“So what they did was, they put the red pockets underneath this mountain of shots, so the guy in the lion’s head had to down all the shots to get to the money” Hannah says, as she tells me about the Chinese New Year celebrations in Sydney. “Shit,” I say, “He do it?”. She quickly replied, “Well…yeah, he had to get the money,”, sounding as if I’d asked her if she’d rather be a car or a person, given the choice. “But he got ice cream the day after, so it was all good. He was trying to lion-dance while eating ice cream! It was the cutest thing ever.”
“Maaaaan, that sounds sick.” I think for a bit. “You know, I used to be in those lions when I was small, when I was like ten or something. Did it for seven years.”
“You probably couldn’t have gotten to the red pocket money, then. Actually, now that I think about it, you’re Asian, so you probably couldn’t do it now.”
“I…yeah. Well, I was the ass of the lion anyway, so I wouldn’t have gotten the chance.” Hannah‟s eyes widen. “How did you lift the guy in the head onto your shoulders when you were so small?”
“I actually didn’t. A very old but very strong Chinese man would tap me on the shoulder and I’d switch with him. You wouldn’t have known if I didn’t tell you.” I paused for emphasis. “One second, an old Chinese man slaps the lion’s ass, the next second, he’s a ten year-old boy. Asian powers, yo.” I fail to tell her this at the time, but, at one of the lion dances, an intoxicated Anglo man came up to me after the lion dance and told me, enunciating every word slowly, despite Marrickville being my birthplace, “You are very strong boy! I see you holding man on your shoulders. You. Very. Strong. Boy!”
I remember his head nodding as he talked, as if he were a red-faced pigeon pecking at chips in the town square. Something comes back to me as I am talking. “Oi, y’know what? Fuck those years. That was the worst shit ever. Every year, we performed at this children’s festival in Cherrybrook, and the only thing I remember was all the kids getting glow-sticks and lanterns on sticks with fuckin’ lit candles in them, and they’d see the lions dancing and they’d be all, Ohhhh, hee hee hee, ha ha ha, let’s see what happens when we shove a glow-stick up the lion’s bum!!! And guess what happened?”
“Great fortune…was bestowed upon all?” Hannah shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“I got a glow-stick up my ass, that’s what. And it fucking hurt. You ever get a glow-stick up your ass?” Hannah laughs. I lean to the left and massage my bottom with one hand, frowning. Hannah stops laughing. “You should get back into it,” she says. I stare at her. Did she hear anything I told her about glow-sticks? As if reading my mind, she continues, “I mean, if you did it now, you would get ice cream. Or free booze at the very least. In your mouth too…you know, instead of up your bum.”
Seeing that I am not convinced, she says, “Forget it. Let’s get ice cream. My shout.”
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