𝙾𝚌𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝙴𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

𝙽𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗

My duffle bag mainly serves as my bag for athletics bits and pieces. But on the occasion, when Billie invites me on one of her camping trips, it becomes a suitcase of sorts. Having the duffle bag laid out on my bed, I've been selecting from my wardrobe all that I need. I'm about to zip close my bag when Mum enters the room, having opened my door. Without a word, she walks over to my duffle bag and begins moving through my packed clothing. I try to calm myself as the belongings which I have packed are no longer as neatly folded. Can't she accept that a 17-year-old is fully capable of packing for a weekend camping trip on her own. Mum has reached the bottom of my duffle bag and she turns to me, "You need a second towel."

"Why?" I ask.

"Don't smart-mouth me," Mum continues, "What if your towel gets wet?"

"I dry it," I reply, "I don't want to carry more than I need."

"Pack another towel," Mum responds, her emphasis placed on the word pack.

I feel a heat warming in my chest.

"Don't roll your eyes at me!" Mum bellows. And with swift motion, picks up my desk chair and slams it into my knee.

I fall onto my bed, onto my duffle bag. The pain from my knee immediately rages. Mum pulls my upper arm and her seething rage swings me up from the bed. She's storming me through my bedroom door frame and beyond to the front of our cottage home. And in a final swift motion, throws me off the porch and onto the wood chips below. And I manage to land on the same knee hit just a moment ago. Mum has disappeared back into the house. And I just want to disappear. But my wish isn't granted. My knee is still throbbing. And I can't move to get away. Get away from my awful home. But maybe I should have placed another towel inside the bag. Maybe Mum was right and I needed another towel... You're stupid. You're worthless. You don't listen —

My thoughts are stalled by the presence of my mother arriving at the front porch once more. In her hands she holds my duffle bag of which she hurls onto the front garden. A few of my knickers and bras land on top of the shrubbery – each in good view. I hope none of my neighbours decide to pass by. I hear the click of the door and realise Mum has locked me out. Lying on the wood chips, I see the sun glowing in the western sky. Billie wasn't supposed to pick me up until tomorrow morning... My phone is on my desk. I can't call Billie. My sleeping bag I'd placed separately. I can't sleep on the beach. I take a deep breath and with my good leg and hands, push myself upright. I check to see whether my FujiFilm Instax is okay. Thank goodness it is. I collect the rest of my belongings and begin the walk to Billie's house.

༄ ❀ ༄

The soaring silhouettes of black cockatoos merge with those of the eucalyptus trees. Their squawks soon slumber, maybe having said their final goodnights before the last light passes on. The guide posts light up before me, noise swooping in from behind me. I turn to face the oncoming vehicle; my arm raised over my eyebrows, trying to dim the headlights. The vehicle slows and moves off the road, stopping just metres before me. But still, the high beam veils the vehicle.

I hear the door open and a voice say, "Are you okay?"

"Benji," I say, having heard his voice, "Had a fight with Mum."

Benji's broad frame moves closer, taking my duffle bag from my shoulder. As Benji puts it on the back seat, I'm climbing into the passenger seat.

Benji indicates back onto the road. "Why didn't you call me?" Benji asks, "I would have picked you up."

"My phone got locked inside," I say, "I wouldn't have expected that of you anyway."

"Eden, you can always accept help," Benji states.

"I don't want to burden people," I reply.

"How are things at home?"

"It's hard to talk about."

Benji looks briefly into my eyes then returns his eyes to the road.