Standing Up

StandingUp.

I worried my lip, fiddling with the hem of my pink shirt that she liked but I hated. It was just passed lunch time and already I had a mark on my cream cargo shorts. She'll hate that. I stood in the doorway that led into the big lounge, where she sat watching TV while talking on the phone. I didn't want to make her pause her gossip so I'd written my request down on paper. "Can I play the PlayStation please?". I expected her to say no. It was her typical answer after all.

Taking a deep breath I walked in and turned to face my stepmother. She continued to chat, talking about work and the guy who tried to beat her. I waited until she noticed me before showing her my written request. She glanced at it, shook her head and went back to complaining that she'd had to fill out a bunch of paperwork to prove the disabled mans attack had been unprovoked.

In my opinion she deserved it, and no way was it unprovoked.

I wasn't disappointed by the denial of my game time I'd had planned. I hadn't bothered getting my hopes up, so there was nowhere for them to fall. I simply nodded in silent acceptance and walked away, picturing my hands around her fat neck and squeezing tight. I wasn't angry. Just upset, and visions like these don't come to me often, they can normally be chased away by running different stories through my mind. Both made up and real.

I dropped onto the three person couch in the little lounge and spread my body over its entire length, trying to touch one arm with my toes and the other with my hands stretched over my head. I was too short but that never stopped me trying. I could see into the backyard through the floor to ceiling window where my younger brother was bouncing on the trampoline, all smiles and joy because my stepmother treated him like a prince. He was her son. I was just the package deal that came with my father. She didn't get along with me or my older brother, but only because she doesn't try or treat us fairly. We hate her for that. I heard her walk into the kitchen and rolled my eyes when she told me to get my head off the couch because the protective blanket had fallen off. She thinks that even though I wash my hair every morning that I'm going to ruin the couch.

I turned so I was leaning against the back of the couch on my knees and looked at my stepmother, having to work up some courage to ask her my question.

'Lou?'

She looked at me, I couldn't see what she was doing at the bench due to the raised counter, but the clink of plates and the sound of running water told me she was doing the dishes. 'What?'

'Can I go to Tegan's?'

'Have you opened your curtains?'

'Yeah'

'Made your bed?'

For once I actually had. 'Yeah.'

'Hang out the washing for me.'

Sometimes I wonder where the hell I got my manners. Kids learn from example right? How do I learn manners from example when the main person in my life doesn't seem to know what they are? I lugged the heavy washing basket over the broken tiles that formed a path to the clothes line, my tiny muscles straining. My younger brother was still bouncing on the trampoline, sound effects accompanying his every jump as he play acted a battle ground, or dragons, or even just a footy match. It was probably just his newest Mario Smash game on his Wii. I hung out the washing, struggled to reach the line as usual, but I did it.