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Nightsurf 1987

Page 2

Karen Lethlean

Nope, Henry remained her one true love. Panels slightly dulled from salt air corrosion. Aerial long gone. Pebble-cracked windscreen she should get fixed before it gets worse. One blue door wired on, meaning Emma needed to slide across a slightly cracked-up bench seat to make her exit.

After being interred in her parents’ nearly empty double-car garage during uni lectures, Henry now smelt like stale chlorine, floor space brim full of coffee-stained receipts and empty drink containers. Sort of clutter making Christy cringe with a mixture of disgust and admiration. Two semesters, paths crossed with academic, supposedly boys, enough separation from Henry.

Now she, Henry, and Emma free to again pursue waves, moon tides pulled up closer to Earth.

“Hey, you got a tampon?" Emma’s morning greeting.

“No, sorry.”

“Its fine, I’ll check the car. Mother Nature’s a bitch.”

For effect Emma shook her fist at treetops. Her teenage cystic-like acne now dulled to faint craters, barely visible if she applied minimal make-up. Tawny hair thicker, shinier than Christy’s. A doughnut of fat swathed her lower abdomen and her breasts by some miracle of nature, ballooned two whole cup sizes, since Christy tried uni.

Christy thought, how late am I? Long enough to forget, somehow, periods are a thing.

Great to be adding to many miles already travelled with Henry. As usual morning light showed today’s spot, already drawing every surfer this side of the Pacific, courtesy of swell networks. Looked like a Henry Holden, Freddy bashed up Ford, and Connie Cortina convention. 

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