old woman, trespassers and snake

I was at once visiting an old woman and I was the woman. She/I lived in a terrace house in the suburbs. We were lying down, sleeping, on an enclosed verandah that jutted out into the front garden. From there, with eyes half-closed, we could see the passers by. Drowsily I noticed that someone was walking down the driveway and going through the garage to the back yard. A few more people, all carrying things, followed. At first I assumed that they were coming to tend the yard, but as more and more people arrived, I began to grow anxious. With difficulty, I roused myself from slumber and asked a few of the young people what they were doing. Were they using my property as a short-cut to somewhere else? No, they answered. They were here to have a party and, it seemed, that they had a party in my yard on a regular basis. I realised that the old woman had lacked the energy to prevent it. She was far too tired, far too old to protect herself. Now that I was awake, I became angry. I marched through the garage and into the backyard, to see a horde of people setting up speakers, making fires, putting bottles on ice. I scanned the crowd and could see that there was one young woman who appeared to have the most authority among them. She was setting up a table at the entrance to the yard. I confronted her, telling her that they were no longer welcome here, that they were not to party here any longer. I had moved in and now owned the house. She seemed to care very little and I could see that it was going to take more than my word to evict the trespassers from our home. For this night, we resigned ourselves to the circumstances and went upstairs. I looked around the rooms, as though I had never been there before, though I now lived there. The house needed work. The walls, the furniture, everything needed some care. I sat with the woman and toyed with a few things that were lying on the table; among them, a sock stuffed with something, and, sewn onto the sock, a face. I stroked the sock for a moment, as though it was a pet. The thing inside the sock moved and hissed. The woman off-handedly remarked that perhaps I should not have done that as inside the sock was a snake. Sure enough, a short, purple snake emerged from the sock and eyed me, hissing. It slid over and tucked itself in the crook of my arm. I told the woman I was not particularly good with snakes and asked her to remove it. She did, and the snake disappeared under the table. I was edgy, thinking that the snake would dart out from somewhere and bite me. Instead, the snake appeared, pushing a branch bearing flowers, which it left at my feet. It looked up at me, retreated, and again came back with another gift. I was still tentative and the snake left to get something else. When it returned, it had transformed into a creature, still purple, that was more similar in shape and size to a goanna. I was somewhat relieved.

unprepared

I visited a friend who was starring in a theatre production, staged by a national theatre company. There was a very minor role that needed filling for the matinee performance the following day. My friend asked me if I would mind doing it, as it required no speaking or rehearsal, just a brief appearance on stage, following her, like a lost child. I was wary, but wanted to help her. The next day, I arrived at the theatre well before the opening time. I donned my costume in the dressing room and then waited for my friend to arrive. No one told me when I would be required, but I trusted that my friend would arrive soon and would tell me what to do. The show started and still she didn't arrive. I paced the floor backstage, growing increasingly anxious. As the huge crowd applauded - the curtains closing, marking the end of the first act - my friend arrived. I saw her walking, self-assured, around the rear of the building to the backstage area. Once there, she set about readying herself - makeup, hair and costume. I asked her what I would need to do in my minor role. She handed over a script and, suddenly, I was frightened. Where yesterday she had told me there was no speaking required, I now realised this was indeed a speaking role, with far more acting needed. I had not rehearsed, I had never seen the show and I had not acted in years. She continued to remain frustratingly nonchalant. I tried to wrestle information from her. Where were the props I was to use, how was the stage set, what was I to do? The script informed me that I was a young boy, pressed to make a choice between remaining loyal to someone, or signing a cheque that somehow sealed the fate of another actor. I was to sign the cheque, have a conversation, appeal to the audience and then leave the stage. I did not know where the cheque was or how I could possibly learn the script in the few minutes before we were due on stage. I was furious with my friend for misleading me and now failing to properly prepare me for the role. I considered walking out, but didn't want to let down the rest of the cast and crew. I realised I had to go on stage and entirely improvise the part, in front of an audience of a thousand or more.

home

B and I were sleeping in the bedroom of what seemed to be a spacious caravan or a boat. In any case, I had the feeling that our home was relocatable, that our current situation was temporary. I woke and looked through the window directly behind our bed head. I could see that we were parked on a road leading to the beach, only about one hundred metres away. The tide was high and giant turquoise waves rose and curled toward the shore. I watched as a surfer braved the mammoth waves, and then saw an enormous shadow riding the wave behind him. It was so vast, dwarfing the man on the board, that I knew it could only be a blue whale, the largest animal on our planet. I woke B to show her as yet another wave rose high above the sea bed, another titanic shadow revealed in the curl of the wave. The waves towered above us, crashing closer and closer until our home was carried by the water, rocking back and forth and butting against the rocks. We were at the mercy of the ocean and cowered under the massive shadows of the whales, which endangered our very lives.

