Tuesday 19 July 2011

scraps of grass from the bathroom


Lack of context means that most of the following will be unintelligible. Still, what's the point of a blog if you can't post unintelligible rants?


Alby’s band was the latest darling of the local music scene and once inside there was barely any room in which to move. The four scientists stood around a in the centre of the room clutching their beers to their chests as Eyes Quittin’ strode through the black velvet curtains and onto the stage.
It was frenetic and you had to concentrate on breathing or else you would just stop.
Once most had staggered out the doors were thrown open to those unfortunate souls outside (they could never understand what they missed) with the drugs or the sheer willpower to dance their way to sunrise.


We swiftly learned the benefits of sun protection. While the weather on the coast had been tempered by stiff southerlies, the conditions away from the shore resembled more of a furnace. The sun beat down and the air clung heavily around you. At first we laughed at our local guides who sported the peculiar summer fashions of full-sleeved shirts, long trousers and broad hats. Barely an inch of their skin was left directly exposed to the sun. The dense clothing must have resulted in unbearable heat and buckets of sweat, but they kept doggedly on in this vein. Instead of suffer the intensifying effects of extra layers of clothing we preferred to roll our sleeves and cuffs up above our elbows and knees. A couple of the teens even opened their shirts and lay on the wagons sunning their pasty white chests. The sun was out, but a constant breeze tempered the raw heat. It was ideal weather for a smile and a nap. The Aussies tried to warn us against this practise, but their advice fell on deaf ears.
We knew it would get worse before it got better, so we would just have to ride this one out with stiff upper lips.
The entire company slept soundly in their beds oblivious to the clamour and madness transpiring downstairs. After a fortnight on the road it was a welcome relief to again sleep in a proper bed rather than the thin, loosely slung cots we had to contend with throughout the migration.
And, they cynically figured, as we could already speak English we would only add to the pre-existing traditional white values of the region. In this way they could Anglicise Australia, ensuring the propagation of white culture to the detriment of all others.
The sun was able to scramble through the break in the canopy forged by the river and beat down upon our faces and Dad’s shivering body. From the angle of the rays we reckoned it to be about two o’clock. The guides announced that we weren’t too far from our destination and that we would arrive with enough time to unload and get everything under cover before nightfall. The leaders were to spend the night with us in the bush and help us settle, before heading back to town the next morning.
Each was approximately the same size, with similar vegetation and comparable soil and drainage.
They were forced onto the back foot from the outset. The best they could do was to plead ignorance and offer their sympathy, and to offer their own personal assistance. What more could they do? They assured us that they would complain to those in charge on our behalf, and campaign for a rapid improvement in conditions and service.


The ramshackle nature of the property would always seem to spark the most hedonistic of tendencies in the young artisans.
You had to immerse yourself completely in the moment.
They were a shambling rabble standing around disjointedly and without logic, like tealeaves in the bottom of a cup.
It is the commonly accepted rule of Perth that everyone you meet will know somebody you know.
Debauchery perfumed the air.
They wandered back inside and Karl excused himself to join the line growing away from the toilet. Marshall retreated back to his spot slouched against the wall watching those left on the dancefloor. When Karl returned they back meandered out into the crisp autumnal night air. Yoshi lit another cigarette and distractedly offered the packet to Piers and Marshall, both of whom declined with lazy waves of their hands. Recognising a face Piers casually slipped an unremembered observation into the neighbouring group’s conversation and drew laughs of acceptance from those in its midst. Room was made for the four and they settled in to a long discussion of beer, music, theatre and popular culture, each making contributions when the timing was right, establishing their roles in the group dynamic and forming friendships to last through the euphoria of the night and into the haze of the morning.
Intermittent shouts and thumps resonated down the hall and into the night.
He philosophised about what motive one could have to motion to a perfect stranger, much less even when he was the stranger. And he would put his head down and shuffle through to the laundry room.
giving due reward for contributing to his own feeling of acceptance amongst such unfamiliar humour and hedonism.
Marshall too was guilty of this. Like the others he genuinely believed in changing the world through the pooling of responsibility and the general acceptance of all peoples and cultures, and the inherent goodness of human kind. But just like the others he knew that these ideals were merely a pipe dream, a nirvana dreamed of by like-minded idealists, but never actually achieved through any amount of discourse and debate.
He though all these things, but most of all his thoughts were directed towards what it would have been like to be dragged into the bathroom by the girls, and have his body coated by theirs


