Three Novelettes - Westside Special Edition

THREE NOVELETTES

WESTSIDE

SPECIAL EDITION

THREE NOVELETTES

Dorothy Kamal Isabella Whitcher Khadija Mossavi

WESTSIDE

SPECIAL EDITION A Westside Publications Project Produced by BYDS

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Westside Special Edition, Three Novelettes Published by BYDS, PO Box 577 Bankstown NSW 1885, Bankstown Arts Centre: 5 Olympic Pde, Bankstown, telephone: (02) 9793 8324, website: www.byds.org.au No part of this publication may be published without the written permission of the publisher. Views expressed are not necessarily those of the publisher.

ISSN: 1441-712X ISBN: 978-0-9580108-8-7 Copyright 2011

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Acknowledgments This special edition of Westside was made possible because of our devoted partners, funding bodies, local artists and mentors.

Thank you to the funding bodies of Three Novelettes: the ThyneReid Foundation, the Bankstown Sports Club CDSE and WestWords – the Western Sydney Young People’s Literature Project. Thank you also to the funding bodies and partners of BYDS: Arts NSW, Bankstown City Council (BCC) and Bankstown Arts Centre.

Thank you to the additional funding bodies of Westside Publications: Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) and the UWS Writing and Society Research Group.

Thank you to Renee Kamal, Alison Whitcher and Joanna Winchester for supporting the writers of this publication, Dorothy Kamal and Isabella Whitcher.

Thank you to the Australian Literacy and Numeracy Foundation (ALNF) and Old Guildford Public School for supporting this project and for helping to source and train Khadija Mossavi, one of Australia’s youngest published writers.

Thank you to our Westside Publications team: BYDS Director; Tim Carroll, Westside Publications Sub Editor; Felicity Castagna, Westside Publications Designer; Roslyn Oades, Project Administrator; Jane Worsley, and Project Partners; Professor Ivor Indyk and Eric Brace.

Most importantly, thank you Isabella, Dorothy and Khadija.

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Produced by BYDS A Westside Publications Project EDITOR: Michael Mohammed Ahmad SUB EDITOR: Felicity Castagna PROOFREADERS: Gloria Ahmad, Samantha Hogg & Mariam Chehab DESIGN & LAYOUT: Roslyn Oades COVER IMAGE: Anonymous COVER DESIGN: Nadine Beyrouti IMAGES: Author portraits by Chris Atkins PAGES: 10, 28, 48 Portrait of Joshua Whitcher courtesy of Alison Whitcher PAGE: 46

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Contents Introduction by Michael Mohammed Ahmad...................................................................... 7 Us = Family by Dorothy Kamal.................................................................................................... 9 Living with Peter Pan by Isabella Whitcher......................................................................... 27 Home by Khadija Mossavi................................................................................................................. 47

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Introduction This is by far the most unique Westside anthology yet to be produced by BYDS. In every edition, harking back even to the very first, which was compiled and edited by Roslyn Oades in 1998, Westsides have been devoted to highlighting the writings and artworks of dozens, sometimes even hundreds, of local artists from Bankstown, South Western and Western Sydney.

Three Novelettes highlights the work of just three: all under twelve years old, all girls, all from the local South West Sydney region and all with the daunting task of producing a body of work that adds up to over five thousand words.

This edition of Westside would never have happened, however, were it not for a young writer we met in early 2010 named Dorothy Kamal. Each year BYDS runs the annual Bankstown City Council (BCC) Youth Week Writing Competition.

At the time, Dorothy was only ten – two years under the actual age limit to enter the competition. Her story, called ‘Vampire Rage’, won the Outstanding Jr. Award. It was, in many ways, a story which lacked the techniques and themes we at Westside Publications call ‘good writing’. I like our writers to tell stories about Bankstown and Western Sydney: Dorothy set her story in a completely make-believe world. I like our writers to tell stories about their lives and personal experiences: Dorothy wrote her story about vampires. I like our writers to pare back their writing: Dorothy would sometimes use ten to fifteen adjectives in just one sentence. The first sentence of ‘Vampire Rage’ alone brought tears to my eyes: ‘The dim darkness gradually shadowed the peculiar, bleak night sky as the thick breeze ruffled through the empty air and whipped the rattling leaves across the disgustingly grimy, inaudible street.’

But at the heart of Dorothy’s story was a love for words and writing that immediately gave her a special place here at BYDS. Only an hour after the launch of Live It Now – the BCC Youth Week Writing Competition Showcase, Dorothy’s mother, Renee, contacted me to ask what programs BYDS had available for someone like her daughter. My answer at the time was ‘none’, but BYDS Director, Tim Carroll and I were keen to get something going. Very soon after, I began meeting with Dorothy on a weekly basis to help develop her writing, and Tim and I began to hunt for partners and funding to get a project off the ground.

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While I worked with Dorothy I also searched for two other young local talents to be part of this new project from BYDS. My goal was to source three writers under twelve who would consult with Westside Publications Sub Editor, Felicity Castagna and I each week in order to produce three original novelettes.

I was amazed with the response and support we received from our local leaders, local media and various funding bodies. More so, I was amazed with the three writers we had discovered for this unique publication: Dorothy Kamal, Isabella Whitcher and at the final stage with the support of ALNF and Old Guildford Public School, Khadija Mossavi. Each of these writers was perfect for the project because of their love for writing. But to add to this, each writer also embodied the remarkable experience of growing up in one of Australia’s most culturally diverse regions, Western Sydney. This is what Three Novelettes seeks to share with its audience. I’d say more, but I don’t want to take away from each story . . . you’ll have to read them for yourself.

This Westside recognises the wonderful writer/editor relationships that BYDS has been able to forge over the past twenty years with members of our local community. It also recognises the amazing cultural and linguistic diversity that currently exists in Western Sydney. Furthermore, it recognises the culture of Western Sydney, a trademark voice and urban landscape like no other. This is a publication which unites three writers all from the same place, but all from different worlds; with different experiences and each with a unique style. These are styles that our Westside Publications team have worked hard to preserve and present. The writing is a result of an ongoing Westside Publications scholarship.

Felicity and I have spent many months teaching and defining the rules before we allowed Dorothy, Isabella and Khadija to break them. The results, I trust, will speak for themselves.

This book is written by children but it is not only for children. This book is for readers, all readers, who love writing, and are looking for something like nothing they’ve ever read before.

I give you Three Novelettes . . . by three peoplettes.

Michael Mohammed Ahmad Editor

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Us = Family

By Dorothy Kamal

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DOROTHY KAMAL is twelve years old. She lives in Greenacre with her mother, father, two sisters and three brothers. She is the eldest of her siblings. Dorothy is currently in Year 7 and studies at St Charbel’s College in Punchbowl. She began writing when she was nine years old.

Her favourite things include music (especially Ke$ha), her friends, puff pastry, pasta bake and horror movies.

Dorothy won the Outstanding Jr. Writers’ Award in the 2010 Bankstown City Council Youth Week Writing Competition. She studies Hip Hop and R‘n’B dance at Runyaway Fitness in Punchbowl and excels in public speaking and debating. Dorothy read ‘The Corner’, a chapter from the following novelette at the 2011 BYDS Sydney Writers’ Festival event, ‘Launch into Deep Suburbia’.

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For my mother, Renee Kamal, who lugged my siblings and I up the stairs each week to make this happen.

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Us = Family

Cousins Doing Karate Oh, story of my life. Giggling with no sense at all. My laugh echoing through my Tayta and Jedoo’s backyard. A home-movie day, just watching continuous tapes of my cousins. It was a toast-warm day with ruffles of heat circulating. Crows crowed freely, perched on the prickly arms of my grandparent’s ten metre tree.

‘Ay, watta randomly crazy day, haha,’ I yelled, with the last sounds stumbling down my throat. Various heads swashed their way to me, holding back a couple of laughs.

‘Hahahahaha, you idiot!’ my cousin Raye’s muffled voice blabbed . . .

Of course, I remember . . . my cousins. They were weird and insane, simply idiots. Haha.

A thought flew to me. Oh . . . April the 17th 09, that’s right, playing karate.

Hilarious really . . . my cousins were leaping onto the grass and onto each other in my grandparent’s backyard. Nonsense. I think it was Najee, Big Charlie, Ronnie and Raye – they were four brothers. Their father is my mum’s brother. Hmm . . . was Daniel there? Not sure.

Najee – not short, not tall – was like a curvy block of coffee with brown hair that reeked. His huge bulging eyes went with the complexion of his flat cheeks.

His fashion screamed like a crazy and free personality. He was always in big shoes, skinny jeans and baggy t-shirts. He was eighteen years old.

Big Charlie was big but not fat. He had jet-black hair with ruffles of short curls from the back and an exceedingly tough personality to go with his built, 14

Us = Family

tanned shoulders. He was seventeen years old.

Ronnie, um . . . petite and average-coloured skin with a bubbly personality, still-flowing brown hair with sparkling gold-brown eyes. He was fifteen.

Raye was short with shimmering, brown skin. His undeniably straight hair reached out from the back to create a rat-tail. Loud. Eleven years old.

Charlie, my younger brother, was also watching. He was exceptionally lanky and dark skinned. He acted cool in front of his friends. He was infuriating. Like Big Charlie, Baby Charlie had swirly jet-black hair too: it smelt like a mixture of fruits; it trailed into the distance. His almond-shaped eyes were full of life.

This was all happening on a summery day, sweat running down their faces.

They pounced onto each other and banged on the walls and plunged onto the dry grass. ‘First round, Najee and Charlie,’ Daniel bawled.

‘Haha, I bet you Najee will get smashed, cuz,’ Raye screamed.

‘Yeah, bro, did you see that, haha!’ Daniel laughed.

Najee got kicked in the stomach and fell. He landed on his back, cracking up from laughter. Boom! He reached back up and twirled, kicking Big Charlie in the face, sending him to the grass. A pink bruise formed across Big Charlie’s cheek.

And he couldn’t stop laughing either.

‘One, two, three . . .’ Daniel, Ronnie, Raye, my brother and I chortled.

‘Oi, oi, oi! Najee, bro, you got smashed man, haha,’ Daniel said.

