So, beer in pocket, I force the window open and climb up the ladder on the side of the building (don’t look down) and onto the roof, six storeys in the air, and when I’m there I crack the beer and feel the explosions and hear the car alarms set off by the noise and vibrations and smell a familiar smell and look over to see 4 girls sitting on the garden furniture at the other end of the roof. They see me standing there and wave me over, telling me that no one should be alone on 4th of July, and they introduce themselves and say oh you’re Australian, you must be cool then, here have a drag on this, I’ll hold it for you. And the fireworks get bigger and louder all the time, and we swap stories while we stare into the sky.   Continue

I forgot how hot it gets out here in the suburbs, away from the bay – it hits me like a cargo net dropped from a height over me when I leave the air-conditioned cocoon of the carriage. By the time I’ve done the ten minute walk from the station to my childhood home my shirt is soaked and stinking of alcohol and sweat. It seems quiet on the street, and I wonder why until I remember that it’s a school day. Or maybe its that all the kids here have grown up and moved out of home by now, leaving a street full of old people and memories. The side door is open as always, and I walk into the living room to see my mother sobbing on the lounge, bookended by Rachel and Patricia – all the women of his life in a row in front of me. I look over and see my father on the phone – he nods at me and resumes his conversation – and Patricia says hello to me and keeps comforting my mother as I give her a peck on the cheek. We’ve never been much of a family for physical contact.

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