The Foremen decided that they would tag along to see what was happening rather than facing the prospect of packing up and heading back to town and their own mundane lives.
The bush wasn’t nearly as impenetrable as the Karri forest they had passed through to get there, but was still thick enough to cause them to duck and weave their way through and catch their clothing on the Banksia and zamia palms. Indeed the spiky leaves of the scrub had burrowed their way into their clothing, causing them to itch and scratch at their skin to the point of bleeding.
We all gathered in our hall over lunch to conduct our very first town meeting. No mayor or president or chairman was elected to direct the flow of verbal traffic.
As there were only 5 families at this stage, only the 5 properties at the downstream end of the selection closest to where the creek spat its contents into the river were placed into the ballot.
            Once the business was out of the way, one of the Foremen spoke up to advise that when it comes to building our houses it would be most advisable to build towards the back of the property, or at least not on the plain. His brother murmured his agreement, adding that while the ground may presently be hard packed and dusty, it was also the back half of the dry season. When the rains returned in a couple of months, he said the creek would swell from its current trickle, break its banks and spread out over the Paperbark flats and in the process transform the soil into slush.
Each of the families now possessed a house pad, with only the bachelor Matthew Elliott yet to have a completed site. He had decided to wait until last so that the families could have functioning houses first. The way he figured, he could stand to rough it out in the hall a while longer if it meant that those with wives and children could have a private space of their own. The other adults however told him he was talking nonsense, and with their heads filled with solidarity and community spirit delayed construction of their own castles until Mr Elliott’s property too was ready for a house to be built on. The Kelly’s also pitched in their strength and experience to speed up the campaign and get things moving on to the construction phase.
With the help of the Kelly’s, and with everyone else showing off their strength and work ethic, Mr Elliott’s block was finished by the middle of the afternoon.


What had occurred was now behind them, there was no point in, and avoiding the cult of ego transpiring not three meters away.  For these there was no ritual better in the world than the aural fellatio afforded to their comrades, to the disparagement of themselves, once a performance had concluded. The absurd aggrandising afforded others and the passive aggressive pleas for positive affirmation. ose particularly well versed in this dark art could successfully gain the praise of all others through a few carefully chosen insults directed towards their own performance. Alby and Zach purposefully avoided this ritual, choosing instead to
They were transported from being intimidated by the charisma of the artists to being the intimidator, a thing of wonder.
They were both in the midst of their postgraduate studies; two years into the ritual of failed experiments, crushed hypotheses, broken equipment and sub-poverty wages. It would be another 2 years or so before they would be formally unleashed onto an unsuspecting scientific community as Doctors.
Their work would be considered as Pure Basic Research- not looking directly at the clinical implications of how to cure something, but rather poking around to see how it works in the first place. It was their belief that a prerequisite to treating a disease was to first understand the ways it develops and exerts its effects. In other words, they wanted to know their enemy.
And so they had to explain their choice of vocation from the bigger picture, which for them was so often obscured by the tiny details.
His mischievous smile beckoned the girls over much as the sirens lured sailors to their doom. His magnetism drew people towards him, but unlike the sirens his intentions always remained pure.
In the course of speaking he had slipped his left arm down the back of the couch.
She was a dry wit, presenting this as a front to the world to protect the real Pilar.
I figure that if you can’t change your mind about what you want to do with your life when you’re in your teens or early twenties, when can you?

Wednesday 13 July 2011

a few scraps


He pulled up the PCR run he’d set up that morning and set about fiddling with the settings until he was happy with the threshold and the R2 of the standard curve registered above 0.99. Confident in the plots he exported the raw data to Excel and began separating the samples into their respective treatment groups. Half an hour later he had a graph and a couple of P-values of below 0.05. He sat back and smirked. “Fuuuuck.” The chains of the swing tightened around each other.
                           
                                                                        ***** 

That first day passed without further event, save for an hours break at a creek for lunch. I would be another fortnight before we could properly recuperate at the end of the voyage. In this time the entire convoy of families had no choice but to get to know each other. Floods, droughts, plagues, fires, and failed crops would have to be endured together. Marriages, funerals, birth and anniversaries would all come and go with an unspeakable amount of work between. They would establish a new community; a new society. The insuperable bond between man and the earth would emerge and flourish to the point where it would no longer be discernable one from the other, but a single, symbiotic entity.

