Little Black Dress

Life is a fragile thing, wouldn't you say?

One wrong decision and . . . poof, it's gone.

The crazed swing of a bat, held by a provoked friend, hitting just the right spot.

The drunken haze, rain pouring down, the wheels spinning out of control, a tree.

The smoke, the coughing, the cancer, the burn, one cigarette too many.

The slip of a finger, too much excitement, and the bullet gets released.

There's just too many ways to do it. To die. It's depressing.

That's why I see life as fragile. It's too breakable. It's precious.

Which means it's not to be wasted.



Blonde hair pulled up in a high ponytail, green eyes shielded by my hand-me-down Ray Bans tortoiseshell sunglasses that are almost as old as me, I feel confident.

My new floral bikini covers the more vital parts of my body, but other than that, I'm totally bare and ready to tan.

My skin is smothered in sunscreen. The sun's rays are just too strong, and I can seriously do without the skin cancer when I hit 30.

I hold Allana's hand tightly in my own, my steps slow in my flip flops as I walked at her 3-year-old pace. Casey's running ahead, a shaggy blonde head full of hair flailing out behind him.

“Look, Ra-Ra!” Larnie squeals, tugging on my hand excitedly as she points. I follow her stubby finger to the small water park, one of the ones with tall coloured mushrooms and water that spouts out of the ground.

“We can go to that later,” I tell her, lifting her round body into my arms so that I can catch up to Casey.

I must admit, spending time with my over-confident, almost-a-teenager brother, and my too-shy-and-clingy little sister is not my favourite thing to do on a sunny Saturday afternoon. But hey, I'm getting paid for it. Babysitting is a job.

It was while I was being paid to watch them, that I lost him.

“Casey?”

I'd just looked up from sitting Larnie on my hip, and Casey was no longer a few metres away from me. I have no idea how many metres away he is.

“Casey!” I call, gripping Larnie tighter and looking around frantically. I scan the benches, all covered with towels and bags and parents watching their children swim. With all those people watching, he'd be okay if he fell in, right? It's not like he can't swim . . .

Maybe he bumped his head . . .

I breathe deeply to calm myself and jog up to the edge of the pool, looking for someone who is just floating or lying on the bottom. There's a few older guys in the deep end, what must be a birthday party going on at the shallow end, but no one seems to be in trouble.

I swallow and look at Larnie. Her green eyes are wide, framed by light hair that falls in ringlets to her shoulders. “Maybe he went to the toilet,” I tell her softly, but I know he wouldn't have. We all went just before we came.

I'm just starting to get really worried when I see him. First I'm relieved, because he's safe and unharmed. But then I'm angry.

I storm over to him, standing under a tree over by the open grass area. Putting Larnie on the grass, I grab his arm and force him to meet my eyes. “Casey! What were you doing running away like that? Mum and Dad told you that I was in charge, and I told you to stay with me!”

“Gees, Mira.” Casey hardens his brown eyes and brushes my hand away. “Loosen up, hey?”

“God, Casey, I- I thought you'd . . . drowned or something!”

Casey smirks. “Have a bit more faith, aye?”

I narrow my eyes and grab his arm again, tightening my grip. He winces. “Come on. You're going to swim with Larnie here while I sunbathe, and when we get home, you're grounded, okay?”

“Piss off,” he tells me, prying my fingers away after his shake didn't loosen my hold on him.

“Casey,” I warn.

“Hey, lady! Let the kid play, eh?”

I look away from Casey's freckled face and towards the guy who had spoken. He has brown hair, eyes hidden by reflective Aviators, is balancing a soccer ball on his knee, and wears only faded denim shorts.

“Yeah, lady, let me play,” Casey mocks.

“And who are you-” I place my hands on my hips and lean on one hip, “-To tell me what I can and can't do to my brother?”

Soccer Boy places the ball on the ground and puts his foot on top of it. “All I'm saying is to let the kid have a little fun. Life ain't s'posed to borin'. Learn to live a little.” He has a thick British accent, and it's really starting to bother me, all those uncompleted words.

I can feel my face starting to heat up with frustration. Who is he to tell me how to live my life? “Yeah, well . . . Learn to speak a little.”

There's a collective oohhh from his group of equally-shirtless friends, and I scan their faces for anyone familiar. There's not. Only a boy catches my eye; He's laying under a tree with a book propped on his chest, but his green eyes are on me.

Soccer Boy's laughter bring me back to him. “That was great, ya know. How long'd it take ya to come up with that one?”

I glare at him and lift my chin. Then I grab Casey-and Larnie's hands and turn away. My back tenses as I expect some sort of nasty comment, but I keep walking without an interruption. Casey's struggling again, but this time I won't let him go.

“Casey, stop,” I hiss, and he slows a bit. “They're slums, okay? I don't want you hanging out with them.”

“You can't tell me what to do! You're only 3 years older than me!”

“Yes, but you're not a teenager yet,” I retort.

Larnie pipes up. “I'm not a teen-ger too.”

“Yes, but you're a good girl,” I tell her. “Casey's not.”

“Yeah well, I don't want to be a good girl!” Casey says, and I crack a smile.

“Fine with me; You don't have to be.”