So this is how it starts.
Two days after Christmas the house had finally cooled to a comfortable twenty degrees. I was sitting at the kitchen bench drinking a coffee while Jack amused himself recreating history’s greatest battles staring Hulk-Buster Iron Man as the good guy and everything else as the bad guys. Janette was at work, it was almost eight-thirty and I hadn’t opened my laptop. Hadn’t written a single word. It was going to get hot later so I told Jack he could have five more minutes, then we we’re going. I figured we could go down the library park, play for an hour or two before the day got too hot, and I would work through Jack’s midday sleep and make leftovers for dinner instead of prepping something up. With a couple of minutes to burn I started flicking through the junk mail on the counter when I noticed a real live piece of addressed mail had gotten caught up in the pages of a K-Mart catalogue. My name and address was handwritten on the front in black ink, but no return sender.
Christmas card, I thought and opened the envelope only to find a folded square of paper instead. I read it through, then read it again. It was from a guy I used to work with back in Surrey Hills. Dallas and I were work buddies; always had time to have a quiet chat and giggle in the cube-farm, but never really socialised outside of the office. He didn’t have my cell number and I don’t have a LinkedIn account so he apparently called up HR for my mailing address (thanks for giving out that personal info guys!). The letter started with the normal How’s things been… bullshit, but ended telling me he had just joined up on something amazing—something that would totally fit my ‘personal and professional skillset’. I sent off a text to the number at the bottom of the page and then went into battle with my almost-four-year-old till we were both adequately smeared with sunscreen and then it was off to the library park.
I actually forgot all about Dallas at the park. Anyone who has had to play the part of Monster and chase an almost-four-year-old around will attest to the fact their limitless energy will soon burn away your own dwindling reserves leaving you red faced, huffing on empty, while they’re still happily saving the rest of the park from your monstery clutches. An hour and a half later, with the park finally safe, Jack and I drove back home, making a quick pit-stop at Bakers Delight for a Ham and Cheese Danish – and pink frosted sticky-bun—sorry Wife! When we got home, Jack chowed down and watched Hot-Wheels on Netflix while I re-charged my own batteries with a tin of Baked Beans in ham sauce. Jack went down easy, and miracle of miracles, actually fell asleep right away. Score one: monster! I set up my sweet little Microsoft Surface Pro on the kitchen table and was just about to pound keyboard when I saw I had a text. Hoping for a naughty picture from my wife, I was disappointed. It was Dallas.
Hey man, glad you got back to me so quick. Can we meet up for a coffee? I’m actually in Ringwood, close. I really wanna have a chat ASAP!
There were two missed calls on my phone, both from Dallas’s number, so rather than text, I called him back.
“Hey man, It’s Mick.”
“Mikey! Mate, how’ve you been?”
“Yeah, really good thanks, mate.” I said. “Look, I have to talk quiet ‘cause I’ve got my kid asleep in the next room, okay?”
“Yeah, sure I understand. Look, man, I’ll get right to the point, I know you’re doing the whole writing thing, but a friend of mine has put me in touch with a guy who has something amazing for us, man—the both of us!”
He was clearly excited and I admit I was lying awake some nights, a guilty little worry worm burrowing through my guts and whispering in my ear I was an idiot trying to sell stories.
“What kind of thing are you talking about? I.T.?”
“Nope. Fuck that game dude; we both know how that story ends. Nope, this is something better, man. No shit, dude, as soon as Stevie told me about it I thought of you right away. Seriously, man, I really need to talk to you about this.”
“Sure. Yeah, okay, cowboy,” I said. “But I can’t right now, I got my kid asleep.”
“I can meet you, man; either drop by right now, or meet you after your little tacker wakes up?”
I looked at my keyboard and thought about it for a moment: better to get all this shit out of the way, then I could get to work. I could still do a solid ten pages.
“Okay, dude,” I said. “Come by now if you like, just don’t ring the bell. I’ll see you and let you in, okay?”
“I’ll be there in fifteen-twenty, buddy. See ya!”
“Okay, man. See you soon,” I said and hung up. I cleared the battlefield in the living room of all the super-heroes who didn’t survive the morning and double checked the cupboard for tea-bags. Dallas was a tea only guy. I heard a low rumble out front and pulled back the curtain from the window. A big, black mud-spattered working LandCruiser was in the driveway. The door opened and I saw Dallas get out, making sure to close the door quietly after him.
“Mate!” I said, opening the fly-screen and pumping Dallas’s outstretched hand. “Great to see you. Come on in.”
