What are you supposed to say when your father says ‘let’s go crazy?’
‘All right then, Dad. Good idea. Let’s’?
I’m never sure whether he says this stuff because he’s got some kind of disease from living in Canada which means you can’t help saying lines from American movies, or because he thinks that’s the way to communicate with teenagers. I have noticed him watching me very closely after he does it, as if he’s expecting me to respond in some teenager-style way. Like give him a high five or something.
If all that embarrassing stuff wasn’t enough, two especially stupid things happened while we were at the restaurant.
One thing happened when we had just got our desserts. I had the chocolate mousse (which I always have) and Dad had rice pudding (which, excuse me, but why would anybody have? It’s like eating cold porridge for dinner), and there was suddenly this big honking, gasping noise behind me, like someone was choking on a lobster.
I look around and this huge bald man’s standing there, with a face like a pink balloon about to pop, and he’s grinning at my dad and making weird noises, but it’s not because he’s choking on a lobster, it’s because he’s so excited to see my dad. He finally stops making the noises, and goes, ‘ALBERT CLARRY! You old NINCOMPOOP you!’
I look back at my dad and his face has suddenly gone even pinker than the fat man’s face, and he’s got a spoonful of disgusting rice pudding about to enter his mouth, and it’s just frozen there. One piece of rice touching his lip.
The big man doesn’t seem to notice. He just shouts, ‘And who’s this lovely little lady?’ putting his big pink hands on my shoulders. Really nice.
And Dad goes, ‘This is Elizabeth.’
Then Dad looks straight at the window and starts mumbling away, ‘Lovely place this, isn’t it? Really nice. An old favourite of mine. Same old standards though, lovely picture windows.’
So they both talk about the picture windows for a while (if you can imagine anybody being able to stretch picture windows across a five minute conversation) and then the man goes.
And my dad looks completely relieved. Like, he just sags down in his chair.
So, I guess he’s embarrassed about me.
He didn’t say, ‘This is my daughter, Elizabeth.’
He didn’t tell me who the man was.
All he did was say ‘This is Elizabeth’ and look straight out the window.
Anyway, I guess I’ll get over it.
The other stupid thing happened when I was drinking the froth off my cappuccino and Dad was watching me over the top of his double espresso. It was my fault. I don’t even know why I said it. It just jumped out of my mouth.
I said this: ‘I want to meet Veronica’s son.’
Maybe that doesn’t seem like a strange thing to you – asking to meet your stepbrother. Which is what he is, you know. He’s the son of my father’s wife, right? So you’d think it’d be a perfectly normal thing to ask for. My father moved out when I was a baby, and he married Veronica only a few months after that, and she already had a son then – so she’s been my stepmother and he’s been my stepbrother for practically all my life. But I’ve never met either of them. I don’t even know what they look like, if you can believe it. They’ve never come to Australia and I’ve never been to Canada. And for some reason my dad and I never talk about them. I used to ask when I was little, but my dad always made stupid jokes. Like I’d say, ‘What’s Veronica like?’ and Dad’d say, ‘She’s just like a great big pink and purple hippopotamus!’ So after a while I stopped asking. And he never talked about them, and it became kind of like a rule that we don’t talk about them.
So it was breaking the rule, see?
My dad seemed to think so anyway. He just snapped out, straight away: ‘He’s in Canada!’ like I was a complete lunatic.
I said, ‘Well, maybe I could write to him?’
I don’t know why I never thought of that before. I think I only thought of it now because of all the letter-writing with you.
But Dad seemed to think that was just a stupid idea. He started going on and on about how busy things are in Canada and how it would only be a disappointment to me and how you shouldn’t mix your drinks without an aspirin at the ready (if you know what that was supposed to mean please let me know).
So I just gave up and slurped the rest of my cappuccino, really noisily.
I guess the dinner proved two things: one, my dad’s embarrassed of me in front of his friends, two, my dad’s embarrassed about me in front of his family. I suppose it’s no wonder, considering how I slurp my coffee.
The chicken was nice though.
Lochie is fast asleep and my leg’s got pins and needles, and it’s starting to get really cold out here, and I’ve been writing to you for too long, and you’re probably sick of me.