gift of spite

B and I were in my bedroom in my family home. My sister was in her room, opposite. A delivery man arrived with two bunches of flowers - one enormous bunch of soft pink roses, perhaps six dozen or more, and one small bunch of hot pink lilies or something similar, about four stems. He gave the roses to my sister and the lilies to me, and left. Though the flowers were extremely beautiful, incredibly so, we received them with trepidation. We knew that they were from someone, a woman, who resented us and that this was her way of communicating her ill will. Attached to my flowers was a small gift-wrapped parcel. I opened it to reveal three pairs of silver earrings, each pair bearing engravings depicting scenes from our last interaction, some years before. Again, though they were exceptionally intricate and precious, I felt very uneasy. My sister's bunch of roses hid a similar parcel containing fine jewellry; this time, a set of silver rings, each banded with diamonds. The beauty of her gift was so overwhelming that I almost forgot who had sent it. I tried on her rings, too large for any but my largest finger, and admired them glinting in the light.

how to float

I was living in the family home where I lived as a teenager. I was a student at a university, of sorts; a school where very alternative disciplines were taught, among them flying, levitation & floating, complex business for arcane arts, total body integration, and much more. I recall very little now about the teachings, but I remember the final week of the third year of study, when I suddenly understood the lessons, the years of learning, and knew which of the disciplines I wished to master. A moment of dawning occurred while I was dressing in my bedroom, so, mid way through putting on some clothes, I raced out of my room, wearing only black swimmers, and ran through the rain to the campus. My body felt fit and powerful and I had no qualms of self-consciousness, though I ran past crowds of people. Inside the building, I quietly went from room to room, careful not to disturb the classes, searching for a particular teacher - the teacher of levitation and floating - to tell her about my breakthrough. She was a beautiful woman with silver-grey hair. She was, at that time, teaching a physical integration class, so I waited impatiently outside the room.

travelling through the pipes

We were standing in the shower of a bathroom, in a downstairs unit of an old apartment block. Somehow, we were to travel up through the pipes to a unit upstairs. We sent some of our belongings up ahead of us and then we entered the pipes, shot upward and emerged in the shower of the designated apartment. This shower was above an old, pink enamel bath, enclosed by a plastic shower curtain. I hopped out of the bath, thrilled that our journey had succeeded, and waded through the items we had sent before us, which had spilled out of the bath and over the tiled bathroom floor. I opened the bathroom door, about to walk into the living room, but I heard the television and realised that someone was home. I quickly closed the door and ushered B back into the shower. I collected as many of our things as I could and jumped into the bath, closing the shower curtain around us. Through the curtain, I saw a young man enter the room, having heard us trying to get away. He glanced at our remaining things lying on the floor, walked straight over to the bath and grabbed the curtain in his fist, about to wrench it open. We held it closed and, although we could see through it and watch his response, he could not see us. I called out: Please don't open the curtain, I'm simply having a bath. He retreated, but said he would be back. B and I tried to send our things back down through the pipes, desperately trying to recall how we had morphed to fit in ourselves. Through the curtain, I could see the man. He had closed the bathroom door behind him and was again approaching. Suddenly, it worked. The pipes received us, opening up like a tunnel or a black hole. We travelled downward and, soon, B and I were back in our own unit, again standing in the shower, surrounded by our things.

birds

I was sitting high up on the front verandah of my first house, the family home where I lived until I was eleven. The cement was old and cool under my legs and the old metal railing enclosed the space. Trees stood tall around the verandah, so that some branches reached over, almost to where I sat. An elegant white, blue and black bird, as big as a hen, flew down onto the verandah and sat quite close to me, close enough that I could reach out and stroke her silky tail feathers. I was amazed at her trust. A pair of crows circled around and perched on a nearby branch, content to observe the scene. Then another pair of birds arrived. The male was magnificent: ruby red, emerald green and sapphire blue designs embroidered his plumage and his chest was broad and strong. His beautiful mate was soft grey and white, a smaller and more delicate bird. She flew onto my right shoulder and nestled her body into the curve of my neck. I placed my hand upon her and felt the light weight of her body. I immediately understood that she wasn't well and that her mate, who watched me intently, was entrusting her to me, that he had brought her here to regain her strength.