‘Bro, you should’ve seen your face, it was like a dying cat!’ Ronnie bawled.

‘Yeah, haha, idiot,’ Raye continued.

‘Round two,’ Raye howled.

‘Ronnie and Raye!’ I interrupted.

‘C’mon bro,’ Raye murmured.

‘Raaaa,’ Ronnie screeched.

‘Ouch, bro,’ Raye whooped.

‘C’mon, c’mon, show me watcha got, baby.’

‘Raaaaaaa.’

Ronnie and Raye charged at each other. They collided. Raye was standing.

Ronnie wasn’t.

‘Ronnie, cuz, haha, you got smashed,’ my brother chuckled.

Dorothy Kamal

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‘No, I didn’t,’ Ronnie shouted. He pounced onto Raye like a tiger full of hatred. Far into the distance I yelled, ‘Nah, nah, Raye, you’re disqualified, ha ha!’

‘Why? What? Just because I got smashed to the ground!?’

Oh it was . . . comical . . . the tape. It helped me remember my cousins.

CHIKKABOOM! Vanie (Vanessa), Dot (Dorothy), haha. Cool names, ay? Oh, us two girls are BFFs, and stay BFFs. A way to remember her: Math Professor, can’t stop laughing and talking and smiling, like me. I love her, exceedingly. Yes! Memory. Friend memory. We will remember this. Crazy, laughing, silly. Her and I. CHIKKABOOM! A photography thing we play. We adjust our hands to make the shape of a camera. We yelp out CHIKKABOOM with an animated face when we catch a person doing something embarrassing.

I have an old memory . . . we always used to do it to my English teacher, Miss Candelori. She loved to pose. Like oh my gosh, Miss Candelori was a star with her curved hips and baby-pink lips curled out. Her massive jewel-green eyes rolled open. Once she was staring at Nisrene for talking too much. She just stood there frozen for five minutes. CHIKKABOOM! And we also used to do it to girls and guys yawning and rolling their eyes.

Oh my gosh, funny: once, Vanie and I joyfully strolled down the cramped playground at school and I unexpectedly stumbled on the ground. Then Vanie fell too, her feet tangled around each other, twisting and turning. She grasped onto me and ‘CHIKKABOOM’ I howled at her face as she fell . . . it was a setup, muhaha.

My Arabic teacher, Mrs Sandrussi was yapping away about stuff. My entire class wasn’t listening. We were also yapping away. The noise we made bounced around the steamy classroom. Vanie bawled to me, ‘Hey Dot, sweetie, Chikkaboom?!’

‘Yessssssss, like oh my gosh, now . . . CHIKKABOOM!’ 16

Us = Family

Suddenly, silence. Silent. Everywhere. Vanie and I cracked up, chortling like crazy idiots, banging our heads and arms on the tables. We both rolled on the floor, laughing out ‘CHIKKABOOM’. Suddenly, all the faces of our class swashed towards us with their mouths slid wide-open. Vanie crawled over to me, dying from laughter, clutching onto me. We CHIKKABOOM’ed everyones’ face, as well as them CHIKKABOOM’ing ours.

‘Get out!’ Mrs Sandrussi shouted at us.

‘Oh my gosh!’ Vanie and I giggled, trudging out of class with smiles spread across our baked steamy faces. Now, that was some real action-packed action.

Haha, loved that moment: moment of our lives. When we did CHIKKABOOM it was like we were soul sisters, ogling straight into each other’s eyes, telepathy. It was something to remember . . . something we’ll always cherish . . . yep, it was an old, old memory that we’ll treasure. We were living our lives.

My Tayta and Jedoo in Australia ROCK and are MAD and I LOVE them and are the BEST Have I ever told you I was a diminutive baby the moment I arrived from Almighty Lord Jesus Christ’s saddle? At three years old I often spent fun days at my Tayta and Jedoo’s house. I remember Big Charlie and Raye and my uncle and great grandmother were there. Big Charlie had a strong personality and a built body to go with it. Raye was petite and slim and always shouting.

Wow! Hmmmmm . . . My Tayta and Jedoo took care of me while my mum worked. Yep, I had to detach from my mummy for a couple of hours . . . Tayta and Jedoo played significant roles in my life, they bathed me and fed me junk. I loved that my Tayta and Jedoo always gave me lollies and chips. I always made a mess. I spent amusing moments with my grandparents, yep, this is because my cousins lived with them in their double storey ginger brick house.

There’s a colossal welcoming entrance as you walk in. There are vases and paintings of Jesus down the corridors with mini trees in several corners of the house. Sweet, home.

Dorothy Kamal

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One particular day that I spent at my Tayta’s, the sun blazed. It was forty degrees. I wanted to go outside because it was too stuffy in the house. On my way down the steep stairs, I tripped and landed on a cockroach. As I was falling I covered my face with my hands and ended up with cuts all over them. The pain was searing. The ground was boiling. The cockroach squished like a ripe banana and rubbed all over my pants. Raye and Big Charlie burst out laughing. My face fried with tears. My tears soaked the stairs. Jedoo came out with an apple-shaped mouth and picked me up.

Jedoo howled, ‘Luk ya Doro, haha, ash sor, yiiiiiii.’

My Jedoo walked into the kitchen and handed me over to Tayta.

The first three words she yelled were, ‘Yiy, ya habibti!’ and plunged me into the sink. It overflowed with water and washed me. Flabbergasted faces of my Uncle George and Great Grandmother Moontaha enclosed me. Uncle George was leaning against the cream-coloured wall and my great grandmother was perched on the forest-green sofa. My Uncle George was slim with jet-black swirly hair.

Soft-hearted.

Tayta Moontaha was warm. She had milky skin and looped white, short hair which had a black headband on top. Uncle George tantalised, ‘Oooh yucky, Dorothy.’

‘Eh, ya Doro, ya Doro,’ Tayta Moontaha gently murmured.

A tumble to remember . . .

DOONYA! ‘Hi, hi, hi!’ I yelped as I strolled around in front of my house with my sisters and brothers. Charlie: eight years old, Kristen: five, Elissa: three, and George: two.

Loud. Noise.

‘Wait Dorothy, remember, it’s meant to be a surprise, when they come, when!’ Mum shrieked as she grabbed my shirt. It was like all of Tennyson Road had just arrived. Amazing, the way we function. Tayta, my Jedoo, my cousins and neighbours swarmed. ‘A dragon’s coming tonight to eat all the Elissas,’ said Kristen. Our giggles echoed into the air whilst the heat swept over everyone.

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Us = Family

‘A new arriver, shoosh everyone!’ I roared. We all lurked behind the trees and walls. The new neighbours drove in as the engine rustled and foamed. Lebanese!

Like us! Doonya: a single mother with three children, Eddie: the twenty-year-old son, Rebecca: the nineteen-year-old daughter, and Daniel: the sixteen-year-old son.

‘Surprise!’

Their faces exploded with smiles. We welcomed them, complimented them on their new house, and spoke about all the company and help we’d give them.

Days passed by . . . as we grew like a family.

The Corner . . .

Oh, yeah. Comfortably perched, just hanging out, chilling at The Corner. Best thing in the world, at my school, St Charbel’s College. It’s forest-green. We are well-known to hang out there, it’s our place. It’s positioned at the end of the Green Area facing south-east. There is a long egg-white fence etched with dirty black scrapes to the right of it. Behind the fence are dense, glossy lime bushes with scraps of bark inside them. There are a chunky set of chains which are locked up together to stop people trying to escape from the green gate. We are who we are, V.V.N.D.Z! I love us. Us love us. V stands for Vanie, the other V is El-kazzi, N is Nisoo, D stands for me, Dorothy, and the Z is Z-teph, her real name is Steph. BFFs. Awkward silence.

It was lunchtime. The other kids were shouting and yapping away. My gigantic eyes were glued to Vanie. Vanie’s hazel eyes were cemented to El-kazzi’s.

And Nisoo’s eyes were attached to Steph. Steph’s concentrated on everyone, all of us. All our faces leant to the side, leaving our bodies stationary. Suddenly, BOOM, BANG, POW! Our heads collided with each other and we fell to the garbage-ridden ground. Everyone turned and looked at us. Silence. The whole playground, everyone, everything, silent, except us. We fell side by side next to each other. Laughter. Tears. Pool. A group of students gathered around and giggled with us, at us. Fart. A fart. Someone farted. More laughter, more grins.

Dorothy Kamal

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Steph’s feet kicked against my face. El-kazzi’s arms surrounded us all. Our faces baked from the laughter, cooked, then baked more because of our dumbness and stupidness and weirdness and the silence except for us. We couldn’t stop.

Vanie was trying to speak. ‘Ehoh mo gosheh, my sto-ma-ch’s hur-tingeh!’ She choked on her own laugh. Nisoo choked on her ‘fish’ laugh. It dribbled through her throat. The fart. It trailed inside my nose, deep. It smelt like rotten egg. Oh my gosh, whose gas had such a putrid smell to it? I was about to vomit.

They strolled down the slopey hill and made their way to The Corner. They had cheesy faces and smirks overtaking their cheeks as they approached us.

Ghiwa, Nour, Claudia Gerges and Louisa.

Ghiwa had eyes like berries, with light tints of turquoise. Nour dazed as her lips slid down with trembles of laughter exploding from her mouth. Claudia Gerges had large golden eyes that bulged out towards us. Louisa was lanky and slim. The girls sat on the ground and stared at us. They squinted and then pulled themselves back up and leaned on the green gate. They laughed. We were still on the ground. We shut our mouths and looked in front of us. Another group came along: G.Y.J: Gebran, Yarak and Joseph. Gebran was the tiniest in the group. Yarak had a combination of gold and brown hair and a fringe covering his forehead.

Joseph had horizon-oval-shaped brown eyes. Then, more people came, a lot more.

Claudia Seif, the one with the best hairstyles, Celine and Nicole Dauod, their eyes bursting out. We finally got back up, not embarrassed. We stared at everyone. We laughed. And ran. We tumbled on each other’s shoes then dawdled halfway across the playground. We wondered who farted. Then heard the fart again.

The Corner . . . Love The Corner . . .

