by Luna Blue
No time for that now. I put my head closer to the ground, figuring that way, there would be less wind resistance and I could get out of the bloody park faster. The dirt did not reach up to cushion me, it turned into cement with shards of glass sticking out of it. The cutting feeling may have been bindies, but I was going too fast to stop and examine the cause of the discomfort.
We headed away from Mike’s form, which was beautifully silhouetted by the fading light, the same light that bathed him at the pub yesterday. Did he always go out and be sexy when the light was just right for him? I mean, I had never seen him do anything sexy at five a.m., but that was probably because no amount of manly sexiness was going to get me up at that time of the morning. He was strong. I had never seen muscles like that on a man except in the movies. I was feeling tingly all over, but that could have been from the crawling at an unnatural pace. It seemed I was the type of woman who went weak at the knees at the sight of a muscular man. I didn’t know this until now because I had never seen real life muscles like that before.
“Hmm-mm.” A cough got my attention from a body standing in front of me. Oh god, this wasn’t happening. I could see Mike’s brown joggers. I froze. Fuck my life.
“Rosie? Snip? What on Earth are you two doing?’
I liked that he directed the question to Snip too, but having been caught in possibly the most embarrassing moment of my life, the pleasure was short-lived. I sighed. There wasn’t really any way I was going to be able to come out of this encounter with my dignity. May as well go the full monty. “Walking my dog. Obviously.” I stood up and brushed the dirt from my knees and hands. I was filthy. Mike pulled a cockatoo feather out of my hair.
“Do you always walk your dog on your hands and knees?” It would have been better if Mike was laughing at me, but he looked concerned, as though I might actually be a crazy person—which I might. Frank was singing “All or Nothing at All.” “Shut up, Frank!”
“Who’s Frank?” Mike asked, looking around as though there was supposed to be a Frank nearby.
“No one. Never mind. And yes, I do walk Snip on all fours. I like to see the world from his perspective sometimes.” Yep, I totally had control of this situation. “Well, no. No, I don’t. Today is a special occasion. But I don’t want to go into it.” I couldn’t look away from the picture-perfect shape of the man standing before me. I could see his dog tags dangling from his neck. Lee’s would probably be in his pocket. I wondered why some ex-army people couldn’t let go of their dog tags, but then again, I had Dad’s in my dresser at home.
Please god, let the earth open me up and swallow me whole. Stupid god was too busy answering the prayers of people who actually believed in him, or her, to grant my wish, though. I squared my shoulders, attempting to look like a proud, dignified woman in bright yellow jeans covered in dirt. I pulled a bindy from my t-shirt.
“You looked impressive doing pull-ups. If I could do half a pull-up, would you lift me the other half?” I shook my head at my own weirdness. Attempting to socialise with people was harder than I thought. Even though I’d been cornered and forced to have the interaction, I still gave it a red-hot-go. It was not panning out well, so I figured I have three choices: continue to be rude to people, because that comes naturally to me and just get on with my life, alone yet comfortable; try to be nice and end up looking like a dickhead; or in this particular circumstance—run. I’d tried running once before and it hurt, and was really hard work, so I knew I wouldn’t get very far without having a heart attack. Rudeness it was then.
Had I always been this strange?
A fourth and random choice popped into my head: be polite. I couldn’t look any more like a fool, dirt on my damp knees, dirty jeans and hands, crawling away from a grown man with a dog in a fluffy purple harness and collar. Fine, here goes, let’s see how politeness tastes. “I’m sorry I was rude to you today,” I said, my head down, shoulders no longer squared. Politeness tastes exactly like humble pie.
“Um…thanks?” He was confused and understandably so. My change in attitude would have caught anyone off guard, let alone Mike, who had been at the centre of my universal disdain since we first met.
“I don’t know why you don’t like me, Rosie. I know I annoy you but I don’t think I really did anything to deserve it, do you?” I didn’t answer. He was being annoying right now and he was smiling. “To be as mean as you are, it’s a special skill. Black-ops sort of skills. I like your jeans, by the way.”
