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.

“They barged in the door, flashed badges, hollered ‘Official Government Business’ and kept going.

“Head called me ... and I stepped in. They wanted me to go with them ... I said no.”

“We’re here for your protection ... you are a minor Abo child and we have the right to remove you from ‘abusive or disadvantaged situations’.”

“I grinned and flashed my Student ID... ‘I’m 18 and not a minor. Who are you people?’”

“You’re NOT a minor?”

“Not.”

“Our records say otherwise.”

“Your records are wrong,” I said.

“The Aboriginal Child, Family and Community State Secretariat is NEVER wrong ... come with us.”

“No.”

“I asked the Headmaster to call the State Police. He was reluctant. Nancy ... the professional called.

“They showed up in nothing flat ... checked my ID ... called it in, actually ... and escorted the Aboriginal Child, Family and Community State Secretariat ... off the premises,” she stopped. “What happened to you?”

“I was on the phone talking to Judge Jenny Wren when just one of their minions knock on the door. I have an Order of Protection against them ... had it since I was removed from their custody. They have to call before they come and must be invited. If we don’t have time they can’t come.

“She hadn’t ... and got her sourpuss face arrested for it.”

“Judge Wren?”

“Yes.”

“You KNOW Judge Wren?”

“Uh huh.”