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 sister?” 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.
Bowerbirds Books was run by Kali, a miserable hippy who moved from the city and assumed people would embrace her just because she was from the city. Country people saw it all the time, city people moving to town with their head in the clouds, assuming they would be revered, but when they had that attitude, it was the opposite. I wondered where Mike was from originally. He had a propensity to live in the clouds. Perhaps he was a giant, similar to the one who designed the unwelcoming steps.
I had returned to my sleepy hometown, after leaving for a few years to attend university, so I didn’t like it when city people assumed they were better than me. For a short time, I had been one of them. A lot of country people had. We had sampled the steel and cement world of city people and had chosen to come back to the red dirt and the gum trees. I had enjoyed my time in the city, doing a communications degree at Sydney University, but I knew I didn’t belong there. It should have been the ideal place for me; a place where you are surrounded by millions of people who don’t notice you’re alive. I made little effort to acclimatise to the university lifestyle, preferring to instead study and spend time alone. I had made acquaintances, but my solitary personality prevented these potential friendships from forming anything deeper. I prevented it.
I’d never had a boyfriend, never met a man who was tempting enough to pull me out of my Newtown unit long enough to date. Dating seemed like a lot of effort, women in my social circle were forever complaining, first about the man shortage, and then about any man they managed to meet. Until now my lack of boyfriends had never bothered me, but looking back, I now saw it as an unusual and sad way to live. I picked another flower and crumpled it in my fist. I had sex, of course, all uni students do, no matter how inaccessible they make themselves. I smiled as I remembered Rob, a Macedonian Adonis from my public relations class. Rob had been one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen with his thick black glossy hair that he wore in long, wavy curls framing his angular face.
Rob was a tall, slender man, and he liked to hold my arms above my head whilst he was on top of me. He was also one of the few men who could make me come almost as soon as he entered me. He naturally had the right angle, and because he was so beautiful, I was already aroused before we even got our clothes off.
The special thing about Rob, what made him the only man I really remembered, was he always rang me on his way home. A quick call as he drove his beat up Nissan Pulsar back to the Western suburbs, to say thanks. It was a nice, unique touch. Rob had liked me, a lot, but apart from the occasional beer at The Nag’s Head in Glebe and the odd sexual encounter, I had been unable to give him more. We lost touch after graduation, but I did wonder from time to time what he was up to, how my life would have turned out if I had not shunned his advances. But what was done was done, and I wouldn’t know how to find him, even if I wanted to.
Bowerbirds Books was empty. I could hear our radio station playing in the background, I would recognise Jan’s shrill voice anywhere. Points to the miserable hippy though, for supporting the local station.
“Good morning, Rosie, what can I help you with today?” Kali was almost drowning in a plethora of multi-coloured fabric and turquoise rings. She looked really out of place amongst the piles and shelves of books. She looked out of place in Pindari in general, but then again, so did I, and I was born here. Come to think of it, even my dog was an enigma in this town, an oddity surrounded by masterfully trained working dogs who could obey commands given by a raised eyebrow or an ear-piercing whistle.
Kali was still speaking to me. Awesome. Two conversations and it was only five past nine. I didn’t answer, not sure how to ask for a book on how to be a nice person without looking like a psychopath. “Just looking, thanks. I need a book for a friend, so I’ll just see what pops out at me.” Kali nodded, uninterested in our exchange, and went back to reading the paper. Wanting to remove myself from the potentially overly social situation as quickly as possible, I grabbed the first relevant book I found; The Art of Happiness. Approaching Kali and her sourness, I randomly picked up another book, just in case Kali thought I actually needed to find happiness; Mutant Message Down Under; A Woman’s Journey into Dreamtime Australia. Jesus Christ. I had my work cut out for me.
“That will be forty-two-ninety-five altogether. Thanks, Rosie.” Self-improvement was not only hard work, it was expensive.
Walking to the radio station, I leafed through the Dalai Lama’s book, opening randomly to chapter three; Training the Mind for Happiness. “What a load of shit,” I said out loud, and then quickly took it back. I wasn’t sure if hell existed, or if Buddhists believed in hell, but I didn’t want to take the risk. Reaching the station, I was tempted to put the book in Jan’s pigeonhole. She could use some pointers.
Jan’s pigeonhole was empty, but there was a note in mine. I smiled. Jan was one of the nicer humans I was forced to cohabit this planet with, but only because she understood me. The stout woman often left notes for me with instructions for upcoming shows or information on new station sponsors. She knew I hated talking to people, or she hated speaking to me, so opted for the old fashioned “leave a note” form of communication. Either way, it worked for me. I pulled out the printed note.
Call me when you can, it said. Oh, bloody hell.