It was my legs.
My naughty, wicked,
jumping legs.’
See my mummy
shake her head.
See her drag me
off the bed.
Hear her say:
‘That is not true.
I will have to
punish you.’
See me struggle.
See me fight.
See my mummy
hold me tight.
Being punished
is not fun.
See me bite her.
See me run.
See me run.
Run, run, run.
See Mum run.
Run, run, run.
See us run.
Run, run, run.
Run, run, run.
Fun, fun, fun.
Around the bedroom.
Out the door.
See the staircase!
See me fall!
Down the stairs
on my rump.
Hear me bounce.
Bump, bump, bump.
See me land.
On the floor.
See me run.
To the door.
I must get out.
I must go fast.
Mum is looking
danger-arse.
See the door.
It opens wide.
See two big legs.
They step inside.
This is not good.
This is bad.
Those big legs
belong to Dad.
I must get out.
I must get past.
I must think quick.
I must think fast.
I know what!
I’ll play a game.
Dad’s a tunnel.
And I’m a train!
‘Look out!’ I say.
‘Let me through!
I’m a train.
Choo, choo, choo.’
I push my head
against his knees.
‘Toot-toot,’ I say.
‘Open, please.’
See Daddy smile.
He bends down low.
‘Go, little train.
Go, go, go.’
He opens his legs.
I’m almost out.
But then I hear
my mummy shout:
‘Stop that boy!
Stop him now!
He must be stopped!
I don’t care how!
He’s jumped and fibbed
and fought and bit.
He must not get
away with it!’
Feel Daddy’s legs
squeeze me tight.
‘What’s this?’ he says.
‘This is not right!
You should not jump.
You should not fight.
You should not fib.
You should not bite.’
See Daddy grab me
by the ear.
Hear Mummy whoop
and clap and cheer.
Hear Daddy rant, roar,
rave and boom.
See them shut me
in my room.
I’m in trouble.
I’ve been bad.
I sit on my bed.
I feel SAD.
But I know how
to make SAD stop.
I can jump.
I can hop.
Hop, hop, hop.
Jump, jump, jump.
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
Bump, bump, bump.
On my tummy.
On my bum.
See me jump.
Fun, fun, fun.
’m naked.
I’m shivering.
I’m bashing on the back door as hard as I can.
‘Dad!’ I yell. ‘Dad! Let me in!’
I grab the door handle and push down with all my strength, but it’s no use.
I must have forgotten to put the safety catch on the deadlock. What now? There’s no other way into the house. All the windows are barred and the front door has an even more foolproof deadlock than the back door.
It’s not my fault I’m out here with no clothes on.
It’s Sooty’s fault. He’s gone crazy.
I came out to get my school uniform off the clothesline, but it wasn’t on the clothesline. It was all over the backyard. In shreds. The shreds were covered in mud — and so was Sooty. And while I was yelling at him, he stole the towel I had around my waist, ran under the porch and started ripping it to shreds as well. I’d rip him to shreds if I was small enough to get under there.
‘Dad!’ I yell. ‘Please open the door! I’m freezing!’
Stupid Dad and his stupid deadlocks.
Ever since our house got broken into a few months ago he’s gone home-security crazy. You name it, we’ve got it — deadlocks, bars across the windows, a closed-circuit TV surveillance system, infra-red motion detectors and a fully monitored alarm system. Not to mention a Neighbourhood Watch sticker on the letterbox.
It’s a brilliant system. Dad lost the keys yesterday morning and we were trapped inside for two hours. Mum and Jen are in Mildura for the week visiting my grandparents so they couldn’t help us. We had to wait until the police arrived, alerted by the alarm system.
‘DAD!’
I yell even louder and bang on the door at the same time. But it’s no use. He must still be in the shower. I’m going to have to go around to the bathroom window.
I go back down the steps and around the side of the house to the bathroom.
That’s weird. I can’t hear the shower running.
‘Dad?’ I call. ‘Are you in there?’
He doesn’t answer.
‘Dad?’ I call again.
‘Andy?’ he calls. But not from the bathroom. He’s calling from around the back of the house. He must have heard me the first time. I run down the side of the house and around to the backyard. Dad’s standing outside the back door, a towel around his waist.
‘What are you doing?’ he says. ‘You’re supposed to be getting ready for school — not wandering naked around the backyard!’
‘It’s not my fault,’ I say. ‘I was getting ready. I came outside to get my clothes off the line but Sooty has ripped them up and then he stole my towel. And then I couldn’t get back inside because your deadlocks kept me out.’
Dad sucks in his breath and begins to shake his head.
‘It’s always somebody else’s fault, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘When are you going to start taking some responsibility for your own behaviour?’
