1996 (90s Flashback Series) Read online

  “You wondering what’s under here?” he asks, pulling the side of his shirt up and revealing a skinny white stomach.

  I almost laugh. Seriously?

  He catches my smirk and it seems to annoy him. “What’s so funny, princess?”

  “Nothing.” I decide it wouldn’t be wise to taunt him, considering what I know he’s capable of.

  He runs a nicotine-stained finger down my cheek. “You better shower quickly, sweetheart. I need to use the bathroom soon too, and I won’t wait politely at the door if you’re in there too long.”

  Well, I’m definitely not going to wash here now.

  “Duly noted,” I say, turning and trying to escape.

  He grabs my arm and I flinch. It’s okay. This isn’t real. His eyes travel up and down my body as if he has x-ray vision.

  After a moment, he seems to get bored.

  “Nah. You’re too flat-chested for me.” He slouches off back to the TV.

  I turn and hurry upstairs. I quickly change into my day clothes, which happen to be a pair of Tencel jeans and a midriff-baring top—did I not own anything that covered a reasonable proportion of my body?—and then shove all my other stuff into my bag. Kelsey is dead to the world again, so I scribble her a note and leave it on her bedside table.

  I toss my bag over my shoulder and head back downstairs and out the front door. Thankfully Andy doesn’t hassle me further.

  Out on the street, I pause to consider my next move. I’m going to assume for now that I’m not physically moving around in the real world, and that I’m still just lying on my bed in Brisbane. I really don’t want to end up like those poor people who take PCP and launch themselves off cliffs, thinking they can fly.

  Would I have driven here? Assuming I’m playing by 1996 rules and it’s June, it’s still three months until I turn seventeen—so I almost certainly wasn’t driving independently. I look up and down the street to see if I recognise any cars, just in case, but I don’t. I learned to drive in my mum’s Mazda 121—what we used to call the bubble car.

  If none of this is real, I should just be able to steal a car, shouldn’t I? But I can’t quite bring myself to do it. Kelsey’s mum’s car isn’t in their carport, and the idea of smashing someone else’s window seems a bit violent. Besides, it’s not like I know how to hotwire a vehicle.

  I sigh. It looks like I’ll be walking or catching public transport home.

  Home.

  Home in 1996 is here in Shell Beach, and about a ten-minute drive from where I’m currently standing.

  I don’t really want to walk, though. Maybe I’ll call a cab. I open my bag and rummage around for my mobile.

  Good grief. Was my phone really this huge? I pull out a massive block from the depths of my luggage and stare at the handset. It weighs a ton.

  What was the cab number again?

  And then I realise I should probably check whether I have enough money for a cab. Going through my purse, I find two twenty dollar notes and a handful of change. How much would a taxi cost? Surely not more than twenty. But then will I be leaving myself short later? This is all too hard.

  I shove the phone back in my bag and see a public transport timetable folded up in there. It says a bus should be along in a few minutes. Okay. That might be the safer option.

  I head over to the bus shelter and wait. The surrounding houses look so new! I haven’t been back to this street for more than five years in my real life, but I remember feeling a little depressed when I saw how run-down all the buildings were last time I passed through.

  The bus arrives and I jump on, handing the driver some coins. I hope it’s enough. He gives me a strange look and hands nearly all of them back.

  Ha-ha. Whoops.

  I gaze out the window at my old neighbourhood and wonder if I could do anything I wanted. Could I fly? (Don’t worry, I’m not planning on hurling myself off a building to find out.) Or run super fast? I figure I can experiment later. We pass the supermarket that looks like it’s only just had its grand opening…and the dozens of holiday apartment buildings all painted in shades of salmon and burnt yellow. In the future, they’re all white. Personally, I like the salmon and burnt yellow. They seem less sterile somehow.

  We pass a street that is barely populated apart from a service station. Wow. In just over twenty years, this place will be heaving with the trendy paleo crowd and weekend cyclists.

  My bus pulls up at the entrance to my housing estate and I hop off. I start the walk I did countless times as a teenager, but which I haven’t done since I graduated high school.

  Making sure no one is watching, I leap into the air and flap my arms, just in case I have special dream superpowers. I only succeed in tripping over and skinning my knee. The pain feels very much real. Interesting.

  When I reach my front yard, I almost burst into tears. It doesn’t look wholly different to how it is in the future, only my parents don’t live here anymore. They’re now in an apartment in Noosaville that doesn’t even exist in 1996.

  I go inside, but I don’t see anyone right away, so I head to my bedroom to do some research.

  Oh, my bedroom! How I’ve missed you! My parents wasted no time converting this space into a guest room once I moved out after high school. My eyes suck in all the details—the pine dresser with mirror on top…all my makeup and jewellery…my midnight blue bed covers with the gold moons and suns printed on them…the matching lamp…and of course, the oversized stereo on the floor in the corner that can play both cassettes and CDs.

  I hurry over to my bedside drawer and pull out my diary. I open up to the last entry and see it’s the day before the one I was reading this morning. Which means today is Saturday the 22nd June, the same date as the future.

