I’m not. Something I’m never going to be. And if I was to become that something, she wouldn’t be happy. Even then,” I cough, wondering why I’m so emotional.
“That sounds shit, mate,” he says, frowning.
“It is,” I concur, looking out the window. “She judges me, based on what she thinks is right, but also on what other people say or do. She has this competitive edge. And a dark side. A really dark side. It’s always been there, but I think it’s getting worse.”
“Jeez,” he says, lost for words. After a while he continues. “So what do you mean by a dark side?” he asks tentatively, looking almost a little fearful.
I wonder if I should tell him. Whether to come straight out and say it. We don’t say it much, because verbalising makes it real. Makes it something we’d have to deal with front-on. The insidious affliction eating away at us, like it eats away at her. Daily.
“My mum has depression, Jack. Sometimes she’s fine, but other times she’s so low nothing can retrieve her from the depths of despair. At least at the moment she’s upright.”
Jack glances across with compassion in his eyes. “And when she’s down she’s critical? More so, do you mean?”
“Yeah. Critical, and even a little nasty. This awful bitterness kind of snakes through her, and she goes all remote and stony. Detached, I s’pose. From all of us. Dad, me and Ben.”
Jack gives a shake of his head, lifting his eyebrows as if unsure how to respond. He changes the subject. “So, where did you go last night then?”
“To a lame dance party near Shoal Bay. From the moment I got there I wanted to leave, but I had to wait for my friends who were having the time of their lives. We had to walk out.”
I see his surprise. Most likely he doesn’t think I’m the dance party type, and he’d be right. “So your Mum doesn’t like you going out?”
I shake my head. “It’s not that. I can do what I want. She just has this need to control and manipulate. And everything she says is full of criticism. It’s been a lifetime of negativity.”
“Jeez,” he says again, ruffling a hand through his hair. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full there.”
“Sorry to go on. It’s just hard sometimes, you know?”
“Don’t apologise, Sam. It sounds really difficult.”
Berating myself for spilling too much, I sigh. Because this stuff is raw . And usually kept hidden. But he’s driving at a hundred and focused on the road. In the confines of the ute, time stretches with silence.
As we approach Karuah his mobile rings. I assume it’s Matt because Jack says, “Yeah mate, we’re on our way. We should be there in five.” And then, “Thanks mate, that’s great. I’ll let her know,” before clicking off the call.
Jack turns sideways with a smile. “So your repairs ended up being a bit cheaper, which is good, right?”
I give him a grin. “That is definitely good.” A wave of relief floods through me because cash isn’t easy to come by. Board, petrol, food, ferries. It seems to go out as fast as it comes in.
Matt reverses the Excel out of the lot as we pull up. Shiny and mirror-like, the new paintwork gleams in the low afternoon light.
“Here she is,” Matt says, gesturing at the car like a corny television game-show host. “Looks all brand new.”
“Nice finish, buddy.” Jack runs his hand along the rear end of my car, rubbing the paintwork with his fingers. Tiny metallic flecks shimmer in the light.
“What d’ya reckon Sam?” Matt asks. “Came up beautifully, I reckon.”
“Wow, it looks great Matt. Thanks so much.”
“It ended up being cheaper, even with the discount. Come into the office so we can settle up the account,” he says, leading the way to the rear of the yard.
I follow him into a dark room at the back of the lot. Framed pictures of racing cars hang haphazardly on the walls, and a soupy mix of engine oil and petrol-scent invades the air. Matt ducks around the back and
“That sounds shit, mate,” he says, frowning.
“It is,” I concur, looking out the window. “She judges me, based on what she thinks is right, but also on what other people say or do. She has this competitive edge. And a dark side. A really dark side. It’s always been there, but I think it’s getting worse.”
“Jeez,” he says, lost for words. After a while he continues. “So what do you mean by a dark side?” he asks tentatively, looking almost a little fearful.
I wonder if I should tell him. Whether to come straight out and say it. We don’t say it much, because verbalising makes it real. Makes it something we’d have to deal with front-on. The insidious affliction eating away at us, like it eats away at her. Daily.
“My mum has depression, Jack. Sometimes she’s fine, but other times she’s so low nothing can retrieve her from the depths of despair. At least at the moment she’s upright.”
Jack glances across with compassion in his eyes. “And when she’s down she’s critical? More so, do you mean?”
“Yeah. Critical, and even a little nasty. This awful bitterness kind of snakes through her, and she goes all remote and stony. Detached, I s’pose. From all of us. Dad, me and Ben.”
Jack gives a shake of his head, lifting his eyebrows as if unsure how to respond. He changes the subject. “So, where did you go last night then?”
“To a lame dance party near Shoal Bay. From the moment I got there I wanted to leave, but I had to wait for my friends who were having the time of their lives. We had to walk out.”
I see his surprise. Most likely he doesn’t think I’m the dance party type, and he’d be right. “So your Mum doesn’t like you going out?”
I shake my head. “It’s not that. I can do what I want. She just has this need to control and manipulate. And everything she says is full of criticism. It’s been a lifetime of negativity.”
“Jeez,” he says again, ruffling a hand through his hair. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full there.”
“Sorry to go on. It’s just hard sometimes, you know?”
“Don’t apologise, Sam. It sounds really difficult.”
Berating myself for spilling too much, I sigh. Because this stuff is raw . And usually kept hidden. But he’s driving at a hundred and focused on the road. In the confines of the ute, time stretches with silence.
As we approach Karuah his mobile rings. I assume it’s Matt because Jack says, “Yeah mate, we’re on our way. We should be there in five.” And then, “Thanks mate, that’s great. I’ll let her know,” before clicking off the call.
Jack turns sideways with a smile. “So your repairs ended up being a bit cheaper, which is good, right?”
I give him a grin. “That is definitely good.” A wave of relief floods through me because cash isn’t easy to come by. Board, petrol, food, ferries. It seems to go out as fast as it comes in.
Matt reverses the Excel out of the lot as we pull up. Shiny and mirror-like, the new paintwork gleams in the low afternoon light.
“Here she is,” Matt says, gesturing at the car like a corny television game-show host. “Looks all brand new.”
“Nice finish, buddy.” Jack runs his hand along the rear end of my car, rubbing the paintwork with his fingers. Tiny metallic flecks shimmer in the light.
“What d’ya reckon Sam?” Matt asks. “Came up beautifully, I reckon.”
“Wow, it looks great Matt. Thanks so much.”
“It ended up being cheaper, even with the discount. Come into the office so we can settle up the account,” he says, leading the way to the rear of the yard.
I follow him into a dark room at the back of the lot. Framed pictures of racing cars hang haphazardly on the walls, and a soupy mix of engine oil and petrol-scent invades the air. Matt ducks around the back and
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