They don’t believe in fairies but I do.
You don’t believe in fairies, do you?
I have seen them, and you’re wrong.
I’ll bide my time, until they all come
back to visit. They like to hide inside
jacaranda trees. I hear their cries in
the purple flowers and the leaves. I
think about lots of things every day.
There’s fairies in American Creek &
today they’re probably being swept
out to sea, or wherever it is the creek
ends up, disappears. I feel sorry for
them – sometimes. Then again, dogs
are okay to talk to as well. They don’t
swim but they can dog paddle. As for
Cats, don’t ask me. Yes, I saw it, once.
I’ve seen them, too, in Beaton Park.
Dark eyes, lightning stripes. Surprise,
all ages, neverending stories. Here’s
my decoupage hat box, there’s some
kind of woven mat. Have you been to
Thirroul? I’ve read D.H. Lawrence’s
Kangaroo. You don’t believe in fairies,
do you? I didn’t think so. Look at you.
Don’t laugh at me like that. You’re
one to talk, dressed like a real idiot.
As for that haircut, don’t blame me.
You asked for it. Was I supposed to
do the talking for you? Some kind of
friend you turned out to be. Or did
I already ask you about fairies, huh?
Best wishes for the morons’ reunion
all the same. Alicia is the name. Do
not tempt me. I’ve got a book report
to prepare so, you know, see ya. Bye.
Is there an echo in here? Okay then,
get lost. Do I make myself clear? It’s
the same thing, year after year. You
do realise, of course, that I’m only in
year seven? Well, then can I ask – do
you play music? No? Me, flugel horn.
Okay get lost then. No, I mean it. I
don’t care. You could be all the tea in
China for all I care, or even Anastasia.
Of course she was making it up. Ask
anybody. Yes, well boys would spend
their time rolling around in creeks. It
just goes to show. What? Yes, I’m fit.
I also compete in orienteering. Good
luck with your assignment, then. Ha.
The time it takes me to write a single
line, or two. You guessed it: we could
have walked to Westfield and back by
now. Pity you missed the bus. Maybe
mum can give you a lift on her way to
Collegians. Running’s meant to be bad
for the calf muscles. Little Athletics.
Just don’t ask. Who of all people has
any idea what it means to win, and
then to lose it all. Kind of like a river
in the rain, a creek in flood, gold rush
dreams and literary drownings. Down
by the creek the peppercorns droop.
My two brothers, American troops.