It’s Rude Not To . . .

‘Bye, Daddy,’ I muttered, then gently kissed him on the cheek. He kissed me back and smirked at me. I then turned and left with my mum and rambled towards the wooden door, swashing my head back to have a glimpse at Dad and Charlie and Kristen and Elissa and George.

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Us = Family

Dad: medium-sized, naturally white skin; now not so white: a deep brown tone.

Charlie: lanky. He is a mischievous nine-year-old that has a comical personality packed with all sorts of passion, like maths, and imagining unpredictable things.

Oh, once he wrote this story for school that included a talking convertible as the main character . . . weird ay?

Kristen: asleep, curled up on the couch. Petite. Mmmm, a tomboy, a lover of soccer, she’s active. Elissa: twisted up on the opposite couch deep asleep. Oh, she is the complete opposite of Kristen. She always moves her hands when she talks and always wears flowing dresses. The way Elissa speaks is hilarious: ‘Oh my gosh, luk, ya, yas.’ She loves to yap away, sometimes about nothing.

George: everything about that cutie makes me roll on the floor and laugh so crazy. George is a cheeky three-year-old. That’s right, I remember him doing stunts. Once he opened the cupboard that contained lavish glass and nearly broke all the cups. My mum always caught him and screamed. Another time he threw the remote on the brand new plasma TV. It damaged the left side of the screen. He also sprints and jumps from the table to the couches. Yeah! He is an attention seeker and he is strong. Sometimes he turns over the lounge room coffee table. Oh . . . Terrible Twos!

And me: short like Mum, long, straight russet hair with a few curls at the bottom.

My eyes: mammoth and dark. Fair skin. Eleven years old. Dorothy Kamal.

‘Ya Renee, afli al beb, wa entibhi ala al tarii!’ Dad warned from inside the house.

He was looking after my little sisters and brothers tonight.

‘Okay, ya Milad! Ya ayni,’ Mum hollered back. She locked the door behind us as her and I hopped into the Tarago. The foam. The noise. The engine. It growled. It fumed and fussed and exploded gas to the thin and crispy cold breeze of the bare wind. Inky night sky. Spooky. ‘Mum, we are gonna be so like scared, seriously, and oh craaap, I forgot my jacket, oh my gosh!’ I shivered.

‘Doro! You forgot your jacket, yiysh, go inside and get it, yala!’ Mum murmured.

I rushed inside and grabbed my black jacket. It was left on the hallway floor. I strode back out and made my way down the veranda. I walked through the front yard toward the car. Out on the sidewalk appeared an image: a thin tall shadow Dorothy Kamal

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staring down at me, his eyes were glowing. Who is that? Who could it possibly be at this hour? I ran around him quickly and pounced into the car. I pointed him out to my mum. She turned back and peeked as the figure began to walk away.

Her mind flipped. ‘What, who’s that! I’m gonna call your dad–’ Mum panicked.

‘No! No! Don’t go back inside the house and leave me here, don’t!’

‘Ya Doro, don’t worry habibti, I won’t, no way, I’m gonna call him on my mobile,’ Mum continued. Her fingers shook as she phoned Dad. Ten seconds later he rushed out clutching a mop and scanning everywhere. ‘No one, no one. Mahada!’

‘Really, Dad, eh?’

‘Eh, there’s no one Dorothy, don’t worry, he’s gone,’ Mum reassured.

Dad repeatedly said to Mum, ‘Don’t go.’ She refused and said, ‘I need to, it’s rude not to!’

It was the beginning of a very strange night.

When we arrived at my Tayta and Jedoo’s house, there was smoke coming out of the garage and the family had gathered in the living room. The foul smell of the dense smoke puffed, fumed and rumbled. It overtook the emptiness of the bare sky and changed the ambience of the wind. The whole family was here. They went outside. My mum and I followed. Water. Water. Water. Tap. Hose. Buckets.

Pool. Jamberoo. Sea. Waves flooded the backyard and the garage. Every tap in the house was leaking. The family frantically ran around and danced. Oh my gosh! The hose hung around loosely, it curled itself, it twirled itself, it was left on! The water harshly lashed in the gentle wind. Noise. Noise. Noise echoed.

About seven hollow and gigantic buckets lay around, some tilted towards the garage walls and some hanging out from the garage windows. One bucket with a fat, fluoro-yellow smiley-face in the centre stood still in the middle of the garage.

Fresh water oozed from the buckets and formed enormous puddles. There were footprints everywhere. Fresh air whipped colourful leaves and rattled them against the ground. A weird sense zapped through me. A few laughs mimicked in the air. And a few muffled screams. Suddenly.

Silence. Peace.

Everyone stationary. I stopped taking glimpses and so did Mum. Oh, oh my 22

Us = Family

. . . Oh my gosh, what the heck happened just now? What? When? How? Why? What? Huh? Woah! Everyone burst out in tears and died from laughter: Tayta, Jedoo, Uncle George, Uncle Raymond, Aunty Lana, Aunty Georgina, Anthony, Nicholas and Daniella. They bounced and swirled around on the ground. Tayta’s mouth smudged against Jedoo’s cheek – forming a blood-red lip across it. Uncle George: not so tall. Uncle Raymond: so tall. Slim. Uncle George and Raymond both clashed together while they were guffawing. They put their arms around one another and stumbled. Aunty Lana: pure green big beady eyes from her neverending giggles. Aunty Georgina: puffy rose-pink lips that chuckled. Anthony’s long hands stretched out to Nicholas’ olive legs. Anthony: eight years old and Nicholas: five years old.

Daniella spun around, her wide open smile spread out. Her eyes were crammed with water that dribbled towards her cheeks.

And there they were . . . oh them, Raye and Ronnie of course! This had something to do with them.

Big Charlie and Najee stood adjacent to their brothers with smirks that almost exploded. And Raye and Ronnie each had one foot up against the wooden fence. Ronnie and Raye kept on nudging each other and silently muffled a few giggles. Big Charlie and Najee stood near them and slopped their heads down.

Big Charlie darted his eyes to Najee. Najee could not hold his laughter and let it out. It thundered. Then Big Charlie and Ronnie and Raye roared with laughter too. How odd. Dotty.

Mum and I stared at them. We were bamboozled. The boys all rose their heads, wiggled their arms and stood up with no balance and fell back down and some landed on their bottoms and the others on their backs and stomachs. Mum and I slowly bent down and perched on the ground.

‘Ya Imi, ash sor, what happened? Is this a joke?’ Mum asked Tayta.

‘Lut, ya Imi, sori, bus ken fi hari-a,’ Tayta said.

‘Yeah Renee, there was a fire from these idiots,’ Uncle George said, pointing at Najee, Big Charlie, Ronnie and Raye as they chuckled a few more times.

‘Yiy yiy yiy!’ Mum said as she plopped her hand on top of her mouth.

Dorothy Kamal

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My eyes bulged out with shock.

‘They are bloody idiots sometimes; they found some chunky rat and stuffed it with hay, yiy ti al-dum!’ Uncle George said, stretched out on the rocky ground.

‘Now, now, is that right boys? You all should know better, ay?’ Mum said. Her steady eyes eyed each of them with disbelief.

‘But Big Charlie told me to get the rat and put it–’ Raye shrieked.

‘Shut uppp, Raye, shut upp dumbwit, you–’ Ronnie elbowed him.

‘Just both of you, shoooooosh, shhh!’ Najee zapped in a low voice.

‘Listen here, turn around all of you and think hard about what you done, all of this fuss,’ their mum, Aunty Georgina, snarled.

‘Okay, okay relaxxx man,’ Raye backchat.

‘Ay, hey hey misssster Raye,’ she niggled, shaking her hands and firmly pointing at him with a tough stare.

‘Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!’ I yelled and sprinted across the yard.

The rat – it was still alive. Obese, hairless and pitch black, beady with tiny eyes.

It ogled me! It followed me. Oh gosh, it was so . . . slow! Its legs were burnt. It wasn’t moving fast at all. ‘Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, Mummy, Daddy!’ I yelped as it came at me.

‘Bahahahaha, it’s alive,’ Ronnie chuckled. The boys began to chase after the rat, trying to catch it. Ronnie dashed into Raye’s head. Najee accidently elbowed Big Charlie in the back. Ouch! Epic fail.

Daniella thought the rat was a stuffed animal. She ran up and touched its back and then screamed and ran behind me in circles swashing her hands from side to side. Feeling its bones, she realised it was alive. It smelt foul. Nicholas came in to kick the rat. It crawled over his foot and away. Nicholas jumped.

Anthony trudged up towards it and calmly said, ‘Wow, I’m so scared, wawa.’ He sprinted along with the rat casually and then his heart jumped. The rat pounced through the air away from him. And so followed us. Uncle Raymond came to ‘save’ the day! He attempted to catch it but couldn’t. Too fast! His wife, Aunty Lana was too frightened to lay her hand on it and just watched her husband.

Mum was shivering (she’s so afraid of rats) and stumbled her way onto the stairs, 24

Us = Family

which didn’t make much of a difference.

Noise. Noise. Noise.

Just then my dad’s car pulled into the curb. He had woken up Kristen and Elissa and alerted Charlie to get off the computer and come over with him. Dad picked up Georgie. They walked into my Tayta’s front yard. The water splashed as my siblings all ran through the puddles. George almost slipped out of Dad’s hands. A circus. Once my dad and siblings entered the backyard, everyone rocked back and forth laughing, so did Mum and I. HAHA. I cracked up so hard I fell to the floor. The rat wandered toward Elissa. She ran and the rat followed. Georgie, who couldn’t handle seeing his siblings get hurt, tiptoed up behind the rat and kicked it. Finally. Plop. Plop. Plop. The rat’s legs flipped over its head and got tangled as its guts got squashed and squeezed through its bottom. It flew to the end of the neighbours’ backyard. Woah! Everyone clapped! Everyone, amazed.

George ran over to Mum and hugged her. ‘Strong boy, Georgie! Luk ya Georgie habibti!’ Mum playfully said, squeezing his hands.

Once we were settled, my mum looked over to Uncle Raymond. ‘So . . . What happened?!’

‘Well, me and Lana were called from our home to come here for this fuss.

