Georgy Girl

• Monica Robbie, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2016

She was six.
A happy, laughing girl visiting her grandfather in the country. She ran to the door, hammering it with tiny fists, taut with excitement. Her grandfather opened it and lifted her in his arms, laughing. He held her close, and murmured their special greeting.
"Hey there, Georgy Girl!"
She was eight.
She and her grandfather played endless games of hide-and-seek, racing through the old house before collapsing, laughing, on a couch. They sang along to his old Seekers records, their voices mingling, filling the house.
"Hey there, Georgy Girl!"
She was ten.
That year, her visit was more subdued. They didn't play, or sing, or laugh as they had before. She would never tell her grandfather, but her parents had beaten her. Afterwards, they had apologised, but "sorry" does nothing for a broken heart, and she knew it would happen again. Only her grandfather's cheerful greeting could lessen her sadness.
"Hey there, Georgy Girl!"
She was twelve.
That year, she barely spoke at all. She sat on the couch, held down by pain from bruises hidden under clothing and makeup, listening to the music washing past her. Her grandfather tried to get her to speak, but eventually gave up and turned the music up louder. The strains of singing flowed through the air.
"Hey there, Georgy Girl . . ."
She would have been fourteen.
Her grandfather stood by the sad little grave, tears streaming down his face. They had beaten her too hard, too often, and gone too far. He read again the sad, moss-covered inscription.
GEORGIANA HARRIS
1998 - 2012
GOODBYE, GEORGY GIRL