So I have to go now. But I hope you have an excellent day today.
Love,
Elizabeth.
Dear Elizabeth,
GUESS WHAT? I know what you look like.
You said in your last letter that you catch the Glenorie bus, which I didn’t know before, but now I know, and one of my best friends catches the Glenorie bus. So I asked him if there were many people from Ashbury on it, and he says there’s only two. He says there’s a guy from Ashbury who sits up the front and stands up when old people get on the bus, and carries running shoes laced together around his shoulder, so that’s not you. And there’s a girl, so that must be you. He says you’ve got a cute face and kind of pointy ears.
IT MUST BE YOU. Is it? He also says there used to be a fairy princess girl, with long feathery blonde hair, who used to sit with you, only he hasn’t seen her for ages. Is that Celia? He said he used to watch you two, and Celia always looked tiny and not-quite-there, like she was just about to float through the bus window and fly away like a kite. And you always looked like a pixie, or an elf, about to cast some magic spell over the bus. (Don’t take any notice of him. That’s what he’s like.)
But I’m glad you’ve got magic powers. Maybe you can use them to help me, cos I feel like someone’s put a spell on me now. Derek keeps hassling me to you know, go all the way. I don’t know how long I can keep saying no for. It’d be fine if it wasn’t that I want it, just as much as he does, maybe even more. (Whatever you do, don’t tell him that I said that.) How come I have to be in charge of stopping him? I don’t get how I can keep being grown-up and saying, ’no, we have to wait’, when every time he touches me I feel like I’m going crazy.
Anyway, I’m sorry to talk about my problems when you’ve got your own things to worry about. The dinner with your dad sounded as stupid as usual. But I thought of these things that you should remember:
1. He’s only in Australia for a year. That’s not exactly a lifetime, and then he’ll go back to Canada and you won’t have to see him any more. It probably doesn’t make you feel any better but I have to listen to my father belching after dinner every night, and sometimes I wish he’d go to Canada and do his belching there. He’s really proud of the way he belches – he thinks it’s like an art form or something. Also, my father comes and collects me from school sometimes, in the pick-up truck, and gets out of it so everyone can see he’s wearing a singlet so dirty it looks like he’s been rolling around in pig dung, and so ragged that you can see his fat hairy stomach through the holes, plus a pair of shorts that are falling down, and purple socks.
2. I bet your father wasn’t really embarrassed – there’s probably a different reason why he acted weird when that man showed up. Maybe your dad stole money from the man and he was using that exact money to pay for the chocolate mousse you were eating right then? Does your dad seem like a thief to you? There’s also probably another reason why your dad doesn’t want you to meet his family. Maybe they’re all thieves? Maybe it’s not a family at all, but like a criminal ring of train robbers or something? Has he ever shown any special interest in trains?
3. Maybe you could just concentrate on the food a
nd ignore your father? Chicken in orange sauce sounds delicious. Sorry, but rice pudding is delicious too. You should order that next time. Anyway, the thing to do is to order a new and exotic thing from the menu every time you go out and then completely ignore your father and concentrate on eating. Maybe you could even bring a book along and read that while you eat, to stop him from trying to have a conversation with you? And take a Walkman too, and listen to that so you don’t have to hear him eat his spaghetti.
4. If he still acts like he’s embarrassed by you, you should tip your wine down the front of his shirt (making sure you get a lot of it on his tie). I actually find it hard to believe you haven’t done that yet.
Lots of love,
Christina
Elizabeth,
You should be just perfect for advising Christina on what to do when her boyfriend wants sex.
You haven’t got a clue what to say, have you?
Ever had sex, Liz? Ever even kissed a boy? Ever held a guy’s hand, ever been asked out by a guy, ever had a guy wink at you?
Actually, are you sure you know what a boy is?
We are so weary of you. We are also very tired of telling you about the big white box in the kitchen where you belong.
Yours sincerely,
The Association of Teenagers
ELIZABETH!!!!
LOOK OVER HERE ON THE KITCHEN BENCH.
ABOVE THIS NOTE YOU WILL SEE A RECIPE BOOK. YOU MIGHT NOT KNOW WHAT A RECIPE BOOK IS. IT IS THE ONLY BOOK ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER UNLESS YOU HAVE PLACED ANOTHER, DIFFERENT BOOK HERE TOO.