                                                                         ***** 

Karl had been vice-president of the student guild, forming a coalition with the slightly less left leaning campus Labor party that saw him, as leader of the smaller, distinctly leftist Greens, hoisted into a position of not little power (insofar as student politics has actual power).
Karl wanted to avoid these stereotypes. While he sympathised in part with the socialists, he was wise enough to realise that such ideology couldn’t work in the real world. His personal manifesto was in a state of perpetual flux. Even so, like-minded people seemed to gravitate towards him like moons to a planet. He certainly gave the impression of such at university open days, where he’d stand out like a modern day giant surrounded by little impressionable freshers wanting to join a cause an ideological shift away from the right-wing dogma of their middle-class parents. If he had the self-confidence to match his formidable intellect he would have been a danger to any impressionable fresher. As it was he was tearing himself up with Leigh.
Leigh had found herself in Karl’s orbit by dint of her half-hearted involvement in the campus Labor party. It had happened as something of an accident that she found herself elected to a general seat on the student guild council. It wasn’t through any machinations of her own, but through an unforeseen clerical error with the candidates list. The list of pre-selected candidates had been decided weeks in advance, but as so often happens on campus its submission had been put off until another time as the third slab of Emu Bitter was delivered up the stairs to the party room. As the time approached someone finally realised that the form hadn’t been submitted. Seeing as the original was stained with beer and melted chocolate and the electronic copy was on somebody else’s computer, it was hastily transcribed and run down to the guild office. It was during this transcription that Leigh’s name was inserted several places higher on the ballot, and seeing as the ordering had been correctly signed off on by 2 members of the party executive it couldn’t be amended. So Leigh found herself bored witless at weekly sittings of the guild council, debating the merits of condemning the actions of Japanese whalers and declaring the campus a safe harbour for refugees.
But for while their relationship was far from smooth, you couldn’t really blame Leigh. They were both as bad as each other. Which is probably why they found themselves in that situation. Happily for her she found a source of amusement. It was these jabs and ripostes that led her to anticipate the otherwise dreary meetings, and before long she found herself in his flat, naked, after several hours debating the merits or otherwise of the Northern Territory Intervention.
Now he was working part time in the anatomy and histology dungeons of the Science faculty as he trod water waiting for his friends to finish their PhDs. He hadn’t given up on his politics however, it was just that there weren’t too many full time jobs to be had working for Greens, being as they were a minor political party. He had however managed to snag a part-time job as a staffer for a local Greens politician, who was grooming him as her successor in State parliament.
At the other end Yoshi, Piers and Leigh discussed the use of statistics in research, apparently not noticing the other conversation. Seven empty jugs teetered in a stack the middle of the table. And that was with Yoshi not drinking due to a bet with Marshall that he couldn’t last a month without booze, with the loser having to fill all the empty tip boxes in the lab for the next month. It was a bet neither wanted to lose. It had been a fortnight so far.
They kept chatting and joking away, with Karl and Leigh doing their best to ignore, or at least be civil with each other for the sake of their companions. They were smart enough to realise that if they were outwardly hostile the others would be somewhat uncomfortable, and they would risk alienating themselves and being excluded from future plans. Instead they raised the white flags of truce and tried as best they could to ignore their own personal situation and contribute to making the evening fun and involving for everyone.
Yoshi was most definitely on the side of slowing down, being as he wanted the company to drag on as long as possible. He knew that if they chose to fast track their night he would be the one left standing, sober, with the prospect of a lonely night in front of the TV or computer. He tried to be persuasive, but in the face of this Marshall dug his own heels in with the expressed aim of making Yoshi’s night a living hell; trying to get him to get drunk via the age-old medium of peer pressure as a way of preventing himself from having to spend the night alone. Leigh for one was up for more incessant drinking. She was in the post-breakup mood of drinking to annihilation to forget about her problems. Just for the sake of pissing Leigh off further, Karl voted for slowing down and enjoying the night.
So the deciding vote came down to Piers, with both sides vociferously pleading their cases. But as much as he wanted Yoshi to suffer for causing past humiliations, he couldn’t bring himself to endorse the pursuit of hardcore drinking. He had given his brother, Alby, his word that he would go to his bands album launch that night in Northbridge, and he couldn’t in good conscience go against his word. His parents had always instilled in him a sense of honour. If he gave his word he couldn’t rightly go back on it.
            Piers’ decision was not at entirely adverse to the whims of his friends. Marshall had fond memories of him from days spent bumming around Piers’ house, while the others had met him once or twice at 2am in bars in the city. From what they could remember through beer goggles his people were exactly the type of people you would want to be associated with on a Friday night. He was something of a linchpin in the local arts and music scene; one of those people that can be counted on to know where the action is and to formulate plans as to how best to reach the potential of the night. And, Piers assured them, some of the women his brother hung around with were rather easy on the eye.
In the intervening time between the tavern and the gig it was decided to head into the city to hunt for food in what locally passed as some sort of Chinatown. Leigh wasn’t too keen either on slowing down her drinking or going to see live music. Plus she was of the opinion that ‘eating’s cheating’, so she decided to leave the boys to their own devices.
It was as though they were now presented with a second chance for making the night right.