I had no reply for him. These stupid yellow jeans. I wished for the millionth time I wasn’t wearing them. The moment I got home, they were going in the bin with the stupid overalls. What had seemed chic and cutting edge when I put them on this morning now seemed childish. The fabric was still pulling at my hips, even though I had walked two blocks today. If I was going to venture out into the big wide world and be forced to talk to people, I was going to have to lay off the cupcakes.
Immediately I felt as though this “venture” I been a part of for exactly nineteen seconds may not be worth it. Snip didn’t care when I ate cupcakes, and he never noticed when I put on weight. Then again, he never noticed when I lost weight…at least, he never mentioned it. I was out of my depth, and these stupid clothes weren’t making me feel any better. Since they obviously weren’t going to morph into camouflage gear because god hated me, they could at least change into a slinky dress. I tugged at the waist band, hoping and praying. As if.
“G’day Snip,” Mike said, leaning to give Snip a pat. My heart did something weird and I felt strange. Oh god, was he making me…happy?? I swallowed the feeling but it didn’t digest and disappear. “I love dogs, but when we were in the army, we travelled too much to keep one. I guess I could have one again, now that I am a bit more stable.” Sinatra performed “My Town.” It was a good song.
“I guess I could do a lot of things now,” he added as an afterthought.
“My dad was in the army too. He was killed in action four years ago.” Mike stopped mid-pat. Slowly standing, he stepped towards me and put his arms around me. He smelt like sweat and summer rain. “My Town” stopped abruptly and “Summer Rain” murmured into my brain. The scent of his aftershave had long been replaced by the by-product of his serious workout. I resisted the urge to pull away, focusing on feelings of comfort and safety. It was nice to be hugged again. I didn’t realise I had missed it.
“I still wear Lee’s dog tags, never take them off.” He touched them, correcting my assumption they had been his. He started to rub them between his thumb and forefinger as if they were a lantern housing a genie, and if he rubbed hard enough, Lee would come back from the grave. Hopefully my dad would get a lift back into this dimension too.
His pain must have been unbearable, and probably accounted for his grouchiness that I had seen surface on a whole of two occasions in seven months. What was the excuse for my attitude? Okay, my dad had died, but I knew that once Dad joined the army when I was eleven, that every time he left Mum, Kendell, and I for a tour, he might not come home again. And the last time, he didn’t come home. I’d had four years to come to terms with grief and deal with the anger. How long had Mike had? Seven months? My sadness and anger would never go away, but most days now, they were at manageable levels.
At least I thought they were. But talking to Mike and seeing him in a new light, literally, I began to think the anger had just morphed into a closing down of myself, an unwillingness to be part of life. It was a lazy cop-out, but I had been inherently lazy my whole life.
There was a kindness in his eyes, an emotion I had only seen him possess once before, when we shared a moment at the pub. And here, in the open space of the park, he was a different man. Now that he was out of his area of control—pressing buttons on radio—and in a place of freedom and fresh air, he seemed content. And very fit. We had partially bonded over our dead loved ones, the army does that to the surviving families of dead soldiers.
“Look, I’d better go,” I said.
“Oh. U
m…okay.” He bent to give Snip a last pat and the overly energetic dog lapped up the attention. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the station?”
“Seems likely, since we both work there.” Be nice, Rosie! It sounded like Dad in my head.
“Against my own better judgement, you are my only friend in town, Rosie. I think you’re interesting, you’re different. I’d like to get to know you more.” Mike must have been having me on. I wouldn’t bother to get to know me if I wasn’t already me, so it didn’t really make sense that a man as beautiful and kind as Mike would take the time. Either he was a con-man or he was using me to get closer to Snip.
“Yeah, fine. I’ll give you some tips on how to make your show less painful for your listeners.” I smiled as I said it, but I meant it. If Dad wanted me to be kind, I figured I would start with being sardonic and move up from there. Baby steps, which would be easy because my short legs didn’t really allow for anything but baby steps, unless I walked like I was mimicking a dinosaur.