IF YOU HAVE, REMOVE IT AT ONCE, AND YOU WILL SEE THE RECIPE BOOK
ANOTHER CLUE IS THAT IT HAS PICTURES OF FOOD ON THE FRONT COVER. IT ALSO HAS SOME ACTUAL FOOD STUCK TO THE PAGES. THE PICTURE OF FOOD ON THE FRONT COVER IS CRANBERRY DUCK WITH SCALLOPED POTATOES. BUT I CANNOT EXPLAIN TO YOU WHAT THE ACTUAL FOOD IS, BECAUSE I CANNOT IDENTIFY IT.
PLEASE PICK UP THE RECIPE BOOK AND OPEN IT TO PAGE 124. THERE WILL BE A RECIPE THERE CALLED ’ORIENTAL CHICKEN’. CAN YOU MAKE THE MARINADE FOR IT? DO YOU SEE IT? IT’S DOWN THE BOTTOM OF THE PAGE. USE THE WHITE DISH WITH THE BLUE FLOWERS ON THE EDGE. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS PUT EACH OF THE THINGS UNDER THE HEADING ’MARINADE’ IN THE WHITE DISH. THEN PUT THE CHICKEN PIECES IN IT, AND COVER IT, AND PUT IT IN THE FRIDGE. THE CHICKEN PIECES ARE IN THE FRIDGE ALREADY, SO THEY HAVE HAD EXPERIENCE BEING THERE.
I HOPE YOU HAVE FUN DOING THIS.
YOUR MUM
Mum,
The chicken is in the marinade. I had more fun than I ever thought possible.
I’m taking Lochie to the park for a run, and then I have to do a proper run myself. I want to do 10k today, so I won’t be back until around seven. See you then.
Love from Elizabeth
PS I got some new soy sauce on page 124 of your recipe book. You can identify it because it’s kind of in the shape of a cow.
ELIZABETH!!!
THANK YOU VERY VERY MUCH FOR MAKING THE MARINADE. IT LOOKS PERFECT. I HAVE PUT IT IN THE OVEN AND IT WILL BE READY AROUND SEVEN THIRTY. HELP YOURSELF (MAKE SOME RICE TO GO WITH IT? THERE ARE INSTRUCTIONS ON THE PACKET) AND SAVE SOME FOR ME.
I HAD TO GO OUT TO AN EMERGENCY MEETING OF THE POETRY CLUB. I’LL BE BACK SOON.
LOVE,
YOUR MUM
Dear Ms Clarry,
You followed that recipe for Oriental Chicken perfectly. The speed with which you grated that ginger, not even really sure whether it was ginger or not! The strength in your wrist when you squeezed the orange!
The rice was a little gluggy but you’ll soon get the knack! Your presentation was magnificent – a sea of rice with the chicken scattered artistically over the top! Perfect! (A glass of cold apple juice was a really thoughtful accompaniment, too.)
Most of all, however, we are impressed by how well you packed that dishwasher after you had finished. Moving the knife-and-fork holder to the far left corner was a stroke of genius – and the way you nestled the plastic dishes underneath the saucepan!!! Heavenly! Blissful!
One day you are sure to join our ranks!
With our Kindest Best Wishes,
Housewives of the World United
PS We are concerned about the Housewifeliness of your mother, though. Imagine dashing out while the Oriental Chicken was cooking! The marinade could have been ruined! How did she know whether you’d be back from your run in time to stop it burning – frizzling into nothing! Maybe you could ask her just what sort of emergency a poetry club has anyway?
Music that catches your soul in a fishnet – The Seaweed Savages play their latest album: Serve up the Shark Bait Platter, Hon.
Friday, July 23rd – Riverside Rathouse, Bundagai,
Saturday, July 24th – Bluemoon Newmoon, Newcatle
Sunday, July 25th – Coogee All-Nighter, Coogee
Monday, July 26th – Kirribilli Fun Parlour
Tuesday, July 27th – Randwick Workers Club
Wednesday, July 28th – Avoca Beach RSL
Thursday, July 29th – Terrigal Surf Lifesaving Club
HEY LIZZY. If the Seaweed Savages hadn’t done so many bloody shows, there’d be room on this postcard to write to you. They played the opening number at the circus last week. The drummer bought Pat and me Orgasms all night, I was sick as a dog. Sorry, no more room, love, Celia.
