August 2020 Winner
Are We There Yet?
By Bianca Millroy
“We are here.”
White sand disappears and waves ebb away.
Our pocket of paradise shrinks before we can commit it to memory: the smell of the saltbush and beating sun on our backs. Gone…
Cars worm past on the streets as we are sucked into congestion; that grey, sleepless leviathan we tried to escape.
In the backseat, they sleep: heads drooping on each other’s shoulders, happy drool drying on chins, seatbelts rubbing skin pink.
They had so been looking forward to this day. And yet… It feels like it is over before it has even truly begun.
As we peel off the motorway and into the leafy suburbs, the sun sinks languidly towards the east. Clouds paint themselves on a sky as intricate as a Delftware bowl.
In the car, the lovers rouse and chirrup like dawn birds. I stay silent behind the wheel avoiding the rear-vision mirror.
Are we there yet? They ask, voices straining to almost a whine.
I sigh, remembering days so old they’ve become new again. The long road trips across vast clay savannah and craggy mountainous terrain. The whole country cracked as if fired and left in the kiln. No matter how many rounds of ‘I spy’ we played…or books we read…or bribes we pleaded…that one question seemed to come back again and again.
Are we there yet?
Their voices high-pitched, lingering on each syllable. Enough to start the pulse throbbing at my neck and earlobe. I feel a quiver along the lower lip of my left eyelid. A twitch here and a muscle spasm there. Heat rises along the ridge of my spine. The saliva in my throat evaporates. I wind down the window and suck in air. Splutter at the fumes of neighbouring cars, trucks and Deliveroo scooters. Tell myself it is fine. Reassure the big kids in the back that we will get there.
Be patient. It is only a matter of time.
Snickers and shuffling behind me, a concealment. A game of truth or dare, a cheeky kiss when they think I’m not looking. As if I don’t know what they are up to. Did they think I hadn’t been their age once? Ha! If only they knew…
Are we there YET?
It’s both too early and too late for this game. My patience is paper-thin, but they don’t seem to get it: no matter how much I scowl and scold.
ARE WE THERE YET?
I punch down on the horn, pump the brake pedal.
But the car is still parked, and the nurse is handing me a picnic basket and a cooler bag and beach towels and meds in labelled tubs. Frowning. Telling me the do’s and don’ts with a taloned finger. You must remain patient. They don’t remember.
The sand and the saltbush and the calm sea undulating beneath me.
I must remember all they did for me.
Mum and Dad turn and smile at me in the back seat.
“Guess what? Buckle up sweetheart. We are going!”