Pookie Aleera is Not My Boyfriend

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by Steven Herrick


  except the pigeons and doves

  who came to his window

  each afternoon

  to eat the scraps of food he’d offer,

  a piece of fruit,

  a bowl of water

  and, pretty soon,

  the birds were tame enough

  to let the man reach through the bars

  and touch their beating chests.

  The man would whisper his sorrow

  of all he’d done wrong

  the crimes he’d committed

  the hurt he’d caused.

  Grandpa said

  when the birds had finished eating

  they’d fly away

  and with them went the man’s guilt

  for all the bad things he’d done in his life.

  Grandpa said the birds

  saved that man’s life,

  so every day

  before leaving home

  I pick an apple

  from the tree in our garden

  and I take it to school

  and leave it lodged in the tree branch

  for the birds

  and for Grandpa.

  SELINA

  As soon as we finish roll call this morning

  Cameron raises his hand

  but before he can speak

  Ms Arthur picks up her phone from the desk

  and says,

  ‘What’s your mobile number, Cameron?’

  ‘0418816928, Ms.’

  Ms Arthur presses the numbers

  and

  all of a sudden

  the tune of ‘Jingle Bells’ sounds

  from somewhere under Cameron’s desk.

  Ms Arthur smiles,

  ‘Where’s your phone, Cameron?’

  Cameron reaches into his pocket

  and holds up his phone,

  it’s Christmas time in March!

  Ms Arthur stops her call and asks,

  ‘I thought your phone was missing?’

  Cameron says,

  ‘That’s what I wanted to tell you, Ms.

  I found it . . . and I’ve given it a name.’

  Everyone looks at Cameron

  until Mick asks,

  ‘What’s it called?’

  ‘Mr Nokia!’

  Ms Arthur interrupts our giggles,

  ‘Cameron, can you switch Mr Nokia to silent

  and return it to your pocket, please?’

  I wave at Cameron’s phone and say,

  ‘Bye, Mr Nokia.’

  Cameron jiggles his phone

  and says, in a mechanical voice,

  ‘Bye, children.’

  RACHEL

  It’s this thing we do.

  A few of us,

  at lunchtime, under the cherry tree,

  near where Mick jumps over the fence

  to sneak to the river,

  even if he’s not allowed.

  He just shrugs and does it anyway.

  Sometimes when he comes back to school

  just before bell-time

  he almost lands right in the middle of us.

  He leans back against the fence

  and listens to me and Selina

  and Pete and Cameron

  and Alex, of course,

  talking about school and the weekend

  or what we plan to do this afternoon,

  or on Saturday night if our parents

  let us visit each other.

  Sometimes we take a vote

  on what we’re going to do next week,

  as a group,

  something special like bring in my DVD player

  to watch a movie at lunch.

  Or listen to music,

  with everyone choosing one song.

  Or bring in photos of when we were young,

  the most embarrassing photos we can find.

  Mick wouldn’t be in that.

  He said every photo is embarrassing.

  Alex brought in a photo

  of when he was a baby . . . wearing only a nappy!

  He turned bright red when the others laughed.

  It’s my lunchtime gang.

  My true friends.

  The people I trust.

  LAURA

  There’s a garden seat that Mr Korsky built

  and he placed it under the gum trees

  in the far corner of the schoolyard

  away from the playground

  and the classrooms and the canteen

  and the bike racks

  and the Principal’s office

  and the netball goals

  and the library.

  It’s shady and cool here

  and the grass doesn’t grow

  because the trees don’t let in enough light.

  Mr Korsky built the seat with old timber

  and he painted it pale green,

  the same colour as the trees,

  and on the top rail of the seat

  he carved the date he placed it in the shade

  and every lunchtime

  as soon as the bell rings

  I race to my schoolbag for my sandwich

  and I run up here and sit down

  alone

  and I watch everyone else

  and I wish I could thank Mr Korsky

  for making this seat

  and for putting it here

  away from the rest of the school.

  MICK

  I got named school captain.

  Me and Selina.

  And I’m captain of the football team

  and the cricket team

  and the other kids always ask me what I think

  whenever something happens at school.