“Thanks, Mikey. Nice little place you got here,” he said.
I ushered him through the living room to the kitchen. “Nah, man. It’s really a bit of a shit-hole, but you know how they say it-” It’s MY shit-hole, we mimicked together and had a quiet laugh.
“Cup of tea?” I asked, the kettle had just popped.
“Yeah, thanks man,” Dallas said and took a seat at the counter where his opened letter sat on top of the K-Mart catalogue. He laughed, “Can’t believe fucking HR actually gave me your address, dude. Hope you’re not mad.”
I was, but not with him. “Wouldn’t expect anything better,” I said handing him a cup of tea. “Here, sugars in the cup next to you, help yourself.”
He stirred two sugars into his steaming cup while I put a couple of drips from the cold tap in my own cup of tea.
“So?” I said. “Who’ve you sold my liver to?”
“Your liver? Only my worst enemy,” he laughed. “No, no, it was your dick they wanted, man; old and unused, fucking antique status now.”
“I got a kid sleeping in the next room calling you full of shit,” I said. “Last time I checked, you were still playing the field, living the dream: which I’m pretty sure is a fucking anagram for dating your fist in Klingon.” We both laughed. It was comfortable shit talking like we’d done back in the office. We’d both see who could say the filthiest shit in the open-plan office and keep a straight face. I always won, because I’m funnier and naturally smiled a lot, which meant I could smirk at my own mother-fucking-baby-raping-prolapsed-rectum jokes without giving up the game.
“Seriously,” I said. “What’s this all about?” My tea was still a little to hot so I added another dash from the cold tap.
Dallas put down his cup on the K-Mart catalogue. His eyes were wide and he looked like a little kid about to tell me he knew where his mum hid the good chocolate. “Okay, so check this out, man,” he started. “Now, you know Stevie?”
“Your friend?” I guessed.
“Yup. Well, after we all got the old heave-ho he told me his girlfriend’s brother might be looking for someone—just for a week or so—but nothing ever panned out.”
“Looking for what exactly?” I asked. “You still haven’t fucking told me what the hell your on about, mate?”
Dallas grinned; a good grin, happy grin. Not some shit-eating grin like you would see right after someone played aces over the top of your kings. “It’s a job,” he started. “Outdoors, over at the base of the Ranges.”
“Mount Dandenong?”
“Yup. Fifteen minutes away, max! The guy Stevie told me about? His name is Garhoot, right, and he works for Parks Victoria as a Special Operations Ranger.”
“What’s that, like some kind of Power Ranger for plants?” I joked. I still had no fucking idea where Dallas was going with this shit.
“No, dumbass. This guy, Garhoot, he’s like in charge a making sure certain tracts of land are re-developed after any kind of damage. You know, fire, flood, all that kind of shit.” He waited for my nod before continuing. “Ok, so from what I understand, Garhoot is like allocated a tract of land and it’s his job to put together a team and make sure that all the trees and plants and shit get the chance to re-grow without a bunch of arseholes coming through there on dirt bikes, lighting fires and having fuck-fests on top of the fragile fauna.”
“Fuck-fests?”
“You know, a bunch of hippies and pimply faced kids ploughing each other in the dirt instead of the backseat of their cars.”
“Soooo, this guy—Garhoot—is offering us jobs as…Rangers? Dude, do those guys even get paid?”
Dallas rolled his eyes. “Mate, it’s six-figures for doing nothing! I don’t know if you could do any actual writing, but it’s six fucking figures, man.” Dallas put both palms up and gave me the Dude, what fucking more do you want look.
I sipped my tea. It was cold now, but I didn’t even notice. Six-figures. Was this what I wanted? What about my wife? I already knew what most everyone else in my life would say.
Six-figures.
“Okay,” I said. “What do I have to do? What am I going to be doing, exactly?”
Dallas grinned. “Mikey, it’s perfect for you, man. I already spoke to Garhoot and he has the perfect thing lined up just for you.”
“So? Don’t leave me hanging here, man.”
Six-figures.
“A pinecone.”
“A pinecone?”
“Yup. Five days a week from eight-thirty till three-thirty, with an hour for lunch, you’re going to be a pinecone. It’s the perfect job for someone like you, dude.”
A pinecone. I’d never really thought about it as a job before, but the more I tossed the idea around, the more I realised it was right up my tree.
“A fucking pinecone,” I said again. Hanging from a limb in some re-growth forest, low stress—and most importantly those six-figures. The world would be pleased.
I looked back across the kitchen bench. Dallas nodded.
I start Monday.
The End.