Hello God (3 page)

I’ve been wondering. Were you ever a child? If you were a child once, doesn’t that mean you had parents?

What exactly is a spirit? Mum says that’s what you are, but when I ask her to explain more, she just says, ‘Hmmmmmmmm.’ I don’t think she knows.

I asked my dad about you. He said that he can’t believe that everything around us came from nothing. But he couldn’t explain what a spirit is
either, except that it’s probably something you can’t see but you can feel inside. Then he looked confused.

Today my parents had such big smiles. It was as if the Harbour Bridge had been turned upside down and stuck on their faces.

Dad nudged Mum and said she should tell me.

Mum nudged Dad and said he should tell me.

Then my parents, who are often quite grown-up, gave me a pointed party hat, and they put on hats too. They blew their party trumpets and, smiling soppily, my mum and dad told me what the fuss was about.

‘WE’RE HAVING A BABY!’

I was so surprised, God, I got the hiccups. I thought they’d made a mistake and maybe they meant we were getting a puppy or a baby budgie, so I asked them to tell me again.

‘WE’RE HAVING A BABY!’

A baby? A brother or sister for me? I was shocked. Aren’t they too old for this?

Now, God, I expect you knew about this already. It just depends on how busy you’ve been.

My parents looked happier than they’ve ever looked before, happier even than when I won an award at school for being the most improved student in my class.

God, what I’m wondering is why do I feel mixed up about this baby coming? Shouldn’t I feel happy? Stephanie has a baby cousin and I saw her cuddling him at the beach, and she looked happy. So explain to me, why have I got this feeling that there are spiders crawling under my skin?

Also, I can’t stop hiccupping. It stops me talking, so in a way that’s not such a bad thing, because there’s not much I want to say right now.

God, I keep looking for signs that you’re hearing me. There are still ants drowning in puddles.

There is nothing more boring than baby talk. Dad takes Mum to the doctor. The doctor says the baby and Mum are doing fine. Mum and Dad are talking about baby names. They can’t agree. Dad likes the name Robert if it’s a boy and Mum says that’s too ordinary. She’d like Zach. Dad wants Roberta if it’s a girl (he’s really stuck) and Mum says never, ever will a child of hers be called Roberta. She likes Amber. I told them I’ll do the choosing if it gets too hard. Then I hiccupped.

They don’t want to know if it’s a boy or a girl
before the baby is born. I’ve been thinking, God, as I have no choice in the matter, that maybe you could make the baby a boy. I want to stay the only girl in the family. If the baby’s a boy, and most boys are gross, then my parents will remember how cute I am.

Dad is painting the spare room yellow. Mum’s bought new curtains. She looks at baby booties and teddy bears when we go out shopping. She tells me how much fun it will be to have a baby brother or sister. How it will make our family complete. Now that’s very insulting, God, because I thought our family was complete. It seems I wasn’t enough for them by myself.

I’ve still got the hiccups. Not all the time, just when I want to speak, and sometimes even when I don’t. Everyone at school laughs at my hiccups. They are very loud, God, and when the teacher asks a question and I try to answer, out comes a gigantic hiccup.

When it happened today some of the kids threw bits of paper at me, and then someone began
to burp, and one of the boys made this vile smell, then three kids coughed and the teacher threw her hands up in the air just as the lunch bell rang.

Stacey and Danielle couldn’t stop laughing at my hiccups. I was so annoyed that I stamped my foot and ran off to the library. But the library isn’t the best place for hiccups, God.

Stephanie was there. She was sitting at a table with her head bent over a book. When I hiccupped she looked up at me. She didn’t laugh. She just gave a faint smile, like the Mona Lisa. She stood up and walked away and came back with a glass of water. ‘Hold your breath for ten seconds before drinking,’ she whispered. So I did, being desperate. Then she sat down again and began to read some more.

You know what? The hiccups went. Just like that. ‘Hey, thanks,’ I said to her. Then I walked over to her table and asked her what she was reading. She showed me her book. It was all about space travel.

‘Your mum and dad have invited my family to dinner at your place on Saturday, so I’m just reading up.’

I felt my hiccups coming back again, so I held my breath and sipped some more water.

I know that she was kind to me. I know that the other kids think she’s dorky. I now also know that she’s coming over for dinner. Stacey and Danielle are
in
kids. I’ll be an
out
kid if I become friends with Stephanie.

I don’t know what to do. Maybe, God, Stephanie could get the flu so she can’t come for dinner on Saturday. I think it would make things easier.

Thanks for listening to me. Stephanie got sick, so she and her parents didn’t come to our place for dinner.

I feel amazingly powerful. To think that I was able to get you to do that. I know that you’ll be kind and just give her a one-day flu. Nothing nasty. She’ll hardly know she’s been sick. And she can read lots of books in bed and make up more stories about the bear and the pussycat.

Stephanie is still sick. It’s been a week now. Go easy, please. I wish I hadn’t wished her sick. I really wish I hadn’t. You’re involved too, God. You shouldn’t have listened to me. I’m just a kid.

Anyway, I went to see her on the weekend. I felt guilty. I took her one of my space fantasy books. Her mother made me stand at the bedroom door, in case Stephanie’s bugs had wings.

Stephanie lay in bed. Her room had pink wallpaper and lots of bookshelves. She gave me a tiny smile, but didn’t say much. Her eyes were
bigger than they usually are, and her skin looked pale and damp.

‘I’d prefer hiccups,’ she said to me. That made us both laugh.

Her mother handed Stephanie the book and I could see that Stephanie was really pleased.

Then I left.

I’ve been thinking, God, that there isn’t much wrong with Stephanie. I mean the dorky stuff.

At school today, Stacey said she was glad that little pest Stephanie wasn’t at school.

When I asked why, God, both Danielle and Stacey stared at me. It was like they were identical twins, with identical stares. Something had split between the three of us.

‘Are you saying she’s not a pest?’

‘Have you become friends with that dork? You’ll become one too, you know.’

‘What’s gone wrong with you, Kate?’

‘We’ve been your friends. We don’t even call you
four-eyes.
’

I couldn’t speak, God. I just looked at them as if I was seeing them for the very first time. Through my four-eyes.