Sights Set

“Milkshakes,” Matt said loudly, his Irish accent ringing out into the warm air. His voice was deep and smooth, like honey. I had heard of oceans being deep, and his voice could match it in an instant. His voice was one of my favourites, with its rich texture and lilting tone. “We should go get milkshakes.”

I smiled, finding his arm and taking a loose grip. “Why do you say that?” Our voices were polar opposites. Mine was much higher, and had a harsh Australian accent passed down by generations of my family. It was also prone to breaking, a fact that embarrassed me, especially when giving presentations in front of my class.

“You’re wearing your milkshake shirt,” he said, tugging gently on the fabric covering my shoulder. If possible, my smile became even wider.

“You’re right about that.” My milkshake shirt was varying shades of pink, though mostly darker shades, with lighter coloured strands woven in to break up the plainness. It was made of Jersey cotton, perfect for the relatively warm day with light breeze, and was form fitting thanks to the stretch of the material. Mum had made a big fuss about it when I was selecting it to buy. Matt had been with me, and had declared it a ‘milkshake shirt’ as soon as he had seen it hanging on the rack. I had asked of its colour, and when he replied with the appropriate answer, I had decided that I liked it, and asked Matt to find me one in my size. Mum had complained it was a ‘girl’s colour’, but I did not care.

Colours did not affect me, as long as what I wore was comfortable. People had told me that pink was a nice colour, and it reminded them of fairy floss bought from the Luna Park in Saint Kilda, of a rose given to a lover on Valentine’s Day and sometimes the shade of the sky at sunrise. It was my favourite colour thanks to those reasons – it was generally associated with happy thoughts. It could be the ugliest colour in the world, but at least it was my ugly colour.

Another reason it had been christened ‘milkshake shirt’ was because every time Matt and I bought milkshakes, he had chocolate and I had the pink, strawberry flavoured drink.

We had set off for the shopping centre a few minutes ago, and were now discussing options of where to go while at the set of lights across from the huge complex. With three levels of stores to sift through, we had an abundance of options to choose from. I had a feeling that my pink shirt was not the only reason we were getting milkshakes though, so I posed my question as the cars closest to us stopped and the ticking of the crossing indicator sped up. I heard Matt let out a small laugh, and I looked in his general direction, forming my face into an expression that said I was puzzled.

“It’s the last day of the school holidays. We need to celebrate something.” Matt replied, tugging on my arm. The crossing man must have turned another colour, or switched to a different picture, and we needed to hurry before a car came out of nowhere and hit us. I picked up the pace until I was almost jogging.

“So you have decided that school is the reason to celebrate? That is possibly the worst reason ever.” I said, almost tripping over the curb.

“Watch out,” Matt reminded me absently, before laughing as I slipped down the curb on the other side. “Jordan, you have walked to Highpoint how many times, exactly?” He said, dragging me across the road and towards the shops.

“Once,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“And you have walked over that crossing and this one how many times?” He teased.

“Seven.”

“And you always trip over that curb! Do you forget it?” It was in this moment that I wished I could see Matt’s face. To see the smile that was surely spread over it, his hair blowing around in the wind. I shook my own head, trying to get my hair off my face, and grinned at the ground.

“Do you know how hard it is to remember every little detail about the world around you?”

“No.” He admitted sheepishly. “Either way, you’ve had practice with the whole memory thing.”

I smiled sadly and nodded my head, clutching Matt’s arm tighter as we entered the shopping centre. He gave my arm a reassuring squeeze and chuckled,

“I’m not going to lose you.”

“I hope not.” I muttered, sticking close beside him either way.

We walked through the crowded building, the cacophony of noise assaulting my ears. Matt and I discussed options of where to shop for a bit more, before the noise became too loud and I could not pick out Matt’s voice as easily as before. I enjoyed going to the shops, and listening to the noise. The people moving quickly and their feet slapping against the floor as they tried to get to their respective destinations in the least amount of time humanly possible, the teenage girls scattered about having conversations and laughing and having a good time together and the clattering of cutlery in the food courts, not to mention the heavenly smell.

Upon reaching the quieter section on the second level where a Donut King was located, I got out my wallet and began sifting through it to find the five dollar note I had been given when I left my house. It was as though my mum could read my mind. I passed it to Matt, who had not moved much from when I had let go of him, and continued to stand in line.

“Do you mind getting a ticket? The dispenser is to your left.” Matt said, nudging my right shoulder so that I was facing the correct direction. I grabbed a ticket, and faced Matt again.

