Reminders

When she was around five years old her mother had made her wear red woolen tights to church with her black velvet dress and black patent leather Mary-Janes. She hated those tights, the itchy scratchiness of them, the way they bagged between her thighs, pulling them together, needing constant hitching. All her life since, she had avoided wearing anything that itched her, had avoided tights. Now she just wished someone cared enough to want her legs to be warm. And a tough pair of ill-fitting tights keeping her thighs together wouldn’t be a bad idea either.

This place is pretty busy, do you mind if I sit here? I think I’m the only Aussie in this whole place, full of poms and Micks – makes for a good bit of fun though, huh? Oh, you’re Aussie too? Must be fate! I’m Richard, don’t call me Dick, I fucken hate it. So what are you doing here, traveling too? Oh, a local? I’m stopping for a few days before I head further north. Got me van all kitted out, bit of a surfing safari gone wrong. Took a wrong turn - nah thought I’d see a bit more than the usual west or east coasts. You been here long? This weather’s a fuken pearla, I’m from Vic, fuken freezing down there this time of year. Wanna beer?

She had good friends – great friends - but now they had partners and kids. Once they laughed over Cleo’s “10 best sexual positions” and compared hangover cures – coffee Big M versus Gatorade, pies versus Vegemite on toast. Now conversations were punctuated with vocabulary out of her reach: fixed or variable loans? Colic and croup (was there a difference?), baby slings vs backpacks, nipple chap, stitches in places too unbearable to think about. She wanted that, and didn’t, see-sawing between love of her freedom and loneliness. She found it difficult to drum up enthusiasm over stories of toilet training success. Smelling like her friend’s breast milk when their babies threw up on her shoulder did not feel like bonding. But it did feel like something, it did tug at her breasts and heart, made her abdomen tighten.

She justified it easily – they were tied by mortgages and toddlers, extensions and in one case, a nasty separation, while she was tied to nothing and no one. They envied her life, she knew that. A couple were somewhere overseas, raking in big cash, but her skills were not that sought after O.S and she felt too old for backpacking now. She had done it years ago but would be the equivalent of a geriatric in any hostel. So there wasn’t much keeping in touch, nothing in common but their youth and all its silliness. It was like looking back on an old, dated movie.

I like girls with short hair, I read once that it means they’re more confident. I like a girl who knows what she’s about. My last girlfriend had long hair, spent more time fucken washing and doing shit to it than she did on anything else – what a waste of time! Lucky I’ve got two sisters so I’ve got more patience than most guys I reckon, I grew up waitin fucken hours for the bathroom. Not a metro sexual, never developed the habit of usin mirrors much, cause Kate and Sally would always be hoverin around them. But you don’t seem so high maintenance, you look more sporty – what do ya do? Surfin for me, but I don’t mind the odd run if I can’t get out in the water.

She had a good family life growing up – she was loved, accepted, spoilt. Had she been loved too much? Is that why these men she’d loved could never love her enough? Why she pushed them away because they couldn’t/wouldn’t continue to prove their dedication to her? Why she moved on when the passion waned, before they forgot to remind her that she was special?

And now where was her family? For twenty years she’d been trying to prove how independent she was, emphasizing her need for freedom, to not be tied down. So now she wasn’t. She was loved from afar, her life – sent in emails and brief phone calls – provided anecdotes for family gatherings she was always too busy, too distant, too scared to attend. Her life was much more interesting when re-told by her father – a renowned storyteller. If she turned up she’d ruin her own reputation. They’d all notice how tired, lost, cynical she was. She didn’t have the energy or inclination to be the life of the party any more. She couldn’t be fucked holding a smile.

So what do ya do here? That’s pretty cool, are you from here? Oh, a southerner too, what made you decide on this place? Yeah, I love movin around, although I usually only make short trips, but I’ve been a few places O.S – Bali, Thailand, New Zealand. I tell ya though, all that shit that’s been going on in Indonesia has put me off a bit, that’s why I’m up here for this hol. I like these traveler bars, ‘cause you can meet up with a few people for a drink pretty easy.

She hadn’t had a bad life – travel, jobs she loved, friends she trusted, lovers who had made her sad and happy. She had boxes of photos to prove all of this, to remind her when she couldn’t remember; where she was, what she was doing, who she was. She’d had a great life, but at 36 she was totally fed up with it. What had been important to her? She’d done everything she’d wanted, had everyone she’d wanted, even if just for a while. But what was left to want? To burn for? As she moved and moved and moved she’d dropped pebbles of passion along the way, now there was little left but fleeting flashes, easily snuffed out. She used to get so excited about the smallest things, a photo, her job, a new pair of shoes – the joy of shopping! The possibility of a trip somewhere, a new movie. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to see a movie, bought new shoes.

So what do you do in your spare time? There doesn’t seem a lot to do up here other than get on it. I used to play in a band, just covers, but it was a bit of fun. It was a great chick magnet of course. Have you ever played an instrument? What sort of music do you like? I love that the old Aussie classics are back in fashion – you can’t beat a good bit of Chisel or Acka Dacka. Shows your age though, huh? How old are you? Bit hard to tell in this light – late 20’s? I’m a young 33, but they say guys never really grow up..

The promise, the potential that came to nothing – drawing, guitar, swimming, good looks…What do you do when you’re too old to get better at something? When the possibility of being in a band, an artist, a something, is so thin it can’t be stretched any further? She’d grown up in the post burning bra era. She had been the first female in her family to go to university. Apparently this meant you could do anything you wanted, they’d told her this growing up. She had all the opportunities her mother and grandmother hadn’t, she wouldn’t be tied to a house or family, she would have a career, be a strong, independent woman. And hadn’t that worked out just peachy.

So, ya wanna check out me van? It’s pretty cool, pretty tidy too? Sure, I’m easy, yeah, it’d be nice to get out of the van for a night. Wanna last drink?

Yes, she’ll go with this guy – Dale? Phil? Whatever. The sex, the hangover will remind her that she is alive, make her feel something other than hopelessness. Clinging to her chance that a spark of passion will be enough to remind her to keep breathing.