Days Off

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This story recently appeared in Issue 85 of Shift Miner Magazine. I hope you get something out of it. Please, leave a comment.

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Hal loved his family.  He carried a photo of them with him, all the time.  It was because he loved them that he agreed to his wife Jody's pleas to move them all to Mackay.  Emerald had been a great place to live, as far as Hal was concerned. He'd made some great mates there.  But Jody's friends and family were in Mackay, and she really wanted the kids to go to school there.

"Besides," said Jody, "with twelve hour shifts you're not really at home when you're working.  You could just drive out from Mackay, work your tour, and then come home after your last shift."

It made a lot of sense.  He really only did sleep and eat at home during his tour.  Lots of others did the drive-in drive-out thing.  Anyway, he liked the coast.  So, they moved.

Hal found his tours to be more lonely then he'd thought he would.  It was that hour or so when he got to the apartment and wound down before falling asleep.  He missed the quick catch-ups with Jody, and looking in on the kids in their beds.  He still fell asleep soon enough, and when Hal fell asleep, he was dead to the world.  He missed them all when he woke up, too.  It was like a dull ache; a longing to be somewhere else.  It didn't really make much sense.  When they were all in the same house he'd only ever got up and dressed in the dark anyway.  Still, he'd known that they were there, at home.

On day-shifts, the drive out to the mine in the pre-dawn darkness always helped Hal to clear his head.  It was his favourite time of the day.  Sometimes he'd think about the work ahead, preparing himself for the day.  Sometimes he'd think about his family.  Sometimes, fishing.

The end of each tour ended with two or three night shifts, depending on where he was in the roster.  He had a kind of feeling of expectation, driving out to the mine in the evenings for his night shifts.  It was almost time for his days off; almost time to go back home.

 It wasn't the night shifts themselves that Hal liked.  In fact, Hal hated working nights.  What he liked was knowing that he would soon be going home to his family.  What he didn't like was the effort it took to stay awake.  He loathed that time from about three to four in the morning, when his body craved a warm bed; but instead he was two hundred and fifty metres underground, putting up roof-bolts or driving a shuttle-car.

For Hal, the next hardest part of night shift was the drive home.  The drives back to Emerald wasn't too bad.  While some blokes felt better the more night shifts they did in a row, it only seemed to get worse for Hal.  By the last shift of his tour, he seemed to be runing on adrenaline and willpower.

It was willpower that made Hal drive straight home to Mackay after his last shift.  He didn't want to have another daytime sleep by himself in his Emerald apartment.  He just wanted to get home.  The mine was half an hour in the right direction anyway.  As the great philosopher Meatloaf once said, "Like a bat out of hell, I'll be gone when the morning comes."

Hal worked out ways to stay awake and stay on the road on that long, tired trip home.  He'd turn the radio on or played a CD, loud.  He'd turn the air-conditioner onto freezing, or sometimes open a window.  He would stop at the servo outside Moranbah, scratching his scalp and rubbing his face.  He'd get an iced coffee from the fridge packed full of them, and then hit the road again.  Next stop: Nebo.  If he found himself drifting off, he'd pull over for a minute and run around the car.  Hal had it worked out.

After six months, the car pretty much drove itself home.  Hal cut out the Nebo stop, and sometimes Moranbah too.  He got better at pushing himself through those sleepy moments.  He'd focus.  He'd talk to himself.  He'd think about Jody and the kids.  He'd keep going, going, going.  Home.

An elderly couple towing their caravan with an old Landcruiser were the first on the scene where Hal's ute had been split in half by a huge gum tree about twenty metres from the road.  The ambulance officers weren't able to revive him.  There were no skid marks, and tests showed his brakes were working fine.

After six years, his family still miss him very much.

Early Starts

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Following is a piece of flash fiction called Early Starts, recently published in Issue 84 of Shift Miner Magazine. The idea is based on two eerily similar stories I've heard from fellow mine workers. Anyone who has to get to work for early starts in the morning should be able to relate to this.

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Harry woke to the sound of a bump and a scream, and sat straight up in bed. In a moment he was staggering down the hall to his daughter's room. He wondered how his wife Judy had slept through it; but then, it had been a rough night for both of them. He found their daughter lying on the ground beside her bed, crying, still half asleep. He picked her up, rubbed her back and made hushing sounds. After a minute it started to work, and before too long he had her tucked back into bed.

Harry wandered back down the hall and went to the toilet. He was about to go back to bed when he decided that it wasn't worth it. He'd have to be up again soon to go to work anyway. The only thing worse than waking up this early was just getting back to sleep and doing it all over again. If there was a single thing that Harry hated about working in the mining industry, it was the early starts. He liked small towns; he preferred them to cities, and enjoyed the fact that despite this he got paid a remote area living allowance. He liked the work, and he liked the people. At least, he didn't dislike the people any more than those in other industries. But Harry was not a morning person. He would set his alarm for the latest possible time he could, without being late for the shift bus. He had his lunch packed the night before; Judy did that for him, mostly. He would lay his clothes, wallet, keys and phone in the bathroom the night before. Harry did his mornings sleepwalking in remote control.

