Free Of Ashes and Rivers that Run to the Sea by Marie Munkara Page B

to feed him. Joey grew into a fine little kangaroo but when he jumped the fence one day and scared the shit out of the neighbour the decision was made to take him to a wildlife park. When we visited him at his new home a bit later on Julie and I were furious to find out that the park had changed his name from Joey to Peter. But even worse was that he didn’t recognise us anymore and he refused to come when we called. I tried to console myself with the fact that he had some mates to hang out with now and it wouldn’t have been much of a life in our backyard anyway.

9.
    Although I had memories of black people, if there was one thing that I didn’t ever get to see as a little kid it was other black people. There were none in our neighbourhood or at our church and I didn’t see any when we were driving around in the car. So you can imagine my surprise when we lobbed up to a barbecue one evening and there were families sitting there with black kids. Aboriginal ones. We gaped stupidly at each other like we’d just seen an alien while the grown-ups shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. After we ate we were instructed to play together while the white kids like Julie were told to play as well, somewhere else. So off they went and we sat there still gawping at each other. Some looked beseechingly at their parents to be rescued while others like me just kept our eyes averted and our senses on high alert. I don’t know if our parentswere expecting us to get up and have a corrobboree or something but none of us were particularly comfortable about being forced together.
    My ears pricked up when I heard our mother telling the other parents how a while back she had organised for me to be ‘sent back’ because I was destructive and had tantrums, but after taking me to a child psychologist I’d calmed down so she’d changed her mind. This opened the floodgates and unkind things about my fellow sufferers were said as well, while whoever was being so rudely discussed winced and lowered their eyes to the grass in shame. I don’t know if the parents thought we were impervious to insults or what but every now and then one of our torturers would give us a bright look and urge us to speak to each other before launching into more whining about their kid’s problems.
    We eyed each other off but no one wanted to make the first move until finally one kid gave in and said hello to the person next to him. The kid grunted back and went on intently looking at his fingers pulling out blades of grass like it was the most important thing in the world to do, and that was the end of that exchange.
    Then a priest came over and squatted down with us and asked our names. There were a few mumbled responses but the rest including me remained silent. I know he was trying to break the ice and be jolly but it didn’t work with me. His eyebrows looked like two caterpillars squashedon his face and there was something creepy about him. I ignored him. When he saw he was making no impression on us he got up and went back to the parents.
    After he left I checked out what my parents were up to. She was deep in conversation while he was sitting moodily observing the goings-on with a beer in his hand. I shiftily checked out the kids beside me who like me were probably wondering what they’d done to deserve this, then got up and headed for the swings. I’d had enough of sitting there like an idiot. I heard her calling and telling me to come back and sit down but I pretended I didn’t hear. I knew I was going to cop it anyway when I got home so I just kept going. There was a white kid already on the swing and when he realised my intent he dived off and bolted. From the look in his eyes I don’t think it was his choice to have a black sibling in the family because he seemed pretty scared of me.
    I had to suffer through a few more of these barbecues and by the fourth one we kids were actually speaking to each other