Nona and Me (6 page)

8.

1997

We're standing outside the transition classroom of
Nhulunbuy Primary. Me, Nona, our mums and the smalls. The sky is an ominous dark grey, heavy with rain. I am dressed in a brand-new school uniform; the tag scratches at the back of my neck. Shiny black shoes pinch my toes. I eye Nona's bare feet enviously.

Other kids and their parents hurry past, and disappear inside. Mum holds her hand out towards me. “Come on. Let's go in.”

Nona's voice is small. “Bye, Rosie.”

Tears well in my eyes. Panic floods my chest. “I don't want to … Mummy … please don't make me go …”

Mum crouches down and folds me in her arms. “Rosie, everyone's gotta go to school. Nona will be starting tomorrow.”

“I want to go with Nona.”

She tucks my hair back behind my ears. “Oh, darling. You know you going to Top School wouldn't work …”

Top School is in Yirrkala. It's bilingual. They teach in Yolŋu Matha and English.

I look at Mum with pleading eyes. “Then why can't Nona come here?”

Guḻwirri's voice is gentle but firm. “Nona has to learn in her own language. It's important for her. To be strong.”

I know she won't relent. Guḻwirri works at Top School as an assistant teacher. There's no way that Nona won't go there.

My cheeks are wet with tears.

Nona says, “Don't cry,
yapa
. I can see you after school.” Guḻwirri nods. “
Yo
. Every day.”

I look out at the playground. The smalls have run off and are playing on the slide. Yumalil laughs as she helps Lilaba up the steps. They slide down together, one in front of the other. I feel a deep yearning in my chest.

A few spits of rain hit my cheeks.

I look back at Mum and take her hand.

I follow her, slowly, inside.

9.

2007

I text Nick. Nick texts me. Just stuff like
:

Wot R U doing now?

Science :-(

BLTs 4 lunch @ canteen. Want me 2 get U 1 2?

YES. YUM.

But these silly little things make my day. Every time I feel my phone vibrate with a message, my heart starts dancing. It's been a twenty-four-seven disco lately.

At home, Mum starts to get suspicious.

Beep beep
. I quick-draw my phone.

“Is that Selena again?”

“Um, Anya.”

She is less likely to get annoyed if she thinks it's Anya. I'm not ready to tell her about Nick. Not until I know we're a definite, steady couple. We've sat together at school both days this week, but he hasn't mentioned the weekend, let alone the D word (date). Still, it's only Tuesday. There's still hope.

Over dinner with Mum and Graham, I feel my mobile vibrate. I try to sneak my phone out of my pocket and Mum finally snaps.

“For God's sake, put that thing away! We're eating dinner here.”

She glances at Graham for backup, but he just looks amused. Graham's her boyfriend. There have been a couple since Dad. It's hard in a community like this; people pass through. I get that. None of my primary-school friends stuck around more than a few years. Lily moved to Perth, and Evie to Karratha. Dana went to boarding school in Queensland. That's how we ended up, floating and lost, just me and Anya, in Year 7.

Graham's been working as a doctor at the clinic for almost six months now. I know Mum is hoping he'll renew his contract and stay. I have to admit, he's a catch for an old guy – smart, with a dry sense of humour and twinkly eyes.

He's teasing now. “Teenagers, huh?”

Graham can always get a smile out of Mum. She shakes her head. “Well, honestly.”

Graham says, “We had a staff dinner down in Melbourne before I left. One of the younger nurses just sat on her phone the whole time, laughing at messages that came in and replying. At a staff dinner! As we were eating the meal, and during the toasts. She didn't seem to think it was rude at all.”

“That's the thing, isn't it? They don't even know,” says Mum.

I roll my eyes. “I know, okay?”

Mum finishes her mouthful of steak. “Then why do you do it?”

“Because … what if it's something important?”

“That Anya forgot to tell you in the last ten texts?”

Graham is laughing as he says, “Give her a break, Jen. Go on, check your phone.”

They're both looking at me now. I open the message and read it. It says:

Slo cooked lamb 4 dinner. My fave. Wot R U having?

Mum prompts, “Well? Is it important?”

I tuck the phone back into my pocket. “No.”

“There you go. No phones at the dinner table,” says Mum. “Put your phone where I can see it, please.”

I reluctantly place it next to me on the table.

Mum says, “Not there. Put it away somewhere.”

“Geez, fussy!”

As I move it to the kitchen bench, the phone vibrates again. I sneak a glance at the screen. It's another message from Nick.

