This is weird. Queer even.
I live with these two guys, right. A couple of kids called Dan and Dave.
So, the marriage law survey forms come today. Dan gets his first. He opens it up and – WTF – it’s already filled out. A big fat cross in the No box.
Dan goes white. Doesn’t say anything, not straight away. Just looks at the envelope – no joy there because he opened it himself – and then up close at the cross, as if he’ll find some fine print that explains everything.
At last he looks up. This is bullshit, he says.
Fucking aliens, I say. Fucking homophobes.
That’s when Dave walks in, all sweaty in his singlet and shorts. He sees Dan and says, You right, mate?
Better now, cobber, I say. Thanks for asking.
Dave throws me a dirty look – the wrong kind of dirty look – and goes over to his pal, who’s too stunned or just too fucking stupid to act. You’re all over it, mate, Dave says, spotting the cross on the form. And he pads off to the kitchen, scratching his arse.
Behind him, Dan’s face has gone all red like a traffic light. He flicks me a confused sort of look and I wink right back.
The weird thing, I say, is that –
Dan cuts me off. Bloody stupid how they come at different times, he says. The forms.
Whole thing’s bloody stupid, Dave says, coming out of the kitchen with two beers. Who wants to get fucking married.
Exactly, Dan says. Exakerly, I say.
I hold up an envelope. Ackerly, I say to Dave, yours is here too.
Funny that, he says, handing off both beers to Dan and snatching the envelope away. He tears it open and drags the pages out. Gimme that pen, he says to me. I pass it over and watch as he puts a big fat cross next to Yes.
You’re all over it, mate, Dan says with a grin.
Like I said, who wants to get fucking married.
Then Dave looks at me, and winks, and asks, Where’s yours?
Nowhere, I say. I don’t vote.
Funny that, he says.
He turns to Dan. C’mon, mate, he says, let’s leave him to it.
And together they walk out, beer in one hand, ballot in the other.
(Image by Russ Widstrand)
Flash Wounds 
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