Writer:-Shannon Coyle, Katharine Susannah Prichard Writers' Centre
Western Australia
SUMMER HOUSE
A shaft of sunlight pours through the half-open blinds and makes its way across the linoleum floor, finally reaching Ted sitting slumped in a chair. The warmth on his cheek stirs him awake.
‘Gawwph,’ Ted says, rubbing his aching neck. He looks over at the bed to his left. ‘Geez, Rosie, how long was I out?’
No reply. Just a steady beeping.
Ted stands and stretches. He walks to the bedside table, picks up a plastic water jug and pours two glasses. ‘You must be thirsty, old girl.’
Taking a swig, Ted looks at the glass and has a flash of memory. He laughs, and points out the window.
‘Do you remember the summer house at Rockingham? That time you threw your water bottle at me because I stole the last chip right from your fingers? Oh, your red, wrinkled face! Mum was furious. Remember? She sent us both back home while they stayed up late, fishing off the jetty.’ He pauses, his smile fading to contemplation. ‘At least they came back with herring. Best bloody breakfast in the world.’
A nurse bustles in with a sense of purpose, big smile and strong odour of jasmine. She picks up a chart resting in a tray at the base of the bed.
‘How’s she doing today, Ted?’
‘Nothing to report. I think my stories keep her in the coma.’
The nurse lowers the chart and gives his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze.
‘It won’t be long now, Ted. You keep on talking.’
Ted moves his chair close to Rosie’s bed, and strokes her forehead softly. ‘Those were the days, weren’t they? Every summer barefoot, chasing seagulls, playing cricket on the beach, racing each other to leap off the end of the jetty.’
He awaits her reply, by rote.
Bip … bip … bip …
‘My annoying little sister, my shadow, always two steps behind, tripping me up. I was a little snot, wasn’t I Rosie? Mussing up your hair, running away from you …’ Ted stops, his voice catching. He leans forward, places his head on her chest, and wraps her in a hug.
‘I will always be your big brother, Rosie girl,’ he whispers. ‘And I’m not going anywhere now.’
Somewhere in the deep black recesses of her mind, Rosie is young again, running on the dunes at Rockingham, her sandals in hand. Ted is two meters ahead, like usual, just out of reach. He is squealing and giggling as the soles of his feet burn under the scorching summer sand. Suddenly he leapfrogs onto a patch of shadow under a tall Norfolk Pine. Rosie copies the movement, jumping right behind. He turns unexpectedly and envelops her in a big bear hug. She softens into his embrace, never feeling so safe and loved as she does in this moment.
That muffled, steady beeping noise that had been bugging her for what seemed like weeks falls silent, and the sun over the horizon fills the sky with warm, radiant light.