  I quickly skim through the pages I read this morning to re-confirm a few details. Ah, that’s right. I’m in my second last year of school and I have my learner’s licence, but I can only drive Mum’s car if she or Dad are with me. I work at the local video store and I’m currently dating Todd.

  Oh no. Todd.

  There’s a knock on my door. “Anna? Can I come in?”

  I freeze. Mum.

  I quickly shove the diary back in the bedside drawer and casually open my bedroom door.

  I should have been prepared, but I’m not. The tears that were threatening to spill when I was outside now run free. I lean forward and envelop my very young-looking mother in a bear hug. She can’t be much older than I am now.

  She seems taken aback. “Are you okay, honey? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I sob. “It’s just so good to see you.”

  She laughs. “You only saw me last night. What’s all this about?”

  I don’t say anything, continuing to embrace her and bawling like a baby. She looks so good. The last twenty-plus years have not been kind to her. Her and Dad have gone through a lot.

  Mum gently extricates herself from my grasp. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I nod.

  “I was just coming to get your washing. Do you want to add anything from your bag?” she asks.

  “Oh, no, that’s fine. I’ll do it later.”

  My mother looks at me strangely. “Since when do you do your own laundry?”

  “I just want to help. I’d be happy to do everyone’s,” I offer.

  “You’ll do everyone’s washing? Sweetie, you haven’t hit your head or anything, have you?”

  “No! Why don’t you go and relax? I’ll sort out everything soon.”

  Mum shakes her head. “Okaaayyy…”

  She goes to leave and then stops. “I’m heading to The Palace in an hour or so. Did you want to come?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Great.”

  Mum walks off, muttering to herself. I think I’ve weirded her out.

  I have time for a shower before we leave, so I head to the bathroom and strip down. It doesn’t feel right to ogle my teenage body, so I avert my eyes and step into the shower to wash my hair. My crazy,
frizzy, pre-coloured hair. The scent of the Revlon Flex shampoo on the shower rack triggers off a whole new set of feelings. So does my Body Shop strawberry bath wash. I once read that out of all of the senses, smell is most closely linked to memory. I can definitely vouch for that.

  After rinsing, I step out and wrap myself in a towel. After marvelling at my face in the mirror for a moment, I decide that my appearance would be greatly improved by a little eyebrow maintenance. I can’t believe my mum used to let me out of the house with them looking the way they do!

  I quickly shape the two caterpillars perched above my eyes, being sure not to pluck them too thin, but making them look a million times better than before. I inspect the result. I can see traces of the older me in there. The dark green eyes…the nose with the slight curve in it…the freckles on my cheeks.

  I look in the cabinet for my hair dryer and straightener.

  The dryer is easy enough to find, but the straightener? Where on earth is my straightener?

  Is that it? I reach into the back and pull out what I assumed was the straightener, but is actually a crimper.

  Oh no. Now I remember. Straighteners didn’t properly exist in the mid-nineties. At least not for the general public to purchase.

  I blow-dry my frizz into submission and then drag the crimper through it in a continuous motion, remembering that this is what I actually did to smooth out my locks back in 1996.

  I then change back into my clothes. I can’t seem to find anything that covers my belly, but I suppose when you’re sixteen and have a flat stomach, there’s no reason not to flaunt it.

  After a quick spritz of CK One, I head downstairs.

  I can’t wait to see what happens next.

  ***

  When I reach the ground floor, I hear noise coming from the living room. I head in that direction and see my sister Amy sitting on the floor, watching what looks like the Top 40 on Rage.

  If I had been shocked at how young my mum looked, I am absolutely blown away by twelve-year-old Amy. She couldn’t possibly ever have been that sweet-looking, could she? The Amy I know now is a tattoo-covered hipster living in New Farm. We’re not very close, because she thinks I’m too conservative.

  “Hey,” I venture cautiously.

  She looks up. “Oh, hey.” She stares at me. “What have you done to yourself?”

  For a second, I wonder what she’s talking about. And then she points to my eyebrows.

  “Oh, um, just a bit of grooming.”

  “They look good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re home early.”

  “Am I? I guess I couldn’t sleep. And then Kelsey’s brother was being weird.”

  Amy wrinkles her nose. “That Andy totally creeps me out.”

  I’m not sure I ever had this conversation with Amy in the real 1996. “Has he ever done anything to you?”

  “No, but it’s the way he looks at me. I don’t trust him.”

  “You shouldn’t. Make sure you’re never alone with him.”

  “Don’t worry. We will never be alone together.”

  In the future, Andy is caught with a bunch of drugs and suspected of spiking women’s drinks with Rohypnol before presumably taking advantage of them. I don’t know all the details, because Kelsey and I had stopped hanging out before he was arrested.

  I look over at the TV. Shaggy’s Boombastic is playing.

  “I haven’t heard this song in ages!” I say excitedly.

  “What are you talking about? You play it on repeat. I’m sure I heard you listening to it yesterday.”

  “Oh, I guess it just seems like ages,” I bluff.

  “You’re so weird.” Amy looks back at the screen.

  I hear someone come up behind me and I turn just in time to see Dad leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, sweetie.”

