"Yeah, I've seen it."

It's your first trip to the coast as well, but you're not going on and on about it. After all, it's not really such a big deal. You've seen the beach and the ocean on TV and in the movies, and you've looked at postcards and pictures. Your friend Jenny went to Hawaii with her dad and sent you a card from Waikiki, and that wasn't so great. Just a bit of sand and some greenish water. Not even any waves. The birth-place of surfing, the back of the card said, and you laughed, right out loud.

Aunty Rose sent you a photo from the south of Victoria once, and that was a little more impressive. At least the water was moving in that one. The Twelve Apostles, pillars of ragged rock rising from the boiling ocean. But she said it was like nothing she'd ever seen, so you can't imagine that the ocean you're going to see now will be all that brilliant.

Growing up all your life on a wheat farm in the middle of nowhere you have to admit that of course you've wanted to go to the sea, wondered what it was like, studied the pictures. But you've never rabbited on like Kellie, because to be completely truthful you can't see why such a fuss is made. So it's a whole heap of deep blue water. Hardly worth going on and on about.

She's at it again. "How much further, Dad?"

"A few hours yet, Kell."

"How many?"

"I don't know. Six or seven, I guess."

"Why don't you have a sleep?" suggests Mum helpfully, but you just know that Kellie's not going to sleep.

"I can't wait to see the ocean," she says for about the millionth time, leaning her head forward to examine the map up close.

"So you've said," you mutter.

"Alex, leave her alone," says Mum. "She's only six and she's excited, okay? Just let her be."

You shake your head at Kellie, rolling your eyes, and she pokes out her tongue at you, so you retreat to the music in your headphones. There's no point going on with this particular argument, because you know you won't win. You can't. The referee's biased.

* * *

"How much further now, Dad?" asks Kellie suddenly, sitting bolt upright and rubbing her red sleepy eyes. With the back of her hand she wipes away the little line of dribble that you've been watching creep down her chin. "Are we nearly there?"

"A whole hour closer than the last time you asked," you tell her.

"Mum---" She starts to wail in protest, but Mum's asleep too.

"Keep it down, you two," says Dad. "We've got a long way to go yet."

* * *

Kellie's at the top of the playground equipment, yelling like mad at her new friend.

"Careful," says Mum, but of course Kellie doesn't hear.

You suck on your chocolate shake. Mum's watching you from the other side of the table, gentle amusement on her face as she stirs her tea with the little plastic stick. "What's wrong with you?" she asks. "Why the mopes?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look like you're about to die of boredom."

"I am."

She smiles. "I know it's tough, but it's only for a couple of weeks. They'll all still be there when you get back."

"I'm missing the cricket match. I was meant to be first drop this time."

"It's just a cricket match," she says.

"Try not to make it sound like such a big deal."

"I know it's important to you, but really, it is just a cricket match. It's not as if it's your last."

"Forget it," you say. You should have known she'd never understand.

"Besides, you're going to see the ocean." Apparently this is meant to make you feel better.

"I can't wait to see the ocean," chirps Kellie, who's stopped by long enough to grab a couple of fries.

You make a face at her. "I'll drown you in it when we get there," you say as she dashes off.

"Alex!" scolds Mum, but that hint of a smile is there.

Dad's finally woken up and wandered in from the car for a coffee. "Are we nearly there yet?" he mocks in a high voice as he nears the table.

"Shut up!" you both say in unison.

* * *

The numbers on the big green roadside signs are getting smaller. Sydney was 1034 when you left, 854 a while later, and then when you stopped for lunch it was 722, with a coffee break at 560. Now as the sun is falling behind you the sign says 337, and you know it won't be long now. Kellie's enquiries about how much longer until you get there are getting further apart. Maybe it's because everyone keeps telling her to shut up, or perhaps it's because she's just tired of asking.

She's playing your Gameboy. There are only two good reasons why you're letting her borrow it. The first is that it keeps her quiet, and the other, more important reason is that you're bored with it.

The biggest body of water Kellie's ever seen was the dam at your place, which is pretty big, maybe even the biggest in the area. You've been waterskiing with friends at the Reservoir a couple of times, but Kellie's never been there. Perhaps it's understandable then that she should be so excited about going to the beach. You just hope that she won't be disappointed.

* * *

She's asleep again, her head leaning against the window in the dusty orange light. Mum and Dad are talking quietly in the front, the radio playing softly.

You take the map from beside your sister and study it closely. For Kellie's benefit Mum has made two red crosses -- one where you live and the other on Sydney -- and joined them with a red line, which runs along the highway. It doesn 't look all that far on this map -- only a couple of centimetres. From one side of Australia to the other is at least twenty. But what really blows your mind is the distance around the country, the distance along the wiggly black line which divides the yellow of the land from the pale blue of the sea.

"Dad."

"What?"

"I'm a bit frightened to ask this, but---"

"About three hours, Alex, maybe a bit more."

You return to the music in your headphones.

* * *

Mum is shaking you gently from the open door. "Come on, mate, we're here."

"Where?" you ask, blinking and confused.

"Aunty Rose's. They've got tea waiting."