The rest of dinner is torture. I shovel it down, as fast as I can, listening to Mum and Graham rave on about the pros and cons of technology and how all teenagers are tech-addicts. Then I put my empty plate on the sink, grab my phone from the bench and sprint back to my room. I open Nick's message. Please, please, please let it be about the weekend. It's not. It's a reference to
The Simpsons
. It just says:

Flanders!!

This is something we've started doing, texting quotes from stuff we watched on Saturday night. I smile and text back:

Doh!

We could go on like this all night. And we do.

*

Dad calls every Wednesday night at seven thirty, just after the news. It's one of the few things he and Mum still have in common – they both
love
the ABC. Which is lucky for them, because it's one of the only channels that gets reception in Yirrkala. I keep begging Mum to get Foxtel but she says it's “not in the budget”, which really means “I like having a monopoly over the TV.”

Tonight, she clicks off the news just as our landline starts to ring. I know it's him, so I pick up the phone and put on a horrified voice as I say, “Did you see that story about Christmas Island? More boat people jumping the queue.”

I'm joking, of course. Dad hates that expression. He's a total lefty. I can hear the smile in his voice as he counters, “Coming in the back door.”

“Taking the place of real refugees.”

“Shame!”

His low, throaty chuckle reverberates through the phone. “What's happening in Yirrkala?”

He always asks this, and the truth is, I never know. After Nona left, I stopped spending real time in the community. Bush trips weren't the same, so I stopped going. Now I pretty much just go from home to the bus stop into town. I wave at local people, but I never stop to talk. I don't know what I'd say if I did.

Dad is waiting for an answer, so I say, “I'd have to consult the expert on that one.”

I call out, “Mum, what's happening in Yirrkala?”

She calls back from the kitchen. “Actually, sad news today. That old lady died. You know the one in the red house? Ganiwu's grandma.”

When someone dies here you're not allowed to say their name. Cultural reasons. I relay the news. Dad knows exactly who she's talking about anyway. “She's been sick for a while, hasn't she?”

I don't want to become stuck in the middle of a conversation about people I hardly know, so I say, “Do you want to talk to Mum about it?”

Dad is quick to answer. He and Mum generally avoid talking. “No, no. It's okay. How are you, anyway, blossom?”

“Good.”

“How's school?”

“You know. Just the usual.”

I take the cordless phone into my room and shut the door so Mum can't hear – hypothetically, anyway, since the walls in our house are thin fibro and stop thirty centimetres short of the ceiling. Mum reckons it's to allow ventilation, but I'm convinced it's to torture teenagers by eliminating any sense of privacy.

My voice is almost a whisper as I get to the juicy bit. “Except … I've kind of started seeing someone.”

“You mean like a boyfriend?”

“I don't know yet.”

“Who is he?”

“Selena's brother.”

“Ah, the infamous Selena.” Dad's never met Selena, but he's heard a lot about her. Unlike with Mum, I tell him almost everything.

“His name's Nick. He's in Year 12.”

“Year 12?”

I can hear the concern in his voice, so I quickly add, “He's really nice, Dad. You'd like him.”

I'm not entirely sure that's true, but it's a fair bet Dad will never meet Nick. Dad lives in an Aboriginal community that's even more remote than ours. It's called Yilpara and is about three hours south of here, AKA in the middle of nowhere. In the dry season, when the road's open, he drives up once a month to get supplies. We usually meet up for a coffee or a milkshake after school, but he's always keen to head off so he doesn't have to do the whole drive back in the dark. I can't imagine him hanging around just to meet my boyfriend.

Dad asks, “What's he into?”

I think of my dad's interests: music, culture, Indigenous politics, carpentry. I want him to like the idea of Nick, so I think of his posters and say, “He likes … nature (
surfing
) and people (
girls
) and art (
graffiti
).”

It's half-true.

“Does your mum like him?”

“Um, I haven't really told her about him yet.”

“Rosie …”

“I don't know if it's serious.”

“You called him your boyfriend.”

“No, I didn't. I said I don't know yet.”

“Semantics.”

“You know what Mum's like. Remember when I told her I liked Andrew Miller in Year 6?”

“Not really.”

Dad left us when I was in Year 2 so he's a bit vague on anything after that.

“She made this huge big deal about it and kept asking me every day if I'd talked to him yet and teasing me about having a crush and asking if I wanted her to invite him and his parents over for dinner. It was excruciating. And so uncool. She's not like you, Dad.”

“Is that a compliment to me or an insult to your mother?”

“Both?”

“You should give her a chance, blossom. She wants to know about your life – that's no big crime.”

“We just don't have that kind of relationship.”

“What kind of relationship do you have, then?”

