Millie.
Just for the record.
another fact millie knows for sure
E ven though there were all these words that existed, it didn’t mean you could use them. But there wasn’t a book on it, you were just supposed to know this somehow. Everyone else seemed to know but her. You could say some words, and you couldn’t say other words, and that’s the way life was.
Examples of things you weren’t allowed to say, to anyone, at any time:
How fat are you?
Do you have a vagina or a penis?
What kind of funeral do you want when you die?
One night, while her mum was on her hands and kneesscrubbing the bathroom tiles, Millie said,
What kind of funeral would you like, Mum? When you die.
Her mum sat up like someone had yanked the back of her neck.
Millie took a step back.
A balloon popped today at school and George cried, and Claire laughed, but everyone was surprised and I want there to be a surprise like that at my funeral, one that makes everyone’s heart go fast, so they remember their heart is still going, so I want you to have a balloon, and Dad to have a balloon, and I want you to pop them at different times.
Okay?
Millie said when her mum didn’t answer.
Go to your room
, her mum said eventually.
Millie did as she was told, and sat on the carpet next to her bed. She made patterns in the carpet with her fingers, and watched the world upside down through her window by lying on her back with her head hanging off the side of the bed. The ground was the sky, the sky was the ground, and the trees grew downward. Everything seemed a little freer in that upside-down world.
When her dad came into her room, Millie was looking down at the patterns she’d made in the carpet with her fingertips, tiny roads for tiny people.
Why, Dad?
she said.
Her dad picked her up and sat her on his waist, like he used to do when she was the littlest she remembered being.
It’s just a rule
, he said.
You can’t talk about it.
Yes, but who said?
He shrugged.
God?
But God kills people all the time. That’s what Mum said.
So maybe it was someone else. The same guy who made the rule that you can’t point at people and laugh, or walk into the post office without any pants on. There’s some guy making rules that we all need to stick to. Got it?
I don’t like that guy.
Her dad laughed.
We all don’t like that guy.
A few weeks later, Millie sat on a green plastic chair in her neighbors’ shed. She remembered it was green because she tried thinking only green thoughts while she was on it. Grass. Trees. Frogs. Their garbage bin. Their couch. The stuff between her dad’s teeth sometimes. The stone on that lady’s ring. That beer can. Her pencil case.
Her dad was there, and all the man neighbors were there, and her mum was there, and all the woman neighbors were there. The man neighbors and her dad had scarves on and beers in their hands, and her dad had a beer cozy that had a map of Australia on one side and a lady in a bikini on the other side, and they all said very loud things about goals and tags and half-forwards, and wings and umps and squares, and they surrounded these words with other words you weren’t usually allowed to say, but today, for some reason, you could say. Like
fucking
and
shit
and
Who’s that arsehole?
and
Fuck, are you fucking kidding me, you bastard?
The woman neighbors and her mum floated in with plates of food, weaving in and out like slow dancing, and said,
See how he talks to me?
and
Do youwant sauce, love?
and
Get yer hand off it!
Her dad was loud and her mum smiled a lot, and both of these ways of being were not usual. While the kids outside yelled,
You’re it
and
You cheated!
and
You’re not my best friend anymore
, Millie sat in her green chair and thought,
Celery. Cucumber. Avocado dip.
And again, Millie felt like there were rules in her neighbors’ shed, rules she didn’t know but that everyone else knew, rules that were about how men, women, and children acted around one another; rules that gave
Just for the record.
another fact millie knows for sure
E ven though there were all these words that existed, it didn’t mean you could use them. But there wasn’t a book on it, you were just supposed to know this somehow. Everyone else seemed to know but her. You could say some words, and you couldn’t say other words, and that’s the way life was.
Examples of things you weren’t allowed to say, to anyone, at any time:
How fat are you?
Do you have a vagina or a penis?
What kind of funeral do you want when you die?
One night, while her mum was on her hands and kneesscrubbing the bathroom tiles, Millie said,
What kind of funeral would you like, Mum? When you die.
Her mum sat up like someone had yanked the back of her neck.
Millie took a step back.
A balloon popped today at school and George cried, and Claire laughed, but everyone was surprised and I want there to be a surprise like that at my funeral, one that makes everyone’s heart go fast, so they remember their heart is still going, so I want you to have a balloon, and Dad to have a balloon, and I want you to pop them at different times.
Okay?
Millie said when her mum didn’t answer.
Go to your room
, her mum said eventually.
Millie did as she was told, and sat on the carpet next to her bed. She made patterns in the carpet with her fingers, and watched the world upside down through her window by lying on her back with her head hanging off the side of the bed. The ground was the sky, the sky was the ground, and the trees grew downward. Everything seemed a little freer in that upside-down world.
When her dad came into her room, Millie was looking down at the patterns she’d made in the carpet with her fingertips, tiny roads for tiny people.
Why, Dad?
she said.
Her dad picked her up and sat her on his waist, like he used to do when she was the littlest she remembered being.
It’s just a rule
, he said.
You can’t talk about it.
Yes, but who said?
He shrugged.
God?
But God kills people all the time. That’s what Mum said.
So maybe it was someone else. The same guy who made the rule that you can’t point at people and laugh, or walk into the post office without any pants on. There’s some guy making rules that we all need to stick to. Got it?
I don’t like that guy.
Her dad laughed.
We all don’t like that guy.
A few weeks later, Millie sat on a green plastic chair in her neighbors’ shed. She remembered it was green because she tried thinking only green thoughts while she was on it. Grass. Trees. Frogs. Their garbage bin. Their couch. The stuff between her dad’s teeth sometimes. The stone on that lady’s ring. That beer can. Her pencil case.
Her dad was there, and all the man neighbors were there, and her mum was there, and all the woman neighbors were there. The man neighbors and her dad had scarves on and beers in their hands, and her dad had a beer cozy that had a map of Australia on one side and a lady in a bikini on the other side, and they all said very loud things about goals and tags and half-forwards, and wings and umps and squares, and they surrounded these words with other words you weren’t usually allowed to say, but today, for some reason, you could say. Like
fucking
and
shit
and
Who’s that arsehole?
and
Fuck, are you fucking kidding me, you bastard?
The woman neighbors and her mum floated in with plates of food, weaving in and out like slow dancing, and said,
See how he talks to me?
and
Do youwant sauce, love?
and
Get yer hand off it!
Her dad was loud and her mum smiled a lot, and both of these ways of being were not usual. While the kids outside yelled,
You’re it
and
You cheated!
and
You’re not my best friend anymore
, Millie sat in her green chair and thought,
Celery. Cucumber. Avocado dip.
And again, Millie felt like there were rules in her neighbors’ shed, rules she didn’t know but that everyone else knew, rules that were about how men, women, and children acted around one another; rules that gave
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