Part 1

He looked angry. He sat on the couch strumming his guitar to the Jimmy Hendrix song playing on the radio.

‘Hey Joe, where you goin' with that gun in your hand
Hey Joe, I said where you goin' with that gun in your hand, oh
I'm goin' down to shoot my old lady
You know I caught her messin' 'round with another man...’

She hated this song. He loved to sing it to her, whispering the words softly in her ear, his arms around her in an embrace that was anything but affectionate. This time he glared at her. She watched him warily. Please don’t do this now, she thought. She could see the tightness around his mouth and the furrows beneath his head that was already balding at twenty-two. When he was like this he was like a time bomb about to go off, she thought. Only she could never see the timer.

‘Rick, we have to get ready.’

‘I’m not going.’

‘What? Why not?’

He ignored her.

‘Rick, I haven’t seen my aunt and uncle for five years. They’ll only be in Lismore overnight. They’re heading up to Brisbane tomorrow. They’re really nice people. You’ll like them.’

The guitar twanged as he dropped it on the couch. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ He backed her to the wall. ‘Read my lips. I’m. Not. Going.’

‘OK,’ her voice shook slightly. ‘I’ll tell them you’re sick or something.’

She opened the front door. He stood over her. ‘What are you doing?’

‘If I’m going to walk there, I’d better go now. It’s getting dark.’

She winced as he grabbed her wrist. ‘If I’m not going, you’re not going.’

‘Rick, I have to. I can’t exactly say we’re both sick, can I? That’ll sound really rude.’

‘I don’t give a fuck! You never come to my family things, I don’t see why I should go to yours.’

‘What are you talking about? We went all the way up to Brisbane for your mother’s birthday a few weeks ago. We spent last Christmas with them. That’s twice in three months and we don’t even live in the same state.’

He twisted her arm, painfully. ‘We aren’t going anywhere, Mary. We’re going to stay at home and have a quiet night together. You’re always saying you want to do that more often. Now’s your chance.’

‘Fuck, Rick. You’re unbelievable.’ She pulled her arm from his grip. ‘I’m going, and you’re not going to stop me.’ She darted through the door and slammed it shut.
She was only a short way down the road when his car pulled up beside her. ‘I’m sorry, honey. I was being a prick, I know. You know how much I hate family stuff. Come on, hop in and we’ll go.’

She looked at him uncertainly. There was no trace of anger on his face now. He looked... contrite? He’d spoken gently. And she knew well how he’d hated doing the family thing. His family was totally screwed up. Parents divorced. An alcoholic, abusive father and a stepfather who hated him. When he was sixteen the stepfather had tried to drag him off the telephone. Rick had knocked him unconscious with one punch. Her family wasn’t like that. She hoped he was learning that families could be nice to each other. She got into the car.

He swung the car around and put his foot down. They were heading out of town. Fast. Way too fast. He swerved wildly around corners. Soon she had no idea where they were or where they were heading. Lismore wasn’t exactly a big place, and they lived on the edge of town as it was. It wouldn’t take long for them to be in the middle of nowhere. Finally he stopped the car. He sat there, not saying a word.

Outside it was dark. Very dark. She knew there should be farmhouses around here, but she couldn’t see any lights. There were no cars on this road. She had seen a couple of cows in the field beside them before he had turned off the car headlights.

‘Rick, what are we doing here?’ She spoke quietly. He didn’t reply. Just stared into the blackness.

‘Please, let’s go home. We can stay home if you want. Whatever you want. Let’s just go ...’

‘I want you to give me a good reason to go on living.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

It occurred to her that even if she tried to scream, no-one would hear her. It occurred to her that tomorrow’s headlines could read “Murder-Suicide”. It occurred to her that she could die, here and now, and the only witnesses would be the cows. She began to shake. Uncontrollably.

Breathe, she told herself. Focus. God, what can I say?

She stammered a reply. She could never remember exactly what she had said, but she tried to remind him of all the good things in his life, in their life together. She tried to be calm and rational. She tried to stop her hands from shaking.

He repeated the question, over and over. "What reasons are there for living?" Making her reply each time. She felt cold, chilled to the bone. She didn’t know how suicidal he felt at that point, but she wanted to live. She wanted to see her family and friends again. She wanted to graduate from uni and begin her career. She wanted to have children, sometime, and laugh and love and have fun. She wanted to feel the sun on her face. She didn't want to die.

She told him she loved him. She really meant it, at that moment. She told him all good things he was, and could be, and could have.

Eventually, he started the car and drove back into town, to the caravan where her aunt and uncle were staying. They apologised for being late, sat down and had a perfectly normal dinner party. Much later, when she would think back to this night, it amazed her how charming Rick was to her aunt and uncle. And how much of a perfect gentleman he was to her. Sweet, gentle, affectionate. This was the side of him she loved. She couldn't even begin to put words to what had just happened. So she tried to forget and just enjoy the evening.

She became good at forgetting. She was good at forgiving too. She still loved him after all.