All I Ever Wanted by Vikki Wakefield

who’s watching the same program by matching the flickering lights through front windows.
    Mum’s asleep on the couch, exhausted after today’s cleaning blitz. She hasn’t moved since I got home and when I asked her about the government woman, she just shut me down. Told me to mind my own business. The horizontal weight of her drags the lines away from her face. She looks smooth and relaxed. When she’s still, like this, I want to touch her skin to see if it feels the same, to see if it’s soft and warm like I remember it.
    I turn the volume on the telly way down and lie on my bed. I find a tattered National Geographic under the bookshelf and try to read it, but I can’t get past the first page. I eat for the sake of it, sweet things in crunchy packets that smell like bliss and taste like guilt.
    I check my phone. Tahnee still hasn’t called.
    I imagine I hear Jordan’s car, but by the time I get to the window all I can see is the faint red glow of taillights.
    Then the power pops and cuts out. There have been warnings on the news about planned outages, but it could be a fuse. The thought of putting my hand into the spider-infested fuse box makes me shudder. I look through the window again. The whole street’s out. Gradually, dim lights appear behind curtains as torches and candles are found. People start coming outside because there’s nothing to watch. It’s so still when everything stops. For weeks the hum and drip of air-conditioners has been the soundtrack to summer.
    Mum sleeps hard, and the sudden quiet doesn’t wake her. I grab a can of Coke and go out to the porch. It’s cooler, but not much. I sit with my bare feet up on the railing, the vinyl seat sticking to my legs. Across the street, Benny’s cigarette glows when he inhales.
    This time, when the car passes, I know it’s not him. The engine sounds the same, but this car crouches low on fat tyres and its tail-lights look like slanted eyes. It slows past our place, but doesn’t stop. It could be Welles or somebody else who has heard that the boys are in remand. I press back into my seat and breathe out to make myself smaller. I can’t see Benny, only his cigarette, so maybe they can’t see me.
    Power cuts always make me nervous—the dark leaves gaps for things to creep out of. If I’m ever home alone and I hear a strange noise, I turn the sound up, not down. People can go crazy in this heat.
    I go inside, kick off my thongs and curl into the corner next to Mum. She’s out to it, but it’s comforting. Even comatose, Mum’s formidable.
    My legs go to sleep under me.
    When my phone rings and I nearly jump out of my skin. Mum stirs and rolls over. I run to my room, muffling the ring-tone against my stomach.
    Private number.
    â€˜Hello?’
    A hiss and a burst of static.
    â€˜Hello? Who is it?’
    Nothing, then the hang-up tone. I press ‘End’, blood pounding in my ears. Outside, the night bird screams.
    A few minutes later I get a message.
    Can u come over? I’m freakin out here. The message ends with a crying smiley.
    It’s not Tahnee, unless she’s blocked her number.
    Who’s this? I text back.
    Next door, comes the reply.
    Lola.
    I tiptoe past Mum to get my thongs.
    A board creaks and Mum opens one eye. ‘Where are you going?’
    â€˜Nowhere,’ I lie. ‘Power cut.’
    I go out the back way. I climb the fence rather than risk going into the street and my bare legs catch on the asbestos. A corner snaps off. I imagine tiny filaments, floating on the air, worming their way into my lungs. Lying dormant for twenty years until I’ve forgotten how they got in there.
    Mosquitoes whine near my ears.
    I tap at the back door. There’s evidence of an old break-in. A splintered door jamb, a square of cut mesh. I hear a chain rattle and the sound of a deadlock releasing.
    â€˜Why didn’t you come to the front?’ Lola