The boys were playing in the garage and saw a rat and were bored so they stuffed it with hay and dumped it in the fireplace for some fun, right?’ He looked over at the boys. ‘Who done it? Raye? Ronnie? Najee? Big Charlie? Who?’ ‘Come on, spit it out boys!’ Aunty Lana said.

‘Okay, okay fine, man, we were so bored hangin’ out in the garage and were about to get cards to play wif,’ started Big Charlie . . . ‘But then Najee sees a rat and tells us. I caught it. He went to get a broom to kill it. So I pinned it down on the hay inside the fireplace. And then this idiot–’ he points at Raye, ‘–freaken gets a lighter and puts the hay on fire. And then it just took off!’

‘Bro, I thought just the rat would burn but it didn’t. The whole bloody thing went on fire!’ said Raye. ‘Tayta and Jedoo came running into the garage and didn’t find us. We all went to get hoses and buckets. Dad was outside and Mum was Dorothy Kamal

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upstairs. Man, we had it under control, but Tayta freaked out and called Uncle Raymond and Aunty Lana and Aunty Renee. Dat’s it bro.’

‘Haha, stupidest dumbest funniest story!’ Charlie yelled out.

‘Yeah, what the hell are you on about dumb people, hahahahahahaha,’ Kristen bellowed.

‘I know!’ Nicholas added.

‘Boys, what in the world were you thinking?’ Mum said.

‘Ya botill, ya Najee, inta bet emil hii?’ Tayta asked.

‘Boys, just because I find it funny doesn’t mean you aren’t gonna get in trouble because you are. Najee; no facebook for three days, Big Charlie; no PlayStation for three days, Ronnie; no facebook or MSN for three days, Raye; no riding your bike for three days. That is it, finish,’ Aunty Georgina shouted.

‘Yep, that is it, finish boys, sorry,’ Uncle George repeated.

Then came the cleaning part: all of us; damp, cold, shivering, till 3am. Oh, and did I mention . . . Najee, Big Charlie, Ronnie and Raye were the ones that finished cleaning the yard in the end. The rest of us dozed off into our own little world. Us = family.

A Little Bigger . . .

Have I ever told you, oh Mighty Lord, Jesus Christ, I truly appreciate the baby you have given my family and I? You gave my mother a chance to have a sixth child. And yes, it’s a healthy baby, Ism Asalib.

Mum moved from place to place in distress . . . she cried as dribbles of tears splattered against the ground. Mum’s fears thrived. Mum groaned, but Mum accepted it and was glad to be giving birth again. It’s all she spoke about for the past nine months – ‘Oh, it’s so hard!’

She went through stumbling adventures that were difficult and painful. She gawked at us as her wide-open eyes turned beady. She gripped firmly onto the 26

Us = Family

walls, yelling. ‘Ahhheeeeh!’ Mum is a petite woman. She has olive-coloured skin and dark features, long black hair and dark eyes. While she was pregnant, her stomach overtook her.

There were those times when she had to walk me up the never-ending steep stairs at BYDS, a place I go to build my writing talent. She trudged up. She tiredly hunched her back and dragged along my other two sisters and two brothers.

They were like a volcano exploding as they entered into the tranquil building. In particular, my younger brother, George, made the most noise. He sprinted and pounced around the building like a monkey. Mum would always tell my sisters and brothers to be silent but they refused to listen.

We grew up with a small family . . . then a bigger one. Presently, the biggest family we could ever be. Mum, Dad, me, Charlie, Kristen, Elissa, George and . . . and one more on the way.

It’s a Boy! Danny popped out of the little womb and entered Bankstown Hospital.

It struck about six o’clock when we saw Mum. Our cousins, Jaden and Tyler and Cynthia were already at the hospital when we arrived. They were waiting with Mum. Our faces stretched out like bananas. We were happy. Mum’s hair was straightened, her face seemed smoother.

‘Why’s your hair straight?’ I asked.

‘I straightened it,’ she told me.

Huh? Dad gave her a big basket of chocolate and a big blue teddy bear. My brother and I gave her a teddy bear in a carton with nappies and bottles. My sisters gave her a tray of helou, my mum likes it, we all do. A couple of minutes later we got to see Danny . . . He was adorable, 53 centimetres tall and 4.2 kilograms. Danny’s skin was red. He must have been hot. His hair was light-brown, like hay but not as bushy. His rose cheeks were plump. His face was half-round, half an oval Dorothy Kamal

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– chubby – a perfect combination.

After he was breastfed, he fell asleep with his hands lying straight back behind him. His lips and eyes were closed. I felt like squeezing him.

The first day he came home he cried all night and kept my mum up. I didn’t hear it. I was deep asleep. Sometimes I’d see my mum so tired that she’d fall asleep on the couch while the rest of us would be watching a movie together.

But every morning, no matter how tired she was, Mum still did the same things she always did for us – pack our lunches, get us to school and clean the house.

I am fortunate for my mammoth family.

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Us = Family

Living with Peter Pan

By Isabella Whitcher Art by Joshua Whitcher

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ISABELLA WHITCHER is twelve years old and lives in Panania with her mum, dad and younger brother, Josh. She is in Year 6 and studies at St Christopher’s Primary School, Panania. In 2007 her short story was published in Too Cool, the Write4Fun writing competition anthology. Her writing also appeared in the 2009 Write4Fun anthology, World of Words. She played for the Represent Bankstown Basketball Team, Under 12’s Basketball in 2010 and is now in the Under 14’s Represent Bankstown Basketball Team.

Isabella loves Justin Bieber (she’ll love him till the end!), her friends and family, her dog, King, strawberries, noodles and J.K. Rowling. Her hobbies include dancing, writing, bike riding, triathlons and doing movie marathons with her friends. When Isabella finishes high school her goal is to study photography and journalism at university. When Isabella is listening to Justin Bieber she loses focus and can’t think any longer.

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Dedicated to my brother, Joshie.

You miss out on lots of things, but you’ll always be my brother.

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Living with Peter Pan

Going to the Cinema I opened my window to let my brunette hair flow with the wind. My brother, Josh, was playing with a piece of yellow string. As it stretched, I could hear it yelling, ‘Help me, help me!’ Josh was moving it left to right, right to left. He was wearing a blue t-shirt and grey tracksuit pants. His Justin Bieber hairdo was messed up, like he hadn’t washed it for days! His eyes were blue as a sapphire and his lips were rosy-red. Mum and Dad were in the front seat. They were talking gibberish. I couldn’t understand what they were saying. Mum’s hair was orange as the inside of a mandarin, her eyes were turquoise as the sea, and her skin was white as paper. Dad’s hair was as black as a black cat’s fur. His eyes were brown, like mine, and his skin was an olivish-brown.

The trip to the cinema took forever. ‘We’re here,’ Dad said as he parked the car. When I walked out, I thought to myself, They seriously need an upgrade if they want service!

‘Do you want me to pay for the tickets now?’ Mum said as she got out of the car and walked over to Dad. ‘Yeah, do you need any money?’ Dad answered.

‘No, I got enough, thanks anyway!’

‘Okay, I’ll get Josh out.’

‘Love you.’

‘Love you too.’

They gave each other a quick kiss and Mum ran like a rocket toward the cinema. Dad opened the door for Josh. ‘You want to come out, mate?’

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Living with Peter Pan

‘Eeyyyhe,’ Josh squealed at Dad. He slammed the door. Dad opened the door to the front seat and grabbed a Gloria Jeans gingerbread man off the floor.

Dad opened Josh’s door again. ‘You want this?’ Dad moved back slightly and Josh fell for Dad’s trick. He moved with him as he dragged his torn Spider-Man blanket, letting go of the string. Josh grabbed the gingerbread man and Dad led him toward the direction of the cinema. I tagged along and walked next to Josh while the poor gingerbread man was being shoved down his throat. We walked in and there was Mum in her snazzy Hollywood outfit. My friends say that my mum made the wrong choice marrying a guy whose wardrobe is full of St Vincent de Paul’s clothes (even though all of Dad’s clothes are from Colorado, or a marathon or triathlon he’s done). I say, ‘It’s a little harsh, but true.’

‘I got the tickets,’ Mum said to us. ‘We’re in Cinema 4, and I told the lady about Josh and that he might . . .’ I didn’t hear that last bit, I was too busy looking at all the junk food that there was. All I could see were Maltesers, m&m’s, Coke, Fanta, lemonade and the king of cinema junk food, POPCORN! I licked my lips.

‘Hey Mum, can I get some popcorn?’

‘No darling, maybe after the movie.’

‘Who has their popcorn after a movie?’

Once again, she wasn’t listening to what I say.

We walked over to Cinema 4. On the sign right up the top it said: Toy Story 3.

The lady who was taking tickets and ripping the ends off was staring at Josh.

She was very chubby and her black hair was in a braided ponytail, like she was in Fiji a few weeks ago. Mum and Dad explained that Josh might climb up onto the screen, or sit on the floor, or that he might touch the screen, and may even start jumping up and down saying his own little words. The lady just nodded her head. She probably wasn’t listening, just saying, ‘Yeah, uhmm, ahuh, ahuh, yeah yeah, sure no worries, oh no, that’s no problem.’ But what she really meant was, ‘Can you please go so that I can rip your tickets in half ?’

We went in and sat down in the third aisle.

As I sat down, I gazed up at the screen, although, somebody wasn’t. Josh was just sitting on the ground looking at the string he picked up earlier. Mum and Dad Isabella Whitcher

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didn’t even sit down: they were too busy trying to pick Josh up and put him onto the seat. They gave up and let Josh sit down in the aisle. Josh was quietly watching the short film they screen before the feature called, Day and Night. It was really strange. It was about these two characters; one had Earth during the daytime on his belly and the other had Earth during the night time on his belly. They kept fighting and fighting. Night hit Day, Day punched Night, Night kicked Day in the belly, then the Earth inside Day shook, so then Day did the same thing to Night. Suddenly Night and Day merged into a brownish-cloud full of stars and swirls with a leg coming out; then a foot; then a head. I think Josh liked it because there was no dialogue in the film and when bad things happen, he laughs. When we were watching the original Toy Story, a toy soldier got blown up. Josh laughed his head off! He must love cartoon violence. Eventually Night and Day joined together and created a sunset. Wow, really interesting! They shook hands and walked off the screen waving goodbye to one another. How creative.

