Chains 3
Without Prejudice
Amy and Sarah ran past the Anzac Memorial in the dusty square at the top of the Town. The base slightly covered in brown leaves making it look dirty and neglected. Amy always felt slightly sad when she passed it. Sarah always said she was " fanciful ", Amy's love of solitude and books well known to her family and hidden from everyone else.
It was easy to hide in a large family, everyone had their role to play. Amy the shy bookworm, plain and short sighted, although that knowledge was to come later. For now she tilted her head to one side and squinted slightly. Pulling down her lower eye lid, sometimes, to lessen the halos around lights and to sharpen the writing on the blackboard.
She was a " top girl" which meant sitting at the head of the class on the slippery wooden benches. Furthest from the blackboard. If she lifted the skin around her eye she could see, but she had to do it secretly so as to not to call attention to herself. The waving of her hand in the air to answer questions was expected as she was so well read and always belied her innate shyness.
Shy and ambitious, retiring and outgoing, Amy knew from as far back as she could remember the crippling shyness, the anxiety, the secrets she had to keep. Sarah and Amy both knew it from old, the secrets, the unsaid, and the secret language of their parents that brought fear and anxiety.
Amy's nails were bitten to the quick and as much as she didn't want to she would continue to bite them till they bled and the coppery taste of blood would be tasted on her tongue. Sarah was chubby, finding her solace in food, even though most of the time they didn't have any. When they had food it was High Days and Holidays. And when they had none they literally starved.
Amy loved the books about English Boarding Schools where midnight Feasts were a norm and the novel, What Katy Did, where a trunk would arrive for Christmas full of knitted goods and wrapped crisp, buttery Crullers. Her Yorkshire Grandma, far across the other side of the world would send a parcel every Christmas with Black sticky Pontefract cakes, boxes of rolls of fruit gums and pastilles, pear drops and licorice all-sorts. Bassetts All Sorts, the " best sort " Dad always said.
" Dads home " Sarah cried out suddenly as they neared the end of their street.
She could see the orange car parked on their grass driveway from a distance.
" Oh Goody" Amy replied and clapped and rubbed her hands together in glee. Maybe a meat pie was going to be had after all, injected under the pastry lid with sloppy peas and tomato sauce. And maybe, just maybe, another white bakers bag, dotted on the outside with a big grease spot.
" Cream Jam Buns" cooed Amy. Her imagination running overtime. Visions of cream buns danced in her head and both girls arrived at the front gate together, leaping the wooden steps and banging open the fly screen door letting it hit the wall with a screech and a thud.
Amy and Sarah ran past the Anzac Memorial in the dusty square at the top of the Town. The base slightly covered in brown leaves making it look dirty and neglected. Amy always felt slightly sad when she passed it. Sarah always said she was " fanciful ", Amy's love of solitude and books well known to her family and hidden from everyone else.
It was easy to hide in a large family, everyone had their role to play. Amy the shy bookworm, plain and short sighted, although that knowledge was to come later. For now she tilted her head to one side and squinted slightly. Pulling down her lower eye lid, sometimes, to lessen the halos around lights and to sharpen the writing on the blackboard.
She was a " top girl" which meant sitting at the head of the class on the slippery wooden benches. Furthest from the blackboard. If she lifted the skin around her eye she could see, but she had to do it secretly so as to not to call attention to herself. The waving of her hand in the air to answer questions was expected as she was so well read and always belied her innate shyness.
Shy and ambitious, retiring and outgoing, Amy knew from as far back as she could remember the crippling shyness, the anxiety, the secrets she had to keep. Sarah and Amy both knew it from old, the secrets, the unsaid, and the secret language of their parents that brought fear and anxiety.
Amy's nails were bitten to the quick and as much as she didn't want to she would continue to bite them till they bled and the coppery taste of blood would be tasted on her tongue. Sarah was chubby, finding her solace in food, even though most of the time they didn't have any. When they had food it was High Days and Holidays. And when they had none they literally starved.
Amy loved the books about English Boarding Schools where midnight Feasts were a norm and the novel, What Katy Did, where a trunk would arrive for Christmas full of knitted goods and wrapped crisp, buttery Crullers. Her Yorkshire Grandma, far across the other side of the world would send a parcel every Christmas with Black sticky Pontefract cakes, boxes of rolls of fruit gums and pastilles, pear drops and licorice all-sorts. Bassetts All Sorts, the " best sort " Dad always said.
" Dads home " Sarah cried out suddenly as they neared the end of their street.
She could see the orange car parked on their grass driveway from a distance.
" Oh Goody" Amy replied and clapped and rubbed her hands together in glee. Maybe a meat pie was going to be had after all, injected under the pastry lid with sloppy peas and tomato sauce. And maybe, just maybe, another white bakers bag, dotted on the outside with a big grease spot.
" Cream Jam Buns" cooed Amy. Her imagination running overtime. Visions of cream buns danced in her head and both girls arrived at the front gate together, leaping the wooden steps and banging open the fly screen door letting it hit the wall with a screech and a thud.
