*Schoolies= our grade twelve’s, after exams and school finishes, go on a special holiday up on our coasts, and party **Conservatorium= a building part of a university in Brisbane for performing arts ***Cyclone Tracy= hurricane, hit Darwin Christmas day, wipe out nearly the whole city in the 70’s ****Barbie= barbeque, not a Barbie doll ~Sheila= an Aussie word for female.
(Brisbane, Australia)
The swimming pool’s water looked so cool and refreshing. If only she could jump in and breath in its tranquility. Then she could be swimming with her classmates, and not dying of the heat.
“Swim faster, Jamie!” the PE teacher yelled at the girl doing her time trials.
“This is so boring,” a voice from behind the loner, said.
“I know,” the girl said. “Why aren’t you swimming, Joan?”
“Flu.”
“In the middle of summer, it’s one hundred degrees today and you’ve got the flu. I wouldn’t be hanging around here. Anyway, it’s all the cheerleaders and their jocks swimming, I’d give them the flu.”
“I’d rather be on the sideline with my best friend laughing at them,” Joan smiled sitting on the bleachers next to where the girl was sitting in her wheelchair. “August, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, as long as it’s not for Japanese, I don’t speak that language.”
“Why do you have to sit in PE if you can’t do it?” she asked.
“Because there’s nothing else for me to do, the other classes are those I don’t take.”
“Don’t you get bored?”
“Why should I get bored watching a bunch of cheerleaders try and swim, when they can’t even do a doggy paddle?”
The two girls laughed and the bell rang.
“School’s out for ever,” Joan sang as they walked out of the fenced swimming area.
“Not quite, we have one week left,” August corrected her as they made their way over to the locker area underneath the administration building. “Are you going to *schoolies?”
“Kind of, I’m staying at my grandmother’s,” she groaned pushing the wheelchair underneath the stairs.
“At least you’re going somewhere,” August pointed out opening a scratched beige locker. “My parents said I was to stay home and study for the University of Akron.”
“I thought you wanted to go to the Conservatorium and study music.”
“I do, my parents want me to study law or psychology,” she sighed pulling out her biology, music and computer books and put them into her bag which was sitting in her locker.
“That’s a bugger,” Joan said, “I’m going down to Adelaide and becoming a nun.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Yeah, I’m going to Darwin to do archaeology.”
“The only thing you’ll dig there are the remains of crocodiles and house rubble from ***Cyclone Tracy,” her friend teased as they made their way over to the car park. “I hope you can come and visit.”
“Me too, maybe we’ll bump into each other when we’re golden oldies and widowed,” Joan laughed.
“You’ll be a rich famous archaeologist.”
“And you’ll be a psychologist known for her great work with children.”
“I doubt it, I’ll probably be… I don’t know,” she said moving around a car and made their way past the cafeteria.
“You’ll be helping bring back reading, and have worked with Mel Gibson, Richard Gere and Julia Roberts, maybe even NSYNC.”
“Who are NSYNC?” she asked as they waited by a group of form eleven boys.
“Don’t you know who NSYNC are?”
“Please, you know I listen to Paul Simon, Michael Crawford and all those type of musicians, my parents don’t allow bands from today’s society pass through our front door. You know how they are. You know how I am.”
“You need re-educating, they’re like the hottest thing on the charts, and they are hot themselves.”
“Sure, I’ll be okay, look my mother’s here, I’ll call you tonight maybe. I have to ask my father if I can use the phone.”
“August, you’re eighteen and you have to ask to use the phone?” Joan asked in concern.
“Well, no, because I’m either studying or practising music.”
“You practice, I mean not that I don’t, it’s just I didn’t take you to be the type who practises music.”
“I know, I’m boring, but that’s just who I am.”
“No, it’s what your parents expect you to be like.”
“I thank you for your concern, but my mother is now here, I’ll try and phone you tonight.”
“Okay, bye,” Joan called to August as she wheeled herself over to the wheelchair accessible van. “Phone me.”
“G’day mum,” August said wheeling herself into the van and her mum lifted the metal runway into the van and closed the door.
“I’ve asked you not to use slang, what is that uncle of yours teaching you?” her mother asked sitting in the driver’s seat and drove off
“Uncle Bob isn’t teaching me, everyone uses it, and it’s our heritage,” her daughter said.
