Me and the step-sisters
One year we went to the Brisbane exhibition. It was a day full of stalls, people, chocolate and fairy floss. The step-sisters were with us then. Marty and Sal. Really Martha Genevieve and Sallamantha Augustus.
What I remember is lining up for the dodgem cars. The burning electric smell of zapping power- the press of bodies in the que. I’d driven them before but always with someone else. Now I was big enough to reach the pedals and go by my self. A man in a blue T-shirt strapped me in and showed me how to reverse- just keep the wheel spun to the left or right and it would move backward.
At first I drove carefully, excited my the power and sense of infallibility. I was testing the moveablitity of the little red car.
And someone bumped me from behind. My body lurched forward. I drove on and again was pushed from behind. Cars were wizzing by on the other side- some cars appearing faster than others. I looked over my shoulder and saw a boy grinning insanely at me, pushing and repeatedly bumping my car.
I understood. I pressed the peddle down and zoomed by. I saw Marty in front and steady as an arrow set my course. But a little blonde boy drove in front of me so I rammed him instead.
He whipped his head around and grinned as if I’d done him a favour. The agression I could feel building up in me didn’t allow for smiling. I turned my wheel sharply and went after my target. I was in a radius of permissable agression. People were able to bump, crash, collide and try to demolish others. It was a release of perfect energy.
Marty’s head fell sharply to the side. I reversed quickly, swung my wheel and propelled my car forward. Her body jolted again. Her car was stuck in a pile up now. She felt the intent of my mission and sent me a quelling look.
But I scurried on, intent on ramming as many cars as possible with as much impact as I could muster.
Marty punched my shoulder twice for that. But that time I didn’t care.