They interfered with our game, they changed our priorities and introduced into us a fathomless longing for something other than a shallow ride on a wave – and in so doing they played a wholly inconvenient game with many of our sensibilities.
Girls consumed our daylight hours with the same limitless hunger as homework did our nights. These puresome waifs, they drifted in and out of the tightest male cliques with an enviable insouciance.
Always in transit.
Girls, in their feminine contrariness, fed on our immature inadequacies with the same lethal enthusiasm as a fox’s hunger does when its master capers about a fat rabbit.
Forever drawing closer.
Girls had no appreciation of the technical aspects of, say, successfully handling a steep take-off; they would certainly listen to us blustering away – coyly perched on those ancient sun blackened boulders at South Bondi – as the subject was discussed at great length, but their eyes were not associated with their ears, and the discussion faltered from time to time whenever one of us looked over and was lucky enough to gaze into, and meet, if just for an instant, one of those dark and watchful pools of light.
Girls couldn’t travel, wouldn’t travel, they were unable to throw four weeks kit into a duffel bag, tie a board onto a roof rack and vanish off up the north coast for a month or two.
Girls would rarely drink in Beer Gardens and never in Public Bars, they avoided the beach at night and were always in time for the last bus home, from anywhere. They knew the value of a goodbye and they slipped in and out of our Saturday nights like tricks of light, leaving us wondering what to grasp of them.
Girls were never alone, they moved about in knitted up alliances with other girls and they developed an impenetrable cross communication of half-words, sharp glances and subtle gestures that confounded us all.
Though it all made sense later.