Before he could answer, I gathered what dignity I had left, which was almost none, and strutted off towards home. At least I hoped I was strutting and not doing the dinosaur walk. I heard him chuckle as I increased the distance between us. Dinosaur walk it was then.
Being a radio host wasn’t my first career choice. It wasn’t actually a career choice at all. I don’t think normal people go through their formative years hoping to be shut in a room with oversized earphones ruining their already terrible hairdo. And as far as I knew, I was a normal person, even if I did walk like a dinosaur and wear weird clothes. I mean, I ate, slept, and generally felt shitty. That’s what normal is, right?
No, I was going to be a journalist. And by journalist, I mean be famous and see my name in print. I was going to be Lois Lane and have Superman fall in love with me and fly around the Sydney skyline with me. But it turned out a lot of other university students in the early 2000s were looking for the same thing and Superman was not actually a real person. Journalism majors were being churned through the system disproportionate to the jobs available.
At twenty-five I took a job at the radio station in my hot, dusty home town of Pindari in New South Wales, and I’d been there for the past six years. Not exactly my dream job, but it paid well, and instead of seeing my name in print, I got to hear my name on air. I felt this was a bit lacklustre since I was the one saying my own name, but it was a job and I had to eat, more than I should.
Radio wasn’t all bad. Music was fundamental to the human existence, we were all born with it in our souls, so playing tunes all day was okay. Everyone loved music, in one way or another, especially the music I play. And if, on the off chance they didn’t love it, and I got wind of it, I shamed them on air. Eventually people stopped admitting if my music wasn’t to their taste. Anyone who wasn’t obsessed with Sinatra shouldn’t have been alive anyway. And that included Kellie, who had the frustrating habit of ringing in to request lame Top 40 chart music. Sometimes I would play it, if station management was around, otherwise I would pretend the phone system was down.
A job’s a job and I didn’t hate it, exactly, I was just bitter that I missed out on having the life of my dreams, even though I had no idea what those dreams were beyond a career in journalism. When I did envisage this dream job, my story was always on the front page, underneath a world changing, news first headline of some sort. Something like; Journalist Discovers Cold Fusion on Weekend Off!
A small portrait accompanied my name; I looked thin, elongated, neither of which I was, and my long dark curls had miraculously morphed into shiny tendrils of control. I had glasses on, proving my intelligence in a librarian-like fashion. Everyone knows that people who wear glasses are smarter than people with 20-20 vision. That’s why Kellie’s eyes were covered in blue eye shadow and not glasses.
But in Pindari’s economy, any job was a good job, so I tried to remind myself I was lucky I could pay my mortgage each month, as small as it was, and have enough left over to buy as many cupcakes as I fancied, which was a lot. I got my house for next to nothing and Dad renovated it for me before he passed away. His farming background prior to becoming a mechanic in the army gave him all the necessary skills to revamp an old house. Dad could fix anything he turned his hand to—squeaky floor boards, sunglasses, toasters—you name it. I think he liked the solitude of quietly tinkering in the shed, and mostly it didn’t matter what he was tinkering on.
A lot of people in the country couldn’t pay their bills, especially in rural parts of Australia, unless you were a farmer. We were the most urbanised country in the world, so most people moved to the city to find jobs. It was a vicious cycle, but I’m glad I got to stay amongst the river red gums and koalas and live in a town that doesn’t have any traffic lights or roundabouts. Life was simple here. It was quiet and easier to disappear here. I could go days without speaking to anyone, assuming I didn’t run out of milk or cake, and I liked it that way.
Walking back from the park, Snip and I approached the run-down brick house with the scary, oversized demon dog in the backyard. I grabbed his lead tightly and shortened it, bracing myself. The demon dog sensed our approach and let out his thunderous bark, jumping against the unstable fence. My heart leapt into my throat but my faithful, albeit tiny companion put up his hackles and barked back, brave through the flimsy fence. I picked him up and attempted to run the rest of the block, a yapping Snip even braver in the folds of my arms. One day that dog was going to get out, and when he did, I would be seeing my dad again. I’d probably make the time to find and introduce myself to Lee too.
