like that before and sheâs not going tostart now.
If I hadnât been born to these parents, Iâd have come out somewhere, somehow. Iâve never not wanted to be. Iâd just rather not be here.
She closes the dictionary. On second thought, she opens it again, then SLAMS it shut. Dadâs face does appear around the wing of his chair. He says nothing, but sheâs grateful for his look of annoyance. If he can still be annoyed, thereâs hope.
Thereâs a mumble from him. âWhy arenât you in school?â
So maybe there isnât hope. âSummer holidays.â
He grunts.
She fights a sudden urge to throw the television out the window. Another D word: defenestration.
To throw something
(or someone?)
out the window
. And they think kids watch too much television. Try all the mind rot adults watch; takes their thoughts, like soda crackers, and grinds them into a soup of mindlessness. They donât even need teeth to eat it.
When was the last time she saw Dad outside the house? Really outside â not just on the dock? Canât imagine what it would take to get him out of that chair. He could put his glasses on for a start, and see where he was going.
Maybe sheâll have to start a fire. No. Foster home for sure, and that would be after a while of wherever they stow Young Arsonists.
Ping!
She turns to look at the east window. Again a pebble hits the glass. Dad starts, but doesnât move from his chair.
âAbi!â Itâs Jude, waving his lunch bag, a newspaper rolled up under his arm. She grabs a box of crackers and a chunk of cheddar, an apple with just a couple of bad spots, pulls the old car blanket from the chesterfield.
Outside, a wind has come up, and the river moves with caps of dirty white foam. The warm summer wind raises the downy hair on her arms. She sets out the blanket and sits in the middle.
âHey!â Jude nudges her bum with the toe of his shoe. âYou think youâre alone here?â
She scoots over.
âYou spend a lot of time alone?â he asks as he unwraps a sandwich. He checks between the slices of bread.
She doesnât answer.
âYour mum makes your lunch?â is her question.
He nods and bites into the sandwich. She can smell the heavy fragrance of a cheese Mum used to like.
Maybe still does.
She opens her box of crackers.
âYour mum doesnât mind taking care of your son?â
Jude looks surprised. âNo, of course not.â
âWhatâs he like?â
âWho?â
âYour son,â she says. âDyl.â
Jude looks at her. Just how sheâs not sure. As if he wants to read her mind?
âItâs just a question,â she says.
âWell,â he begins, and finishes chewing his bite of sandwich. Then he grins. âHeâs two,â he says, and promptly takes another bite.
She waits for more.
âHavenât you heard of the terrible twos?â
âI guess so, but I donât really know anything about it.â
âYouâve never babysat kids?â
âNot too many kids in the neighbourhood,â she says, pointing with her chin in the direction of the road. âOr anyone, for that matter.â
âHmm.â His eyes become slits as he scrutinizes her. âWell, he says the word ânoâ a lot, and heâs kind of like a piece of Velcro: stuck on my pant leg all the time, you know?â
No, I donât know
. But she says nothing, and begins to eat. Judeâs touch on her arm is light, and he draws from one freckle to the next. âConnect the dots,â he says, âand what do you have?â
She hope he doesnât notice that her skin is suddenly goose-pimpled.
âYouâll have dots with lines,â she says. How can she feel so comfortable with Jude one minute, and the next so uncomfortable and with stupid words coming out of her mouth?
He pulls away slowly, sits back with his eyes on the
Alana Hart, Michaela Wright