I speed down the slide so quickly the blue plastic either side of me is a blur. Suddenly the blue of the sky is above me and I am dumped into a pool. I drag myself to the surface and emerge, spluttering, from the foul chemically liquid.
“I want to go every weekend,” I say. Mum laughs. She reaches over and ruffles my hair without taking her eyes off the road.
“We can’t afford to go every weekend,” she says. “We can only go on special occasions. Because we only go on special occasions we can go for pizza afterwards.”
I eat three whole slices of pizza. When I am done I am so full I can hardly move. We sit there and chat for an hour with the table between us covered in rubbish. By the time we leave it is getting dark outside.
“I’ll come next time,” Dad says. He is still wearing his army uniform. Normally he takes it off as soon as he gets home but today he got home so late he just came straight into the kitchen.
“You always say that,” I say. “And you never come. You’ve got to come and play on the slides with us.”
My little rubber ring bobs casually on the slow moving water. I have been all the way round the rapids ten times and I am still not bored. It is calm, relaxing, peaceful; nothing like the exhilaration of the flumes.
“You really want a whole pizza to yourself?” Mum asks.
“I can eat a whole pizza,” I say. “I’m an adult: I’m thirteen now.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” mum says. She orders me my own pizza. I only manage to eat three quarters of it but I think that’s a pretty good job. We take the last two slices home for dad.
“Swimming is stupid,” I say. My voice seems to get more low and grunting every day. “Swimming pools are for kids. I don’t want to go anywhere with you anyway; I want to go out with my friends.”
“Then go out with your friends,” Mum says. “It’s your birthday. Do whatever you want.”
I call Barry and James. We meet under the bridge next to the cycle path. James stole some vodka from his mum’s alcohol cupboard and somehow Barry managed to buy some tobacco. We drink and we smoke and we talk about how parents are stupid.
About the author
Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)
No comments:
Post a Comment