Second place in the Balmacewen Writing Competition.

Tuesday, 15 April 2000.

It’s been a month since the attack. The attack that destroyed the whole of the South Island. The attack that took away the lives of the Grandmas’ the Grandfathers’ the sons’ the daughters’ the mums’ and the dads’. It’s still a vivid memory. No one knows who the attackers were. I guess the police gave up. That’s what I think anyway.

I lost my left arm in the attack. My big sister, Moana, lost her hearing in her right ear and her thumb on her left hand. I guess, we were the lucky ones. The small bunch of them.

“Come on Nikau!” I hear Ma yell from the kitchen downstairs. I moan and look over to Moana’s bed, surprised not to see her in it. “Just a minute!” I crawl coldly out of my duvet and I’m suddenly hit by the crisp winter floor. The stub of my left arm whacks against the floor. I grimace in discomfort and waddle sleepily down the stairs.

“O-M-G Nikau!” Moana chuckles. “You look-!” more laughing.

I push her and roll my eyes. “Whatever” and I sit down to eat my toast. Moana is still chuckling quietly to herself and so is Ma. I soon get why when I look at my reflection in my plate. “Ugh!” I say while ruffling my long hair. “I look terrible!” More laughs.

The laughs fade soon enough. I look around me. I see Ma’s rich, chocolate eyes, filled with knowledge, kindness, and pureness, but I also see memories of the attack. I see the bomb convulse into the air as the morning sky turns into darkness. I see a coat of blue sky cower away from the musky, black air. I see blood, screams, and terror.

I’m lucky to have Ma. Moana is lucky to have Ma. Whetu, my cat is lucky to have Ma. Actually, Whetu is lucky to even be alive. I saved him. He saved me.

Moana was drowning. I was trapped. Ma was suffocating. Ma was one of the last to be found. She almost died.

Pa did die. No one talks about Pa anymore, though. No one wants to. No one found his body after the attack. I don’t think the police intended to anyway.

“More toast Nikau?” Moana asks. “I can’t finish mine.”

“Sure,” I say and my right arm reaches out to grab it. The phone suddenly rings from the next room. Ma gets up to go and get it. Moana leaves the table. Soon after I finish my toast, I get up to leave as well, but Ma comes back and grabs my right hand with worry.

“What is it Ma?” I say impatiently. Ma’s brown eyes are filled with worry. “Go and get Moana” She whispers. “It’s important.”

I run upstairs while yelling, “Moana! Hurry up, Ma wants us!” I hear her stumbling down the hallway. “Coming!”

We approach the kitchen. Ma is sitting on her special chair as she stares out the window. She does this when she's thinking. It looks like she’s thinking pretty hard right now.

“They found your Pa,” Ma says shakily. Moana and I look at each other in pure shock. Moana gasps “Did you just say-”

“Yes. And he’s alive.” Ma is crying. “In critical condition, but he’s alive.”

I had just come to accept that my life would be ordinary when extraordinary things began to happen.

Moana is driving. Ma is in the passenger seat still sniffing. I'm in the back staring out the window. Today, the island seems more dull than usual. The blue sky is tinted grey from incoming clumps of clouds. The grass is brittle and crisp and worn down from countless barefooted monsters clamping down on it. The vast ocean is soaked with metallic silver and green oil and seagulls circle above searching fruitlessly for food.

Today is Tuesday. Pa went missing on a Tuesday. Pa was found on a Tuesday. I don't know if Tuesday is a lucky day or an unlucky day.

We arrive at the hospital. Moana grabs my right hand and squeezes it tightly. I squeeze it back.

“Why are you scared Moana?” I whisper. “I don't know, why are you scared?” She whispers back.

I don't reply.

Ma walks up to the reception desk. “Kei hea te taku tahu? tango ahau ki a ia inaianei!” The lady looks at her confused. “Um. Kiora?” She seems unsure. I walk up to her. “Jack Parata,” I say. She leads us to his room.

Moana is gripping my hand harder than ever. Ma is crying. I stare. Where is Pa? Which one is he?

I hear a familiar voice hum from the right.

Low, thick and throaty. I look to the voice.

I can’t help but stare. Crusty, brittle blood rims the corners of the voices jet black eyes. Brown and withered skin creep up its fingertips and ears folded open with a thin layer cracked scab over the open wound. Leg lost. Fingers removed. Red t-shirt stained even redder but the similarity to my Pa was overwhelming. I ran over to him and hugged his chest tighter than ever. It’s been a month since I have seen him but it feels like a year. I remember every quirk of his, his big, warm hands that fit firmly in my grip, his rough, unruly hair that stuck up in every direction and his dimples under his eyes when he cackled his cracked, feathered laugh,

I hear him laugh now. Just like before. Just like always.

I’m about to let go when I hear the nurse whisper in my ear. “Pretty extraordinary, isn't it” and she hobbles off in her red stilettos.

It’s been two weeks since we visited Pa. It’s Tuesday again. I’m sitting at the kitchen table. I hear a knock at the door. It seems like a desperate knock so I reach for the door handle and twist. She comes barging in before I could say hello.

“Go get your family.” she says.

So I go and get my family.

We get downstairs and we are faced with one of the most terrific things that have happened to us lately. His big hands grip tightly to the arms of the wheelchair. His chocolate cheeks tinted red and his big smile shows his yellow, uneven teeth. Ma is crying happy tears from her squinted eyes and is hugging his neck tightly.

“Pa!” Moana and I yell in unison and hug his chest tighter than we have ever held anything before.

Today is Tuesday. Pa went missing on a Tuesday. Pa was found on a Tuesday and we have been reunited with Pa on a Tuesday.

I have decided that Tuesday is a very lucky day.

Darcy Monteath