FINE LINES

CHAPTER 2

30th of August 2013

Ayah

I collapse on my bed, exhausted to the point of tingling all over. Each muscle is executing some form of acrobatics under my skin, as if the cells were trying to repair the damage I just caused by reminding me never to do it again. One of my arms is pinned beneath me but I’m too tired to make myself comfortable. I just want sleep.

“Ah-Yahhhhhh!”

The last syllable is dragged out like a karate champ, signalling my little brother’s arrival from preschool. I ignore the pain in my limbs and flip on my back with a smile. Jason’s karate-chop collides with my bruised stomach, exorcising a combination of a laugh and a yelp out of me. I rest the back of my hand to my forehead dramatically.

“Oh, why, oh, why did our mother call me Ayah?” I say with an air of snobbery that always makes Jason laugh. I narrow my eyes at him. “I want your name,” I threaten in a deep voice.

“No!” He screams in delight. We’ve rehearsed this game countless times.

“GIVE ME YOUR NAME!” I yell, sounding like the Wizard of Oz and loving every second of it. I rise slowly from the bed and stomp over to his small, retreating form like a zombie. He shrieks loudly and runs out the door.

I roar like a lion – which isn’t the sound a zombie makes but is a part of our play – and I follow his loud shrieks of terror to the kitchen. He clutches on the hem of my mum’s skirt like a shield. My mother, who plays a small part in our theatre production, hands a wooden spoon to Jason wordlessly and continues her cooking. She and I exchange a small smile in greeting.

“I SAID GIVE ME YOUR NAME, JASON ASHFORD!” I command in the lowest tone I can muster. I hit a note too low for my vocal chords and end up coughing like a smoker. My mother’s smile grows but is not yet fully developed. She only laughs at the end when I can’t see her.

“It’s mine!” Jason declares with a shout. He thrusts the spoon forward like a sword, catching me in the leg, and my groan is only half-exaggerated.

I clutch my thigh like a lifeline. “I’m bleeding! Ah!” I cry and fall to the ground. Jason throws my mum’s skirt over his shoulder like a cape and charges at me, wooden spoon raised like an axe. I shield myself with a hand and on cue: light floods through the kitchen window where my mum opens the curtain.

“I’m meltingggggggggg!” I hiss, catching Jason off guard.

I take his little arm in my hands, cough convincingly enough to be sought after by Hollywood, and die.

Jason – my once arch-enemy – falls to the ground by my side and starts fake-wailing. I always try to suppress my smile when he does this little titbit of drama but it is so very hard to deny my amusement when a three-year-old start’s howling: ‘Why, oh why! Oh, my sister! Why!”

My mother’s giggles and I know this part is almost over. Jason just has to –

A small kiss is reverently placed between my eyebrows. This is my favourite part of the day.

“Ah!” I shoot upwards and Jason claps in delight. “You saved me!” I exclaim while hoisting him under the arms and spinning him around like a helicopter. His cries of escalation are so contagious that my mother stops cooking and turns around to face us with a hand to her mouth. I laugh with them and revel in the knowledge that soon enough, my dad will soon be here in Australia to join us.

Eventually, my sore muscles protest and only when I groan does Jason tap my shoulder, as if to say, ‘it’s okay, you can put me down now.’

I place his feet on the floor and he smiles up at me in greeting. Unlike me, Jason has two matching blue eyes. His hair isn’t quite black like mine, but it is dark enough to add contrast between the two adorable features. Mum had him in baby modelling for a Huggies campaign in his baby days, which she still brings up whenever one of their commercials is on. I ruffle his hair, my little superstar.