“I don’t care, it’s horrible language,” she said stopping at a set of lights. “Oh, your cousin James is on the phone.”
“Sounds great,” she groaned. Mr Perfect is probably going on about how he’s made a million dollars for dancing on a stage to eight year olds. If I could walk I’d demolish every working bone in his body. He gets paid millions dollars to sign autographs, and how come I’ve never seen a photo of him. He probably has to wear a mask on stage because as ugly as a jellyfish cooked on a ****barbie. I’ve never met him, my parents have never met him and he’s already their number one fan.
“August, why can’t you be more like your cousin?” her mum asked.
“Because he’s not in a wheelchair.”
“He’s disappointed you’re not taking music in university.”
“Yeah, well that’s his problem,” she mumbled.
Twenty minutes her mother pulled up into their driveway and helped her out.
“Uncle Bob, I’m home,” she called, wheeling herself into the house and into the kitchen where he was talking on the phone.
“Hey my little ~Sheila,” he said holding the phone to her, “he wants to talk to you.”
“Why would he want to talk to a failure,” she said taking the phone and putting it to her ear.
“That was harsh,” a voice on the other end.
“Yeah, well when you’re stuck in a wheelchair doing nothing and your cousin is out making millions it is harsh,” she said wheeling her out into the back yard and to the pool. “So James, how much money did you make today? A million? Maybe three or four?”
“James didn’t make any money today,” James said, “he signed autographs and sang.”
“Oh, I feel your pain,” she said sarcastically. “Well first I had my politics period, then music, then biology then I had to watch the “A” group’s swimming lesson. I had a terrific day, also I fell out of my wheelchair and nobody could help me. Want to trade places, I want to have a hard life like yours.”
“You’re so horrible to me, what did I ever do to you?”
“You took my parents attention from me. I’m a failure to them. Do you want to know why I’m not taking music in university? My parents are making me do law or psychology. You make it so easy, I still have to ask to use the phone. I’m not allowed to go out and have fun. I was barely allowed to go to my prom/formal.”
“Well, I’m sorry but I can’t help you there,” he snapped.
“I don’t need your help, I need you to stop interfering with my life.”
“I can’t do that, because I’m your cousin and your godfather,” he said. “Here, one of the guys wants to talk to you.”
“Guys? Who? I thought you worked alone?”
“No, Justin is here hang on,” he said and she could hear the phone being passed on.
“Hello, is August there?” a voice said.
“Yeah, I guess,” she said. “G’day.”
“She said g’day,” he said away from the phone. “Hey, this is Justin.”
“Hi, I’m August.”
“Yeah, Lancey boy’s said a lot about you.”
“Who’s Lancey?”
“Oh, you still call him James. Okay, cool. Well, he’s said a lot about you.”
“Like I’m a failure?”
“No,” he said and called out to someone, “is she a failure?”
“Tell her if she says that one more time I’ll shove her horn down there to,” she heard James all to her.
“Tell James,” she said, “that he might as well throw the whole brass section down there too.”
“I ain’t getting into a war, have your mobile back,” Justin said handing the phone back.
“What’s your problem?” James asked as his aunt came out of the house to August.
“Mum wants to talk to you,” she said and handed her mother the phone. She wheeled herself back into the house to her uncle.
“I think the whole neighbour hood heard that little loveable conversation,” he said handing her a glass of apple juice.
“It’s his own problem.”
“I shouldn’t say, but you’re going to have to get used to him.”
“Why? He’s not going to Oz for a visit?”
“The other way around,” he said, “it wasn’t my idea. Your mother was asked by superstar and she thought it would be a good idea.”
“What about my exam results, the one I depend on to get my a descent job?”
“She’ll phone you and tell.”
“I don’t want to stay with him? Will Aunty Di and Uncle Jim be there?”
“Yes, and so will his other band friends.”
“Great boys, shame Stacey doesn’t live there, then there’d be a girl.”
“Stop feeling sorry for your self,” Uncle Bob called after as she wheeled herself out of the room.
“Thanks for telling her,” her mother said walking into the kitchen with the phone.
“That’s what I’m here for, and she didn’t take it well.”
“She’ll get over to, although young James will have to work fast to liven up my baby,” she sighed putting the phone down onto the kitchen table.
Email: keldra_86@yahoo.com.au