Josh liked the start of Toy Story 3. He was smiling and laughing with his eyes glued to the screen. He even dropped his string again! If the creators of Toy Story 3 saw that I’m sure they would’ve been very pleased! But in about five minutes, Josh was off! He ran up to the screen and started touching it. Mum told me that Josh was trying to be in the direct middle of the screen, like he does to the TV at home. She was right. To Josh, it was home, just with a hundred more people and lounges, and a bigger TV. Soon enough, he was running up and down the aisle and jumping between seats, annoying people. Mum and Dad started chasing him.

In the distance I could hear people screeching, ‘Hey . . . We’re trying to watch the movie! Keep that kid under control . . . Back in my day, we had manners . . .

Ssshhhhh! Sshhh! Sshhhhhhhhhh!’ I was so embarrassed! They were all staring at Josh with their big googly eyes and their disgusted faces. I decided to take my mind off it by watching the movie. When Dad ran past me I asked him, ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Yeah, he’s fine!’ Dad answered.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, now you go enjoy the movie, I’ll go chase the disaster!’

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Living with Peter Pan

After ten minutes, Josh was still doing the same thing; running up, doing his hand movements halfway in the aisle, touching the screen, running back to the seat making noises, then starting all over. At one point, he leaned on the wall with a serious face like a teen poser. People whispered and pointed. I felt like punching them.

Our House Mum is an interior designer but our house is messy. As soon as you walk through the door you see a picture of Josh in his clown outfit whistling at preschool. If you look to your left, you’ll see his drawings of Walt Disney, BBC or Blue’s Clues.

The walls are white but Josh’s texta-sketched drawings cover every patch. He reminds me of Richard Wawro: he could not afford paper so he drew on the Isabella Whitcher

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walls. Stephen Wiltshire is similar. He would see something he likes and then would draw it. He can draw Walt Disney Castle better than my friend and she’s the best in our grade! I think that all of his drawings are different. He mostly copies what he sees on television. Mum once asked me to tape her drawing Mickey Mouse so that Josh will copy. I filmed with the ‘Mickey Mouse’ theme song (M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E) in the background. Josh can’t write the alphabet but he remembers letters like images and there are words all over the walls.

Walking through our house, you’ll also see Mum and Dad’s bedroom, then my room with two posters of Justin Bieber on the door. I think he’s talented.

To your right is the living room, with two brown lounges and the plasma TV stuck onto the wall. Behind the lounge room is the dining table, where we keep our computer, Josh’s pencils, textas and paper. Sometimes when I come home I see Mum’s interior design work flooded on the table. King has chewed on the legs of the table so many times that instead of them being dark-brown we have caramel chewed ends. King is a black Labrador but everyone calls him a horse.

He sheds everywhere so it looks brown on the lounge with black lines on it.

Even though we don’t let him onto the lounge the hairs somehow get there.

King’s very chubby; not so fat he can’t take one step, but not so skinny that you can see all the bones inside of him.

Next to the dining table is the kitchen. Everything in there is white except for Josh’s drawings. Inside the kitchen is the laundry. Once our dryer caught on fire and throughout the house there was smoke – not one corner of oxygen.

Now we have my grandma’s old dryer. Josh always climbs the fridge or the cupboard, where he breaks his rice crackers into small pieces and eats them on top. Sometimes he crawls behind the fridge and before you can say, ‘Where’s Josh?’ he pushes the fridge forward. On the right of the kitchen is the bathroom.

Our toilet doesn’t work so we have to push the buttons ten times before it flushes. Our bath is a spa bath, although the ‘spa’ part doesn’t work.

My bedroom has a lime-green wall with exactly thirty-two posters of Justin Bieber. Okay fine, twenty-two, but I’m saving up for the poster book. I have a 36

Living with Peter Pan

top bunk and on the bottom is a desk of my unwanted stuff: my toy cradle, some old magazines, a few soft toys and an envelope box.

Our next door neighbours have a swimming pool and a massive house. Although the pool is only four metres wide, it doesn’t stop Josh. I remember the first time Josh climbed over like it was yesterday. When we first saw our new neighbours, they didn’t think Josh was all that bad. ‘You guys should come over some time,’ they said. Dad and Mum tried to explain that Josh isn’t as easy as he looks. He climbed over the neighbours’ fence behind us once and they weren’t very nice about it. But these new neighbours just nodded their heads and said, ‘Yep . . . sure. No, he can come over whenever he likes, it doesn’t worry us!’

When Josh came over, they were shocked.

One thirty-six degrees Wednesday, Josh grabbed a chair and walked outside dragging it behind him. Mum and I were behind him too. Mum had a Coke and a green straw in her hand while I was holding a gingerbread man. We were trying to convince Josh to come back inside but he wouldn’t listen. We could hear the kids next door screaming, splashing the water and laughing. It was like they were trying to tempt Josh to come play in the water. Josh put the chair next to the fence and climbed up on it. Mum climbed up onto the chair with Josh and looked over too. I heard someone say, ‘Oh, hi there!’ I think it was the mum of the kids playing.

‘Is it alright if we come over?’ Mum asked.

‘Um . . . yeah sure, it’s not a problem,’ the lady replied.

‘Thank you, it’s very kind of you.’

Before Mum could even ask me, I sprinted back into our house, grabbed Josh’s swimmers, a towel and spare clothes. I got the keys, unlocked the door, and soon enough Mum and Josh came through the back door. As soon as they walked onto the balcony, I locked the door and followed them. We walked a few steps and were in the neighbours’ backyard. The kids had gotten out and were on their veranda, sitting with towels over their heads. Josh ran to the opening of the gate before we could even say hello. Mum opened the gate for Josh and he Isabella Whitcher

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took all of his clothes off and dived in naked. I felt like a giant basketball had hit me on the head and made a huge lump. It was so embarrassing. The three kids were just staring at Josh like he was a Martian. Two of them were boys and they were wearing shorts. One wore white and green, the other wore white and blue with a wave down the bottom. The third kid was a small girl that looked like she was in kindy. She wore a pink one-piece cossie with blue dolphins on it. I stared at them like they were dancing rhinos. There were also two ladies – one was very big and the other was rather skinny. They both had black hair but one had messy long hair and the other had a straight bob cut.

I didn’t jump in the water. I was just playing with the little girl, trying to ignore Josh. I could see that he was jumping into the water, climbing back up, waving his hands like he was a piece of string and then jumping back in. He kept splashing the water onto the concrete. The family didn’t say anything but I think they were getting annoyed. We tried to get Josh out so we could leave but he wouldn’t. Then he got out of the pool and tried to get into the neighbours’ house. ‘Eeyheea!’ he screamed trying to get in but the door was locked. The mum said she couldn’t let him in because there was a lady inside she had to meet. She did not want Josh to interfere. We dragged him away kicking and screaming. This was just the beginning. From that point on, Josh would go into the neighbours’ pool without their permission all the time. They didn’t like that. Turns out, he couldn’t come over whenever he liked.

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Living with Peter Pan

Port Macquarie Hotel I was just sitting there, waiting for Dad and Josh to come back from the bathroom.

I was playing Art Academy. I looked around. I was on the train, with my feet up on the seat. It was a very old train. This train was so old, there was no message saying I wasn’t allowed to put my feet up. The inside was covered in wood and the seats were an ugly green that looked like vegetable poo. There was a man sitting there with a short, white beard. He was wearing a red, chequered long sleeve shirt with white jeans. He smiled at me then looked back out the window.

I was wondering what our hotel at Port would be like. Dad said it was good and Mum said it was great. I was hoping that it would be really nice. Like, very modern. Not too modern, like orange and squares and round seats, but a feel to it as though you were living in your own home just not our house – a normal home. Well, not normal but like my friend Felish’s house. Her home has a very modern feel to it because of the couches. The walls and pillows all match, which I think is awesome.

‘We’re back!’ Dad yelled from the other side of the carriage.

‘Oh, hello,’ I said looking startled.

The man in the chequered shirt looked at Dad, then at the ground.

‘Was Josh good?’

‘Well . . . could’ve been better, but nothing too bad.’

‘What did he do?’

‘I’ll tell you when we see Mum.’ ‘Okay.’

That’s right, I almost forgot, I was too busy daydreaming to think about Mum. She was driving up here, while Dad, Josh and I were on the train. Mum said Josh likes trains. She thinks it’s because they always look straight, and that they’re parallel. He likes to be in line with things.

Mum picked us up from the station. We were driving to the resort. I was really annoying to Mum and Dad. I kept asking them questions like, ‘Is it nice? Will we see anyone we know? Is it near the beach? Is it a beach resort? Will there be a pool?’

Isabella Whitcher

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They would just answer, ‘You’ll see.’

It was annoying hearing the same thing from them over and over so I just pulled out my book, Marley: A Dog Like No Other, that Mum gave to me before we left. I kept my Justin Bieber pocket book in my pocket because I’m obsessed with him. I was sitting reading when I heard Josh crying and screaming: ‘Aaaaaaaaweeeeehhhmugeaaaaaaaawweeehheheheeah!’

He was sitting on my pink blanket eating a muffin. Crumbs were falling everywhere.

Mum and Dad were already ripping their hair out with me so I can’t explain how they were with Josh. Dad nearly lost his cool, but Mum said, ‘Look, we’ll just go to McDonald’s.’

We drove there with Josh crying.

When we parked, Josh froze. The crying and screaming stopped. Dad opened the door and Josh hopped out, leaving my muffin-crumb blanket. I dropped Marley but left mini Justin Bieber in my pocket in case I got bored: ‘Hello JBiebz!’

We walked in and ordered the usual: large fries, small fries, medium and small Coke and Frozen Coke. Those are the only things Josh allows on the tray.

Later on, while Josh was playing, I bought a Frozen Fanta. He never lets us put anything beside his order on our tray. ‘It’s because he wants things to be exact,’ Mum told me once.

After we finished, we went to the car park and tried to get Josh into the car.