  They reckon I’m a leader.

  And Mum and Dad

  trust me with the tractor

  and the quad bike

  and Dad knows I’ll come home

  straight after school

  during harvest and I’ll work until dark

  and get up at first light and work some more.

  Jacob follows me round the farm

  and I can see he tries to do the things I do,

  even if it’s something stupid

  like jumping off a shed roof.

  And I get good marks in school

  even though I don’t try too hard

  because I’m not going anywhere

  other than this farm

  and everyone in town knows that

  but still they expect heaps from me.

  And that’s why when I get into trouble

  and Mr Hume gives me one of his lectures

  and reminds me of my duty

  as school captain

  and he shakes his head

  as if he would have voted differently

  if he had a choice.

  That’s when it takes all my effort

  to stand there and not say a word,

  in his office,

  waiting for the lecture to end

  so I can go back to class

  where

  all my true friends are.

  RACHEL

  It comes just before school finishes.

  We hear it rumbling in the west

  and Ms Arthur stops writing on the whiteboard,

  looking nervously out the window.

  Alex raises his hand and says,

  ‘It’s not a truck, Ms. Just a big storm.’
>
  She asks Alex to shut all the windows in the library

  and I stammer,

  ‘Can I . . . can I help him, Ms?’

  She nods and the two of us

  race to the library,

  Alex closes all the windows on the left side

  and I take the right.

  But before heading back to class,

  Alex asks me to follow him

  down to the flame tree by the back fence.

  We watch the storm approaching,

  like God’s fists hammering down.

  The purple clouds roll in,

  the lightning crackles over the hills

  and the sheep huddle near the saltbush,

  but still we wait.

  A storm takes its own good time.

  When all we can hear is thunder

  and our own breathing

  we race each other back to class.

  Everyone is crowding around the window.

  The first drops kick up the dust

  and batter the iron roof

  and then it all goes silent,

  just for a moment,

  as if the storm is taking one huge breath,

  before the rain, in angry waves,

  dumps on the school

  and the sheep paddocks

  and the wheatfields

  and everyone in the room cheers

  except Mick who puts two fingers to his mouth

  and whistles loud enough to crack the glass.

  I can picture Dad and Mum

  sitting on the verandah.

  Mum’s pouring a pot of tea

  and Dad’s slowly stirring in the sugar.

  I can see the grin on his face from here.

  CAMERON

  My mum has these sayings

  which I really like, but

  I just don’t understand.

  When I’m having trouble

  with a maths equation for homework

  and she finds another way

  of getting the correct answer,

  she always laughs and says,

  ‘There’s more than one way to skin a cat.’

  With a razor blade?

  Or her lady shaver?

  Or the sheep shears?

  And why would you want to do that anyway?

  Cats aren’t sheep with woolly warm coats.

  Seeing Rusty, the town tomcat, naked

  would be quite a sight!

  Late last night Mum said,

  ‘Don’t burn your candle at both ends’,

  when I was falling asleep while watching a video.

  I spent all morning

  trying to light a beeswax candle at both ends.

  I dripped wax all over my fingers,

  singed the hair on my wrist

  and wasted lots of matches.

  You can’t burn a candle from both ends.

  That’s what Mum should say!

  RACHEL

  It’s still raining lightly

  when I get off the school bus

  and I run,

  slopping through the puddles

  with the schoolbag over my head

  until I reach the farm gate

  where I hear music,

  old-fashioned music,

  coming from the front room

  and

  in the middle of the yard

  is Dad, dressed in his overalls,

  and Mum, in a summer dress,

  and they’re dancing,

  arm in arm,

  slowly around the garden.

  When they see me

  Mum giggles

  and Dad waves for me to join them,

  ‘Lovely weather, isn’t it, Rachel?’

  SELINA

  During roll call this morning

  Ms Arthur calls all our names,

  ‘Pete

  Tiffany

  Selina (me!!)