Dear Elizabeth,
It has come to our attention that, in Celia’s absence from school, you have been hanging around Daniella and Flick. It has also come to our attention that Flick brought a home-waxing kit to school today, and started waxing her legs at lunch-time, and both she and Daniella were hysterical with laughter.
You might not have found it even slightly funny, Elizabeth, but that is no excuse. The idea is to join in laughing anyway: not sit there frowning like a boring bullfrog.
Furthermore, we do not believe that you are going to make much progress in a friendship with that girl called Christina, from Brookfield. Your only hope is to offer her some excellent advice about sex.
Now, how exactly are YOU, of all people, going to manage that?
Perhaps you ought to buy a book?
Yours sincerely,
Handy Hints on How to Make Friends
(A Division of the Best Friends Club)
Click-on, click-off: The Occult comes to the Internet! www.weird.wacky.wild.demons!
Hey Lizzy,
I don’t get this card either. GUESS WHAT HAPPENED TODAY? I flew. I actually flew through the air. Patricia hooked me up in these braces things, and I just went zooming up to the top of the circus tent and then spinning all over the place.
It was the most exciting, exhilarating thing that ever happened to me. I know what it’s like to be a bird. The circus manager is still treating me so nice -we’ve started playing chess every night until three a.m. I might ask if we can play inside sometimes, cause it gets kind of cold at night, and I think I’m getting the flu! Anyway, hope you’re okay, lots of love,
CELIA.
Dear Christina,
I don’t think you should have sex if you don’t want to. You should never let anyone pressure you into it. But I guess that’s not the problem, is it? Cause you do want to. I don’t know, maybe you just should? Or do you think that you’re kind of not ready? I think you shouldn’t do it unless you’re sure that you’re ready.
It’s very weird that you know what I look like. Yeah, that’s me, and my ears are the stupidest things in the world. How embarrassing. Too bad if I wanted to keep them a secret. Tell that friend of yours to stop watching. Though he’s good at description – that’s exactly what Celia’s like, a fairy princess floating through the window and up into the clouds, like a paper lantern.
It’s funny that he mentioned that there’s also a guy from our school who catches the Glenorie bus, who always stands up for old people and has running shoes tied around his shoulders. That guy is Saxon Walker and he’s never spoken a word to me in my entire life until today. Spooky. He actually came and sat next to me on the bus, and we talked t
he whole way. It turns out he’s training for the same run as I am, so we had a lot to talk about. You know, ‘marathon stories’ – he told me about this famous race where one guy was just ahead of the other guy, but he turned around to check on him as he reached the finish line, and that tiny second meant the other guy won. I told him about a marathon in Vancouver where a man was winning by so much that he was three miles ahead of his nearest competitor, but he didn’t realise, so he didn’t stop to get a drink even though it was steaming hot and he was completely dehydrated. He ran into the stadium for the last lap, fell down, tried to stand up, and fell down again. Then he couldn’t get up at all, and ambulance people rushed in, and then it was a race to save his life and he almost died.
Saxon had already heard that story actually, but he’s kind of polite so he listened to the end before he told me that he knew it.
Anyway, maybe we’ll even run together some time – he only lives a couple of blocks away from me. He asked about Celia too, which is nice. Most people think it’s so weird that she runs away all the time, that they kind of pretend she doesn’t exist anymore whenever she’s gone. It was nice to talk to someone about her – I told him about the postcards and the circus and everything. For some reason he thought it was really funny that Celia joined the circus. He couldn’t stop laughing for half the bus ride.
Anyway, he’s actually pretty cool. I should have talked to him before, but I kind of write off most guys in my school as total nerds.
Sorry this has to be short. I’m in Music at the moment and people are going mad with the tambourines and it’s impossible to concentrate, but I wanted to write and see if you are okay, and send you this chocolate frog (I hope it hasn’t melted everywhere) and say thank you very very much for the nice helpful things that you said about my dad.
Feeling sorry for Celia Page 5