Thursday 31 August 2017

1

Francis slept late in the day and woke to a sun filled room and an empty house. The dog was sleeping in a ball at the foot of the bed, Francis pulled her closer and curled around her small, warm body. They slipped in and out of sleep and had dreams of being by the beach; in a house they had stayed in once with their family. Was it in Sydney? Or up in Queensland somewhere, perhaps. In the dreams, there was a dark hallway and voices coming from behind closed doors. It left them feeling melancholic. They got up and stood in the bright room.

It was a long walk from the house to the supermarket. Francis listened to Kate Bush and wandered the tree-lined streets. Neighbours were tending to their plants, walking dogs, pushing strollers. Men at construction sites raised their voices above the drones of their various machines. Walking between the aisles, Francis kept their sunglasses on and earplugs in, hoping not to engage with any stranger.
            They bought potatoes, carrots, eggplant, garlic, rosemary, sweet potatoes and a lemon. They caught the bus home, bumping limbs with the masses of faceless teenaged students, who congealed into a singular representation of hormonal youth and anger. Francis smelt their sweat and felt the meaty intimidation of their presence.
            At home they put on eyeliner, and chopped vegetables for roasting. The house caught the afternoon sun and filled with yellow, Francis felt the yellow run through their veins and slip in peacefully behind their eyelids. The lounge room had a set of French glass doors that opened onto the back porch, shouldered by fly screens and navy blue curtains. The inside couch was brown and velvet, the couch outside was green and firm, and could be pulled out into a bed. Francis moved through the rooms and felt the peacefulness of someone directionless but not at all displaced.
           
 2

The second time she left this earthly realm, I guess it could be said that I was more equipped to handle the departure, being an adult and no longer in need of the kind of motherly care on offer and perhaps in a way it was more favorable to forgo the journey called life alone, or at least, without her as confident/friend/guide. Once she was gone I wondered why she had ever come to begin with. And decided I would probably be stuck in wonder for the rest of my life.

 3


In those days I would walk through the city with some sort of fearlessness I don’t remember ever possessing in such palpable amounts. I felt like I’d broken free of a barely perceptible web that draped like an intimate blanket over every sentient being, and held us in a state of not knowing. I can’t really explain it but maybe you’ll get to know what I mean, one day. When you experience something so not from this world, and your life – already on the fringes – feels plunged into a deep, cool pool. And you feel safe, powerful, and separate. In those days I would walk through the city and feel entirely detached from other beings around me, and yet so so connected to the core of their souls, I felt I could touch them and relate to all they had ever felt. I guess it was cockiness, or a type of gratitude to the universe that lacked any humility. As you get older, you realise how much there is to fear. And effortless confidence feels out of reach – or something of fiction, you can’t remember ever having had it. Maybe it's dangerous -- in fact, yes, I think it's dangerous.

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