If someone asked me how it all happened, I don’t think I would be able to answer them. I mean, I could rattle something off about champagne, hitchhiking, fairy lights, a boat on the Southport harbour, a funeral, and how the dress that I chose to wear, was free when you purchased a $5.95 magazine.
I could give facts. Dates. I might even be able to make excuses. I’m not sure. The story changes every-time it leaves my tongue. Mostly because I’m not so sure how it really goes anyway. I wasn’t listening half the time. I was singing ‘somewhere over the rainbow’ on repeat in my head, and dreaming of any life that wasn’t mine.
I did have moments of clarity I think. I remember recognising my life on occasion. Those evenings started nice. Warm and familiar. That quickly cascaded into hot, flustered and claustrophobic. They usually ended with getting drunk and going to maccas. But that’s not too bad I suppose. Nobody’s ever died from chicken nuggets and diet coke. Well. Maybe not right right away.
I remember feeling the possibility of a light existence. A good job, a good man, and a fence. I vaguely recall having it right there for the taking. It was so close by. I had a boy in my proximity who had always kept me laughing. I had friends just outside my door who had always kept me grounded. I had job opportunities that would have opened doors.
Then I remember shutting mine instead. I sat in my four by three metre bedroom with music, google, and more often than not some sort of grape beverage. I remember silencing my alarms. Saying no to dinners. And eating black jelly beans.
All of that possibility disintegrated. Or gave up on me. Or decided I wasn’t worth it. Exactly as I had asked it to. All of that lightness kept moving. Because that’s how the world works apparently. It moves. You get up and do things. You don’t just allow things to happen to you. You make decisions. When at a crossroads, you turn left or you turn right. You don’t keep powering straight on through, winding up in a paddock somewhere with sugarcane stuck in your hair.
At least now looking back, it’s not so far so gone that I can’t see road. I can still see it. I can sometimes even make a little sense of how I got here. The tire marks haven’t been rained away yet.
So now as I start my trek back, I guess I just have to remember to gather a bit of this sugarcane en route. Because god knows, I’m going to have to have something to offer when I finally reach that highway.
XX good night
You’re a poet Matisse! Geo x