He didn’t want to go in. He ran back to the playground. Luckily it was Ghost Town so nothing bad happened.

When we arrived at Port Macquarie, it reminded me of Sydney. It looked similar except there were no worldwide landmarks and no tall buildings. It wasn’t a beach city like Cronulla. I had already been here once, on the other side. Last time, I went to my cousin Lara’s grandparents’ place with her. I love going to places like the countryside, mainly because it’s different. I have no idea why, but I love wearing gumboots.

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Living with Peter Pan

‘ Are we there yet?’ I asked.

‘Five more minutes,’ Dad answered.

‘Oh. Are we there yet?’

‘No,’ Mum answered.

‘Are we there yet?’

‘Bella . . .’

‘Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there–’ ‘Will you be quiet? Dad already said five more minutes!’

‘Yet?’ I whispered to myself quietly, and pulled out Marley.

When we arrived at the hotel, there was only one word to describe what I thought about it: rainforest. There were trees everywhere and I could’ve sworn I saw a lizard, a big one too. Maybe it was a gecko. I touched the tail of a wild one once at a scout camp. We were forbidden to go near it. My friend, Sarah and I disobeyed so I guess we’re rebels!

I unpacked my things, and Mum, Josh and I waited to go to the room while Dad got the key. Josh just stood around making box shapes with his hands.

We went in through the gates and I could see a few things I liked. There were two pools, a cockatoo’s cage, a rabbit’s cage, a duck pond, a wooden playground, and finally, a tennis court. I loved this resort. It was the best I’ve been to.

I helped Mum with Josh to these seats made out of rock. They were very small but all of us could still fit on one. I had a bad feeling about this, waiting for Dad with Josh in our hands, and by Mum’s face, so did she. How long was this going to last for? An hour? Half an hour? Five minutes? It could’ve been any second until Dad walked through the gates to tell us where our room was. I took out my pen and started drawing on myself. I looked up every few minutes to see how Josh and Mum were coping. Josh was sitting there, looking like an angel eating Twisties, and Mum was watching him like a hawk. But my thoughts seemed to have jinxed us. The next thing I know, we were off. Josh ran for it and led us to a building. There were about six tall buildings with sixteen rooms each, eight on each side. Josh climbed the stairs to the very top of the last building.

Room no. 95. The people that were in there left the door open – I think you know what Josh did. He went in and sat straight on the lounge with his feet up.

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‘ Oh,’ said a lady. She looked middle-aged and was wearing a black dress with roses on it.

‘Oh my gosh,’ Mum said. ‘I’m so sorry. He’s got autism.’

‘I’m sorry what?’ the lady asked.

‘Oh, it’s a brain disorder. I’m so sorry. I’ll try and get him up. Joshie, come on matey, we’ll go see our one now okay?’

But Josh just stared at Mum and continued relaxing.

‘I’m sorry, I’ll just call my husband and see how long he’ll be,’ Mum told the lady.

‘Okay, he can stay as long as he likes, would you like a cuppa?’

‘Um . . . no thanks.’

Mum dialled the number. I tried to back out of the room so I could try and live under a rock.

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The Ironman Race On the third day in Port Macquarie, my dad competed in the Ironman Triathlon.

Grandma Sue and Poppy John were coming down to help us with Josh while Dad did the race. Dad had this dream to cross the finish line with Josh on his shoulders and me running beside him. Unfortunately, family members aren’t allowed to do this anymore, but they used to. It was pretty stupid to change the rule. I wanted Dad and Josh to cross the line together since this whole Ironman was for Joshie. I wish it never changed.

My dad is taller than average. He has tanned skin. He has a red pimple (which I always tease him about) on his forehead and brown eyes. He has a big nose and hair everywhere on his body. He looks like a gorilla. He had an accident while riding on his bike when he first started training for the Ironman. He fell off and bumped into a pole. He had to get twenty stitches on his knee and you can still see the scar today. He’s had a lot of adventures while training. He met not one, not two, but five kangaroos while riding once. Big kangaroos. Luckily, they were nice kangaroos and didn’t harm him. Mum made a joke that we should put a mini camera on his helmet and send the tape to Funniest Home Videos. Dad doesn’t really care about what he wears. He just chucks something on and says, ‘Let’s go!’ Dad is a nerd. He knows every single answer to any question about Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings books.

On the day, Dad had to wake up at 4:30am and be at the race by five. I woke and realised Mum and Dad weren’t home and remembered that Mum had to drive Dad down. Josh wasn’t awake yet and I didn’t turn on the TV because I wanted to keep him dreaming about doggy tails, and if I did turn it on, even if it was on mute, he’d know and would wake up. I just sat in my bed and played Mario & Sonic at the Olympic Winter Games.

After five minutes, Mum came home. I made Froot Loops and Mum made Vegemite toast for Josh. Mum and I were discussing what could go wrong in the race.

‘I hope he doesn’t get cramps in the swim and have to pull out,’ I said to Mum. ‘Dad won’t, he knows what he did wrong and he’ll know what to do if it Isabella Whitcher

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happens again,’ Mum replied.

Dad went to the Canberra Half Ironman Triathlon two years earlier and had to pull out because he had cramps and couldn’t move his leg. I was really proud of Dad because four years ago he used to be overweight and used to smoke. But look at him now. He’s doing an Ironman. Even though in Canberra he pulled out, I got to go to Questacon and Canberra Space Centre. Both were very fun.

All day we stayed at the resort listening to Dad’s friend tracking him down and saying where he was. Dad had to pull out and have a break for five minutes a few times. I was just praying to God that Dad didn’t have to pull out completely. I think we were all praying for that. I spoke to friends I made at the resort about how they had to pray for my dad. All of my friends were animals. There was Cocky, Peter Rabbit, Mr and Mrs Ducky and Bob. I made these characters up for Joshie.

Breaking a Leg A friend of Dad’s called my mum. Dad was nearly at the end of the race he told her. He had now begun to run. We all waited at the park. We were going to meet him at the finish line in about an hour. Dad had always told me that triathlons aren’t about winning. If you finish, that means you win. If you don’t, at least you tried. He told me just to finish is a dream. At six or seven o’clock, we all got dressed up into our t-shirts from Lorna Jane. Mine was pink and in different 44

Living with Peter Pan

types of writing it said, ‘Never Never Never Never Never Give Up’. Josh wore a blue one that said, ‘It’s not how you start, but how you finish’, and Mum wore a white one with blue writing that said, ‘Dare to Dream’.

There was a park that Joshie liked. It was basic and no one was playing there. It had a yellow slide (or as Grandma liked to call them, slippery dips), a big abacus underneath with different shapes and colours, a pirate wheel and a wonky wooden bridge. There were two swings, Josh and I played on them.

Grandma, Poppy John and Mum were sitting on the rocks surrounding the play area. I couldn’t hear them very well because of the squeaky noises in the swings, but I heard a lot of ‘I hope’, ‘Thank God’, ‘He’s done so well’ and ‘He’s very lucky to’. I was getting sick on the swings after five minutes so I jumped from rock to rock in the darkness. Mum was calling out, ‘If you break a leg, I won’t visit you in hospital!’ I didn’t really care: I just kept jumping and landing around the perimeter.

Joshie got bored. We were amazed. He walked to where competitors for the triathlon were finishing. We followed. We even saw Tony Abbott cross the line.

There was a tent and chairs with children on them wrapped in blankets, sleeping.

It reminded me of Annie.

Dad crossed the line.

He was sweating like a pig and his face was red as a tomato. The crowds were still cheering and I could hear a voice boom: ‘And Luke Whitcher has just crossed the line! Well done Luke!’ He earned the donations. He looked so thankful. He was speechless. He was smiling. Mum was screaming, ‘He did it! He did it!’ Josh was saying, ‘Aywee aywee dodyie,’ while blocking his ears.

‘You did it, Daddy! You made it! This is not a dream!’ I said to him. I hugged him. He was too weak to carry me. He carried Josh. Grandma and Poppy were standing there. ‘Congratulations, Luke!’ said Grandma. ‘You did well mate,’ said Poppy.

Later that night I got a photo of Dad on my DSi while he was sleeping.

I decorated it with the word ‘Hero’ at the bottom.

Isabella Whitcher

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The Little Things Sometimes when Josh talks in the living room, I can hear him from my bedroom, but when I’m in my bedroom and he’s in his bedroom, I can’t hear him at all. I can only hear whispers. I think it’s because the walls are thicker or that Josh is too tired to talk. At night, around seven, seven-thirty, we have to lock him in his bedroom. This might sound cruel but it’s the only way he’ll get to sleep.

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Living with Peter Pan

Whenever I do my homework on the deck (since I don’t have a light bulb in my room) I see him playing with Thomas the Tank Engine or Blue from Blue’s Clues. He never gets scared. I’ve never seen him scared. He only ever screams if things aren’t going the way he wants them to. He’s never been sick. Dad says it’s because we (Mum and Dad) let him get dirty and play in the mud then clean him off. Some parents won’t let their kids outside for ten minutes, which I think is sad. Josh is used to germs. That’s what keeps him healthy.

Once I saw Josh jump from our cubby house roof, about six metres high, and land onto our trampoline. I can only jump from the pole beside the cubby house, which is two metres lower. Josh can run and leap from roof to roof barefoot, even on boiling hot days, and can walk along thin fences as though it were a tightrope. It’s amazing. Mum put him in the circus. Now he’s climbing from hula hoop to trapeze in two seconds.

Mum is always trying to find things for Josh to do. She’s also helped me find dancing lessons. Mum’s great at after school activities and is our taxi.

Dad’s great too. He helps me get ready for a rep basketball game on Sunday.

He even packs my bottles and my shoes in my bag before we leave.

When Josh speaks he sounds like this: ‘Ayyyeeee eh’, ‘Weee oah weee oah weee dwo dwyieee’, ‘Duuaaaahhh eh’, ‘Me oh de oh wooah’.

Sometimes he parrot talks: I go up to him and say, ‘Josh.’

He’ll say, ‘Joashhh.’

I’ll say, ‘loves.’

He’ll say, ‘lovwe.’

‘Bella.’

‘Bewa.’