‘But it’s true!’ I say. ‘Sooty’s gone crazy!’
‘Now listen here,’ says Dad. ‘Let’s get some things straight. Sooty is not crazy . . .’
But while he is talking, Sooty emerges from underneath the porch.
‘Dad!’ I say.
‘Don’t interrupt me!’ he says. ‘Secondly, it is not my fault if you get locked out of the house, I’ve explained how to use the deadlocks . . .’
‘Dad!’ I say. ‘Look behind you!’
‘I said don’t interrupt me and I meant it!’ says Dad, frowning.
‘But,’ I say, watching Sooty get closer and closer to him. He’s taking slow deliberate steps like he’s stalking prey.
‘Not another word!’ says Dad.
Sooty strikes.
He leaps through the air and in one deft movement rips Dad’s towel from around his waist.
‘What the . . .?’ says Dad.
He turns around, only to see Sooty disappearing underneath the porch with his towel.
Dad is standing there, nude, his mouth gaping.
‘I hate to say I told you so,’ I say, ‘I mean, I really really really hate to say I told you so, but I . . .’
‘Shut up, Andy!’ says Dad. ‘This is all your fault!’
‘My fault?’ I say. ‘But what about accepting responsibility for your own behaviour?’
But Dad seems to have lost interest in that subje
ct.
‘Just come back inside, get dressed and get ready for school,’ he says.
‘But what am I going to wear?’ I say.
‘One of your sister’s dresses for all I care!’ he says. ‘I just don’t want to be late for work again. Mr Bainbridge was ropable yesterday.’
Dad stomps back up the steps.
‘What about the door?’ I say. ‘Did you leave the deadlock catch off?’
‘Of course I did,’ says Dad. ‘Think I don‘t know how to work a simple deadlock?’
He pushes down on the handle.
Nothing happens.
He tries it again. Still nothing.
He bangs his head against the door.
‘Why me?’ he says.
Bang.
‘Why me?’
Bang.
‘What did I do to deserve this?’
Bang.
I put my hand on his shoulder.
‘Dad?’ I say.
‘What?’ he says.
‘Do you think you should be doing that to your head?’ I say.
‘What else is there to do?’ he says.
‘Um,’ I say. ‘Try to find another way in?’
‘There is no other way in,’ he says. ‘The doors are double-deadlocked. The windows are barred. And even if we could prise the bars apart, the motion detectors would alert the police long before we could get in.’
‘Well, why don’t we do that?’ I say.
Dad snorts.
‘Use your head, Andy!’ he says. ‘We’re naked. We have no way of proving who we are. They’d arrest us.’
‘We could get the neighbours to vouch for us,’ I say. ‘They’d tell the police who we are.’
Dad stops and thinks for a moment. Then he shakes his head.
‘No,’ he says. ‘It’s bad enough to be locked out of your own home, let alone having to parade around nude in front of the neighbours. I’d be a laughing stock.’
Hmmm. He’s right. I don’t exactly like the idea of being nude in front of the neighbours — not to mention the police — anymore than Dad does. It’s bad enough being nude in front of my dad, and even worse, to have him nude in front of me.
Then I have a brainwave.
‘What about the spare key?’ I ask.
Dad moans. ‘It used to be under the door-mat, but Neighbourhood Watch say you shouldn’t keep keys in such obvious places.’
‘So where is it now?’ I say.
Dad moans again.
‘I left it at work,’ he says. ‘In my office.’
‘We could go and get it,’ I say.
‘But we have no clothes on,’ says Dad.
Dad has a point. But we’ve got to do something. I’m freezing.
I jog up and down to try and keep warm. But I slip on the wet ground and fall backwards onto the muddy lawn.
I get up.
My legs are covered in mud and little bits of grass.
Hey! I’ve got it.
‘Dad,’ I say, I know how we can get to your work and get the key!’
‘How?’ he says.
‘We can cover ourselves in mud and grass. It will be like camouflage.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ says Dad. ‘This is serious.’
‘I’m not being stupid,’ I say. ‘Watch this!’
I scoop up a big double-handful of mud and smear it across my chest. I grab another handful and rub it into my belly. I lie down on my back and roll around until I’m completely covered — from head to toe — in mud.
All the while Dad is standing there studying me like I’m something that just arrived from another planet.
‘Well,’ I say ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you’re completely insane,’ says Dad.
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘I know, but we’d only have to travel a few blocks. If we keep to backyards where possible and just move really fast across the open areas we’ll be there in no time and nobody will even notice us. It’s still pretty early.’
‘It’s a crazy plan,’ he says. ‘But . . .’
‘But, Dad . . .’ I say.
