Jinny

When Jinnny left the market the drawl was beyond slow. The crackpot professor from somewhere south was slurring over the specials. Fairy floss. Two bags for a dollar. Yoyos at five dollars each. If he were at home, it’d only be the fact that he smelled of weed and had bloodshot eyes that made him stand out, but amongst the Australian crowd his drawl was almost indecipherable. Jinny assumed he was chewing tobacco. It had to explain the lump and the chewing in his mouth.

In the hour that Jinny had wasted, she had avoided a thousand people, one with the noise, alone. Her crimson top, her gregarious headwear... she hadn’t been able to decide on the shorts or the dress, revealing or concealing, it was summer, everyone would have their legs out, she’d cover up. Long black and white stripes, lengthening her little frame. Two strands of golden blonde hair plaited into her natural darkness, extending her lean mirage.

And in that hour, “It’s the chemistry professor.” “He’s made quite a stir.” “The snags were under-cooked.” “That accent... couldn’t they get someone normal to do it?” “The girl over there, I like her dress.” “June loves Tim.” “I wonder if Michel’s coming down.” That last voice was in a French accent, as well as Jinny knew French accents from her fourteen English-speaking months.

Her friends stood in a tight circle. The death metal band that played sweetly on sunny days mesmerised them into blindness as the little girl wandered past. She stood, and they spoke quickly. Excitedly. In some dreams she would be naked and they still wouldn’t see her. Anne arrived. The circle widened.

“Bye. It’s too hot.” And Jinny walked slowly, anticipating a wave, a slight head turn. The professor wouldn’t be quiet. She heard every word.