Australia
Part 1

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"Now, don't tell your mother about this damn cake," she would say. "I don't want my daughter thinking I'm spoiling your appetite for dinner. Lord knows you need feeding, though. You're too damn skinny."

"I'm just as big as the other kids in my grade. Bigger than some. But thanks for the cream cake, Nellie."

Everybody called my gran 'Nellie'… even the boarding house guests, some of whom had lived there since before I was born thirteen years ago. She was everybody's grandma… fussing, and cooking, and lending a sympathetic ear to anyone with a problem. But she could also be tough. If any of the guests got outa line, she'd give them a tongue lashing they'd never forget. And if they misbehaved a second time, she'd tell them to pack their bags and get the hell outa there.

One place that was strictly outa bounds for the twenty or so guests was Nellie's kitchen. She didn't wanna be pestered by people sniffing around for food or a chat, mainly 'cause she was always busy preparing meals, seven days a week. It was her own private domain, so it was a privilege for me, or anyone else, to be allowed within those hallowed walls.

It was one Saturday morning when I pedaled down to the old, cream-colored, weatherboard, boarding house to deliver a small package from my mom. I leaned my bike against the trunk of the massive tree in the front yard, then walked barefoot past all the doors on either side of the long, central hall, which led to the large dining room, and finally to the kitchen.

"Hi, Nellie," I smiled, handing the package to her. "Mom asked me to give you this." It was then that I noticed a young guy standing near the big, wood-fired, iron stove that Nellie used to cook all the meals for the guests. That's strange, I thought. The only other person who's allowed in here is the cleaning lady. The guy was kinda tallish, slim, with curly, fair hair, and green eyes. And me? Well, I had brown eyes, and black hair.

While my gran was opening mom's package, I heaved my ass up onto the large, wooden table in the center of the room, then glanced at the guy, who nodded and smiled at me.

"Do you live here?" I asked as I swung my legs back and forth.

"Yep. Been here for about a month. I'm from Sydney."

"Now don't go annoying Tim," Nellie scolded.

"He's OK, Nellie," the guy said in my defense. "You must be Chris … Nellie's grandson. She's told me all about you. I'm Tim."

"You work in a bank or something? A lotta the guys who stay here here are from outa town, and work in banks. We call them 'bank Johnnies'. Or are you a teacher? There's a lotta teachers here, too."

"Nope. I work at the radio station."

"Wow! Do you talk on the radio?"

"Yep. I do the breakfast session."

"So you're the guy I hear in the mornings before I go to school?"

"That's me. Tim O'Riley."

"Nah… you're kidding me. Right? He's older than you. How old are you?"

"Eighteen… but my voice sounds older."

"You don't look eighteen. You look maybe sixteen, max."

"Ask Nellie. She knows who I am."

"Chris! Stop annoying Tim. And, yes, he's Tim O'Riley."

"How come Tim's allowed in the kitchen?"

"Because I said so. Besides, it's none of your business."

I couldn't wait to get home and tell mom about Tim. "Mom? Mom? Hey, mom! Guess what? There's this really cool guy… Mom? Where are you?"

"Out here."

I raced through the back door, and saw mom watering the garden. "Mom, I met this really cool guy at the boarding house. He's on the radio in the mornings. He's famous! And we talked for ages in Nellie's kitchen!"

"What was he doing in the kitchen? None of the guests are allowed in there."

"He is. Nellie's taken a shine to him. Even makes sandwiches and a thermos of coffee before she goes to bed at night so he can take some breakfast to work. He starts way, way early. Anyway, he talked to me… y'know, like man to man… guy stuff. He's really, really interesting!"

"What on earth would he talk to you about?"

"Carburetors. He knows about engines and stuff. He's got a car. He's totally cool, mom. Wow! And Nellie gave him the best room in the house… the one at the front with its own private entrance."

A few days later, after school, I pedaled over to the boarding house, hoping to see Tim again. But he wasn't in the kitchen. "You want me to run any errands, Nellie?"

"I forgot sugar. Tell Mr Nelson to put it on my bill."

"Anything else? And is Tim here?"

"Now don't you go bothering that boy."

"He's not a boy!"

"He is to me. Hardly looks a day older than you."

"Mom says he's got a really mature voice. She thought he was like ancient or something… maybe thirty!"

"Thirty's ancient?" Nellie laughed. "Now be a good boy and go get the sugar."

At the end of the long hall, on my way to my bike, I arrived outside the door of the front room. I paused for a moment, and wondered if I should knock. Would he mind? Then I thought of an excuse.

"Chris! How are you?" He looked surprised to see me, but also pleased.

"I'm fine, Tim," I beamed. "I'm running an errand for Nellie. Do you need anything from the shop?"