  Mick

  Alex

  Cameron

  (he answers in a loud voice)

  Grace

  Rachel

  right through until

  Alice Zachary,

  the last person alphabetically,

  but before she closes the roll book

  she smiles, to herself,

  then calls out,

  ‘Mr Nokia?’

  and, quick as a flash,

  Cameron answers,

  in his machine voice,

  ‘Here, Ms Arthur,

  at your service

  in all emergencies!’

  CONSTABLE DAWE

  ‘Good morning, Class 6A,

  as you may remember,

  my name is Senior Constable Dawe . . .

  yes, Senior,

  no, I haven’t changed my name,

  remember, it’s my rank.

  No, senior doesn’t mean old, young lady,

  it means

  I’ve been promoted.

  Today I’m here to talk about water safety,

  swimmer safety,

  as I think someone suggested last time.

  Can anyone tell me

  what you should do before swimming?

  Yes, find some water to swim in.

  That would be helpful.

  But what about lessons?

  Yes, I know you have lessons every day,

  I mean, swimming lessons.

  Have you all had swimming lessons?

  Good.

  So we’re all confident in water.

  Does that mean we just dive into any water?

  No, you can’t dive into a glass of water,

  everyone knows that, young man.

  Yes, I’m sure your dad says

  he could dive into a bottle of beer in this heat

  but I don’t think he means it literally, does he?

  Class 6A, do we all just go and dive into the river?

  Or the ocean?

  Or even the municipal pool

  when the council finally gets around to fixing it?

  No, of course not.

  What should you do before jumping in?

  No, you shouldn’t get your friend to video

  your fantastic dive.

  Yes, I’m sure you can dive very well

  but it’s not going to help if you land on a rock.

  Yes, you probably would make it on

  Australia’s Funniest Home Videos

  but damaging your skull

  to get on television

  is not very funny, is it?

  Please, Class 6A!

  Yes, thank you, young lady,

  we should check the depth of the water

  before diving.

  Or maybe not dive at all,

  just step carefully into the water.

  Yes, like an old man into a bathtub, young lady.

  And what are we wearing, Class 6A?

  I’m sorry,

  we’ve been through the underpants issue before,

  I hoped you’d all forgotten.

  We are wearing swimmers and a rash shirt.

  And why are we wearing a rash shirt?

  No, not to stop you from getting rashes.

  To stop sunburn.

  Which means what should we also be wearing?

  Anyone?

  Remember slip, slop, slap?

  No,

  it’s not slip on a banana skin

  slop on an ice-cream
>
  and slap on a naked bottom.

  I thought we’d made all the naked jokes last time.

  Slip on a shirt, slop on sunscreen and slap on . . .

  yes,

  a hat.

  Thank you, Class 6A.

  That’s enough for today.

  Next time we’re going to talk about bushfire safety.

  Okay, bushwalker safety.

  And koala safety, if you will.

  No, not bunyip safety.

  Bunyips don’t exist.

  No, they didn’t all die in the bushfire.

  They’re . . .

  they’re . . .

  I’ll leave that question to your teacher.

  Thank you, Class 6A.’

  LAURA

  Ms Arthur

  leads us into the library

  and says

  we have ten minutes

  to choose a book to borrow

  and

  we can choose any book we like

  including the comics

  or

  a picture book

  or

  a graphic novel

  or

  even just a magazine

  but, she says,

  we’re not allowed

  to choose poetry.

  She points to the back wall

  where the poetry is filed

  under non-fiction .821

  and she repeats

  any book but poetry.

  When we line up

  to leave the library

  I notice

  Selina, Mick, Alex,

  Rachel, Pete

  and even Cameron

  have chosen poetry books.

  Ms Arthur checks out

  each book

  without saying a word,

  a satisfied look on her face.

  MR KORSKY

  It was against Health and Safety Regulations,

  I’m sure,

  so I waited

  until all the children and teachers had gone home.

  I carried the ladder to the tree

  where someone leaves an apple for the birds.

  I climbed the ladder

  and nailed the wooden ledge,

  half-a-metre square,

  to the branch

  coming out at right angles from the trunk,

  and I placed

  a few apples

  some birdseed

  and a bowl of water

  to encourage the birds

  and I figure

  once the children see them

  they’ll toss their fruit scraps

  onto the platform

 

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