Gravity Read Online Free

table concreted in the centre of the grassiest patch. With discarded jumpers for goal posts on either side of the creek, we played a hybrid of Rugby League and Australian Rules. Handpass forwards, throw backwards. Kick in either direction. Scrum and ruck. Pay a mark. Try or goal for six points and the rules were negotiable as long as Simon had the final word.
    In the five or so years we played all-terrain footy, I was never on the same side as Simon. He was always captain and I was always on the opposing side, even if it meant the numbers were skewed in favour of our team. Just so he could kick my legs out from underneath me in the creek or tackle me to the ground by my hair. In the five years or so we played, Simon’s team never lost a game. Even if we were ahead on points, there’d be some technicality that would render them victorious. I learned not to fight back. I learned to take it and play on. Like me, the other kids would drag themselves home tearful and sometimes bloodied but when their parents confronted Simon, the golden child would be all concerned and plead innocence. It was an accident or he didn’t know what had happened and, with a hand on the child’s back, he’d say sorry with flawless sincerity.
    But it was all an act. Nothing much changed as he got older, except he got better at concealing his viciousness. Then he stacked his car and all my hopes of retribution died.
    You can’t punch a retard.
    His golden child mask was shattered in the accident. My brother didn’t come back from the hospital. The old Simon’s body – all muscle and power – began to fade under the weight of a thousand hot chip dinners in front of the telly. His libido went crazy and he started wanking in the lounge and in public sometimes, like a dog. His gut bloated and his neck began to shrink so that his head, once lofted and defiant, seemed to be sinking into his shoulders. He spoke in grunts and moans. The doctor said his injury shouldn’t have affected his speech but it had. Maybe Simon had decided there was nothing worth talking about.
    Mum did her best to look after him for almost three years. She did it by herself. I’d watched the life go out of her and her hair grey. The laughter vanished. Her smile had been swallowed by the relentless effort of looking after her broken son.
    Dad didn’t help. I didn’t help. I watched my family falling apart until it was a mess best avoided. I found plenty of reasons to be elsewhere. There was always footy and Hargate was only fifteen minutes away. I could dig in the garden at Tori’s place for the best part of a Sunday but I wouldn’t pick up Simon’s towel from the bathroom floor at home. I could wipe my nephew’s pooey bottom but sometimes I couldn’t handle eating at the same table as my brother.
    And then Mum left.
    I got home from school one night and she told me she needed a rest. One look at her grey face, her wrinkled darkeyes and her dishevelled hair and I could only agree. I thought she’d have a lie down and I’d have to make dinner. The homework would have to wait. I owed her at least that.
    But she climbed in her Corolla and drove off before Dad got home.
    When his log truck did eventually hiss to a stop in the driveway, Dad sat in the cab and stared at the spot where Mum’s car had been parked.
    â€˜I’ll make us some food,’ I offered.
    He nodded. ‘She’ll be back. Just needs a rest.’
    Later, at the sink, as we cleaned the last of the beans off the dinner plates, Dad spoke to the soap suds.
    â€˜It’s my fault. She wanted to take Si to Eden for assessment. She was going to get him some respite care, you know, somebody to look after him just so she could have a rest.’
    He was silent for a while, though the dishes clunked in the sink. I looked at the side of his head and almost polished the chrome off the fork I had folded in the tea towel.
    â€˜I told her