* * *

After chops and veges you go to the room you'll be sleeping in, get ready for bed and climb between the cool crisp sheets. You can hear Kellie in the bathroom talking to Mum, going on and on excitedly about the ocean and how you're going to see it tomorrow. How she's going to dig in the sand with the new bucket and spade she got for Christmas.

"Only if the weather's okay," warns Mum. "Now clean your teeth and go to bed."

* * *

The snooze in the car must have refreshed you, because now you can't sleep. Instead you lie there listening to Kellie. She's using two different voices, holding a private conversation with herself. "Where are you off to? Why, I'm off to the beach! Can I come? Of course you can! Oh, I'm so excited! I've never been to the beach before! I've got a new bucket and spade that I'll share with you---"

"Kell."

"What?"

"Shut up."

So she whispers instead, which is more irritating.

In the lounge-room the adults are watching TV. You can hear the actors saying their lines and then the audience laughter which follows. Occasionally Uncle Phil laughs. It's a show you get back home too. You're never allowed to watch it there either.

Cars groan by in the street. It's an unusual feeling, hearing the cars and knowing that now you're in a different place, surrounded by millions of strangers all going about their lives not knowing who you are or even that you're there. City people in their houses watching the same shows you get back in the country.

Then you hear the gradually increasing hiss of rain on the roof, and after a while it becomes a roar. You're grateful for it, because it drowns out the sound of Kellie's whispering. Now at least you'll be able to get some sleep. Looks like no beach tomorrow, though.

* * *

You wake up to the sun streaming through the window, and immediately feel strangely relieved. The bedroom door is open, and you can hear the rattle of plates in the kitchen, and the sound of Kellie taking up where she left off last night. Aunty Rose is in the kitchen bravely withstanding the barrage from your little sister. Mum's taking a shower and Dad and Uncle Phil are in the front drive looking under the bonnet of your red-dusty car.

"Morning, Alex," Uncle Phil says as you emerge into the sunshine chewing on a piece of toast. "How'd you sleep in the big city?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Off to the beach today?"

"I think that's what Kell's got in mind," you say.

"Got that right," answers Dad.

"It's the weather for it," observes Uncle Phil, squinting at the blue cloudless sky. Seems that even in the city he still talks like the country boy he is.

* * *

You're on your way at last. Mum's got her enormous straw hat on, and Dad's wearing his Akubra, just like always. Anyone who bothers to look will know immediately that you're all from the country.

So at last you're going to see the ocean. Your family's going to have its first picnic by the seaside, just like English people in old books. You wonder if there'll be brightly coloured little sheds down by the edge of the sand, and people in deck chairs under umbrellas. For two days now you've tried to work out what the fascination is, but you still can't see it.

Kellie's playing your Gameboy again. Now that you're finally on your way to the beach she doesn't seem to care. That's pretty typical.

* * *

You spot it before anyone else, just a strip of deep blue above roofs and trees as you crest a hill. The line of the horizon stretches from your far left to your far right, long and ever so slightly curved.

"Hey, Kell, there it is," says Mum. "There's the ocean."

She looks up and sees it, her eyes widening. "Hey, yeah!" she says. "The ocean!"

"See it, Alex?"

"Yes, Mum, I see it."

"Well, what do you think, boy?" asks Dad.

"Yeah, cool, I guess."

"Worth waiting for, then," says Mum under her breath.

* * *

"Help your mother carry some stuff," says Dad, handing you the picnic basket. You take it without removing your gaze from what you see before you. You step onto the hot sand and put the basket down, again without taking your eyes off the ocean, big and blue. From the top of the hill it shimmered like the smooth flank of a fish, but down here, so close, it moves. It seems to be breathing. You've read it described that way before -- breathing -- but now you really understand.

You walk closer, your gaze fixed on the ocean. You watch the swells rise, growing all the time, until somehow they grow even larger. Then their bulk is too great even for themselves, and they trip, thumping down with a sound like sharp-edged thunder, and spray flies up. And after they've reached as far up the beach as they can they slide back, hissing and sighing.

You stand there for a time, just watching the waves roll in, one after the other. Further up the beach is a small group of surfers, but they're doing more sitting out behind the breakers than they are riding. And there are people lying on the sand, but there are no little shacks, and very few umbrellas.

You walk right down to the damp sand, your feet sinking into it. So this is the edge. This is where Australia ends and the rest of the world begins. This is what the black wiggly line means -- this very spot is somewhere on it. One more step and you 're off the edge of the map, out of the yellow and into the pale blue.

Another wave comes in, a bigger one. The frothy stuff washes up over your shoes, but you don't even care. You're on the very edge of the country. At this moment no one is more on the edge than you are

"How's this, then?" asks Mum, who's sneaked up beside you. Her jeans are rolled up and her feet are bare. "What do you think?"

"It's... it's amazing," you say. "We're right on the edge. Where's Kell? I want to show her."

"Back there,"says Mum, and you turn to look. She's sitting cross-legged in the sand, wearing her cossie and her mad sun-hat. She's already digging with her plastic spade.

"Hey, Kell," you call out. "The ocean." And you point, like you've just spotted it yourself.

"Yeah, I know," she answers. "So?"

"Don't you want to come down here and see it?"

"I can see it, you dummy."

And Mum's laughing.

(c) James Roy 2000