![]() ![]() Trapper's moving on, like they all do, like they all will. He doesn't crave the way your feet lock behind the small of his back or the warm feel of your breath on his chest and stomach. He doesn't crave the look of your sharp face or the smell under your arms anymore. ‘Trapper, will you still love me when the baby grows and my tits aren't so big and all?' The dark looks of his wife push through your mind and his hands on your belly don't feel so good anymore. ![]() But all the stinking facts of life won't let you hold the thought. For a moment you think you can remember the way it feels to know completeness. Like I'm thinking now, there's more space up there than there is ground down here so why don't we just both float up into it, like?' It's just there, so big, and I never thought about it for a long time. Why you gotta think about space and such?' ‘I don't know what you've been drinking but you're freaking me a little, babe. ‘D'ya think that space is all empty, Trapper. He moves forward and stands behind you and puts his head down and his mouth to your neck and the brindles of sandpaper shadow break invisible furrows in the surface of your skin and it feels like something at least. He touches your neck again and you lull your head to the side. He thinks about the new youngster in the old O'Brien place across the highway and wonders about her. He is mad because he knows the place you're in and it means he's going to have to go back to his own trailer and try it with his wife, and she with a cold is probably going to refuse him too. You both look at the moon for a minute and you sigh. ![]() I didn't ever notice how big the moon was. it wouldn't be so bad if you didn't have all them kids, then I could come whenever.' but my wife's home with the cold and I had to take a run into town for some errands. ‘Well, I'm sorry I couldn't come over this morning. You mumble a greeting he takes for a sulk and his next words flop out defensive and cutting. ‘Hey girl, been waiting for you to come outside.' HE COMES UP to you in the dark while you're gone with the night and touches the back of your neck. And this horde of children, each a spindly collation of tireless needs, each as foreign to you as the billions you've never met. You move your feet through the dust softly. You walk outside, and while standing in the dusty patch of land he left you to pay off all those years ago, a brief, vague hump of pride churns up into the top of your chest before being sucked back down into the pit of your gut. They shouldn't have let you out of hospital so soon. You think she is a poor old fool to be happy in this torn-up world. Across the way, the next trailer's lights come on and you see Mrs Hannibal shuffling through the front room, phone to her ear, face animated with happiness. The dry, cool desert night is pouring in the window at you and, despite the waxy mask of horror carved on your face, you stand to face it. Alexis sits by your legs, reading from a book of love poetry you were given by someone long forgotten. Karen-Anne is in the front room bouncing on a bed and singing along to one of those surreal afternoon children's programs, about bananas and elephants being the best of friends. With one palm on the dusty sill in the back room, you stare out the window into the terrifying dusk. The final blood-red smear of sunlight is sliding towards the horizon. Your baby is howling just as loud as the never-ending stream of stinking road-trains, and Jemimah's in the kitchen killing ants with a soup spoon, her dirty bare feet tensing as she applies force and laughs at the little popping sounds.
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