Back Together

• Jayani Amarabandu, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2012

Here I am, sitting next to the old oak tree at school. I’ve been waiting for half an hour, but there was still no sign of her.

She was the girl I saw every day, everyone wanted to be her best friend. She excelled in her studies and was almost good at everything. She drew stunning sketches that would take you into another world... a world of fascination. People say she was gifted to have such a rich beauty – she had gold, wavy hair and rosy cheeks, and she had pretty blue eyes. I think the most amazing thing about her was her poems. She’d read them to me every day, her voice like music to my ears. She also liked hanging around me, telling me things about her life and asking me about what I thought about her poems. But the same question keeps running through my head – Why of all people would she want to be around me, someone with no friends, someone whose bullied, someone who has no parents, why me?

Finally, she came, but doesn’t see me. “Hi”, I say. She looks towards the direction my voice came from, and glances back at me. “Oh, Hi”, she says, as she makes her way to the bench. I wait for her to say something and then she finally spoke. “You know, I guess you’re the only one that understands me for who I am, and I enjoy being around you”. When she ended her sentence I wish she would talk forever. It was the nicest thing I’ve heard anyone say to me. “Thanks”, I say. Then she said “I’ve got something to ask you, do you still remember what happened to your parents that day?” My heart beats frantically, not knowing what to say. It brought back memories, bad memories.

My Mum, Dad, sister and I were driving back home from the bush on a dark gloomy night. My sister and I were giggling, about all of the funny things we were going to tell our friends, while Mum and Dad were at the front, talking about getting a good rest. As we drove through the dull streets, we saw two flashing lights heading straight towards us. Dad hit the brakes and the tyres screeched, but it was too late. The two cars collided, turning into a pile of rubble. I was scared, and I helplessly looked over at my mother. I started screaming at her, but no matter how hard I yelled, she couldn’t hear me. Blood began to seep from her head. My parents were dead. My sister and I were separated and never saw each other again.

Tears began to trickle down my face. I nod. I start to ask her “How di...” – but I was interrupted, “Did you have a sister called Cassie?” I nod in amazement. She responded with a few words that would remain with me forever, “My foster Mum gave me the name Daniella...but my real name is Cassie.


By Jayani Amarabandu
Grade 6 student, Meadow Heights Primary School