Transformation in Coral
By Jillian Jones
Copyright 2015 Jillian Jones
"And, this is Sara Wright. She's joining us all the way from Australia," said my team leader.
"It's an honour to meet you, Sir," Offering my hand to greet Magne Furuholmen. He looked magnificent in his elegant attire, standing beside Heidi Rydjord, his beautiful wife of many years.
"Have we met?" he asked, shaking my hand.
"No," I smiled. "I don't believe so."
He paused, looking at me quizzically, before moving to meet the next member of the architectural team. Heidi and I greeted each other momentarily before she too moved along the line.
Magne and I had indeed crossed paths before. Our interaction had spanned twenty-four hours and changed the course of my life.
My mind floated back, three years to the day.
Storming out of the cabin, anger pressing like a heavy rock in my chest, as I rushed down the stairs and along the path towards the beach, shaken and wobbly. I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to be married anymore.
Sadness hit. Tears streamed down my cheeks, blurring my vision. I stopped mid stride. Resting my hand on a nearby tree, steadying myself.
Taking a deep breath, wiping tears, a coffee at the restaurant and some time away from my family was my solution.
I knew Damian had organised the holiday in an attempt to bring us together and resolve some conflict between us, but I wasn't interested in resolving anything in that moment.
Leaning against the tree, light-headed, my legs like jelly. Convinced the ground was about to fall away under my feet, I closed my eyes, bracing myself. A wave of nausea washed over me. I opened my eyes only once the sensation had passed, and glanced around.
Staring at the cabin I'd just left, confusion hit me harder than a pounding wave. There was nothing on the verandah, yet moments ago, wetsuits and flippers had been scattered the whole length of it.
I turned and walked towards the cabin, stopping when I noticed a piece of paper in my hand. A flyer. Advertising a series of workshops.
A-ha are here? In Australia? On Lady Elliot Island?
A closer look at the flyer informed me of a four-day program of art workshops being held on the Island. A-ha would be offering music workshops.
It had to be a dream?
A fleeting awareness took my attention to my wrist. I was wearing a watch I didn't recognise as mine, but of greater significance was the realisation that the introductory session was about to start, at the reef education centre.
I spun around and headed in the opposite direction, keen to go a-ha spotting. They were after all my favourite band of all time.
Arriving at the education centre, I found a line-up of people leading to a registration table just outside the door. Surveying the scene, I noticed a printed copy of the program sitting at the end of the table. Picking it up, I glanced through the schedule while I waited my turn to enquire about a-ha.
There were to be a number of visual and performing artists, and musicians presenting over the four day program. A-ha were down to appear on day two, as facilitators for a breakout workshop. It wasn't possible for me to attend their session. My family and I would be on our way home. However, the afternoon photography workshop looked interesting.
After waiting for ten minutes, I was greeted by a middle-aged woman with bright orange dreadlocks, wearing a funky blue croqueted dress teamed with multi-coloured Black Milk leggings.
"Hi, I'm Tammy, how can I help you?" she beamed.
"Hi, I'm wanting to attend the photography workshop this afternoon."
"Oh, honey, not if you haven't already registered. We're all booked out," she paused, staring at me. "Wait, you're Sara Blake aren't you? It's an honour to have you here, by the way." She bubbled with excitement as she tapped the keys of a laptop, on the table in front of her.
"Umm, well..." I didn't get to finish.
"You've already paid, Sara, so you get to do the session after all. Here's your name badge. We'll be kicking off in about five minutes, just head on through there." She smiled as she indicated towards the door to the education centre. Then, she turned to greet the next person in line.
Walking into the room the first thing I noticed was a large group of people milling around a giant, clear, acrylic tube filled with water. It looked like a big fish tank. And, there was Magne Furuholmen standing beside it while a pretty girl, in her early teens, floated around inside.
“Dad, are you nearly finished?” The girl in the makeshift fish tank popped her head up and out of the water, as Magne gestured for a spotlight to be moved, while motioning for her to re-submerge so he could continue his photography session.
