out of me and all over him. My body is immediately tense, waiting for the fight. I yell arsehole at him. He hears and shakes his head. Then he looks sad and I wish I could walk straight past the gate, back down the street and away from him, my family and the world. But I donât. I walk in the front door.
Mumâs smoking a cigarette in the kitchen and listening to the radio. I smell tomato and eggs and hope the shouting is over quickly. Iâm starving. She begins and I shut off. Itâs an easy trick I have learned. I focus on her forehead. Peter taught me the trick but we use it to different results. Dad can rave at him for hours and Peter will walk away unaffected. Itâs Mum who drives him crazy. But I have no patience for my mother. Dad has an excuse, he was born in Greece. A different world. Poverty, war, hardship, no school, no going out, no TV. Itâs a world heâd prefer to go back to and a world I have no fucking clue about. Singing around coffee tables, sleeping in the afternoon, walks in the evening and celebrations in the night. He should never have left, no matter how bad things were back there. Here, under the Australian sun, heâs constantly sniffing the air and looking disappointed. He canât really breathe here, he says.
But Mumâs different. She was born here and is as Australian as me. Shit, with the nasally squawk she speaks in sheâs more skip than me. She butts out her cigarette and lets fly. Where have I been? Why donât I ring? I stare into her forehead. The questions continue and I donât answer any of them. She starts a rave in Greek, calls me a fucking animal, a pig in the mud she stresses, throws a tea-towel at me and starts crying. I go to her, put my arm around her shoulder and kiss her on the cheek. Hi Mum, I say, Iâm hungry. She slaps me lightly on my arse and, grumbling a little more, starts preparing lunch.
I turn on the TV in the lounge room and flick across the stations. A young James Stewart in a cowboy suit. I sit down to watch the movie and Mum brings in a plate of tomato and egg, some fetta, some bread and a salad. Do you want some meatballs? she asks me, and I refuse. Some coke? I nod and she brings me a full glass and sets it down on the table.
âI used to fight with your grandfather all the time, Ari. I scoop the meal in my mouth, wrapping the fetta in bread and swallowing it in large bites. But I always respected him, Ari. Always. She says the last words in Greek.
âI respect you too, Mum. And Dad too. Itâs a lie and maybe she knows it. I love my parents but I donât think they have much guts. Always complaining about how hard life is and not having much money. And they do shit to change any of it. Dad would like to go back to Greece some day, he thinks that life will change for him then. But Mum wouldnât leave us behind and I donât know if Greece would make her any happier. I donât know what would make her happier; she must dream of blinking her eyes, finding herself sixteen again and making different decisions.
âIâm sorry Mum. I got drunk and forgot to ring. And I didnât get up till late.
âJust like your brother to get you drunk. She looks at me, smiles a little. Is he at the library? she asks. Yes, I lie, heâll be there all day.
âYou can tell me, she says, heâs gone out with Janet, hasnât he? I just stare at the TV. Heâs studying, Mum. I finish off the food and she starts clearing away the mess. I never see your brother any more. Not since that bitch took him away from us, I hear her yell loudly from the kitchen.
On screen an ugly bad guy has started a fight with Jimmy Stewart. A blonde woman in tight black suspenders and a white petticoat helps him out by smashing a bottle of spirits over the bad guyâs head. Sheâs got great legs and no talent. You can see her eyes wandering towards the camera. Iâmnot listening to Mum. She can go on
Mumâs smoking a cigarette in the kitchen and listening to the radio. I smell tomato and eggs and hope the shouting is over quickly. Iâm starving. She begins and I shut off. Itâs an easy trick I have learned. I focus on her forehead. Peter taught me the trick but we use it to different results. Dad can rave at him for hours and Peter will walk away unaffected. Itâs Mum who drives him crazy. But I have no patience for my mother. Dad has an excuse, he was born in Greece. A different world. Poverty, war, hardship, no school, no going out, no TV. Itâs a world heâd prefer to go back to and a world I have no fucking clue about. Singing around coffee tables, sleeping in the afternoon, walks in the evening and celebrations in the night. He should never have left, no matter how bad things were back there. Here, under the Australian sun, heâs constantly sniffing the air and looking disappointed. He canât really breathe here, he says.
But Mumâs different. She was born here and is as Australian as me. Shit, with the nasally squawk she speaks in sheâs more skip than me. She butts out her cigarette and lets fly. Where have I been? Why donât I ring? I stare into her forehead. The questions continue and I donât answer any of them. She starts a rave in Greek, calls me a fucking animal, a pig in the mud she stresses, throws a tea-towel at me and starts crying. I go to her, put my arm around her shoulder and kiss her on the cheek. Hi Mum, I say, Iâm hungry. She slaps me lightly on my arse and, grumbling a little more, starts preparing lunch.
I turn on the TV in the lounge room and flick across the stations. A young James Stewart in a cowboy suit. I sit down to watch the movie and Mum brings in a plate of tomato and egg, some fetta, some bread and a salad. Do you want some meatballs? she asks me, and I refuse. Some coke? I nod and she brings me a full glass and sets it down on the table.
âI used to fight with your grandfather all the time, Ari. I scoop the meal in my mouth, wrapping the fetta in bread and swallowing it in large bites. But I always respected him, Ari. Always. She says the last words in Greek.
âI respect you too, Mum. And Dad too. Itâs a lie and maybe she knows it. I love my parents but I donât think they have much guts. Always complaining about how hard life is and not having much money. And they do shit to change any of it. Dad would like to go back to Greece some day, he thinks that life will change for him then. But Mum wouldnât leave us behind and I donât know if Greece would make her any happier. I donât know what would make her happier; she must dream of blinking her eyes, finding herself sixteen again and making different decisions.
âIâm sorry Mum. I got drunk and forgot to ring. And I didnât get up till late.
âJust like your brother to get you drunk. She looks at me, smiles a little. Is he at the library? she asks. Yes, I lie, heâll be there all day.
âYou can tell me, she says, heâs gone out with Janet, hasnât he? I just stare at the TV. Heâs studying, Mum. I finish off the food and she starts clearing away the mess. I never see your brother any more. Not since that bitch took him away from us, I hear her yell loudly from the kitchen.
On screen an ugly bad guy has started a fight with Jimmy Stewart. A blonde woman in tight black suspenders and a white petticoat helps him out by smashing a bottle of spirits over the bad guyâs head. Sheâs got great legs and no talent. You can see her eyes wandering towards the camera. Iâmnot listening to Mum. She can go on
Similar Books
Crescent City
Belva Plain
A Christmas Knight
Kate Hardy
Crockett's Seduction
Tina Leonard
The Rules According to Gracie
Stefanie London
Love Has The Best Intentions
Christine Arness
After Math
Denise Grover Swank
Waterfront Weddings
Annalisa Daughety
Flight Patterns
Karen White