Page 21 of Eva Reddy’s Trip of a Lifetime
I try to envision my father sitting cross-legged in one corner, offering percussion accompaniment as my mother gambolled and shimmied around the studio. The image does not compute.
‘I’m hoping you might be able to help me find Madam Debbie. Do you know what she was planning to do in Delhi or where she was going next?’
‘Oh, no. Madam Debbie doesn’t like making plans.’ The girl waves her arms about in imitation of a bird flying away. ‘Your mother likes to go where the mood and the music take her.’
What made me think that madwoman would have anything resembling a plan? The studio is a dead end. My only option is to wait for the next TikTok video and hopefully move quickly enough to intercept impending disaster. But I have no idea when that might happen.
‘I am so sorry I cannot be of more assistance.’ The girl sighs prettily. ‘But I do know where your parents are staying. I can write down the name of the hotel for you. Would that be of help?’
Of course it would be of bloody help! I could now be just one taxi ride away from finding my parents. We’ll be on a plane in hours. All three of us. Maybe I can still escape this infuriating country tonight. I almost break into some vigorous dance moves of my own as I race out the door.
From the journals and miscellaneous paperwork of Eva Reddy (Age 13)
November 25th, 1985
I’m in trouble with Mum. Again. This time it’s over my end-of-year report card.
And not for the reasons other kids get in trouble over their school reports.
My mother is mad because I did well. Like, top-of-the-class well.
But instead of being proud of me, she’s angry that I am ‘not making the most of my opportunities’.
She has some idea that I’m going to be the next William Shakespeare or Jane Austen or Jana Wendt.
So, in the spirit of exceptionalism, I’m going to present this afternoon’s drama in script form.
(HER) GREAT EXPECTATIONS
An original play by Eva Reddy
CAST:
Eva Reddy—Brooke Shields (Yeah—I know it’s a stretch)
Debbie Reddy—Shirley MacLaine
1. THE REDDY FAMILY LOUNGE ROOM
DEBBIE REDDY is sitting in a big armchair, staring straight ahead. She looks like a cruel medieval queen about to send one of her subjects to the guillotine.
CUT TO
EVA REDDY walking through the front door. She clocks her mother’s presence and mood straight away. She knows there’s about to be a scene and she’s going to be in the middle of it.
DEBBIE gestures toward a kitchen seat that she’s positioned directly in front of her. The lounge is set up like a police interrogation room. DEBBIE has even angled the floor lamp so the light will hit EVA’s face. A school report card rests on her lap.
EVA sits down. She is confused. She thought she’d done well this year. It seems her mother does not agree.
DEBBIE sniffs at the air, narrows her eyes and begins her inquisition.
DEBBIE
So, Eva, what have you got to say for yourself?
EVA stares at her shoelaces. She doesn’t have anything to say. At least not until she knows what her mother is talking about.
DEBBIE
Well, speak up.
EVA
(Looking uncertain. She’s pretty sure she failed domestic science, so she goes with that.)
I guess you’re upset about my grade in cooking.
It’s just not my thing. I screwed up the practical exam.
I put too much bicarbonate of soda in my rock cakes.
The recipe said a teaspoon and it didn’t seem enough, so I presumed it was a misprint and added a tablespoon.
It tasted so bad the home economics teacher gagged.
I wasn’t expecting a great mark. But I didn’t think you’d care.
DEBBIE narrows her eyes even more. Eva knows she has given the wrong answer.
DEBBIE
I don’t care if you can or can’t bake bloody rock cakes. Your F’s in cooking and needlework are the only indication that any of my blood runs through your veins.
EVA
(Shifting in her increasingly uncomfortable seat. She is clueless.)
Then I don’t understand. I thought I did well in all my other subjects, especially English.
DEBBIE
(Her expression suggests she’s just laid down a winning hand.)
Exactly.
(She throws the report at EVA with the force of a West Indian opening bowler.)
Take a look at what your English teacher wrote. Go on. Read it out loud.
EVA picks up the report. Her hands are shaking.
EVA
(Reading)
Eva is one of the most talented students I have had the pleasure of teaching.
EVA looks up at her mother. She is hoping DEBBIE is smiling, letting her know that this is all a not very funny joke. But her mother is still glaring at her. She’s not sure if it’s annoyance or hate. If it’s loving concern, it’s really twisted.
EVA
(Continuing to read)
It is such a disappointment that she has chosen not to take up a place in the accelerated English program. I was looking forward to challenging her and seeing just how far she could go.
EVA bows her head. The guillotine is about to drop.
DEBBIE
So do you want to explain what happened?
(DEBBIE waits a few seconds, revelling in the drama.)
Why would you knock back a chance like that? Why do you insist on being so … drab? The world is exciting. It’s an adventure. You should be living large … not cowering in a corner. You should be making the most of every opportunity that comes your way. But no. You just watch life pass you by.
(DEBBIE sniffs dismissively.)
What do you have to say for yourself?
EVA returns her attention to the length and weave of her shoelaces. She knows her mother won’t like her answer.
EVA
(Speaking to the floor. Her voice is barely a whisper.)
I wanted to stay in the same class as my friends.
DEBBIE
(Her eyes are slits now.)
I just don’t get it, Eva. You could be exceptional. Why would you choose to be ordinary?
EVA
(Finally finding the courage to meet her mother’s gaze.)
I’m not choosing to be ordinary. I’m choosing to be happy.
DEBBIE’s face is set as hard and terrifying as a gargoyle. EVA knows she needs to backpedal if she wants to avoid weeks of hostile silence.
EVA
But if the English thing is important to you, I’ll sign up on Monday. I’ll even join the school newspaper for extra credits.
DEBBIE doesn’t say anything. She just stalks out of the room. The queen has spoken. Court dismissed.
And there you have it. I gave in and now I’m going to be stuck in a class with a bunch of nerds for the rest of my high school life. I mean really, is it that bad to want to be like other people? To want to hang out with your friends? Why can’t my mother just let me be myself?
And she’s wrong. I do have big plans. I’m not ordinary. I do want to be exceptional and achieve great things. And I’ll get there too. I just don’t think that accelerated English is a crucial step along the way. I also don’t think I need to be an exhibitionist. I’m not my mother.
I am rather pleased that I thought to mention the school newspaper at the end there, though. I’ve already signed up. My mother doesn’t need to know that. She can chalk it up as a victory.
Life is so much easier that way. Just ask Dad.