A mother's nightmare (Kerry)

A mother’s nightmare

Max is not in the house. He must have climbed out of his cot and wandered outside. Mandy knows he can get from the house to the machinery shed very quickly for a toddler. She dashes to the back door. There is no sign of him on the track to the shed. She would be able to see him through the front window if he was walking to the main road. The driveway is long and straight; nowhere to hide. He can’t get through the fence around the house but from the verandah she sees the side gate is open. Her worst fears are realised. He has gone into the paddock.

It’s only a few weeks since Mandy came out to the farm to be with Max’s dad. It was a big decision to move to the country. Until then she had been a city girl. She loved the high-rise buildings, paved roads, public transport and easy access to shops. It was safe. She was protected. Dave had listened sympathetically to her concerns about leaving the city but he had thought she would get used to the country life soon enough.

Mandy is dressed in shorts, socks and runners. She has no time to put on her leather boots, her protectors or her long pants. Max must be found quickly. It is a hot, windy day; too dangerous for him to be out there in the paddock on his own.

She hurries out onto the verandah and jumps down onto the close-cropped lawn. As she runs across the lawn to the gate her anxiety begins to mount. She is sweating. Her thoughts are confused. She fights to maintain control. She must find Max.

At the gate Mandy hesitates. She forces herself to look into the paddock. The long dry grass stands before her, a hostile army with swords drawn. In some places she can see that it is nearly knee high. The wind dislodges grass seed missiles and sends them flying across the paddock through the heat of the afternoon. Mandy knows they are looking for her. She is acutely aware of the little daggers hidden in the grass at her feet. She recognises the prickle of weapons in the clumps of burrs in the distance. There are no paths, no bare places for refuge. She must simply wade into it, unprotected.

“Max, Max. I’m coming. Where are you?” she cries out over the shimmering arsenal.

The cawing of crows in the trees is her only reply. She turns to the sound and notices a narrow pathway to her left where the grass has been crushed. Max must have gone that way.

“Max. It’s Mummy. Where are you?” she calls again.

She hears a muffled cry and, ignoring the army in her way, tramples it underfoot in her rush to find her boy. He has tripped on a stone and fallen. She finds him, unhurt, lying on the soft protection of the thick grass.



Kerry MacAulay
2Jan09