Monday 11 July 2011

The End?

You may have noticed that there have not been any updates to this blog/writing dump for a week now. This isn't because I have grown lazy and stopped writing, but because, well, I've kinda finished the first draft!!!1!

So ahead of me now lies the task of editing all that I have written, making sure that it all makes sense, no holes are left gaping in the narrative (other than the deliberate ones), and that the styles and flow are consistent for each arc throughout the novel. That also mean that there won't be too many updates on this here blog. From time to time I might drop in to say Hi, or to dump some of the chaff that I cut from my field of words. I prefer that to merely walking away and making this yet another ghost site taking up storage space in some shed on the other side of the world.

For now, goodbye. I wish you all a safe and merry time.

Lloyd

Thursday 7 July 2011

the last of the letters


Marshall, [Wed 23]
Tremors keep shaking the city, making getting anything done a bit of a tough ask. With each aftershock more damage is done, and existing damange is exacerbated. Awnings and verandahs and chimneys are collapsing, and more and more people are getting hurt. As I’m sure you’re aware the rescue effort at the cathedral and the collapsed building in the city is happening as fast as they safely can. It’s apparently a very difficult and dangerous job, as stuff keeps shifting with each new tremor. People are praying for the best, but expecting the worst. Firey’s, police and army personnel from all over the place are being flown into the city to help with the rescues and cleanup. They are (quite rightly) getting priority right now.
Engineers have also started to trickle in to start assessing the damage. Those that aren’t helping with the rescue effort are going from house to house figuring out whether people can move back into their houses or not. They haven’t reached our suburb yet, but some families have moved back in to their houses already. The school has been given the all clear, so we’ll be here until we’re given the all-clear. We expect that to happen either today or tomorrow. Until then, we cross our fingers and pray for those still in the rubble. There’s not much else we can do. We feel so pathetic sitting in the park while all this important work is being done.
I miss you terribly. I broke down and cried after we hung up earlier. The stress finally got to me. I went for a walk, but the wreckage all around did little to make me feel better. The word on the airport is that it’ll be open again for international flights from this afternoon. They’re apparently rescheduling everything, so I should expect an email or phone call letting me know when my flight is. I want to leave as soon as possible, but on the other hand I fell like I’ll be abandoning my family, leaving them stuck in the middle of this nightmare while I go back to my comfortable, easy-going lifestyle. I’ll talk it over with my parents tonight and make a decision about when to leave from there.
I look forward to talking to you again tonight. I’ll call after I’ve spoken with my parents and let you know what my plans are then.
Many hugs and kisses, Hazel


Marshall, [Wed 23]
Just a heads up, my flight has been scheduled for tomorrow morning at 6:40am Chch time. I’ll let you know whether I’ll be on it after I’ve talked it over with my parents. Dad has gone off to help a neighbour rebuild his verandah. He somehow managed to convince us all that at the moment he is better off working than sitting on his arse. It seems insane in hindsight to have let him go. Anyway, I’ll call after he’s got back.
Holy crap, it’s all so soon! I only just realised that. Pardon me while I freak out a bit.
Thinking of you, Hazel XXXX