When I got home, it was disappointing to see there was only one cupcake left. I stood in front of the glass container, deciding if I should go and buy more or if it was time to start fitting back into my once-trendy-clothes. I ate the lone serving of sugar and went to have a shower. I’ll see how it goes with sugar withdrawals, I didn’t want to put too much pressure on myself, there were a lot of changes towards my personality presenting themselves. One thing at a time. I just couldn’t decide which one I needed to work on first—weight or kindness. Silently I asked Dad if he was listening. Do both popped into my head, so I threw the ill-fitting yellow jeans and overalls in the bin. This had better be worth it.
For once, sleep was ignoring me. The sugar withdrawals were getting to me already, far worse than I expected. My head hurt, my mouth was dry, and my stomach was rumbling. To add to the discomfort, Mike was playing on my mind. Again. So far, I knew he was a kind man, and as he said, he needed a friend. Was this something I could be for him? Was I capable of giving friendship to anyone? My phone told me it was one a.m. I crawled out of bed and took the clothes out of the bin.
Chapter 3
I started the fresh new day with my fresh new outlook on life by wearing clothes that actually fit. The mornings were starting to cool down, thank god. No one likes to wake up sweating, except maybe sumo wrestlers. I often wondered if they sweated more than thinner wrestlers but had never known where to find one to ask. I did go to Japan for a few months after Uni ended, but was disappointed to discover sumo wrestlers don’t wander the streets, eating sushi whilst swinging samurai swords.
Autumn was coming, but the days were still oppressively hot. It made wearing one outfit for the entire day challenging. The second-best option was to wear a jumper in the morning and then be annoyed the rest of the day as you lugged it around behind you. The best option was to not go outside until the weather had sorted its shit out and you knew you were safe to go outside wearing only a t-shirt.
Today my clothes were a depressing size 14, and it did not feel good. Walking around in a size 14 was not doing anything for my self-esteem, which was already under threat from wearing clothes that were too tight. Closing the front door behind me, I prayed I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew, which was ridiculous, because we all lived in the same small town so chances were high.
And there was Alice. Fantastic.
“Rosie! I haven’t seen you for ages! How’s your siste
r?” Despite the fact I was standing right in front of my elderly next door neighbour, directly in line with her aging eyesight, she was asking about my over-achieving younger sister. Alice could probably tell I was in a size 14. Kendell never wore a size 14.
“She’s fine, thanks for asking. She’s in the Kimberlies at the moment, shooting her latest documentary.” Alice looked impressed. Everyone knew Kendell was an international star and her documentaries often made headlines. They never seemed to be as impressed with my radio show.
Alice was looking me up and down, not even trying to hide it. “Have you been to the new café? They have a great sweets selection.” What the fuck was this woman saying? Be nice. It’s a test. Oh, shut up, Dad! If there was a divine being watching over me, or if Dad was really around me, helping me through these massive life changes, couldn’t I just deal with one person at a time? Couldn’t I just speak to Mike and practice being nice to him? I didn’t agree to having to be nice to every person on the planet all at once. When a child in kindergarten learns to draw, they aren’t expected to use oil, acrylic, and charcoal all at once. No, they get crayons and go from there.
“Yeah, no. How are you, Alice? How’s old age treating you?”
“Oh, you know, it has caught up with me, I’m living to die.” My question hadn’t fazed her in the very least, and I doubted Alice was aware of the massive philosophical connotations of her comment.
“I’d better go. I’m off to the bookstore before my show. See you over the back fence sometime,” I said, giving her a big smile. It hurt my muscles.
The only bookstore in town was at the end of the main street. A heritage listed building with cream brick walls and red potted flowers outside each window, it had been a café, a bank, and an op-shop in past lives. Apparently this building died and was re-born every couple of years. I climbed the four steps out the front and knew how Alice felt; climbing the steps made me feel like I was dying. Who designed them? A giant? They didn’t seem to have a natural width to them. Surely I wasn’t that short, no one had mentioned I was more gnome than human. I picked a flower from the windowsill and threw it back in the pot, crumpled and squashed.