Free Nona and Me by Clare Atkins

not a plaything. Family is family. They don’t deny each other. As Rripipi put it – they don’t
rakigulkthun
, break that string, that bond.”
    I know she’s right. There’s no excuse. She looks at me, disappointed. “Have you got anything to say?”
    â€œI … I didn’t know … I didn’t mean … maybe she heard it out of context …”
    â€œWhat possible context could justify disowning your sister, Rosie?”
    I turn and stare out the window, refusing to meet her accusing glare. My eyes are flooded with shame.
    â€œI don’t care if you find something embarrassing or uncool … or even if a family member approaches you and they’re drunk or out of control … I never want to hear about you denying our family again. Is that clear?”
    I nod.
    â€œI want to hear you say it.”
    â€œI promise. It won’t happen again.”

10.
    1997
    We are in the bath, surrounded by clouds of bubbles. We scoop them up, piling them on our shoulders, our heads, our noses. Nona looks hilarious. We giggle and grin. She takes a deep breath and blows at the bubbles on my head. A blob dribbles onto my back, while the rest explode into the air like dandelion spores.
    Nona grins. “Let’s do washing.”
    I don’t know what she’s talking about but I say, “Okay.”
    She reaches out of the bath, grabs her T-shirt and shorts, and pulls them into the water. I watch with wide eyes. This will get us into trouble, for sure. But Nona doesn’t seem to care. She grabs the bar of soap and starts to scrub. Her T-shirt becomes a foamy lather. Her eyes sparkle with fun. “Get your dress.”
    I can hear Mum and Guḻwirri talking in the lounge, and the smalls laughing as they jump on Mum and Dad’s bed. Dad’s away, teaching in Garrthalala. He only comes home on weekends.
    I make a decision and grab my dress. Nona hands me the soap and I get to work. I’m concentrating so hard that I don’t hear Mum come in. Suddenly she’s above us. “Time to get out, girls. It’s Yumalil and Lilaba’s turn.”
    We look up, guiltily. She frowns at our wet, soapy clothes. Then her face softens. “Oh good. You did the washing for us.”
    She’s smiling. I breathe a sigh of relief.
    â€œCome on, then. Hop out.”
    We stand up. I see Nona’s gleaming dark body next to mine. I say, “Wait. Nona’s still dirty.”
    Mum looks at Nona, confused. “She looks fine to me.”
    â€œBut her skin. It’s black.”
    Mum seems to hold her breath. She glances around, like she’s checking if anyone else has heard. I can hear Guḻwirri humming from the kitchen now, as she does the washing up. Someone turns the TV on, probably one of Nona’s big brothers.
    Mum looks back at me. “Rosie … just because someone has dark skin doesn’t mean they’re dirty.” She hesitates, then asks, “Did someone tell you that?”
    â€œJessica. From school. She said black people smell ’cause they’re dirty.”
    Nona scowls. “I’m not dirty. Tell her she’s a
bäy
ŋ
u bunydji
.”
    Despite Mum’s serious expression, I smile.
Bäy
ŋ
u bunydji
is Nona’s latest favourite insult. It means you have no bum.
    Mum gives me a warning look, and I quickly stop smiling. She lowers her voice. “Rosie. Don’t ever say that again, okay? Okay?”
    I know that tone. It means I’ve done something really wrong. I nod agreement.
    Mum says, “We’ll talk about this later.”
    I feel my face flood with shame. I can’t bring myself to meet Nona’s eyes. I know if I do, I’ll start crying. We climb out of the bath, leaving our clothes in a sodden pile. Mum wraps us in soft purple towels, and I hurry to my room. Nona follows me in, and then I’m sobbing hot tears. I wipe my eyes, wishing they’d stop, or