That time I got rejected three times on the same day!

Chapter 2

The morning shower had put Henry in a foul mood. He stared angrily over the edge of his cereal bowl at nothing in particular. I concentrated on my own cereal, trying not to draw his attention. Mother was in the kitchen preparing our lunches.

"Do you like cheese?" she cried.

"Yes." I replied, but Henry stared sullenly at the milk that was left over in his bowl.

"Henry! Do you like cheese?" she cried again.

Still, he said nothing. Mother was used to his moods, even though it annoyed her. Henry would get cheese whether he liked it or not. The thought put a smile on my face. His brow furrowed as he saw my mirth.

"What!"

I chuckled and grabbed my empty bowl.

"Nothing," I said innocently.

"WHAT!" he called after me as I entered the kitchen.

The clean dishes had been cleared away the night before. I placed my bowl on the counter and stretched up to see what mother was making.

"What's wrong with your brother?" she said, cutting a tomato with even strokes.

I shrugged my shoulders. I enjoyed watching mother cook. Her dexterous hands prepared meals so skillfully.

"Can I cut one?" I said.

She looked down at me and smiled.

"Maybe tonight dear, but I'm in a hurry."

She smelled of roses, like the roses in the garden, but they died long ago. Mother loved roses, and she loved gardening. When we first moved into the house we planted roses together, but the Australian weather didn't agree with them. That's what mother had said when they died. She was sad after that, but father brought her a bouquet of roses, which cheered her up.

The sandwiches were almost ready. Mother cut them in half and raised her arm, looking at her silver wristwatch.

"Christ! I'm going to be late for work."

I was about to tell her that she shouldn't swear, but it didn't feel right to say that to mother. I don't swear, but Henry does it a lot. I don't really understand why we shouldn't swear. Mother and father say it's not good, but they never give a reason why.

"Darling, tell your brother we are leaving NOW."

She hurriedly put the sandwiches together and packed them in our lunchboxes. I liked how mother put emphasis on certain words. When Henry did bad things, she would call him by his full name, HENRY ARTHUR KNIGHT, and say 'Get here right this INSTANT'. It was scary when mother was like that, but she hardly ever used that tone with me.

I walked back into the eating room to find Henry listlessly ladling his leftover milk.

"Mother says we are leaving NOW," I said, using the same emphasis mother had used.

Henry tilted his head, resting it on his propped up fist. He looked at me with defiance. "So?"

I put my hands on my hips, like mother always did, and imitated her tone.

"What do you mean so?"

He dropped his spoon and hopped down from the table.

"You should put away your bowl," I said.

He walked right past me.

"You do it!"

"Why you so MEAN!" I cried as he left me alone with his mess. He didn't reply. I let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed Henry's bowl.

I was ready for school. My pink bag was propped up against the wall, waiting for its owner. Outside the weather was fine and sunny. We lived in a little cul-de-sac, but at the end of the road was a connecting street to the high-way. It was a good suburban area and the only reason we could afford it, was because there wasn't a train station nearby. It was also much safer than the country we had left behind. When we first moved to Australia I was amazed at how clean the streets were and that children were playing outside. This was not possible in my country of birth. There were many amazing things about Australia. You didn't need to drive through red lights because robbers were waiting to hijack you. You could walk to school. It was a life I was still not used to.

Mother was already waiting outside.

"Come on kids, let's go!" she cried.

I didn't understand why she used 'kids' instead of 'Henry' because I was standing right next to her.

Henry was still in his room. Mother was tapping her foot impatiently and looking at her wristwatch.

"HENRY, we are going to be late for school!" she called into the house.

He was still nowhere to be seen.

"What's that brother of yours doing?" she said.

Maybe he would come if I called him.

"HENRY – COME."

It took a moment, but I heard his precise footsteps echoing through the house. He appeared at the door and mother crossed her arms. Henry was wearing his green rain jacket. It was made of a cheap plastic and had a little hood that was attached. Henry always wore the raincoat with the hood up.

"Henry. Why are you wearing that thing? We are going to be late!"

He didn't say anything and slid past us, the coat making the high pitched noise of cheap plastic rubbing against plastic.

"That brother of yours, honestly," she said slamming the front door of the house.

As we walked to the car I looked back at the place we called our home. The house was what they called a modified Queenslander, Queenslander referring to the eastern state of Australia, where these types of homes were popular. It was a double story house, and the bottom story was walled-in to accommodate a car port and a workshop. The upper story was the living area, which contained three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a laundry, a kitchen, and a combined dining and lounge area. It was a small house compared to Australian standards, and it was much smaller than our previous home. Another strange thing about Australian homes was that they were made of paper, or that's what my father said. That is maybe the reason why they are so warm in summer and so cold in winter. Our house had green walls, stained with dark lines where the water ran down when it rained, and a dark red roof. It was a simple home, an Australian home.