‘Let me finish,’ he says. ‘I was going to say it’s so crazy it just might work. Besides, I’m damned if I know what else we can do.’
‘Good point!’ I say. ‘What have we got to lose?’
‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘Let’s do it!’
He bends down and starts slopping big handfuls of mud onto himself. He breaks into a broad grin.
‘Well,’ he says, ‘how do I look?’
‘Looking good, Dad!’ I say. ‘Just like a regular mudman!’
The more mud he slops on, the more excited he gets. He’s like a little kid. He pastes mud all over his body, and all over his head. It’s in his hair, his eyes, his mouth. He looks really freaky — not like my dad at all. He covers his private parts with a leaf and hands one to me.
‘Better put this on,’ he says. ‘Just in case.’
‘Just in case what?’ I say.
‘In case somebody sees us,’ he says.
‘Nobody will see us!’ I say. ‘Because we’re mudmen! Invisible to the eye! We travel where we want! When we want! How we want!’
‘Mudmen!’ says Dad, holding out his muddy hand, palm upwards. ‘Give me five!’
I give him five. Mud splashes out from our hands. I haven’t seen Dad this excited since . . . since . . . well, actually I’ve never seen him this excited.
The sky is filled with dark clouds. That’s good. It makes it less likely that we’ll be seen.
We climb up our fence and into Mr Broadbent’s yard. Crouching low we run across the yard and climb over his fence.
‘So far, so good!’ says Dad, as we run across the second yard and scale the next fence.
We drop down into the third backyard. There’s plenty of cover here. It’s full of trees and shrubs.
‘Too easy!’ giggles Dad.
‘See, I told you!’ I say.
We continue on our way, leaping fences like they’re nothing more than hurdles in a hundred-metre dash.
Wooden fences, galvanised iron, high-security fences — nothing stops us. We’re mudmen!
We thread our way through compost heaps, swimming pools and vegie gardens. All the while getting more and more caked in mud and leaves and dirt.
We stop, panting, in the last backyard in our street.
‘I haven’t had this much fun since I was in the boy scouts!’ says Dad, wheezing.
‘You covered yourselves in mud and ran around the streets in boy scouts?’ I say.
‘No,’ he laughs. ‘We went bushwalking and orienteering — but this is much better!’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘We’re going to have to run down the side of this house and cross the road to the house opposite to get to the next set of backyards. Are you ready?’
‘Ready!’ says Dad.
We run down the side of the house and cross the footpath to the nature-strip.
Oh no!
There’s a car coming out of the driveway of the house beside us.
There’s no time to hide.
‘What do we do now?’ says Dad.
‘Freeze!’ I say. ‘Put your hands out to your side. We’ll pretend we’re trees!’
We both stop dead and put our arms out at weird angles.
‘I don’t think we look much like trees,’ whispers Dad out of the side of his mouth.
He’s right, but it doesn’t seem to matter.
The driver of the car doesn’t even give us a second glance as he pulls out onto the road and takes off.
‘Phew, that was close,’ says Dad.
‘But we did it!’ I say.
‘Yeah!’ he says, his muddy eyes shining. ‘We did it!’
He runs across the road and leaps over the low brick fence that runs along the front of the house on the corner. I follow him, down the side of the house, into the backyard and over the fence.
Dad’s really moving now. I have to run as fast as I can to keep up with him.
/>
As I’m climbing over a tall green fence I see him standing in the middle of a yard under a clothesline. He’s holding a large pair of jeans above his head. I drop down into the yard and join him.
‘Look what I found!’ he says. ‘This should make things easier!’
‘Great, Dad,’ I say. ‘But let’s keep moving. Before someone sees us.’
Dad is bending over, trying to put the jeans on.
Out of the corner of my eye I notice something move.
I hear growling.
Uh-oh.
I quickly review how many yards we’ve been through and I realise what backyard we’re in . . . the backyard of number 19. The home of the bull terrier.
It comes running across the grass towards Dad.
‘Forget the jeans, Dad,’ I say. ‘Run!’
I head towards the fence. The bull terrier follows me, baring its teeth and snarling. I start climbing the fence, the bull terrier snapping at my legs.
Dad runs towards us. He twirls the jeans around and flicks them like they’re a rolled up tea-towel. He hits the dog on its back. It turns and attacks him.
Dad grabs the bull terrier around the stomach and wrestles it to the ground. They roll around together in the mud. Fighting, thrashing and growling. It’s hard to tell who’s growling the loudest. It’s incredible. I’ve never seen Dad like this before. It’s like watching Tarzan wrestle with a leopard.
Dad looks up at me.
‘What are you waiting for?’ he yells. ‘Go!’
Just Crazy Page 10