Emily was every image of adolescent petulance.
Shrouded in a coffee coloured mink coat, self-rolled cigarette hanging from her lips, she sat nodding melancholically to the background hums of “Life on Mars?” from her record player. A young Italian woman with ankles and wrists that appeared far too slim to support her mercurial disposition and untamed hair. She was not particularly agreeable, with a rather large portion of her family noting her as fickle, somewhat obnoxious and prone to disobeying orders. When she opened her mouth, she spoke as if each word that dropped from her lips was the most insightful thing in the universe. It was not.
Emily stubbed her cigarette just as Bowie decided Mickey Mouse had grown up a cow. She paused for a moment, sipping on the lyric like she’d seen Nonno drink whiskey. Had she? She looked to the calendar that hung limply from her wall. What once was adorned with sweet sixteenths and school dances now stared back at her – blank faced. She longed to see “Taronga Zoo Excursion” scribbled in one of the boxes.
“Yeah.” Emily said, and she tore ‘April’ from the wall to fold it until the page could be pressed into her mouth. It tasted like those cold ham sandwiches; like drinking cheap spirits in a park and forgetting to bring your sport uniform on Thursdays. She swallowed and felt it travel down her oesophagus and swirl through the small intestine. There it sat. She lit another cigarette.