‘Good boy!’

And sometimes I’ll give him a cookie or just a hug. He likes to play games.

Sometimes he recreates a story he’s seen on TV or in a book. It’s the little things that make us special.

Isabella Whitcher

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Living with Peter Pan

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By Khadija Mossavi

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KHADIJA MOSSAVI is ten years old. She is in Year 4 at Old Guildford Public School. She lives with her three brothers, mum, dad, three sisters, eight cousins and five chickens in Old Guildford.

Her chickens are growing very big and laying lots of eggs and her brothers, sisters and cousins are all studying very hard. Khadija likes birds, chickens, babies, studying, parties, writing, reading, pastry, anything her mum cooks and visiting her other sisters who don’t live with her anymore.

Her family is from Afghanistan but she was born in Pakistan. Khadija moved to Australia on her fourth birthday. When Khadija grows up she wants to be a doctor and also to keep writing.

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This novelette is dedicated to my school for all the help and education they have given me and to my family for their love and encouragement.

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Chickens Our pet was only one chicken, which we had in Pakistan. It was my big brother’s chicken. The chicken really liked my big brother because when my brother would come home from school his chicken would jump on his shoulders or arms and then my brother would feed her some food that he bought for her to eat. And one day a cat came when the chicken was eating and the cat saw our chicken but the chicken did not see the cat. When my mum went inside the house the cat ran off with the chicken in its claws. My brother came home but the chicken was nowhere to be seen so my brother asked my mum, ‘Where is my chicken?’

My mum said, ‘It was snatched by a cat and the cat ran off with your chicken,’ and then my brother cried for a long time but usually he is a very tough guy. He stopped crying when my mum said, ‘I’ll buy you a new chicken to lay eggs.’

My brother was at school and my mum was working in the kitchen so our new chicken went to my aunty’s house and it went under the fridge and it laid some eggs and months later the eggs hatched. My aunty said, ‘Where do all these baby chickens come from?’ Just then, the mother chicken itself came out from under the fridge so my aunty chased it and all its babies out of her house and my brother came home happy and saw the chickens and was really amazed. The next day the mother chicken was killed for dinner! My brother came home not knowing that his chicken was made for dinner and he said without knowing, ‘What a yummy dinner you have cooked, Aunty,’ and everyone laughed and he said, ‘What is it that you’re laughing at?’ He looked outside and his chicken was 52

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not outside so he started crying. He said, ‘Yous killed her!’ But he still did not care about it and he went outside to play with the chicks.

In Australia we have only had chickens since the beginning of this year. Me and my brother, Sayid were playing on the basketball court and then our ball bounced off the court. The ball bounced near a chicken laying dead on the ground. When we went to look at the dead chicken, we heard a weird sound coming from the other side of the tree and Fatima screamed, ‘Is that a chicken?’

My brother and I spotted a live chicken so we went after it and he caught the chicken and we took it home. It was not like other chickens – trying to flap its wings – it was all quiet because it was sad it lost its friend. When we reached home and fed it water and wet bread and seeds it really seemed to like it – it was so thirsty and so hungry. When we told our dad about the chicken he was surprised. He said, ‘Keep it and don’t let it go.’ The chicken wasn’t happy so my dad wanted to buy him some friends. He called my brother-in-law and told him if he knows any place that sells chickens or chicks he will buy five. Two days later my brother-in-law came to our house and he had a small box in his hand and a beak popped out of a small hole and I screamed and told everybody that Uncle has brought the chickens. Uncle put the chicks in the cage with our big chicken and as soon as we turned our backs the battle began, so we had to make separate rooms for the big chicken and its new friends because the big chicken was not very friendly after all. We also had a problem with the cats. One day a cat tried to eat the chicken’s food but the chicken jumped on its back and pecked at it. The chickens won the battle because they all ganged up on that cat. We are always trying to get rid of cats. We even put one on a train once but it came back.

So those chickens grew up to be big chickens and two of them gave us eggs. When we killed the male chickens the female chickens wouldn’t lay eggs anymore so we killed them too and made soup for my sister who had just had a baby.

Khadija Mossavi

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Hurting Hands This is the story of my hand, which was in an accident. This happened in Pakistan and seven years later the same accident happened in Australia too. But this time it happened to one other finger and to one of the same fingers but this time I was lucky because my finger did not come off. I was like a running tap of blood but it did not get better for a month-and-a-half. It happened when my big brother, the one with the chicken, came upstairs after he had eaten. He then went to his room and I was talking to my cousins and had my fingers inbetween the door and my brother pushed the door as hard as he could with his toughness. He never saw my fingers and after he had slammed the door closed he said, ‘Why doesn’t this door stay closed?’ After that I looked at my fingers and started screaming and ran down the stairs with my hand on my back and flying in space like I had a cape. Then my aunty heard me crying and screaming so she ran to me to see what had happened. She saw my fingers and she said to me to put cream on it and it will get better.

That was the end of my second accident and now it’s time for the story of my first accident. I was only three years old when I crawled to the door. I put my hand in-between the door and the wall. I pointed to my favourite shop to get permission from my mum while she was thinking. At that moment the wind blew the door shut on the top of my two fingers on my left hand. The top of my middle finger fell off onto the floor. I heard the sound of a tap and the feeling of falling apart. My cousin heard me scream. He ran as fast as he could.

He looked at the tap of blood coming out of me. My mum was about to faint.

When my cousin held me in his arms and ran me to the hospital, I fainted. We finally reached the hospital. The doctor hit me with a needle so I would not feel any pain. He rounded my fingers with plaster. My cousin again carried me in his arms until we reached home and I was exhausted. After my accident I had to sleep in bed for a long time.

My family has bad luck with accidents. One of my sisters had an accident where her whole pinkie was cut off. This was two years before my first 54

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accident. She was sitting outside the house and suddenly a boy riding on a bike went over her pinkie and it fell off. Her second time happened when she was climbing a ladder and again another boy stepped on her pinkie and it fell from up to down.

Accidents Number Two If I ask him about his accidents he’ll scream at me. My brother does not care about his accidents.

His head accident was three or four years ago. My two brothers, who are both called Sayid in English, and my other brother, Hassanain were playing soccer inside the house and the younger Sayid hit the ball on the back of my bigger brother, Sayid. Bigger Sayid chased him and he ran away without looking, like my cousin, Mina at the pools. Little Sayid hit his head on the corner of the wall and he had a big cut in the middle of his forehead and the blood did not stop until a whole packet of tissues was finished and until a whole scarf was full of blood. It stopped after three minutes. We put a big bandage around his head and he took a nap.

Another time younger Sayid hurt himself was at the pools. Sayid and some of his friends were playing and were having challenges about who could do the best backflips. On his first try he was successful but on his second try he ran and threw himself at the wrong time and hit his back on the corner of the pool and couldn’t move and so he was floating around and my brother, Hassanain called the lifeguard. The lifeguard jumped in the water with his shoes still on and gave a big piece of foam to my brother to hold and carried him out of the pool. One of the other lifeguards called an ambulance and he was taken to hospital and my uncle went with him and he was hospitalised for three days and had neck braces around his neck and a big bruise on his back.

Khadija Mossavi

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Schools In the early mornings my family would go to school and my uncle would go with my dad to my cousins or do what they needed to do. Me and my younger sister, Fatima would stay home alone. My sister would know that my mum had gone and she would cry until three hours later, my uncle and my dad would come home hearing her cry. When my sister would cry I would look out the window seeing my family go.

It was two months before I started to go with my mum and my smaller sister to preschool.

When I was sitting and watching the other children play at preschool, I would think of big school. When I would think about it, I would think that if I am at big school the children in big school would be as big as teachers in preschool. I was worried about speaking English at big school and when I would try to learn some of these words it would feel strange in my mouth. I was really scared about speaking this new language and having to speak to someone that can speak English. I was thinking of the people that could speak English and was thinking that they were very lucky.

When it was time for me to go to big school with my brothers, I listened to my mum and went to school. It was really freaky and scary because it was the very first day of school in Australia and I was only five years old. When I got to school in Auburn, the principal guided me to my class. It was scary because I was alone in my class in kindergarten. I was alone because I did not know anyone in the class and none of them were like me. They were all different, looked different and the other girls were wearing skirts and I was wearing jeans on the very first day. When the teacher was speaking English to me I had no idea what she was saying. It had no meanings to me because they were just so confusing, like they were teasing me. Even though I changed schools, I still go to Auburn to learn Persian on Sundays. It is comfortable because they all speak Persian not speaking English like before. And it is a little less comfortable because they are mixed up by sizes. They all call me names such as Baby Sucking Dummy in class.

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The Persian school starts at 10:30am and finishes at 1:00pm and there is only one break and two changes. One class is Persian and the other one is Maths.

When it is Sunday, I sometimes stay at my aunty’s house or go chase kittens or stay home. I stay home but I then realise that it is boring staying home.

When I changed my house I had to even change my school. When I changed my school I felt a little bit better because I knew more English. The people felt less strange because I knew what they were saying. When I was at Guildford Public my brother, Sayid had some friends so I would sometimes play with him but then I had one friend so I would play with my friends and I was not lonely anymore.

Moving Houses When I first came to live in Auburn I was turning four. I saw the very gigantic buildings that my family and I were going to live in. It made me feel like a very tiny person. There were no similar buildings to Pakistan in Australia. The buildings in Australia were not made of clay and Australian houses looked as if they were made of bricks and wood. Australian houses were as tall as palaces and Pakistan houses were as small as classrooms.

The first thing that I noticed about Auburn was the streets were not as bumpy as streets in Pakistan and the streets were all lined with yellow and white stripes one after the other. There was a sea of colourful cars around me with traffic. I felt as if I was surrounded by an army of cars.

When I walked up the stairs of this place I felt I was in a plane, when the plane is going to start to go up. Our new house was filled with my family. Because we were too much people in the house it was filled with joy and happiness in every corner and sometimes even silence.

One month later, we moved our house to Guildford where there was a bigger spot to live in. We saw the house that was covered with black and white Khadija Mossavi

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tiles all over inside and outside. It made me feel like I was flying and then landing back on the ground. When we kids were all running round the house it was like mooing cows moving over flat, tiled bodies.

