Do it again!
My stomach is still wizzy when we get to Liesel's. We sit on the steps out the front, the sunlight in her curly black hair, her shoulders bare. Dad stretches out a hand and rests it on her shin, they laugh and talk while my brother looks for lizards in the cracks in the concrete and I scratch behind my knees. Can I play with the Barbies?
Tiny plastic shoes spill onto the bricks, a little apron and hospital gown and sparkly mini skirts, a knot of dolls tangled at the elbows and legs, a hairbrush the size of my pinky, a silver gown and a diamond ring you press through Barbie’s finger to fasten, like pierced ears. I don’t have my ears pierced yet. Liesel does. Today she's wearing big hoops I can almost fit my hand through.
Gentle, darling, says Dad.
I want this light feeling to come home with us.
If there are no other little girls who play with them, can I take the Barbies with me? I ask this one more time, even though I know they’re Liesel’s very special Barbies and I can't take them home, but I can play with them whenever we come over. Maybe Liesel can come over to our house one time and bring the Barbies.
Maybe one day, Dad says. Or maybe we can get you some Barbies for home.
Maybe one day, Dad says. Or maybe we can get you some Barbies for home.
When we get back to Jindalee, Mum puts her arms loose around me then goes back to grating vegetables. Her eyes are red. Dad vanishes out the back and while Mum stands at the sink, I climb into the Tupperware cupboard and tell her again about the wizzy hill. About Liesel’s earrings. About the Barbies.
Maybe if I’m a really good girl, I can have some of my own.
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