family home

I was about to travel home with a companion. Instead of the coastal route, or even the usual inland route, we had just discovered that we were to drive from Queensland to Newcastle via western New South Wales, skirting the border of South Australia. We called my aunty who gave us directions, and, as she did, a hand-drown map of New South Wales appeared before us. She told us the name of a particular road we were to take; the name of the road, although now unclear, had something to do with the word 'safe'. The road appeared on the map, and I circled it. The map and the added markings were in black ink.
Next, I was in Newcastle, walking the streets with some of the male members of my extended family. We were heading to the beach, but we seemed to travel an indirect route, via the railway lines close to the suburb where I lived as a child. We climbed the stairs and crossed the pedestrian bridge over the railway line. As we passed a public pool, I asked my family to wait outside while I ducked in for a moment. I felt I needed to dive into the pool, to do a few laps. Joy surged through my body; I anticipated the wonderful ease of movement and strength I would feel as I moved through the water. I stripped off and jumped in but, instead of feeling lithe and powerful, I felt greatly encumbered. Each stroke took enormous effort. My arms were like heavy weights dragging me down, with very little strength at all. I knew, however, that, should I complete two laps - to the end and back - I would begin a journey toward wellness, and that tomorrow, the laps would be a little easier, and easier again the day after that. I struggled on, willing my arms to circle through the water with each stroke. On the homeward lap, I chose to backstroke, as this had once been my strongest stroke. I tried to find ways to make my arms and hands glide through the water, but still it was as though I had bricks tied to each hand. Nevertheless, I continued until I reached the side of the pool. I jumped out and dried off, dressing again. I checked my reflection in the mirror and noticed that I was still wearing lipstick and, satisfied, I carefully collected my belongings and a few items of my mother's. I was worried that I had taken far too long, but my father, my uncle and other family members were still waiting outside. We continued on. On the way, we stopped at the family home, which was now occupied by my uncle. I had the sense that this house (that does not in real life exist) had been passed down through the generations of our family. We all sat in the lounge room, enjoying one another's company until a team of workmen entered who had been working outside. The leader told my uncle that the work that needed to be done would cost a great deal more than he had originally quoted, and he mentioned an estimated figure that was huge. My uncle stood up and told them to leave, ushering them out the door, a little red in the face. We were all quiet and we could hear the workmen laughing and visiting the hotel across the road. We were not sure if this meant that we would lose the family home or if we could find a way to raise sufficient money to repair it.