“What’s our number?”

“Sixty seven. Would you like anything other than a milkshake?”

“He whispered to me, leaning down to my ear. I hid my smile.

“No way,” I whispered back. Matt took a few seconds to answer before making an affirmative noise.

“Sixty seven!” A woman called out behind the counter. “Strawberry!” She continued to shout in her deep voice. “How are you?” I shuffled up to the display case and answered with,

“Great thanks, Kate.” Kate had been working at this particular Donut King for almost seven years now. I had known her since I was about ten years old, when Matt and I started frequenting the place. She knew our orders off by heart, and we had had many a small talk while she had been preparing it. I heard the machine start up, and the next person step up to place their order.

“And you, Chocolate?” Kate continued.

“Awesome,” chirped Matt, “how are you?”

“Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Would you like anything else with your order? We have two hot cinnamon donuts on offer for 50 cents.” She reeled off, returning to the counter and ringing it up.

“We’ll take the cinnamon donuts, thanks.” Matt responded, passing me my drink. I started walking to the chairs and tables, trying to find my way without taking out my cane out of my short pocket and alerting everyone to my disability. I heard Matt’s heavier tread behind me and he grabbed my arm, walking a few steps before plonking me down in a seat.

“Thank you.” I said, taking a sip of my milkshake. It was tangy and so cold it froze my front teeth. It was also extremely thick, and I placed it on the table in front of me.

Matt started talking about school, saying, “I can’t believe that its term four of year eleven. We have just over a year left of secondary education. That is a scary thought.”

I nodded slowly, tracing patterns in the condensation on the outside of my cup. “Almost term four. We’re just under twenty-four hours away.”

“Whatever, Mr Precise.” Matt teased, attempting to take a sip of his own drink. I could hear him sucking on the straw, but I knew that it was in vain. “How has the homework gone?”

“You should know – you have only been at my house all holidays.”

“Point taken.” Matt said, tapping a finger on the plastic table top. “When are you going to do your homework?”

“When are you going to do yours?” I countered, trying to take another sip of my drink.

“When I get home and on the bus tomorrow. We didn’t get much, if you remember.” Matt said.

“That’s easy for you to say, Mr I Have Eyes That Can See.” I replied, rolling my own unseeing eyes.

“You only have to talk to your computer!” Matt said, faking shock.

“Yeah, talking to my computer on a crowded bus is a very smart thing to do.” I said, exaggerating my voice.

“Wear a headset, dummy.” He reached over and bumped my arm.

“And look like a total idiot?” I pondered, putting my chin in my hand and pretending to think very hard about it.

“Don’t speak about yourself like that!” His voice jumped up a few notches, and he earned himself a laugh from me.

“Shut up and drink your milkshake, Mattie.” I said, reaching out to bump his arm back, but missed. He gloated over this fact as we stood up and started walking around Highpoint. I got him back while I was holding his arm and pressing my drink against his inner arm. I felt goose bumps rise on his skin, and I chuckled, running a finger over the raised hairs. Matt slapped my hand away, and we whiled away the last day of holidays by browsing stores. Matt bought a few pairs of socks, and we walked back to my house around four.

My house was run down – it had been around for almost a century – and the paint was peeling and flaking on the wooden front door. It was a pale pink colour, which my dad believed used to be red. I did not like the colour red. I had read too many lines in books along the lines of his eyes were a fiery red and it was burning red. To me, red meant destruction. Though it left behind the beauty of pink, which I suppose is a good thing. The garden was nicely tended to, and it had a fence running around the property. It smelled strongly of roses and freshly cut grass, a sign that I had work to do upon entering the small building. I opened the gate and Matt and I walked up the cracked pavement, Matt ringing the doorbell as we continued our conversation about movies on currently at the theatre and what ones we would like to see.

The door opened with a high pitched screech as it protested against movement, and my younger sister asked how our day was. Matt and I abruptly stopped our conversation and he answered her question with,

“It was good.”

“How was your day, Amy?” Matt asked as he crossed the threshold and held the door open for me. I thanked him, and walked past towards the kitchen.

“Okay. I woke up late and have been finishing assignments.” She answered, walking into her room and shutting the door. Amy was in year nine, and went to the same school as Matt and I. She had stacks of assignments and projects going on, as the school felt it necessary to prepare her for her VCE years by giving her more work to do than need be.

Our house was very small, with the bedrooms on the right side of the house to let the early sunlight in. We had three bedrooms, a lounge room, bathroom and kitchen, with a huge backyard. My parents had been discussing options with what to do with the space, but no immediate plans had been made – they were too indecisive.

