Free White Ute Dreaming by Scot Gardner Page B

rolled it between my fingers. Mum glanced at me.
    â€˜Can I have one?’ I asked.
    The cigarette lighter clicked out and she lit up. Instead of stuffing the lighter into its socket, she handed it to me. It burnt my finger—there wasn’t much to hang on to—and I dropped it on my leg. It rolled against my crotch and I thumped my head on the roof trying to get it off.
    Mum laughed. ‘You right, love?’
    I could smell burning plastic. The seat cover stuck to it as I swept it away. I charged it up again and did it—had my first smoke in front of Mum. I felt like King Dick sitting there in the passenger seat with the window cracked open. Mum keeps a jar in the console of her car to put the cigarette butts in. We used it as an ashtray as well and when we had finished our smoke we put the lid on and closed off all the mess and the smell. The jar had boiled lollies in it in a past life. Here little kid, would you like a yummy cigarette butt to suck on?
    We’d just passed Nagambie when I noticed Mum’s eyelids getting heavy. Looked like she was going to nod off.
    â€˜You want me to drive for a while, Mum?’
    She looked at me and her eyes weren’t sleepy anymore.
    â€˜What? You drive my car ?’
    â€˜Um, yeah.’
    â€˜Not bloody likely.’
    â€˜Straight road and everything. Not much traffic. Carn.’
    She shook her head. ‘No way. It’s harder than you think, Wayne. You haven’t got your learner’s permit or anything.’
    â€˜So?’
    â€˜Nup,’ she said.
    It had been a long while since I’d seen the inside of a hospital and all the memories of my last visit came waftingback like a fart in the supermarket. We had to walk past a courtyard with nice flowerbeds and two old blokes in wheelchairs. They were both missing a leg from the knee down and were kicking back in the afternoon sun. Well, not doing much kicking but they looked relaxed. I waved with my stump but neither of them noticed.
    Uncle Don looked half-dead. More than half; three-quarters maybe. His skin used to be the colour of a good strong hot chocolate, now it looked more like a banana milkshake. His eyes had sunk, like his head had been deflated a bit and he was held in place by a network of tubes and wires like that bloke in Gulliver’s Travels . Yeah, Gulliver. He was stoked to see us.
    â€˜Hi Don, how are you?’ Mum asked, and then hugged him so he couldn’t answer anyway but he would have said, ‘Good, yeah. Going all right, Sylvie. And you?’ like he always did.
    I held his hand. I moved to the side of the bed and sort of shook hands and he didn’t let go. He was still hanging on when Ted and Penny came in and my hand was slimy with sweat. I slipped out of his grip and stood against the wall while he pleaded with his brother and sister to take him home.
    â€˜I don’t want to die in a bloody hospital. Take me home and put me in a chair under the lemon tree. Let me die with a beer in my hand. Right? Not all these bloody tubes and wires and shit. We’ll get a bit of a fire going, right, and when I’m done you can chuck me on top.’
    Ted laughed. Mum started crying. Penny walked into the corridor. Later that night, after Mum had a long talk with his doctor, we took him back to his place. Mum helped him slick his hair back and get his clothes on. He sat in hisfavourite armchair and watched a bit of telly. I fell asleep on the couch but I woke up again at about three o’clock.
    â€˜Where are my teeth?’ Don asked. Ted and Penny had gone. Mum was having a smoke in the kitchen. ‘They’re in your pocket, Donny.’
    Through bleary eyes I watched him stick his teeth in with a wet rattle.
    Mum was on the phone when I woke up again, telling Uncle Ted or someone that he’d gone. I rubbed my eyes and looked at his chair. He just looked like he was asleep. His head hung forward a bit but not uncomfortably. I watched his