Getting Over It

“I can’t do it mummy!” I screw my face into the Gold Coast wind as it changes. 

“You can.” Mum soothes my convulsing back, “When you’re ready.” Mum leaves, leaping forward over dunes to reach Dad and my sister, Skye. They play in crash cymbals of white and teal. The sun and his blue friends are mosaics in my vision as I compete for attention away from Skye’s brown eyes. Toes curl as my hands stretch from earth to sea, “Mummy!” A family photo pose. I sketch over the gummy grin with stormy eyes of Brisbane instead. Mum’s brown dewed cumulonimbus eyes acknowledge me two steps backwards to stride over the ocean pool’s coping. Dad glances encouragement. Walk! You can do it! His eyes grey slightly as I’m ferried to the water. Mum dips my toes in the ocean and smiles, “How’s that?” 

Guitar strings. Tuba’s lullaby. Skye sprays Dad’s eyes. Dad splashes back at Skye. Mum passes me into the green. I’m buffeted by cymbal beats to meet Dad’s Navy eyes, “See? Was that so bad?” He grins his signature chuckle. Close reflection in the teal, I gasp. I see sails and decks in Brisbane weather. He did it.