Abby, Two
Copyright© 2019 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 3
Later that afternoon, at the normal time, a bus screeched to a halt at the corner of the cul-de-sac, the students unloaded, spread out heading for their respective homes and the bus roared away, black diesel exhaust polluting the neighborhood. Alice came home. She crashed through the door, slammed it shut ... like normal ... and flopped on the couch.
Flopping on the couch was something she NEVER did. Alice might flop on her bed ... she might seat herself decorously at her desk and switch on her computer but the living room couch? There might be just a year between our ages and we might eat together, but socialize?
Never.
I suppose that was my fault. I graduated from Charles Sturt University last spring and Alice was scheduled to complete year 13 this spring
I had a job ... I worked for my dad ... or maybe my dad worked for me. I never knew who made the decisions at the mine.
Alice was a high school student. She would graduate this spring.
From the couch Alice spoke.
“Who are you?”
“Alice ... what?”
“You would not believe what my day has been like.”
“Me too.” I said, “Just awful.”
Like twins we said, “I was visited by the Aboriginal Child, Family and Community State Secretariat...
“ ... at school.” said Alice.
“ ... at home.” I said. “They were looking for you.”
“They found me.”
“What happened?”
“They invaded the Headmaster’s Office, demanded my location ... what classroom ... you know I work in the office ... you didn’t? Work Study ... Junior Clerk. We don’t talk much lately, do we?”
“No ... not since I started University ... you withdrew and I formed other relationships. Probably my fault.” I made that universal gesture that says ... continue with your tale.
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