Mint Cornetto

Adelaide, Australia. 2017.

Music plays out of the car speakers, crackly and sweet. I like this song. Dad ripped this to a CD for me when I asked him to. Mum opens the driver’s door and sits back down in the car, switching off the radio. She hands me a Cornetto and I curl my lip.
“This is mint.”
“It’s all they had.”
“I hate mint.”
She sighs then leans back in her chair, placing her own ice-cream against her cheek. There’s a bruise there the same colour as my favourite jacket. I’m bored.
“I want to go outside.”
“Not now.”
“I want to go for a swim.”
“I said no.”
I sigh as loud as I can then lean forward, resting my elbows on the dash. I can see in front of us where the car park ends and the sand continues before giving way to sea. It’s so dark out there. The sea and the sky are the same colour and all I can see is black. I yawn.
“Can we go home?”
“Not right now.”
“Not for a while. We’re going to stay at Aunty Grace’s.”
“That’s ages away.”
“I need you to be good for me okay?”
“I want to go home.”
Mum turns the radio back on.
“Try to get some sleep.”
She shuts her eyes and pulls her jacket around her shoulders. The radio is quiet and behind it I can hear waves crashing. A wind blows and makes the car shake. Suddenly I want to turn the radio up a little louder.
A woman is singing a song I recognise. One of the old songs my parents would listen to before they stopped listening to songs. I sing to it under my breath and unwrap my ice-cream.
Mint is sticky on my fingers and mum is snoring when her phone rings. It’s dad so I answer it.
“Hey dad.”
“Where’s your mum?”
“She’s asleep.”
Mum stirs. I watch her eyes open.
“Tell me where you are sweetheart.”
“We’re at the bea-”
I’m pushed back as mum leaps across the car. Her shoulder knocks my head against the side window and I yelp as she rips the phone from my grip. She throws it to the backseat then turns to me with eyes red.
“What did you do? What did you say?”
I’m holding the back of my head. It hurts and the pain is pushing against the front of my face. I’m not listening. I’m crying. Quiet at first and now louder. I screw my eyes shut and hope for everything to stop.
I recoil as arms curl around my middle but relax when they pull me in tight. Hands go up my neck and cradle the back of my head. I let my face fall into mum’s chest.
“I’m sorry baby.”
“I want to go home.”
Hands stroke my hair. The radio is playing a song I don’t know and behind it I can hear waves rising and falling.

Goodbyes Are Hard

Washignton D.C., U.S.A. 2017.

It was time. Finally.
Shaking hands grip my bicep and without looking up from my phone I pull my arm away. My gum has lost its flavour which sucks.
“This sucks.” I say.
His hands move from my arm to my waist, pulling tight. The feather tucked in his hair tickles my nose and I try not to sneeze. My chest feels damp and it’s now I realise he’s crying. I put my phone back in my pocket and pat his head.
“I’ll miss you.”
“It’s only a month.”
“Forty days.”
He pulls his head from my chest but leaves his arm around my waist. I sneak my phone back out of my pocket and pretend I can’t hear his sniffling. A mechanical voice plays from speakers above us.
“Unattended baggage will be incinerated.”
Sweaty fingers slip through mine and stick there like butter on toast. I distract myself with the news. Some politician has been filmed rubbing his wang against Uluru and he looks furious when a reporter asks if it’s because he’s a bigot. He bemoans that there’s no decency left in the world and I’m poked with the pointy end of the feather.
“I want you to take this. For good fortune.”
“It looks diseased.”
“Just take it.”
I sigh and shove it in my shirt pocket. Two pilots walk by in jackets with gold trim and matching flamboyant chains. Their company logo is emblazoned on each of their foreheads.
When they’re across the gangway and inside the plane a voice calls passengers forward for boarding. He’s crying again and before I can stop him he kisses me. I keep perfectly still until he pulls away.
He hesitates before leaving to join the queue. I smile thinly and wave hoping he can take a hint. Instead he reaches up to his left ear, shuts his eyes and grips his earlobe. He pulls and without resistance his ear comes off in his fist.
Blood spurts from the side of his head, splashing a lady in the face as she runs past. She doesn’t stop.
With red stained hands he offers me his ear.
“Take it.”
I roll my eyes. He’s always doing stuff like this. I snatch the ear from his hand and mumble thanks.
“So we can talk.”
“Because it’s my ear.”
“I get it.”
He smiles and I wave. This time he understands because at last he walks away. I watch him stumble down the ramp to the gangway, looking over his shoulder back at me. Blood pours from his skull.
I wait until he is inside the plane and out of sight before spitting out my gum, wrapping it in his bloody ear and throwing both straight into the trash. I take the feather out of my shirt pocket. Instead of doing the same I roll it between my fingers, watching it twist in the air. I put it back.
With headphones in and no music playing, I make my exit.