Manhattan Dreaming by Anita Heiss Page B

wrapping, just a paper bag that Max handed me to open.
    â€˜This is MY iPod! Where did you get it, and why are you giving it back to me?’ Everyone started to laugh.
    â€˜Seriously, sis, you really needed to update your tunes, so I put on some of the latest deadly Blackfella music so you won’t get too homesick, eh?’
    â€˜I think that will make me even more homesick.’
    â€˜See, men just can’t win,’ Dad said to Max.
    â€˜Yeah, not even brothers!’
    I stuck the ear piece in and scrolled through the albums he had saved: Sharnee Fenwick, The Last Kinection, Charlie Trindall, Street Warriors, Munkimuk, Radical Son, Emma Donovan, Shauntaii, Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu and Jessica Mauboy.
    â€˜This is too deadly, dear brother, but you know with the hip hop music thing, I could never get into that crimping move.’
    â€˜Sis, it’s called crumping . And you wonder why we don’t hang out together.’
    â€˜Come here.’ I grabbed him and gave him a huge hug but he resisted as best he could. He was his father’s son.

    We all got up early in the morning to head to Sydney. Dad was standing at the kitchen sink drinking a cup of coffee and I went and hugged him. He gave me an envelope and said, ‘Mum said to buy yourself something from Marcie’s.’ I knew he meant Macy’s.
    â€˜You don’t have to do this, Dad.’ I got teary.
    â€˜C’mon now, you can’t be crying today, your mum won’t cope.’ We both knew it was him who wouldn’t cope.
    â€˜And you might want to buy something from Marcie’s for your mum too, or else she’s gonna be on my back about going to New York, and there ain’t no way I’m flying to America. No way.’
    â€˜I’ll get something from Marcie’s for Mum, no worries.’
    I could’ve taken a domestic flight to Sydney and then boarded the international flight to New York, but I wanted to do the road trip with Mum and Dad, to see the countryside before I left. They were going to Aunty Sonia’s after they dropped me off and Libby was going to check out the latest exhibition at the Yiribana Gallery before they’d all drive back later that afternoon.
    â€˜Kooris’ll drive three hours for a cuppa,’ Mum used to say.
    As we drove slowly along Auburn Street, I took in my last view of the pergola in Belmore Park and saw a couple having their wedding photos done. I swung my head from one side of the car to the other looking at the shops and wondering what new businesses would pop up while I was away. I made Dad cruise past the Regional Art Gallery and I could feel homesickness already set in.

    Inside the international terminal at Mascot Airport, Dad manoeuvred the trolley with my two big red cases, strategically piled on top of each other, while I carried my laptop and Libby took my wheel-aboard suitcase. The air buzzed with emotion as families, friends and colleagues prepared for pending departures and sad farewells. Dad was jittery, Mum was flapping about, running through a checklist of things I should have in my hand-luggage – clean underwear, toiletries and so on – and Libby had her arm linked in mine as we walked. We all stopped at the area leading into customs. It was time to say goodbye.
    â€˜Now don’t be ringing us reverse charges all the time, okay?’ Dad joked.
    â€˜Don’t listen to your father, call whenever you need to,’ Mum countered.
    â€˜And don’t talk to strange men.’
    â€˜Yes, Dad.’
    â€˜In fact, don’t talk to anyone. And buy some of that mace stuff to spray in their faces, but don’t get any in your own.’
    â€˜Yes, Dad.’
    â€˜And don’t take a drink from a stranger. I’ve seen those shows – the men over there spike drinks and then take advantage of innocent girls.’
    â€˜Mum, can you stop him, please?’
    â€˜Gray, stop it. The girl’s in a