"Now that you mention it, yeah. I've got a bit of a headache. Can you get me some aspirin?"

Woohoo! It worked! Five minutes later, I was back. "Here's your sugar, Nellie. Can I have a glass of water?"

"There's no need to ask for water, Chris. And your cake is in the fridge."

"Thanks, Nellie."

I was about to knock on Tim's door when I realized it was slightly ajar. "Tim?" I asked as the door slowly opened, and revealed the interior of his room. He was sitting at a small table, writing something on a pad.

"Chris! That was quick. C'mon in."

"I brought you some water." I placed the glass on the table, then the aspirin. "This is such a cool room! I've never been in here before. Wow!" The room had three doors! Actually, five. Two French doors leading to the front verandah, two leading to the side verandah, and one main door. "This is awesome! And a double bed! Jeez!"

"So are you," Tim smiled after taking the aspirin, and swallowing a mouthful of water. "Awesome, I mean. Thanks for being so thoughtful."

"You wanna bite of my cake? It's got fresh cream in it. Nellie makes them herself."

"It's yours. You have it."

I took a bite, then handed the cake to Tim. "Sure?"

"OK, I'll have a little. Thanks."

"My mom says I never stop talking about you. She wants to meet you. She listens to your program every morning. She asked me to ask you if you could play some Dean Martin songs for her. She hates rock and roll."

"I'd have to get the programmer's permission, and he hates Dean Martin," Tim laughed, then glanced at my feet. "Do you ever wear shoes?"

"Not unless I have to. I wear footy boots, though. I'm on the school team."

"You play football? Cool. Lemme know when your next match is due… I'll come and watch."

"Really? You wanna see me play? That'd be neat! You want me to come around again tomorrow? I can go to the shop for you again… that's if you need anything. Nellie says I shouldn't bother you, though. Am I bothering you?"

"Not in the least. On the contrary. I enjoy your company."

"When you talked to me in the kitchen the other day, it was like way, way awesome. My dad never talks to me about carburetors or anything important like that. He thinks I'm too young to talk about adult stuff. And the kids at school wouldn't know their ass from their elbow."

"I enjoyed talking to you."

"Honest? Me, too! Are you gonna play a song for me tomorrow morning? Any song… it doesn't matter which one. But can you say my name on the radio? That would be soooo cool! Can you say my name at 7:15? That's when I have breakfast. I'll tell my folks to be quiet. Will you?"

"I'm not supposed to give cheerio calls, but, hey, for you, no problem. It'll be my pleasure. And listen, Chris, I wasn't doing you any favors when I spoke to you in the kitchen the other day. I wanted to. And I was really pleased that you also wanted to talk to me."

"Really? Wow! You've gotta meet my older bro. He's about your age, and he treats me like some dumb kid. He's gonna be so pissed off when he knows that you're my… well… that I know you."

"What were you gonna say? That you're my mate?"

"Am I?"

"I'd like that."

"Cool! Hey, I gotta jet. Don't forget to call my name on the radio tomorrow… 7:15. Promise? You wanna come to dinner at our house one night? I'll ask mom. You wanna? Like tomorrow?"

"That would be great, Chris," he smiled. "Are you always this enthusiastic?"

"Sorry. Am I coming on too strong or something? I didn't mean to."

"No. You're doing just fine, mate. Just fine."

Next morning, at exactly 7:14, while sitting with my folks and younger bro Ben at the breakfast table, I asked everybody to be quiet for a minute.

"What for?"

"Tim's gonna say something on the radio."

"Like what?"

"Just listen."

At 7:15, after a song had finished, Tim announced the time, then read an ad. That was followed by a recorded ad, then another.

"Who cares about boring old ads?" Ben asked as he dug a spoon into his bowl of cereal.

"Shhhhh!"

"It's sixteen and a half minutes past seven on this magnificent Wednesday morning in Summerland," Tim said as I recognized the music under his voice… it was the beginning of the Beach Boys song, 'Good Vibrations'. "Currently 68 degrees, and headed for a warm and sunny 76."

"What's the big deal about a forecast?"

"Shhhh!"

"Good morning, Chris. I'm a bit late, so I hope you're still listening. My boss is gonna kill me for this… but I hope you have a killer day, mate. Thanks for everything. And anytime you wanna talk about carburetors, be my guest. Later, mate."

"He called you mate!"

"So?" I smiled at Ben, then turned my attention to mom. "Hey, mom, can you invite Tim to dinner? Tonight? I told him I'd ask you."

"We don't know him."

"I do. He's totally cool. You'll love him, mom. You, too, dad. I'll phone him now while he's on air. Can he come for dinner? Please, mom? Tonight?"

Mom rolled her eyes, shook her head, then smiled. "OK, son," she relented. "But it won't be anything fancy… just the usual family meal."

"Cool!"

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