The Sky So Heavy Read Online Free PDF Page B

the guy who owns the little supermarket, nearly my whole life. Or maybe it is my whole life. He’s been there as long as I can remember. When I was small, Dad used to take me up the hill to the supermarket on a Sunday afternoon before the footy started on television. He would hoist me up onto his back when my legs got tired. He’d buy me some Wizz Fizz or a bag of mixed lollies. The freckles were my favourite. I used to give the banana lollies to Dad. Them and the lolly teeth – they used to freak me out.
    Starvos was open even on Christmas Day, so I figured he wouldn’t let something like a power shortage stop him. Sure enough, the front door was open and he was sitting behind the front counter, the store dimly lit with a few mozzie candles. Starvos was in a T-shirt despite the cold. I suppose that was his winter uniform, in summer he always wore a white singlet. He was rolling a cigarette, which he then stuck behind his ear.
    ‘Mr Findlay!’
    ‘Mr Starvos.’
    ‘What you need today?’
    ‘Newspaper. Oh and some canned stuff for Ellen. Can you believe the snow?’
    ‘It is crazy.’ He shook his head and clicked his tongue. ‘No paper I’m afraid. The truck not come. There is not a lot of canned food either; everyone has been buying up.’
    He was right. There wasn’t a lot left. The general population did seem to have an aversion to baked beans in barbecue sauce, though. I filled a basket with a selection of soups and canned vegetables. Starvos wrote the prices in a notebook.
    ‘Eighteen-dollars-twenty, my friend.’
    I gave him the money. He bagged up the cans and handed them to me.
    I walked back down the hill as I had done so many times, but now the scene was completely alien. I couldn’t quite comprehend the weight of it. When we were little kids we used to ask Dad if it would ever snow here. His answer was a definite no. But on really cold mornings I would still run to the window, half-believing that I would find a scene like in all those American Christmas movies. Miracle on Bellbird Crescent. And here it was. Only it was like someone had leaked brown ink into the snow dome. It was no winter wonderland.
    When I got to Ellen’s, the kids’ faces were pressed up against the window and they breathed blooms of fog against the glass. They watched me walk up the front path. I knocked on the door and Ellen answered.
    ‘Thank you so much,’ she said, taking the bags from me. ‘Hopefully it’ll tide us over. This can’t last that long. They’d have stuff in place, don’t you think? So we don’t run out of food?’
    ‘I don’t know. I guess if there’s no electricity and all the roads are snowed under . . .’
    ‘Yeah. I guess it’s best to be stocked up.’
    ‘I’ll see you later, anyway.’
    ‘Okay. And thanks again.’
    She shut the door and I turned to walk down the path. Zac was gone from the window, but Zadie was there, watching me. I waved and she waved back, pressing her nose against the glass.
    Lokey’s Jaffa-red Datsun was parked at the top of our driveway. I navigated my way carefully down the slope. Outside our front door I took off my shoes, my hoodie and the tracksuit pants I was wearing over my jeans. I left them on the porch and went inside. Lokey was in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal. His shoes had left puddles across the tiles.
    ‘Dude!’ he said. ‘Snow! Can you believe it? It’s fully awesome.’
    ‘I can’t believe you drove here, there’s ice on the road.’
    ‘It was sweet. Bit slidey. I brought my board down.’
    ‘What? Your snowboard? The snow’s patchy as.’
    ‘Yeah, but I reckon I could get a sick run down your front lawn.’
    Max walked in holding an esky lid. ‘Will this do?’ he asked Lokey.
    ‘Maxi mum . That’s awesome, dude.’
    ‘Hey Lokey, can you put your shoes outside?’ I got a roll of paper towel and then reconsidered and put on some washing-up gloves.
    ‘Who the hell are you, the cleaning lady?’ Lokey took his shoes off and