Speed Trials

Written somewhere over the Pacific, 2 July 2006…

Here I sit, cramped in the middle seat of the middle aisle of a packed plane, and inevitably start to skip around from song to song on my MP3 player. As I searched for lovelorn tunes across the folders of my device, I stumbled upon a new little file called VOICE/.

It’s the accidental recording from the night Andrew and I spent on the floor of his living room, drinking tea and just talking… I muffled byte, five or six words strung together, and then my giggling as I fumbled to turn the thing off. His voice, that I had in abundance for 3 weeks, suddenly such a commodity that I can’t help but replay it until my batteries finally die out.

I haven’t yet landed in LA, and already this is where things stand…

Our last few days together were spent as were the first few: out in the country. Andrew took the day off on Friday and so we drove up to Mt. Dandenong for a little taste of nature. The view from up there is great, and we took quite a long walk through the forest. It was just so lovely walking through the woods, talking about everything and nothing, just enjoying each other. We had lunch at the cafe at the top of the mountain, a really tasty picnic with wine. We then drove through the countryside – got momentarily lost – and ended up back at Kangaroo Ground to meet Andrew’s mom Judy and her partner Tim. They are both warm and hospitable, and I felt at ease around them right away. Judy made an awesome dinner, and Andrew and I got drunk on Scotch. We ended up falling asleep on the couch while watching Tennis (Judy and Tim’s preferred sport). Waking up in KG is great. Andrew and I spent the morning cuddling in bed, looking out the window to that amazing view of the hillside, and lazily made our way to the kitchen at around 11am – had toast and avocado with Judy, and then we went down to St-Andrew’s market. What a great place! Full of Aussie Hippies hawking their wares in tents or on tarpolines. We ate a felafel pita the size of my arm and squatted in the Chai Tent. We bumped into a few of Andrew’s friends (something that seemingly happens everywhere we go) and had a good chat. Thom reminded me so much of Declan I found it hard not to stare, sure that he would recognize me at any moment.
We then drove back into the city, met up with Luke and Mike at a cafe in Brunswick, and chatted while the hours sped by. We rushed out to footscray in the early evening to have dinner with Simon and Sharon, where we dined luxuriously on Ethiopian Delights. We then went to the Dancing Dog Cafe, had the best chocolate cake I’ve ever had, and then said some very bittersweet goodbyes to Si and Shaz. I know it’s by no means the end, but it’s sad to say goodbye nonetheless.

And then after dinner we finally got around to our original plan. We found the location of this mystery party – this beautiful compound that looks like a 1950′s Hollywood studio. We entered thrugh the main gates and walked past industrial looking units, with barred windows and red brick everywhere, following the sounds of the party through the maze until we hit unit 57. As the door opened a pool of red light spilled out onto the wet pavement, and we were greeted by a cross-section of Melbourne’s artistic elite. What we had been invited to turned out to be the 40th birthday party of a well-established contemporary dancer thrown by her equallly successful contemporary painter husband in his huge and very stylish studio. The affair was rigged with lighting,, dj’ed, and catered. It was the sort of party where guests performed as gifts for the birthday girl. Andrew and I just stood around in our funny t-shirts and jeans, 20 years everyone’s junior, drinking their free designer beer. We stayed long enough to watch Cobie dance (as the male half of a duo number to a Serge Gainsborough tune) and then said our goodbyes. I’ll miss Cobie, we spent a bit of time together over these past weeks, and it just made me want to spend more with her.

Back at the apartment, Andrew and I spent our last night together – both of us slept badly, me hardly at all. When his alarm finally went off, we simply held onto each other. As though I had always been there. As though it was the first time we had ever touched. We hardly spoke on the drive to the airport, content instead to hold his hand which held my thigh. As we sat at the airport’s cold cafeteria table, looking out at the grey Melbourne morning rather than at each other, we braced ourselves for what was to come.
We stood by those miserable ugly metal doors and held each other, kissed each other, nuzzled each other’s necks for a few sad moments, and I honestly didn’t know how to leave.
Had he uttered the one word, would I have turned on my heels, taken his hand, and walked back to his car with him? I don’t know. He didn’t say it, so I left it at that. We had spent the last 20 hours discussing his alleged “dodginess”, but he has proven himself so genuine, so trustworthy and sincere to me over the last weeks, all I can do is pity his naysayers.

I return to Ottawa with nothing changed but my perspective…