He would usually just throw his clothes on in the dark and leave, but with a bit of extra time today, he treated himself to a shower. The hot water felt good on his neck and back, and he felt his mind clearing as he prepared to face the day. He still ranted in his mind about the ridiculously early start time. He did this almost every day, slowly building up enough anger to get himself moving. Why does the shift have to start at six? he asked himself. Why not eight? Once he got over that, he thought about what he might do with the rest of this extra time. He ruled TV out as a waste. I hardly ever read he thought, as he towelled himself down. I'll start one of those novels I bought, getting dusty on the shelf.

With years of practice he slipped into his clothes, and loaded up his pockets. He turned off the bathroom light and began to sneak down the hall.

Judy appeared in the doorway of their bedroom, scaring him silly. He said one of those words he'd promised to stop saying now that he was a father.

"What on earth are you doing?" said Judy. She said the words slowly, with little pauses between them. It was like she was talking to a child, and he hated it.

Harry kept up the slow talking thing and said, "I'm going to work."

"Harry," said Judy, "It's one o'clock in the morning."

He paused. "Oh," he said. "Well, I thought I might sit down and read one of my novels first."

Legend in His Own Lunchbox

After a break, I have started writing for Shift Miner Magazine again. My latest contribution appears on page 19 of Issue 83, and is called Legend in His Own Lunchbox.

I wrote this story in response to a challenge from Tristan, who wrote:

Bernard, this question has been asked of me in the past and my answer has never been an easy decision. Try using it as a challenge for a story:

"Do you want to be a big part of something small, or a small part of something big?"

I hope that my story is up to the challenge. This story is also less technical in nature than some of the previous ones; I hope that those of you not in the mining industry can enjoy it.

Your comments are appreciated. Unless you're posting spam links; in which case please go away.

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Update: The full text of this story is posted here.

High School 50 Years Ago

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I've just tried out a blog called The One-Minute Writer. They give you a prompt, and you have just one minute to write about it. Believe me, it's not long. It was kind of fun though; I may try it again some time.

The prompt (from here), is:

Do you think high school is easier or harder today, than it was 50 years ago? Why?

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My Response: High School 50 Years Ago
There's no doubt that high school was a lot harder fifty years ago. Just ask my grandfather. He had to walk five miles to school, sometimes in the snow. He was caned for frowning or not doing his homework. At the end of a gruelling day, he had to walk seven miles home again, in the blistering heat.

Sue and I

Her name was Sue. I got this from her name badge. She was about forty, and I thought she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Her fingers showed no sign of a wedding ring, though of course I hadn't had the courage to ask about that.

I'd first seen Sue at the Hertz desk when I arrived in town after a business trip on a late flight from Brisbane. Now I found myself approaching the desk to rent a car for no other purpose than to see her, and to talk to her again, and hopefully to find the courage to ask her out.

I'd picked a time late in the day. The airport was almost empty, and there were no other customers. I approached the desk quietly; too quietly. Sue was concentrating on cutting out some labels. I coughed politely to get her attention, and gave her such a fright she swore and cut her finger with the scissors. She seemed more embarrassed than hurt, though it did draw blood.

"Sorry," she squeaked as she hurried out the back, "I'll be right back." She returned in a few minutes, with a bandaid on her finger. "I'm so sorry," she said. Her face was still just a little flushed, though her silvering blonde hair still sat perfectly on her shoulders. I wanted to tell her she was beautiful, but that wouldn't have been proper. Instead I said, "Do you have any cars free at the moment?"

"You don't have a reservation?" Her tone was professional.

I shook my head. "Not at all," I said, and shrugged, trying to pull off nonchalant. "It's just a spur-of-the-moment thing."

Sue started to go red again. "I'm sorry, but we do only bring a limited number of cars here into the airport office, over and above those required to meet reservations. It's late in the day, and they've all been taken. I could call the downtown office, if you like." She reached for the phone with her hand that didn't have a bandaid, or a wedding ring, on it.

"No, don't do that. It doesn't matter." I turned to go, took a few steps then turned around again. She was still looking at me. "Thank you anyway," I said, "Thank you." Again I turned away, took a few steps and turned to face her. She hadn't stopped watching me, but she looked more amused than anything now. I shuffled back to the desk. "And sorry about that," I said. It was my turn to blush now, as I pointed to her injured finger. She had such elegant fingers.

"It wasn't your fault," she said. Her voice was softer now, less businesslike and efficient. It had huskiness to it.

I wanted to lean over the counter and kiss her softly on the lips, but that wouldn't be right at all. I cleared the thought from my mind, and turned again.

This time Sue's voice made me turn back to her. "Not that it's my business," she said, her voice still gentle, but firm, "but this must be the third time you've come out to get a car on a whim."

I said nothing, but I was conscious of the heat in my face. It must have been glowing.

"Is there anything else you'd like, that I could help you with?"

I didn't want to kiss her any more; I wanted to turn and run. I forced myself to stay, look into her eyes and nod.

Sue looked at her watch. "I close up here in twenty minutes. Would you like to hang around till then, and we can go get a late dinner?"

The relief made me feel a little dizzy. I hung onto the counter for balance, and nodded again. I coughed, to clear my throat. "Yes Sue," I said. "I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

Edit: typos as per Matt's comments.