13
You lose stuff when you travel; your wallet, your hairbrush, money, your way …
It’s like there is nowhere to catch and keep all the things that float around you as part of your life.
The pink cardigan was soft, angora, not the kind of thing I usually wore. But Dad made a big deal of taking me shopping and buying me a farewell present. We went in and out of about five shops down at the Jetty Centre. I’d never seen him so patient while I tried on heaps of stuff. It was all a good price: August end of winter sale.
“It’ll be cold over there”, he kept saying. Yes Dad, of course it’s cold over here, half a world away in a different season. In the end he chose it. He said it was so me. I think it was so who he wanted me to be - a sweet, thoughtful girl - not a swaggering, loud mouthed Antipodean. Dad was stuck in a time freeze, stuck in the 50’s. Stuck, in being English.
Now that I’m here I get it. I get why he and I were always so not on the same page. Culture clash in your own family.
Funny thing is I’ve been wearing that cardi almost nonstop. It was just the right temperature on the plane, where they keep it cold at night to make you snuggle up and sleep. And it’s been great here cause it’s not too thick, so it fits, close to your body, under your coat, and when you come inside the flat and have to unravel six yards of scarf, and take off your beanie and gloves and thick trousers before you die of heat from the central heating, it’s comfy and close. It feels like a soft toy or a bunny rug.
He didn’t get why I had to leave. Mum was more understanding, funnily enough. Dad wanted me to go straight into uni.
THE PINK CARDIGAN
Kathryn Thompson
New South Wales, Australia