(008)
“It’s all about balance,” Josh dips the black bucket into the river, white paint and hard concrete blobs clinging to it like barnacles, “I saw this guy on tiktok do it.” He pulls it out, half full but still requiring both hands to bring it to the floor gently.
“Right,” Tom nods, handing Josh the blue bucket he’d taken from under his kitchen sink, “like a metaphor for life or something?”
Josh dunks the second bucket, aiming for roughly the same amount of water. “Yeah, exactly, like ying and yang or whatever, being zen and focused- can you grab that?” He gestures to the bottom of the bucket. “Just tip a bit of water out, I’ll hold the handle.”
Tom kneels down and uses both hands to lever the bucket up, arms shaking from the exertion of doing it carefully.
“That’s good!” Josh puffs, pulling the bucket up and away from Tom and down besides the black one, noticeably less delicately than before. “Can you grab one and we’ll move them over by that tree?” Tom takes the thin metal handle of the now slightly bulging blue bucket and follows his friend, running back after to grab the broom and blindfold they’d left behind.
Josh takes his fathers wiry garage broom off Tom, slipping the wooden stick through the loop of the first bucket’s handle, then threading it through the second.
“So,” Josh hands Tom his phone and takes his mothers black sleeping mask from him in return, strapping it to his forehead, “what I want you to do is to help me pick this up from behind, while I’m in like, a squat position,” Tom nods his understanding, moving to where he’s been told, “and then once I’m standing up and it’s stable, move around the front and pull the blindfold down, then film it, starting in the bucket and moving back and underneath to show me in front, and the tree behind me, and I’ll lift my leg so I’m on one leg.”
“Okay,” Tom puts the phone in his back pocket and bends into a squat position facing Josh’s back, with the stick between them, the buckets on either end, “but what does the blindfold represent?”
Josh looks back over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed.
“It’s like, be at one with yourself, avoid distractions, focus on your goal kind of thing. Plus it makes it way harder to balance.”
“Right,” Tom nods, “I’m ready.”
Tom grips the pole and stands up with his arms in front of him, pulling the weight up to a point where Josh can take it on his shoulders, his hands holding the stick on either side. Both boys are shaking from the weight, but they manage to get Josh into his position.
“Okay! Quickly!” Josh’s words come out strained, his face reddening with every passing second.
Tom runs around the front and makes eye contact with Josh, nodding as he pulls the blindfold down. Josh wobbles slightly as his vision goes dark, but not enough to destabilise himself. Tom reaches into his back pocket and brings out the phone, swiping up to open the camera, but only finding the 12 dots for the passcode.
“Fuck! What’s your code!?” Tom squeals.
“Just swipe up from the right!” Josh’s body is visibly trembling now, but he holds fast.
“I did, it didn’t work- wait, don’t move!” He brings the bottom part of the phone to his friend’s thumb, which is sticking out under the handle.
“I’m trying!” Every muscle in Josh’s body is independently shaking by now, the buckets beginning to swing, if only a little.
Tom presses the home button against his friend’s thumb and feels the haptic feedback vibration, turning the screen and seeing ‘can’t read fingerprint, please try again.’ He sighs, exasperated and presses again. “Don’t move!”
“Wai-” the word hasn’t even had time to leave Josh’s mouth before the bucket handle slips inwards towards his hand, sending a jolt through it and knocking the phone directly into the bucket of water. Josh crumples under the sudden shift and ends up on the floor in a heap, with the stick underneath him and the buckets overturned.
Tom falls to his knees, grabbing the phone from the water and desperately drying it off on his shirt.
“Oh my god mate are you alright!?” He leans over Josh, who’s on his side clutching his hand against his chest with his other hand, clearly in agony, and yet laughing.
“My fucking hand man, for fuck sake.” He rolls away from the frantically flooding ground, hooting with laughter and howling from pain.
Tom checks to see if the phone works and laughs too, seeing that the camera is now open. He instinctively hits record.
“So,” he cackles, “what would you say this represents?”
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