“Top or bottom?”
The question seemed innocent enough and for a fleeting moment I allowed the optimistic hope of all parents of teenage girls to creep in and allow me to believe that she was being genuine and mannerly. But in the same moment my hopes soared, they were instantly shot down as I saw the sarcastic sneer creep around the edges of her mouth.
Years of navigating the tricky terrain of raising a teen had taught me to choose my battles with care. So, rather than take the bait, I settled onto the edge of the bottom bunk, my designated perch for the next two days. Emma, in one effortless movement, leapt onto the top bunk, gracefully resembling a panther stalking her territory.
It promised to be a long weekend, and adding to the tension of our cramped quarters wouldn’t do either of us any good. So, like all parents eventually do, I extended an olive branch, a peace offering in the form of a hearty meal, dessert included, served in the dining carriage.
But Emma, her eyes fixed firmly on the glowing screen of her phone, was too busy curating the perfect Instagram selfies for her legion of anonymous admirers. Without so much as a word, she declined the offer with a subtle shake of her head, her bag spilling a small mountain of chocolate and salty snacks onto the bed.
I considered launching into a speech about the long journey ahead, the need for a proper meal to fuel us, and the slim chance of getting another decent meal until tomorrow. But a single sideways glance from her, sharp and dismissive, cut me short. I knew then that this was another battle I wouldn’t win. As I stepped out of the cabin, Emma was already holding court online, her friends laughing at the drama of her tragic situation. They pitied her, sympathised with her forced captivity, and cheered her bravery at spending a whole weekend with her mother.
I sat down with my Chicken Korma, the empty cabin around me amplifying the loneliness that crashed over me like a wave. For a moment, my thoughts drifted to my own mother, how I missed her, how much I longed for her presence. What I wouldn’t give to be trapped in a small cabin with her, just for one weekend.
The raucous laughter of a group of teenage backpackers nearby snapped me from my thoughts. Five of them, laughing and shoving each other, their voices rising with a joy that seemed so alien to my current situation. They were so free, so utterly unconcerned with the world around them. As their laughter spilled out into the night, I found myself smiling at their carefree joy.
My thoughts returned to Emma and my heart softened. What teenage girl wouldn’t resent being carted off to a foreign country to spend time with a father she barely knew, someone she only spoke to on the rare occasion of a birthday or a Christmas call? I had sold the idea of this trip so effectively that, for a while, I had even convinced myself it would be a bonding experience, filled with sightseeing, shopping, and laughter. But as the days drew closer, a creeping doubt began to set in. There had been times I’d almost cancelled the whole thing.
But now, there was no turning back. The train was already in motion, and tomorrow, I would have to tell her the truth.
When I handed her the burger she hadn’t asked for she grunted some inaudible acknowledgement. She looked at it like it was something I had scraped from the bottom of my shoe. But there was no verbal protest, no ten minute rant about processed foods, greenhouse gasses, gut microbiomes, soaring cancer rates in young people or the death of the planet that my generation had inflicted on hers. This meant she was hungry, so I silently retreated and eased my way onto the bottom bunk.
I couldn’t help but smile as I heard her enthusiastically munch through the decidedly average burger. The Millennial in me wanted to laugh at the hypocrisy of her generation, how they could shout from the rooftops one day about saving the environment and then devour a cheap burger the next without a second thought. But the mother in me kept quiet, content with the knowledge that, for once, she had something other than chocolate filling her.
The train hummed steadily through the night, its gentle rocking almost soothing. But sleep evaded me. I lay there, listening to the peaceful breathing of my daughter, my beautiful, headstrong girl who was so full of passion and righteous indignation. She had so much fire burning within her.
Tomorrow I would have to tell her the truth, that soon I would be gone and she would have to live with the stranger called Dad. We would be no more.
For now, I can simply enjoy the sound of her breath, picture her radiant smile, and hold onto the hope that one day she will truly come out on top in life.
