her parents watching Netflix from the lounge room window. 

Kate pulls me to my feet and whispers 

“Don’t scream, Okay”

 before she hoists me off the ground. 

I scream.  

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