I’m a bit nervous coming home from school the next day. I don’t know what sort of mood Mum will be in. I can hear rock music blaring from our house. I scurry up the steps and yank open the screen door.
My black tape player is on the table. It’s turned up and distorting like crazy. Mum faces the table, dipping one knee then the other in time with the music. It’s like she’s dancing in a trance.
‘Mum!’ I yell.
I think it’s Mum’s new Jimi Hendrix tape but at this volume it’s just one big scream. I reach for her shoulder. Her head jerks around.
‘Sorry dear, I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘Mum, the whole neighbourhood can hear!’
‘I didn’t realise it was so loud.’
She doesn’t seem worried.
I stare at my tape recorder. How long had she been going?
Mum goes to the couch and takes out one of her Benson & Hedges. She’s started smoking again. Next to her are a Paddle Pop wrapper and scrunched up packet of Thins chips. I don’t like Mum eating junk food.
Source: Supplied by Danyal Syed
‘Mum …’ I want to say she’ll put on weight, but it seems a bit mean.
‘Oh, I don’t do it very often,’ she says, looking down at the wrappers. ‘I’ll have to go on a diet, won’t I? How was school?’
‘I finished a new Montello Times.’ This is the school newspaper I edit – I’m also the cartoonist.
Mum squints her eyes as she puffs on her cigarette. No more words come.
‘We did a story about the pulp mill strike.’
Mum stares forward, smiling at nothing. Did she hear me?
‘Mum!’
Her eyes dart back to me.
‘Oh, did you! I’ll have a look at it later.’
I snatch up Mum’s rubbish and walk towards the bin. The Paddle Pop wrapper smells like lolly banana. The wet stick reads ‘Second Chance Draw.’
Our brown bin is overflowing. Mum didn’t bother putting in a bread bag lining so I’ll have to empty the whole thing outside. I pass the laundry and notice a piddly, tangy smell. Blossum’s red litter tray needs changing. Mum stopped buying cat litter and just uses dirt from the garden now. She can’t see how dirty it is so it sits there for ages. It’s not fair on Blossum.
Source: Supplied by Danyal Syed
I open the back door near the laundry and tip everything into the garbage bin. Down the bottom is sloppy and putrid with juice. I hold my breath and blast it with hot water from the laundry tap. I scrub at the gunk with a brush and place the bin upside down to drain. It’s gross but at least it’s done.
When I head back inside I see Mum, grinning and muttering away to herself. She’s in her own world. I hover by the laundry door and listen.
‘Ahhh, get off me!’ Mum whispers in a silly voice. She erupts into a huge giggle. I can’t help but smile too. It’s weird because I also know that all this is wrong.
‘Mum, what are you laughing at?’
‘Oh, nothing dear, silly things.’
She never lets me in on the joke. She springs up from the couch.
‘What shall we have for tea? Fish and chips?’
I love fish and chips but Tuesday isn’t takeaway night.
‘Can we afford it?’ I ask. I know Nan wouldn’t approve. Mum’s only on a pension and normally we have to be careful with our spending.
‘Yes, I’ve got enough there.’
I think of the ‘opposites sketch’ on You Can’t Do That On Television. They reverse the roles – in one sketch the kid really wants to go to school but his mum forces him to stay in bed. Sometimes my life with Mum feels like an opposites sketch, too.
Before we leave to pick up fish and chips, Mum does her stove checking routine. She holds out a hand and wiggles each finger as she marks off each hotplate knob. She also turns her head to make sure the power point behind her is off. She gets in a rhythm of waggling and turning.
‘Mum, you haven’t used the stove today.’
‘I know dear, but can you check?’
I place my hand on each coil. They’re cold.
‘Mum, it’s off.’
‘Okay dear, I’ll be done a minute.’
I go and wait in the car. We have a yellow Volkswagen beetle. Everything about it is loud, even the doors, which I always have to slam shut. The best way to impersonate the engine is to stick out your tongue and blow a huge raspberry. When Mum finally gets in the car we head up to Terrylands where the milk bar and takeaway shops are. As we drive through the quiet streets of Burnie I count the lights on in other homes. I imagine the normal families that are probably inside – mums and dads making chicken Kiev for kids with brothers and sisters.
Source: Supplied by Danyal Syed
There’s no one else at the fish and chip shop. The TV in the corner is playing Sale of the Century. Normally I’d be watching it at home. I go to the fridge and get a can of Ninja Turtle soft drink. Raphael is my favourite. His colour is red so he gets the best flavour: cola. I ask Mum to order an apple turnover as well.
‘We’ll both get one, will we?’
Back home I nurse the warm packet as we climb up the stairs and Mum opens the front door. The smell of chips is something to look forward to. Inside I put the packet on the bench as Mum takes out two plates. She tears open the paper and starts gobbling up the chips.
‘This’ll be good, won’t it!’ she says giddily.
I open the cupboard and take out Nan’s homemade tomato sauce. I miss Nan.
After tea Mum goes to lie down. We usually watch A Country Practice together but tonight Mum isn’t interested. She’s got a headache. Afterwards I turn off the TV and lock the back and front doors and leave the kitchen light on so I’m not alone in complete darkness. I switch the stove timer around to sixty minutes so that I know when it’s bedtime. I hear the steady ticking as I head to the bathroom.
Justin Heazlewood. Source: Supplied by Danyal Syed
The toothpaste squeezer I got from the school fete is a dud. It has a metal pin that you’re supposed to feed the toothpaste tube into, but it’s too fiddly. I’ll have to squeeze by hand. I lean over to drink fresh cold water from the tap. In the mirror I see a round head with a flat mouth and glasses. They are thick wire frames with square lenses. My hair is a straight brown bowl cut. I have a big dimple but it only shows when I smile. I take off my glasses and suddenly the whole room is a blur. I can’t see my own face. I peer in with my nose against the glass. Now my eyes are in focus. A blue-hazel nebula.
I head to my bedroom and close the door. I pull out my favourite comic Footrot Flats. The dog is the narrator. At the start of each strip he sums things up, so it’s easy to switch my concentration on and off, and I’ve read them before anyway. The dog’s owner Wal is always in strife and getting belted and blown about.
Outside my bedroom window there’s a gust of wind. It makes the clothesline creak. I wish Mum had given me a goodnight cuddle.
Justin Heazlewood. Source: Supplied by Danyal Syed
Wal and his greenie friend Cooch clomp around in gumboots. Footrot Flats is set in New Zealand and must be the only cartoon where it rains like real life.
I love that you can tell how a character is feeling by their eyes. If they’re dubious then their eyebrows are slanted. If they are worried their eyes are more pointy on top and rounded at the bottom. The dog’s eyelids droop, making him look sad and weary. I don’t like seeing him like this.
In this episode he’s waiting in the rain. Hundreds of streaks fill the frame and little droplets hang from his head.
‘What a miserable, miserable day. There are days when your nose is blocked, the fleas are holding a nip-athon on your back, dinner is four hours away and you wonder if it’s worth going on.’
I start to feel sleepy. I put the comic down and turn out the light. School tomorrow, another day.
Mum’s bed springs squeak.
‘Ssssssht!’
Icicles and lightning. I can hear her swearing through the walls.
BRIIIIIIIIIING!
The alarm timer! Ha.
I like the surprise. It’s a trick I play on myself.
This is an edited extract from Get Up Mum by Justin Heazlewood (Affirm Press, $29.99), available now and in bookstores.
