Short Story
When He Came Back
Sasha Boswell
He had spent my whole life avoiding me, leaving my mother and I to look after ourselves, no help, no calls, no child support, not even one single letter just to say hi.
The day he called was when my world had changed. I would finally meet him, the man from the small photo propped up against the brick wall above the fireplace.
My curtains were wide open and the sunlight filtered in, creating little dust beams as mum liked to call them. The big oak tree by my window was shedding it’s brightly coloured leaves, making a ‘mosaic of leaves’ carpet below that, a few years back, I would have happily rolled around in.
“Ashley.”
“Yeah?” I said, turning down my music and sliding off my bed.
“Ashley!”
“Yes Mum! What?”
I padded down the thickly carpeted stairs, along the hall and into the kitchen where my mother was standing, hands on hips and forehead creased.
“Why couldn’t you just reply the first time I call you?” She asked, dark eyes flicking up to meet my own for a fleeting moment, then back down to squint at the house décor magazine in front of her on the marble counter top again.
“I did mum,” I replied.
“Well I didn’t hear you, probably because you have that horrible death metal music blasting from your room.”
“I would hardly call my music ‘death metal’ mum. But I’m not going there again. What did you call me for?”
Ever since my father had called, mum had been very snappy and got frustrated over everything, no matter how miniscule. Or maybe it was because in exactly 2 days it was my 17th birthday and we still hadn’t sorted anything out about me getting my P plates or my party that I had planned on having weeks ago. Either way, I was sick of all the little bickering arguments that had started taking place several times a day.
“What colour balloons did you say you wanted again?”
“Um, I’m not sure. Maybe silver?”
“Ok, I’ll get some when I go and get the rest of your party supplies this afternoon.”
“Thanks.”
On my way back to my room, I
Sasha Boswell
He had spent my whole life avoiding me, leaving my mother and I to look after ourselves, no help, no calls, no child support, not even one single letter just to say hi.
The day he called was when my world had changed. I would finally meet him, the man from the small photo propped up against the brick wall above the fireplace.
My curtains were wide open and the sunlight filtered in, creating little dust beams as mum liked to call them. The big oak tree by my window was shedding it’s brightly coloured leaves, making a ‘mosaic of leaves’ carpet below that, a few years back, I would have happily rolled around in.
“Ashley.”
“Yeah?” I said, turning down my music and sliding off my bed.
“Ashley!”
“Yes Mum! What?”
I padded down the thickly carpeted stairs, along the hall and into the kitchen where my mother was standing, hands on hips and forehead creased.
“Why couldn’t you just reply the first time I call you?” She asked, dark eyes flicking up to meet my own for a fleeting moment, then back down to squint at the house décor magazine in front of her on the marble counter top again.
“I did mum,” I replied.
“Well I didn’t hear you, probably because you have that horrible death metal music blasting from your room.”
“I would hardly call my music ‘death metal’ mum. But I’m not going there again. What did you call me for?”
Ever since my father had called, mum had been very snappy and got frustrated over everything, no matter how miniscule. Or maybe it was because in exactly 2 days it was my 17th birthday and we still hadn’t sorted anything out about me getting my P plates or my party that I had planned on having weeks ago. Either way, I was sick of all the little bickering arguments that had started taking place several times a day.
“What colour balloons did you say you wanted again?”
“Um, I’m not sure. Maybe silver?”
“Ok, I’ll get some when I go and get the rest of your party supplies this afternoon.”
“Thanks.”
On my way back to my room, I