  Again, I should have been ready for it, but Dad’s younger appearance also catches me off-guard. He has a lot more hair in 1996, and his eyes are brighter.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “What’s going on here?” He draws a circle in the air around my face.

  “Nothing.”

  “I like how you normally look,” he grumbles.

  “I think she looks great,” Amy defends me.

  I shoot her a grateful smile.

  Mum appears in the living room. “Ready to go?” she asks me.

  “Yep.”

  She directs her attention to Amy. “Are you sure you don’t want to come too?”

  “No, thanks. I want to make a mix tape to take to Sam’s later.” I note the piece of paper beside her. We both used to write down all the songs in the Top 40 and then work out which ones were cassette-worthy. I experience a pang of nostalgia. Sure, we now have Spotify and YouTube, but there was something special about waiting the whole week for the Top 40 show on Saturday morning and taping your favourite tunes.

  “We won’t be long,” Mum tells Dad. “You’re working at four, aren’t you?” she asks me.

  I have no idea. “Uh, I think so?”

  “We’ll make sure we’re back by three.”

  Dad waves us off. Amy is already watching the next song. Ugh. The Macarena. I don’t miss that at all.

  “Oh, I should put the washing on before we go,” I say, remembering my promise.

  Mum laughs. “It’s okay, honey. I’ll do it when we get home. But thanks for the offer. I appreciate that you even thought to suggest it.”

  I follow her out to the garage.

  You know what? I’m quite looking forward to spending the day with my mum.

  THREE

  My heart swells at the sight of our old Toyota Tarago. My parents must have had a taste for bubble-shaped vehicles in the nineties.

  I jump into the passenger side. Mum gets in the driver’s seat and reverses out onto the road. Just like in the future, she has the radio tuned to easy listening. A song by the Fine Young Cannibals is playing and I smile sadly, watching her bounce around to the beat. It’s been a long time since I saw her with this much energy.

  In 2001, Mum developed chronic fatigue syndrome. For several years, she struggled to even get out of bed and do basic things like brush her teeth and shower. She spent a ton of money on specialists, but no one could give her a diagnosis. Some doctors even told her it was psychological and she just needed to snap out of it. Or they told her she needed to follow an exhausting exercise regime that just made her feel worse.

  It wasn’t until a couple of years ago that she found someone who had experience with the condition and called it by its official name, myalgic encephalomyelitis, or ME. The problem is, they still don’t really know what causes it, and everyone has different symptoms, so Mum is always trying different things in the hope that a magic combination will finally cure her.

  Since developing it, she’s had periods of time where she almost seems normal, but then she’ll relapse again. This year seems to have been particularly hard on her. Whenever I call and visit, she can barely muster the energy to talk. It’s been really tough on Dad too. He had to take a demotion at work so he could spend more time looking after Mum on her bad days. And now that they’re both nearing retirement, they don’t have a lot of money. I think their final years are going to be difficult if Amy and I don’t chip in financially. At least they have somewhere to live, and they’ve been able to save the profit from the sale of our family home.

  I study the woman sitting next to me now. She was so cool in the nineties! I even like her clothes. Today she’s wearing a black-and-gold paisley dress with spaghetti straps and a black cardigan. She even has on black knee-high boots. How did I not covet her wardrobe?

  “You look great, Mum,” I say.

  She stops bouncing. “Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?”

  “I’m serious. I really like your dress. And those boots.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  We drive in silence the rest of the way to The Palace Mall. The highway mustn’t have been completed
for another couple of years, because we’re on the less direct coast road. And while it’s at least ten minutes longer, I always preferred it anyway, catching glimpses of the ocean through the trees. Today the water is clear and flat. Of course, it’s the middle of winter, so it would also be very cold.

  The Palace is much smaller in 1996 than it is in the future. They’ve done at least two expansions between now and then. (Or is it then and now? I’m so confused.) Mum and I park in the undercover carpark and go inside. We pass the food court, which still contains the same kebab stall and Chinese food buffet as it does in the future, and head towards Target.

  Just as we near the store’s entry, someone calls out to Mum. We both turn and see a woman hurrying towards us. Oh no. It’s Mary, a woman who Mum met through an art class, and who was the biggest gossip in town. That’s one person I haven’t missed seeing recently.

  “Hey, girls!” She beams at us both. “How are you?”

  Mum smiles her professional hostess smile—the one she used to reserve for people she didn’t particularly like. “Not bad. What about you?”

  “Oh, I’m good. Just buying a few bits and pieces.” She zones in on Mum. “Eve, I’ve been meaning to catch up with you so I could tell you what happened with Wendy the other day.”

  Mum shoots me an apologetic look.

  “I’m actually just out with Anna at the moment. We’re having a bit of a mother-daughter morning…”

  “Why don’t the two of you join me for a cup of tea? Anna would be fine with that, wouldn’t you, hon?”

  “Well…”

  “Anna has an appointment at the beautician in a few minutes,” Mum cuts in. She looks at me pointedly. “Why don’t you meet me back here in an hour?”

  “Uh, okay. Yeah. Thanks.”

  Poor Mum. She’s always been too nice for her own good. I’ll owe her for sacrificing herself so I could be free. Which is a strange thought, considering this is probably all just a hallucination.