Sydney, 2022

It’s the first night of daylight savings and we’re at the petrol station. The extra hour of sunlight is an outstretched space of empty time. Dad stands at the bowser. I sit in the passenger seat. The thrum of petrol is like a bassline. It’s always these moments, just the two of us, the sun sinking slow, that I feel most inclined and confident to ask whatever’s on my mind, so when Dad gets back in the car, I ask him what his biggest regret is. He says he’ll have to think about it.

Dad’s Spotify comes through the car speakers. Jeff Buckley’s Grace. The sharp guitars come in first, then the drums, then Buckley’s melancholy vocals.

“He played in Newcastle in ’96,” Dad says. “I didn’t see him.”

Dad lived in Newcastle in the ‘90s. One of his mates went to the gig, but Dad passed it up. He was caught up in other parts of his life. Jeff  Buckley died a year later. I don’t ask if that’s his answer to my question. I wasn’t born yet then, but somehow, I regret it too.

I tip my head back against the seat to drink in the rest of the sun. Buckley sings about not being afraid to die. In a few months Dad and I will be told someone we love has six months to live. But right now, we’re driving, and the sun still hasn’t set. It looks like fire in the sky. Wait in the fire, wait in the fire.

 

 

Stereo Story #769

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Chloe Ellen is currently an undergraduate arts student, majoring in Creative Writing. She writes primarily fiction and poetry, and gets the better part of her music taste from her dad.