Hazel, [Wed 23]
No worries. You know, maybe it would be a good idea to stay that extra day. Give you that time to help your folks get settled back into the house, say your goodbyes properly and all that. Now don’t try and turn that around into me not wanting you home- I absolutely can’t wait for you to return.
That is all. Marshall. X


Marshall, [Thurs 24]
Sorry I couldn’t give you a definitive answer when I called last night. Dad had run off again, to another friend’s house. So I didn’t get the chance to talk to him (and Mum) until this morning. It sort of forced my hand a bit, so I’ve inadvertantly decided to take your advice and postpone leaving until tomorrow morning. The flight regime is the same, just 24 hours later. So I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon! Are you still OK to pick me up from the airport?
I’m helping settle Mum and Dad back into the house today. We were given the all clear to go home yesterday evening, but chose to stay another night on the squeaky single mattresses instead. Don’t ask me why. Some things no longer make sense amongst all the chaos and the ruins. But anyway, today is the day.
So I’d better get stuck into it. I’ll talk to you later.
Love you, Hazel.

A photograph


Back at the house atop the hill Hazel pulled the photograph out of her jacket pocket and showed it to Beth.
            “Huh, would you look at that? I think that’s Phillip’s father! Where did you find this?”
            “In the wall of the crumbling cottage across the causeway. We thought it might something important, given its hiding place.”
            “Well yes, I suppose it is. Phillip, come look at this!” Shee called out over her shoulder. “Phillip?”
            They all looked around the wall to the living room, where Phillip sat in his comfy chair, the latest edition of the Countryman open on his lap. His head was tilted back and mouth wide open. A snore vibrated his soft palate. They each smiled.
            “Oh well. We’ll show him later.” Beth looked down at the photograph again. “He sure was an attractive man, even if he was a bit awkward.”
            “Huh, really?” Hazel looked over Beth’s arm at the photo. “I guess he was.”
            “What do you mean ‘he was awkward’?” Marshall said.
            “Oh you know. He was a bit… different that’s all. Not like any of the other men I knew. Don’t get me wrong; he was a wonderful, generous man. But there was something a bit different about him. He was very good at what he did on the farm, but he wasn’t that great at making conversation. He was socially awkward, that was all.”
            “So that’s where Phillip gets it from then?”
            “Ha! Not the least bit. Phillip’s social awkwardness comes from deliberately trying to overstep the line of appropriate conversation. He’s a devious old devil.”
“And yet you married him…”
            “Marshall!”
            “And yet I married him…” Beth sighed, “And it seems like you are headed down exactly the same path. Anyway, best not to wake him. I’ll just put this over here until he wakes up.” Beth walked over to the rough timber cabinet in the living room and propped the photograph up amongst the photoframes strewn across its surface.

Sunday 3 July 2011

Hazel returns, and another letter


They packed the cardboard and supplies in the back of the van and piled into it and Alby’s Gemini and set out for the domestic airport with windows down and tinny speakers piping bad 90’s pop hits at any passersby. At the lights Zach and Alby synched their mix-tapes to the same spot and they drove in stereo down Guildford Road. Everyone got into the spirit and sang along at the highest volume they could, competing for the title of loudest vehicle.
            
            In the carpark they organised who would carry what. Alby, Zach, Mattias and Piers squeezed into the packing-box aeroplane and figured out how they would actually walk around with it on, co-ordinating a system of left-right-left-right. They practiced down the roadway making aeroplane noises like 8-year-olds until they could effectively, if not smoothly, run as a unit without tripping over each other’s legs.

            Once they were confident enough, they huddled around for an inspiration pep-talk from Alby before setting off as a group to the arrivals lounge. Pilar lead the way walking backwards and waving her arms around like a member of the runway staff directing a plane into dock. The placarders followed, their signs furled for fear of drawing even more attention to themselves.

            The glass doors parted and allowed the party to enter, but within a minute there were a clutch of security guards and a couple of police encircling them at distance. A policeman finally approached, thumbs cocked around his belt like some wild-west gunslinger.

            “How’s it going guys? What’s going on?”

            “Not much, sir. Just waiting for our friend to arrive.” Marshall got in quickly, before anyone else could say anything to garner even more suspicion.

            “That right?” They all nodded. “Where are they coming from?”

            “The next flight from Melbourne. It’s my girlfriend. She’s coming back from Christchurch.”