“She talks, I listen. Not the other way around.” My words have gradually dried up, between when Nona left for Elcho and now, while Mum's have expanded to fill the silence.

Dad sighs. “Well, at least you're talking to me, I guess.”

“Exactly.”

I change the subject, raising my voice to normal pitch again. “What's happening in Yilpara?”

His voice becomes animated. “It's crazy here at the moment, Rosie. There's so much positive stuff going on. We want to trial this tourism thing, kind of like what they do in Bawaka now. Having tourists and corporates come and visit and experience Yolŋu culture.”

I'm only part listening as I say, “Sounds good.”

“And the Blue Mud Bay case is progressing. It could be a real breakthrough – if we win sea rights …”

A message beeps on my mobile. Nick.

Want 2 hang out on Sat?

Finally! I text back, grinning, as I “mmm” and “right” and “yeah” to Dad.

4 sure.

Dad talks on, not even noticing that I'm hardly listening now. Once you get him talking about Yilpara politics, he can go on forever.

By the time he says goodbye, I've confirmed the time and location of hanging out with Nick, and exchanged several
Simpsons
quotes. 10am. His place. Mmm … donuts. Lisa, it's your birthday.

*

A 10am date is safe. There's no obligation to get romantic if it doesn't work out. At least, that's what I figure Nick is thinking. Still, I'm glad he's invited me. I'm pretty sure this counts as a date. Maybe. Sort of.

When I arrive, it looks like my theory is right. Nick has gone for safety in numbers too. Selena and Benny are there, swimming in the Bells' backyard pool. Selena and I swap faux-casual greetings.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“I didn't know you were going to be here.”

Selena laughs. “I do live here.”

“Yeah, of course, but …” I let the sentence dwindle into silence. It's not that I'm unhappy to see Selena, I just wanted to be alone with Nick.

Selena splashes me. “Get in! You brought your swimmers, right?”

“No.”

“Nick, why didn't you tell Rosie to bring her swimmers, you doofus?”

Nick throws the insult back at her. “Because I didn't know we were having a pool party, Barbie.”

Selena is sarcastic. “Haha.”

I look at Nick, hopeful. “You didn't know they were going to be here?”

“Benny just told me yesterday.”

Nick invited me on Wednesday. Maybe it's not a safety-in-numbers conspiracy after all.

Benny says, “You could skinny-dip.”

“Get out of here!” Selena dunks him. They go under, laughing, a tangle of tanned skin, bikini and boardshorts. Nick and I swap an awkward smile.

When Selena regains her breath she says, “Borrow some of mine. You know where they are.”

I nod and head into the house. The kitchen is full of the waft of golden syrup. Mrs Bell smiles when she sees me enter. “I hope you like Anzac bikkies.”

“Who doesn't? I'm just grabbing some swimmers.”

“Of course, love. Go for it.”

I've spent so much time here over the past two years that it's like a second home. I wonder if Mrs Bell knows today is different. Today I'm not here as Selena's best friend. Today I'm here as Nick's potential girlfriend.

In Selena's room, I dig through her drawer of swimmers. They are all bikinis: tiny triangles, strings and small plastic clips. Her black one-piece is nowhere in sight. I open the window and call out to her. “Where's your one-piece?”

“Think I left it at school.”

I can hear her laughing as I shut the window again. She's probably explaining my bikini-phobia now. I'm blushing as I turn back to the drawer and pick out the one that looks like it will give the most coverage.

I put it on and study my body in Selena's full-length mirror. The aqua halter-neck makes my boobs look bigger than they are. My stomach is so pale it is almost transparent. The flesh of my hips bulges slightly over the top of the skimpy bottoms. I grab a beach towel from the hallway cupboard and wrap it tightly around my waist as I head back out to the pool.

Selena lets out a low whistle as I emerge. I dump the towel and make a quick dash for the pool. As I slip in, Nick ducks under the surface and swims towards me. His body is submarine, fragmented by the light. His hands grab at my waist as he surfaces beside me. I push him away, self-conscious, but before I know what's happening, his wet lips are on mine.

Selena is squealing, “No BDAs, no BDAs!”

I try to ignore her and focus on the kiss. It is warm and a little slobbery. His tongue licks my lips. This is the kiss right here. The one I need to remember. The one that makes us a couple. It's broad daylight. There's no alcohol involved. He must mean it … right?

We pull apart to see Mrs Bell standing there with a plate of warm Anzacs in her hand. She looks taken aback. “Well …”

Selena swims over to her mum's side. She takes two biscuits and passes one to Benny. She doesn't notice Mrs Bell's frown, as she says, “Yum, thanks, Mum.”