We sometimes would sit in the house and watch TV all together. We would watch anything that would come on the channels but we would watch news when it was time for news. We would all go to sleep together after dinner. The next day we kids went across the street and saw a horse munching on the great green grass. The very first time I saw a horse was when I was in Pakistan but the horses were still the same here. Sometimes one of my older brothers would take me and my small sister to Coles and buy us snacks when my sister, Fatima would cry because she was bored. When we would be inside Coles my brother would tell us, ‘Go get something for yourself.’ When we would go to Coles my brother would put the pram on two wheels and run off with us. At last my sister would stop crying when we gave her something. My small sister would run into my mum’s arms and hug her tightly when we got back home.

Things I Like Fun Things I do many fun things at many places. To me it is really important to do fun things before doing anything else because fun things are what make life great and joyful.

Bike Riding When I am at home, I usually ride my bike. My legs move as fast as if they are invisible. I just swish through the wind with my fast-moving legs. I haven’t used training wheels since I was seven years old.

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Watching Cartoons When I watch cartoons I see fun, silly faces and it just makes me feel bright.

I sometimes learn things from watching cartoons and there are so many jokes.

Drumming I am in the school drumming group and I really enjoy being there. Every time we drum together there is a pulse in my body and a ringing in my ears. I always get better and better by practising at home and school.

Sketching When I am sketching, I have concentration on what I am doing. I have quick strokes and faces emerging in my mind with a 7B pencil in my hand trying to remember all the strategies about what we already learnt.

Going to School I always felt good walking to school because I always know the good things I will be learning during the day. I always enjoy reading, learning and writing and all other stuff at all times.

Sport I always want to be playing T-Ball because it is much more enjoyable. When I play T-Ball I hit the ball as hard as I can and it flies as fast as a bat. We always lose but we still tried our best all times.

Writing I really enjoy writing because I never fail in doing my best when I have imaginary ideas about what I shall do. I think brightly and out comes the interesting part of my writing and words.

Khadija Mossavi

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Taking Care of Fatima I have to take care of my sister, Fatima everyday like: when she goes bike riding; taking her back and forth from school everyday, keeping her safe and much more. I do the same things everyday. I do all things because my parents tell me she is smaller than me. She always looks up at me and always has respect.

We always ride our bikes together to be safe and I don’t leave her alone. Each time we go past our neighbours’ house they say hello and sometimes we go and play with them and have much more fun. My bike is bigger and Fatima’s bike is way smaller.

We go to the same school. If I am away my mum takes Fatima to school and brings her back from school. We always enjoy school – the writing, reading, working and the games. I sometimes see my friends and we walk with them and talk about school on the way and by that we don’t get bored. There is a house with two dogs, one is big and one is small and they chase us when they see us.

I always take care of her on recess, lunch and fruit break. I make sure she has someone to play with and when we are getting ready to go to school I make sure she has everything she needs on the day. Sometimes at night she tells me what she needs on the next day so she does not forget anything. She forgets some things sometimes and she has to not forget.

One of my favourite moments with Fatima was when all of us had holiday fun. On Eid, and I mean every Eid, excursions with the school and more and more and more. On one Eid, my brothers, Fatima and I had water balloons. We had a whole lot of fun because we played pranks on my cousins and our water balloons had finished and I hope I get some on this Eid. I got very wet at that time. I got many of my cousins wet and dirty because when they got wet they fell down.

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Nieces Niece My big sister was pregnant. When she was pregnant my mum would make her laugh. My mum would tell her so many jokes that she would have tears in her eyes. Everyone was so happy about her having a baby.

When niece number one was born, I could not go to hospital so instead I stayed home. My brother-in-law came to our house to pick up my mum, dad, brother and my sister from home to go and visit my niece at Westmead Hospital.

Everyone at home was so excited about the baby.

When my dad went to hospital he gave some sugar rocks and prayed in the baby’s ears. My sister brang the baby home to her home. I didn’t get to see the baby because after one month they left Sydney. They went all the way to Melbourne.

Three years later, my sister came to visit our family. My niece had changed a lot.

She really liked bangles. She loved to have her own bangles to play with. When my sister would go away from her she would cry for her and she wouldn’t stop till my sister would come. My sister would get invited to my cousin’s house, and the ladies and the girls were also invited along. When my sister would go to one of my cousins they would give her something special. The special things were money, clothing and much more.

She stayed for one week and then they left. On Zainab’s birthday, my sister made a beautiful bracelet for her with a ring to go with it and my other sister brought some bangles and brought clothes and sandals. They were posted to her in Melbourne. Now I call my sister every three days and I talk with my niece. My niece says, ‘Don’t kill the chickens, leave them for me.’

I say, ‘When are you coming?’

She says, ‘I will ask my dad to bring me.’

I say, ‘We are killing the chickens tomorrow,’ and then she cries and gives the phone back to her mum.

Khadija Mossavi

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y niece wants the chickens because she wants to play with them. She is so M lonely in Melbourne so her dad takes her shopping, to a farm, to some friends in the park and lots more places. I was so excited to see her after three years.

She was so so so so cute from those times we only had telephone conversations all the three years. That time I knew they were coming home, I sat beside the window waiting for them to arrive till they were finally in front of our house and I ran down screaming. I came with sparklers in my hand. My niece got scared so I threw the sparklers away and I helped my sister with her bags.

Niece Two My mum, my small sister, Fatima and Sayid, my two-year-old brother, went to the hospital with my big sister who was having a baby. They had to wait for the baby to be born so the baby was then born. My mum called my dad and she said the baby is born. The next day my dad went. In our tradition my dad has to give the baby sugar rocks and has to name the baby so my dad said to my sister’s husband, ‘What shall we name her?’

He said, ‘We shall name her Nasrin,’ and so that was what happened those days. My brother-in-law had dreamed those days. My brother-in-law had dreamed that the baby’s name should be Nasrin.

When my sister came home we had a party to celebrate her birth so all the ladies were invited and the kids were watching Tom & Jerry and I was holding my niece in my arms and she was watching along with us and she really liked it. She was trying to laugh but she couldn’t and that’s how I knew she liked it. She was squeezing her hands and going red.

It was her first birthday party and my brother gave her a ring, a golden one, and my other two brothers gave fifty dollars each and my mum gave golden earrings. She got a bike, dolls’ clothes and a lot of money on her birthday. The day passed. I taught her how to walk and she got better day-by-day. She was very successful at walking. She is very smart because she is related to me.

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Niece Number Three By now I am getting very used to being an aunt. This time I went to a party at my sister’s house. It was seven at night and I stayed up until four in the morning and watched cartoons and listened to music. I woke up at nine the next morning.

I was a little bit tired. We had a BBQ for dinner and salad and drinks and soup.

Then we listened to music for about three hours while the adults were drinking tea and we were playing board games like Snakes and Ladders, Monopoly and much more and the rest of the time we watched cartoons. Fatima, Benin, Zainab, Mina, Mariam and I, we went to sleep at my sister’s house.

Pool Surprise The first time I went I thought the water was big. It was smaller than the ocean I had seen in pictures but still big. There are lifesavers in shorts and swimmers; black shorts and orange tops. They walk around and around the swimming pool.

It’s not hot yet. There are only a few people. They swim back and forth like hunters.

Every summer my uncle takes all the kids from Persian school to the swimming pool so that we can learn to swim. There are thirty of us. Our first eight days we have a teacher and at the start we have two days of free time so that he can see how we swim. Each day we stay there for about four hours and the last half hour we bring money to buy lollies from the canteen and eat fruits we got from home.

When I look from inside the pool, I think I have the water as my shield from the sun. I think I have a shell up to my ear when the water’s noise swooshes whooshes whooses as I swim. It is hard to move forward. I swim past the water as if there are cowboys throwing ropes to my hands and feet trying to pull me through. I swim once back and forth the whole length of the pool then I stop.

Sometimes the teacher throws a toy into the water that doesn’t float and we Khadija Mossavi

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have to jump into the water and find it. Sometimes we have races. I always come second or third. I’m fast but not that fast. Sometimes we use floaties to swim back and forth. They keep us up. Sometimes we play games. The teacher sings ‘Ring Around the Rosie’. He sings, ‘Ringa ringa rosie, a pocket full of posies, a tissue, a tissue, we all fall down.’ When he says, ‘We all fall down’, we have to jump in the pool, or hold our breath in the water for ten seconds, or do a backflip inside the water. These lessons are my favourite part of being at the pool.

After the lesson we have free time. We do two things: practise our swimming lessons and joke around in the water. One day, at the end of the day, me and my cousin, Mina were joking around and she put my head in the water for a long time and I couldn’t breathe so I stood up and she ran away without looking and my other cousin, Mariam told her to hurry and I ran after her and she bumped into the poles and hit her head. She had three big bruises on her face and her goggles also broke into halves. She was hurt badly and she was taken home to visit a doctor.

My dad used to give us money to spend at the canteen at the end of the day and we’d buy some lollies and eat them. I used to get lollipops and snakes. I sit with my cousins and share my lollies with them and also with Fatima my sister.

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You can now read all your favourite Westside publications online.

Check out our Westside E-Readers at www.byds.org.au

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Three Novelettes is a special edition of Westside that highlights the work of three Western Sydney writers all under the age of twelve.

From family to friendship to hardship, each writer explores the experience of living in one of Australia’s most linguistically and culturally diverse regions as a young woman.

“We grew up with a small family . . . then a bigger one. Presently, the biggest family we could ever be. Mum, Dad, me, Charlie, Kristen, Elissa, George and . . . and one more on the way.”

Dorothy Kamal “There were six tall buildings with sixteen rooms each, eight on each side. Josh climbed the stairs to the very top of the last building.

Room no. 95. The people that were in there left the door open – I think you know what Josh did. He went in and sat straight on the lounge with his feet up.”

Isabella Whitcher “I was worried about speaking English at big school and when I would try to learn some of these words it would feel strange in my mouth. I was really scared about speaking this new language and having to speak to someone that can speak English. I was thinking of the people that could speak English and was thinking that they were very lucky.”

Khadija Mossavi