The Pink Ute

The pink ute suddenly slows down in the soft sand. Janet stops bumping up and down in her booster seat and peers out. It’s like a fairy glade. Sparkling water glistens from a pool and trees float and wave in the wind. Sand fills up the picture. Mounds of red flour are heaped against the trees and form banks to the little pool.

“I can have a swim. Yeeeeeeeh” and Janet starts to bounce again.

“Can I Mum, can I?”

“No darling, this is water for drinking. For filling up our tanks.”

“Oh Mum. Whyyyyyyyyyyyy?”

“You know that if dirty bodies get into the spring then it will spoil the water. Remember all that soapy scum we left back at the caravan park? And just look at you. How did you get so filthy?”

Janet looks down at her little black shorts. Red dusty streaks make tracks across the pockets and the edge of the hem is almost dripping more dust. Her knees are black and red, an ugly mix of grease from the ute and more red dust. Her long blond hair feels matted and stiff.

She peers out of the side window and hidden up in the trees is a tin shack. It’s lopsided and the door hangs open from just one corner.

“We’ll grab a shower or at least clean off the dust over in that shed over there” says Dad.

“I’m not, I’m not going near that shed Mum, never. You can’t make me” and she stamps her bare foot into the air.

“It’ll be OK darling, Dad will go with you”

But Janet knew they’d be there. There, hiding under the toilet seat. There, clinging to some sort of shower hose and there, hiding in the damp dark corners. Some people love them, some thought they were cute, but Janet was terrified of the little green glossy frogs. The just sit silently and they are so still. They never move. At home, once, she found one clinging and hugging the shampoo bottle. And their little black eye specks just stare.

Dad pushes his seat forward and undoes Janet’s seat belt. She flings herself to the other side and almost topples to the floor. He grabs her. In no time, they’ve crossed the fairy glade, now a monster glade and Dad is trying to move the rusty old door.

“No, Dad, No I’m not going in there” and she drums her little fists on his back. It sounds hollow and hopeless. Red hot tears run down her cheeks, her nose runs too. She kicks his back. She nearly chokes.

Dad puts her down. Her legs feel like jelly and they crumple. She flops onto the ground and a cloud of red dust surrounds her. Her face is rough and scratchy as she burys her hands in her eyes.

“No Dad” a little whimper escapes.

The door flies off it’s only hinge. Sunlight bursts into the little shed. Six little tree frogs are crouched on the metal sink. They hop onto the edge and start to sing.

“Dashing through the bush in a rusty holden ute ……………………”

Janet giggles, hiccups and bursts out laughing.

“Dad, it is a fairy glade”