That’s odd.
As far as I could recall from my knowledge of each of the members of a-ha, Mags had two sons and no daughter, and his sons would be in their twenties.
As I pondered the scene I sensed Magne would achieve a better effect by adding a colour filter and rearranging a few of the lights. I pushed my way through the throng of people.
“I suggest you move that to there, and that one over there, and add a blue filter to that one!” The rush of energy through my body was invigorating as I spoke, pointing to indicate the lights to which I was referring; my voice strong and confident.
The head of the light moving team looked at me and then at Magne. Magne spun around, annoyance flickering in his eyes, while the girl in the tank screamed.
“Dad, hurry up!”
She's speaking English to him. I watched her for a moment, my curiosity piqued; the resemblance to her father was obvious. Glancing at Magne, he stared at me, open-mouthed without a word. All traces of annoyance, gone.
“Okay, move them, please,” he directed the team.
Once the lights were repositioned he looked through his camera lens. “Thanks, it looks great.”
Moving slowly around the tank, shooting as quickly as he could, with his digital SLR. “Just a few more minutes, please honey,” he smiled pleadingly at his daughter. “This is a great shot. I don’t want to miss it.”
When he finished he had a quick glance back at me with a smile and a thumbs up nod.
At that point the crowd dissipated after a voice requested the participants take a seat for the start of the session. Mags moved to help the girl out of the tank and I took a seat in the back row.
The presenter was the woman I'd spoken to at the registration table. She talked about the art college that was sponsoring the program and acknowledged the guest presenters and Lady Elliot Island managers and staff for allowing them to book out the island for the workshops. Suddenly, Magne and the girl from the tank were sliding into the seats beside me.
“Hi,” he said, a star struck grin on his face. “I’m Magne, and you’re Sara Blake, right?” He offered me his hand.
“Yes, I am,” I said, shaking his hand, my mind racing with questions.
That was the second time this morning and I hadn't pinned the badge on yet, it was still hiding in my hand under the program and flyer I was holding. I wondered how he knew my name. It was actually my maiden name. I’d been married for sixteen years and was more familiar with being referred to as Sara Wright. I looked up at the presenter to indicate I was trying to listen. Magne continued. “It’s an honour to meet you at last. I’ve admired your work for some time.” He turned to listen to the speaker as I glanced at him. I couldn’t believe what was happening.
He'd been my idol as a teenager and there he was, sitting next to me. I had the opportunity to engage in conversation with him, but didn’t. It was surreal - like I wasn’t myself. I had an indescribable sense of awareness and knowledge of the discussion being presented, coup
led with crazy thoughts and creative photography ideas running through my mind. I decided I should return to my cabin, clear my head, and let my family know I'd be in a workshop for the rest of the day.
Walking towards our cabin, I realised I was wearing a brightly coloured bodysuit and boots neither of which I owned. I was thinner as well, and it dawned on me that I'd tied my hair back in a ponytail that morning. And, while the front part of my hair was now tied back and off my face, at the back, it was loose, thicker and longer. I grabbed a bunch of my hair from behind me and flicked it in to view. Vibrant pink and purple!
What the...?
Panic hit. My stomach churned and my chest tightened as I rushed up the stairs and into the cabin.
It was devoid of my family and our belongings.
Two, small, brightly coloured suitcases sat near the door to the main bedroom. I knew, at some level, they were mine, but my rational mind was arguing that point. Then, I caught my reflection in the mirror.
Oh. My. God.
My hand clapped to my mouth as I stared at the woman looking back at me. My hair was purple and pink dye dip on platinum blonde, the sides pulled back and up in a sixties beehive style! It was a far cry from my usual dark brown, shoulder-length hair with the beautiful auburn highlights. And, my clothes were a designer label, retro fashion statement - a floral print bodysuit splashed with bright blue, red and pink dots. Something I would never have the courage to wear.
I touched my body, my face and my hair, wondering if it was real
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