Keith - First Wave

Keith, a 16 year old Aussie surfer.
(Contains some Australian slang)


1. A typical morning

It's dawn. More precisely, it's six-fifty-two. Well, according to the red, square, digits on the display at least.

“Keith, wake up !” A minute later.

“Up young man or I am packing up the surfboard !”

“Ok, ok, I'm up ! Geez woman, give a guy some space !”

“No space for you young man, now get that chick out of here !”

This is all very routine. Keith being a stubborn mule in the morning, his mom Fiona being a real pain and kicking Keith's previous night's conquest, the threat about the surfboard, the disgruntled Keith. Yes, all very standard. Only one thing is missing … let's see … oh wait, no, it's there. I'm referring to the light blue Melbourne sky. Now we have all the tell-tale signs of a perfect, standard, surfer's day.

As usual, I just pursue my morning task : lazing. Yes, I am quite slack. Why ? Well, simply because I know that when Keith gets ready, it's going to be a sick day. Allow me to introduce Keith more formally, after all, you are reading this because I am charming, it would be discourteous of me not to. Keith is a 16 year-old True Blue, long-haired blonde. But more importantly, he's a fairly good looking guy : every week, at least four different girls get a clear view of his … pillows. But this does not seem to bother his mom in the slightest. According to her : “If the tart leaves the fridge alone and rack's off in the morning, ripper !”. Yes, she is a cool mom. Besides, I can't really say anything bad about her, she buys my grub and cleans my bed. It's not like I'm high maintenance. So, as I was saying, Keith does know how to stay active at all times :  by day he is surfing and watching the Sheilas drop like flies, by night he is reanimating said Sheilas. The good life.

“Up, boy !”

That was my queue. Another day of passive entertainment for me. Or that's what I thought till we got to the door.

“Keith. Stop. Now.”

Oh boy, I forgot. Apparently, so did Keith.

“What now ?”

“Why is Little Miss Moonshine still in your bed ?”

She pointed to Keith's bed.

And so we looked and saw this : Mattress half off bed frame. Girl on floor. Half the bed covers out the window (interesting). Bottles of Four Ex under the window sill. A normal view, really.

“She's not exactly on the bed, is she ?”, said Keith.

“Very funny. Get her out.”

“Alright then.”

He walks up to the shirtless girl and kneels beside her.

“Oi. Get up.”, he said.

No response.

“Uhmm, Trisha ? No wait. Martha ?”

This was typical of Keith. Only remember the essentials : what to say and do to get the bird, what to do when she's reeled in, what to say when you're done (“I'll call you some time next week”, of course, he never does). He never quite mastered the delicate art of throwing her back to sea.

“You can't remember her name. You're just like your father was.” 

“Grace ?”, he continued.

“It's Jenn, you moron !”, came the reply from under the mass of red hair.

“Yes, good for you Jenn, now get moving, you and I, we are going roo hunting.”

“Really ?”

“No, I just need you out of here. Get going.”

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