            “That’s quite the get up you’ve got there. Do you mind if I take a look at it?”

            “Sure, sure. No worries.”

            “Could I get you guys to hop out a minute?”

            Vague mutterings could be heard, but they dutifully complied. They unhitched the elastic straps from their shoulders and carefully lowered the plane to the floor before stepping out. The policemen afforded themselves a smile back and forth.

            “It’s not everyday we get a plane in the airport itself…”

            “I s’pose not.”

            “Could we take a look at the signs you guys have got?”

            They looked at each other confused.

            “To see if there’s anything offensive. There are kids around, you see? We don’t want to offend anyone.” He indicated around the vast hall to validate his statements.

            “Sure.” At Marshall’s indication they turned their signs over for the officer’s to read.

            “They’re a bit dark, aren’t they?” the one in charge asked, pointing over the top of the signs.

            “What’s wrong with a bit of dark humour?” opined Mattias. The others glared at him. “What?” he said, pleading his innocence.

            “Nothing, I s’pose. Just not to everyone’s taste. Some people could be offended by it, especially so soon after the earthquake, that’s all. But I think it’s all above board.” He nodded to his colleague, who handed the sign back to Donna. “There’s nothing there that could be deemed offensive. What do you have in there?” He reached out an arm towards the box being carried by Marshall.

            “This? Oh, just some streamers and stuff.”

            “Do you mind if take a look?”

            “No. Go for it.” Marshall handed the box over to the one in charge.

            “What are these?” he held up a bag filled with colourful plastic.

            “Ah dear. Party poppers.” Marshall saw where this was headed.

            “And what were you planning to do with them?”

            “Pop them!” Alby couldn’t help himself, and he giggled to himself as Zach, then Pilar, slapped him over the back of the head. The officers looked at him; Marshall facepalmed.

            “In an airport? Do you think that’s wise?”

            “No sir.” Marshall reverted to submission before anyone else could crack wise.

            “No sir, indeed. We can’t have popping sounds and gunpowder going off all over the place, now can we? Imagine the commotion that could cause. We could have to shut the airport down with all the panic. How’d you like that?”

            “Sorry sir. We didn’t think about that.”

            “So it seems.” He turned the bag over in his hands. “We’ll be taking these. You can keep the rest of it.”

            “Thanks.”

“Just try to think about what you’re doing and where you’re doing it. You don’t want to create a scene, do you?”

“No sir.”

“And try not to bring too much attention to yourselves. And clean up after yourselves, OK?”

            “OK.”

            “Right then. Take care.” The officers sauntered back to the group of security guards standing watch 10 meters away to explain what was going on.

            “Take care.” Marshall turned back to his friends and smiled wryly.

            “Yes sir, no sir, 3 bags full sir.” Alby parroted and laughed.

            Marshall blushed. “We’re all still here, aren’t we?” he said as justification.

            “Anyway, which flight is she on?” Donna was looking up at the arrivals board.

            Marshall reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper torn out of the corner of a notebook.

            “There it is! It’s due in ten minutes. QF147.” Piers beat everyone to it. Marshall slipped the paper back into his pocket.

            “Do we want to go up there?” Mattias pointed up the escalators.

            “And go through security with all this?” Donna laughed.

            “I guess not, then.”

            “It’ll be another 20 minutes before it lands, parks and lets everyone off.”

            “Still. Too much effort.”

            A quick poll was conducted, and they decided to stay down in the luggage hall. Zach and Donna went to the kiosk to grab snacks and water for everyone.

            As they were fishing the last of the crumbs out of the bottom of the tube of crisps people began to descend the escalators from the lounge to the hall. Licking salt from their fingers the boys got back into their aircraft and lifted it onto their shoulders as the rest picked up the signs and sorted out who was holding what and in what order. They jiggled with anticipation, peering excitedly up the stairs to the bank of people waiting to descend- suits with briefcases, families with small colourful children, salt-bleached surfers with matted hair.
            
            Finally the object of their desire appeared three people back from the top of the escalator. Pilar raised the call. “HAZEL!”

            They all cheered and whooped, waving their signs in the air as she peered down on them from on high. She stepped onto the escalator and threw her head back in a full-blooded laugh and slapped her hands in delight. She waved at the signs and banner bobbing up and down in their own cleared circle amongst the crowd. On the ground floor, concerned looks were exchanged between fellow passengers at the barely contained circle of youth. The police looked on trying to hide their amusement from the worried onlookers.

