Minimalist Gossip Magazine Cover (49).pdf (23) - Flipbook - Page 64
she and my dad take a rest.
I start reading Seven Little Australians and I like it so much that I forget about
the other two Tim Tams. I forget about being stuck in the guest room. I forget to
wonder if we’ll get home before Mum. It’s still light outside when Dad comes in
and carries the box of books out to the back of his truck. I hug Seven Little
Australians against my belly. At home, Dad puts the box of books in my closet and
says Mum doesn’t need to know where I got them. Maybe the library was giving
away books. I hope Mum doesn’t ask. I hide Seven Little Australians under my
pillow.
On Saturday, Dad doesn’t come home. I listen for a long time but fall asleep even
though I try really hard not to. On Sunday, Mum slams the cupboards in the
kitchen and yells about the long grass and what a useless sack of shit Dad is.
It’s still school holidays and Dad isn’t home. Mum took a sickie because she’s got
to take care of me since Dad isn’t here to do the one bloody thing he’s good for. I
go to my room to finish Seven Little Australians but Mum walks in before I can hide
the book under my pillow. She asks where I got it. I say,
‘Dad’s friend Judy gave it to me.’
‘Judy?’ Mum says. ‘What else has Judy given you?’ I tell her about the box of
books in the closet. Mum opens the closet door so hard that it slams against the
wall and leaves a dent. Through my bedroom window, I watch Mum kick open the
screen door and carry the box to her car. I still have Seven Little Australians. I hide
it under my mattress in case Mum remembers later that she forgot that one.
I watch Mum stand in the middle of the long, yellow grass with her hands on her
hips. I wonder why Judy’s grass is green. Our grass is yellow from the summer,
and you’re not supposed to use water because there isn’t enough of it and the
farmers’ sheep and cows are dying and it isn’t right. Plus, the neighbours might
dob. Maybe Judy’s neighbours don’t dob.
Mum comes back to my room and fills the doorway. Her cheeks are red, and her
arms are shiny with sweat.
‘You’re going to give those bloody books back. Now!’ I start crying
and then she says, ‘Stop that or I’ll really give you something to cry about.’
She pulls me up from the bed and drags me out the door, slamming it closed
behind us. ‘Tell me where that bitch lives.’ I don’t know the street names, but I tell
her that Judy’s house is on the other side of the river where there used to be
kangaroos and emus until they built all the little houses like Judy’s house and then
Mum knows where to go. Once we’re inside the curvy streets, I tell her where to
turn until she sees the truck and Dad’s sunburnt shoulders as he pushes a lawn
mower over Judy’s bright green grass. Mum stops the car and goes real quiet.
Then she floors it, and the car squashes some of Judy’s flowers and rams up
the hill of green grass. Dad turns and looks scared, and he leaves the mower and
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