I grabbed two pears out of the fruit bowl and threw one in Matt’s general direction as I wandered through the house heading towards my room. He caught it, and I heard my mum walking around in her bedroom, the creaky floorboards being the loudest thing to catch my attention, until Amy put some music on. She listened to the top forty, and insisted on playing it loudly for all to hear.

“Amy!” My mum yelled, right on cue. “Oh, hey Jordan, Matt. How was Highpoint?”

“How do you think, Mum? It never changes.”

“Matt?” My mum redirected her question, ignoring my reply.

“It was good. They’re starting on Halloween decorations.” Matt said, before hurrying past me to my room. My mum gave me a light slap.

“See?”

“No, I don’t actually.” I cut her off, keeping a straight face.

“Stop it, smarty pants. There was something different at Highpoint.” My mum beamed, before going to the sound of vibrating walls in Amy’s room, shouting as she did so. I shrugged at her and walked into my room. I heard Matt eating, and after he finished his mouthful, he told me that my bed was free, and I promptly flopped down on to it, messing up the blankets. I heard Matt walk around my room, and a light tune start up from my speakers – he had hooked up his iPod to my sound system. I was grateful for the familiar music; it put me at ease. I closed my eyes, even though it did nothing to affect my sight, and nodded along to the repetitive beat. We ate in relative silence, a few passing words between us of when Matt would go home – before dinner – and about the songs that came on.

I took my homework out of my school bag and shooed Matt out of the seat at my desk, opening my laptop and talking to it to unlock it. I could have typed it, as touch typing was one of the first things that Matt taught me when I got a computer, but I could not be bothered. Matt had gone out to the kitchen and dragged one of the kitchen chairs into my room.

“Jordan, you really have to clean your floor.” He commented.

I ignored him, and began speaking to my laptop again, opening up the required documents for English – we were studying The Catcher in the Rye and needed to write an essay regarding how Holden perceived the world influenced his personality – and the current topic we were working on for maths. Matt helped me with a bit of the maths work, but left my English alone. He was in the maths method class, being the hot shot he was at math, but he was almost failing English. I achieved average marks in both subjects.

“Do you have any other homework besides math and English?” I asked as I tapped away at the keyboard, punching in numbers.

“That’s supposed to be an addition symbol, not subtraction,” Matt corrected, before continuing with, “yeah, I have German to practice, there’s a test on Wednesday. You’re lucky you dropped languages – it is so hard now.”

“If you say so.” I replied, pausing on a question. The song flicked over on Matt’s iPod, and he stood up, as if he was going to change it. “What are you up to?”

“Dancing,” was the blunt reply. I heard my floorboards groan under his weight, and I once again paused in my motions.

“Excuse me?”

“You see, dancing is when people move to the beat of a piece of music to release hormones that cause joy and other emotions, and can also use it as a form of release to rid themselves of negative emotions and pent up energy, while others do it to stay fit.”

“I know what dancing is. But why are you dancing in my bedroom?”

“Watching you complete homework is boring, the bus doesn’t come for another ten minutes or so, and it’s a good song.” Matt reeled off, his voice becoming quieter as he did a few turns. I heard him stumble, and his feet sped up as he tried to stop himself from falling over as he regained his balance.

“Delicate,” I commented.

“You try it.” Matt challenged.

“Fine, I will. Move out the way, dancing champ here.” I said, moving clothes to the side of the room with my foot. “How many turns did you do?”
“Three, on one leg only.” Matt replied, moving to my bed and sitting down.

“One after another?” I asked, getting ready to show him.

“No, I paused between them.” The springs of my mattress squeaked as he moved into a more comfortable position. “Go.”

I completed one turn, the rush of air moving around my flailing arms and making my hair fall in my eyes as I stopped. I put my foot down, pushing off again, before stumbling and meeting the ground face first.

“Oh yeah, good job.” Matt applauded me, clapping slowly.

“Isn’t it time for you to go?” I said, standing up and trying to determine where I was standing. Spinning was possibly one of the worst things for me to do, as I could not immediately regain my bearings.

"Maybe. Why, Jordan?"

"Cause you're bugging me that's why." Our voices were light and teasing. I managed to locate my bed and playfully jumped on top of Matt, pushing him back onto the bed, grinning widely.

"Get off me." Matt said, easily tossing me off and getting up off the bed. "See you."

"Good bye." I replied, returning to my homework in the deafening silence left in his wake.