            Hazel was jumping up and down on the escalator, impatient with the sluggishness of the descent and being blocked in by twin lines of travellers, and had to try and be patient even once she stepped off and filtered towards the glass door separating her from her friends. Finally she squeezed through the crowd and walked, nonchalant but for the grin spreading wider and wider across her face, towards her singing and yelling group of friends. The aeroplane jogged down its abbreviated runway with all four cylinders spluttering and took flight to circle around Hazel, skimming close and dipping its wings from one side to the other. The banner wavers blew their party whistles and threw crepe paper streamers at their target.

            She made a beeline to her boyfriend. Their eyes met and they shared a secret smile. She gave herself to his embrace, lifted from the ground, and kissed him hard. The others joined in the hug until she was at the very centre of a scrum. They squeezed each other tight, before the aeroplane crash-landed on top of them, collapsing the group to the floor in a tangle of arms, legs, crepe paper, plastic and cardboard. Slowly they peeled off, and Hazel made her rounds of the group, hugging and kissing the cheeks of each in turn.

            Once they had all calmed down and they had stopped puffing and laughing they picked up the scraps of the decorations and placards, and the crumpled rubble of the aeroplane. The police came over and helped them collect the last of the rubbish, sharing a laugh with the welcoming committee and complimenting Hazel on her choice of friends. Alby, Zach, Mattias, Piers and Yoshi left the building jostling and bumping each other, having been revved up by the excitement of the day, while Pilar and Donna chatted animatedly with their prodigal friend. Marshall walked alongside with his hand in Hazel’s, just happy to have her back.

                                                              ***** 

Hazel, [Wed 23]
I’m so glad you and your family are safe and well. I can’t stress that enough. I can (almost) handle being without you for a few extra days, but I don’t know what I’d do without you forever.
I didn’t sleep too well last night from worry, so I’m really not surprised you didn’t sleep well either. What you’re going through certainly puts what I’ve feeling into perspective. I feel a bit of a fool now.
It really is horrible what has befallen your town. The images on the news are horrifying. The whole city seems to be in ruins. I can only imagine what everyone there is going through.
I’ll try to call during lunch. Right now I have to use my Western booking and strip some membranes (the bit that stinks of rotting eggs). Small fry, really.
Love you heaps and heaps.
Marshall

more letters


Today is the same sort of deal as the past couple of days- a seemingly endless stream of visitors and cakes. It’s a shame that Dad can’t eat any of it, what with his heart and all, so it’s left for us girls. But even we are struggling to get through it all. We’ve taken to packaging them up and regifting to neighbours and such.
I’m almost halfway through Anna Karenina now. I’ve managed to keep reading/writing between visitors and between dinner and bedtime. I’ve gotten into some sort of routine with it. Cool story Hazel. Yeah.
Oh well, I’d better get back to my family duties. Mum’s gone down to the shops, and those dishes aren’t going to wash themselves. Good luck back at work today.
Love you, Hazel. X.X.X.X.


Hey Hazel, [Mon 21]
Work today has been fine. I had a meeting with my supervisors down on the foreshore this morning. Dolphins were playing around the hulls of the boats and in the shallows, which was nice and peaceful. The bosses got caught up with pie-in-the-sky future stuff, so I managed to keep my current work ethic under the radar. I did manage to get through a lot of the reading I’d set for myself on Friday though, so I am getting back into the game. I did a qPCR this morning, and have a Western transferring right now. It’s all looking up work wise. I’m still feeling a little broken, but my time out yesterday certainly recharged my batteries a bit. And the knowledge that you’ll be back in a couple of days helps a whole lot. I feel like I can face another day at work now.
My timer is about to go off, so it’s back to the lab for me. Have fun with all those cakes.
Love you, Marshall XX


Good morning Marshall, [Tues 22 (morning)]
The date draws nearer! One more sleep and I’m on the plane. My plans for the day are the same as ever- look after the guests. Thankfully the stream of them is no longer continuous. More time for reading and writing for me. Speaking of which, I have utterly failed in my mission to write an actual old-fashioned letter to you. Dang. Too late now I suppose.
Right, up time. Give me a call when you wake up.
Hazel XX