Speeding down Memory Lane

I didn’t mind getting in the car with Dad (Herby) those crisp Toowomba mornings, with socks up to my knees, a brand new pale blue pinafore swimming over my adolescent frame and a navy ribbon tied under my white collar. Only as soon as I sat down, panic would hit, and my stomach would churn with dread.  I couldn’t possibly face another day of grade 8 at my new school… where I knew no one - and had absolutely no friends.

“Please don’t make me go today.” I whispered, turning to Dad, my flat chest heaving hysterically as tears poured down my face. A normal person would have felt sorry for me – guilty for making me go… like they were leading a lamb to it’s slaughter. But Herb just furrowed his brow, and stepped on the gas. After all, we were running late. As usual.

‘It will get better once you’re there,’ he said in a stern but kind voice as we hurtled down the street, towards the bus stop. I could see the bus pulling away in the distance and continuing up the leafy road. Toowoomba roads were lined by dense bush or large evergreen trees, giving it the lush feel of a quaint village, rather than the large country town that it really was.

“Just give it some more time,” Herb re-assured me, patting me on the knee before switching gears and breaking the speed limit by at least $240 in order to chase the bus down. The fear I had felt about having to go to school momentarily gave way to the g-forced induced thrill of accelerating into the wrong lane, as we passing cars that were already speeding, before cutting off the bus at the next stop.

“Have a good day,” he said, like everything was fine. The mix of adrenalin, exhilaration and embarrassment I now felt had jolted me out of my teary state. I wonder if he had done that on purpose. I kissed him on the cheek, and ran out of the car, red-faced - onto the bus. Everyone was staring and my heart was pounding out my ears. I felt incredibly self-conscious making a grand entrance so regularly, and I also felt incredibly self conscious about Herb's car.

It always drew attention - which I would have secretly loved, but in conservative Toowoomba Australia, one must be wary of being a tall poppy.  The car was a Jaguar E-type sports car - red, and it's engine sounded like three Harley Davidson's lived under the bonnet. A classic mid-life crisis car – just imagine, a giant penis, painted shiney red, on wheels. That was the exact shape of his car.

Herb had bought it the minute Mum (Janet) had hesitantly walked out the door. She had barely passed the mailbox before it was in our driveway. It had a V12 engine (that’s gutsy for all the non bogans reading this) and when it opened up on the highway, you felt like you were flying.  It was Dad’s way of reclaiming his life and inadvertently sending Janet a clear message. 

Poor Janet. I wish she’d had the guts to go buy a big vagina on wheels. But what does that even look like. Perhaps one of these:

or these:

I sat in the front seat of the bus, and waited for the boys at the back of the bus to start teasing their little brother about liking me. “Matty likes Ally,” they’d chant. Matty would always turn an even deeper shade of red than me. I tried very hard never to look at him, incase they thought that I liked him back.

In front of me, Herb’s car sped away like lightening as our bus slowly lumbered forward. I had a feeling that my new life living with him was going to be an adventure. Also - it wasn’t going to be easy. He was going make me go to school, when my tears alone would have been enough to for mum to homeschool me for the rest of my life. (Mum would always reward me for crying.) Now it was up to Herb to toughen me up, and deep down, I knew he was doing what was best for me. Just like when Mum would put alphalpha sprouts on our whole wheat pizzas. Both parents were just trying to do their best. And that's all one can ever ask for.