Mark DeLancey

Chapter 17

On his last day, we took a final motorbike ride up to 'Hilly Point'. Basically, the place was what it said. A hill where you could see a view. Instead of looking out over the town, we looked the other way. Over fields of grass and farmers crops and trees as far as we could see.

"I wonder how many gullies are down there?"

"Probably a lot."

"All those yabbies."

We laughed.

"I want to give you something." Mark untied the braided leather bracelet he wore and tied it to my wrist. I had never seen him without it. Having it there felt amazing. Something of his, now mine too. A small thing but I know it meant a lot.

I wanted to give him something too, but I couldn't think of anything.

"What about this?"

He picked up what was tied around my neck. It was a cord I had hung one of the shells from our camping trip.

"Really? It's not much."

He nodded. "Yes, it is. It's an amazing memory."

All too soon that day was over and he was gone.

I lived for his daily emails and once a week video or voice calls. Missing him became a familiar, recurring ache.

I didn't see his mother for ages, but when I did, it took awhile for her to look at me. Gradually, as we talked, she warmed up to me and by the end of the conversation things seemed normal again.

One night, about 3 months after Mark had left, I got a call from one of my friends at work asking me if I was okay.

"Yes. Why? What's wrong?"

"Have you seen the news?"

I turned on the TV and all over the screen were images of destruction. There had been an explosion at an oil rig. Mark's oil rig. The rare event that they meticulously prepared for and did everything they could to prevent had happened late that afternoon. Twelve people were dead, three were still missing.

I sat watching. Waiting. Waiting to know. Contacting Mark was impossible.

Rachel, his mother, wasn't home. Did she know? She would, surely. She would be at the hospital. I couldn't contact her either.