War/Peace. Matthew Vandenberg
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the skin of the scene. You begin to weep and so does she. The ground begins to shake. But she doesn’t let go.
‘Her grip on you is intense: the grip of a lord you’ll never meet, her gaze so intense as it’s in present, her movements succinct, controlled and completely coordinated.’
I sigh, retreat, pulling my hands from the grasp of her fingers, smile, and then run from the library. I keep my balance as the ground splits between my feet. Running like Kanye I escape into the night.
‘Bye.’
******
References
1 Hold My Hand - Michael Jackson and Akon
2 She's So High - Tal Bachman
3 Good Girls Go Bad - Cobra Starship
4 Runaway – Kanye West
JACKSON CURTIS - 3:03!pm - November 30 - 2011
‘Artarmon. It’s a suburb on the lower north shore of Sydney. It’s a suburb where people live, work, and the home of that Special Broadcasting Service known as SBS. It’s where a Bunnings factory lies, one just south of a site in Chatswood where an even larger one sits, its back straight and all confident-like. That’s where I work. That’s why I’m here, in Artarmon, today. But it ain’t the reason why I’m quickening my pace just a little as I near the freeway overpass, it ain’t the reason why I’m rushing towards the railway station, having left the large Artarmon Bunnings store, the reason why my thumbs are inside my pockets like the heads of two curious turtles. The reason why I’m here is because I like it here. I like this area, the people, the trees, the restaurants, and also: she just called my name so I’m running over to her now.
‘Who is she? I’ll fill you in later with the name and all. Just keep up with me for now as I'mma speed through the back-story. It was the day I discovered I knew how to talk to girls, one shy July afternoon earlier this year. I was here, right where I am now, and that’s why – as the sunlight illuminates the ground beneath me – I find inside my mind a snapshot of that time, that day, and that scene, as smooth and delicate as the contours of this girl’s body. That’s why every step I take I’m hearing a click, as though I’m wearing high heels, and with every click I’m viewing another shot of the scene as it was laid out before me just 5 months ago as I wandered through this shy suburb on a day just like today.
‘The day before this day was the first time she touched me, and I mean for real. I wanted to tell this story from the beginning but I can’t think straight – not that I have tried to since the day she told me how she felt. Now I should tell you just who I’m talking about: one girl and one woman. The girl stands just across the road from me right now, the woman is my 9th grade history teacher. Ok. Are you following? Good. The day of interest – which will serve as some kind of point – was the day right after she . . .
‘Ok, can’t think straight. Wait. Bring the beat back. Not Stay The Night, Shake It. Ok. That’s good. Where was I? She kissed me. In July of the current year she kissed me, my 9th grade history teacher. I’ll tell you heaps more about that later on, but let’s view a few shots of the following day. Now hopefully you get the pictures, so picture this shit: I’m walking down this very path after having been to a group interview at the Artarmon Bunnings. It’s an interview for a position at the as-yet-unopened Chatswood Bunnings, where I currently work. The teacher ain’t with me, she never is outside of school. But I’m a new person. You see, in school, by day, and around my peers I’m a shy guy who does well academically, a brilliant mathematician, a perfect physicist, or an avid history student. When I’m alone with her I’m confident, alert, cheery, and something far better than what I once was.
‘So on the day after the day she kissed me, and I swear I’ll tell you more about this later on, I was feeling just how I do when I’m with her. Artarmon a stage, the sun a disco ball, the movement of cars on the freeway a reflection of my own, and my proximity to this girl who now stands right before me ideal like the glaze on her eyes when she first focused her gaze on me:
‘Excuse me,’ I said, slowing my pace just a little. ‘Were you just at the interview?’
‘Yeah.’ – With one hand she moves some hair behind one ear. With one eye, and for one instant, I gaze at her face.
‘You were great. Seemed really confident.’
‘Oh, thank you. I know they say you should always be the first to volunteer for any activity but I just couldn’t . . . You were great though. You were so enthusiastic . . .’
‘You know what,’ I say to the camera. ‘This is boring. I would rather be picking up for real than writing about it . . . Bye.’
******
References
1 Double Vision – 3Oh!3
2 Just Lose It – Eminem
3 Shake It – Metro Station
4 Stay The Night – James Blunt
JACKSON CURTIS - 3:03!pm - July 4 - 2011
I do a double take with my gaze, capturing the entrance to the Bunnings car park twice, then thrice.
'The station? Is it back this way?'
'Yeah,' Nina replies.
'Well that's the way I'm going. Anyway, good luck. I think you went really well. Might see you at the Chatswood store.'
'Yeah, bye.'
I check my watch. It's 4 past 3. At 5 past 2 I was standing inside a hallway, twiddling my opposable thumbs. The atmosphere was weak and I was weaving a web between the people around me with my annoying gaze, letting it roam freely like a stupid spider might. ~ It's that time when you're waiting your turn to be called into an interview room: people graze the hall floor like sheep, and the stage is yours if you choose to accept the invitation. It's hard to know, of course, whether the people are employees already, perhaps managers, planted among prospective employees to spy on them, to study them, and to judge them. One – perhaps Nina – studies instead the notices on the notice board, another, Clark, checks his watch. Soon you and the others are invited into a small dining room, but you're sure – practically positive – it's a coop: it's a pen and you and the other prospective employees have been rounded up and directed into it so that others can spy on you. You're performance will be rated on a scale of 10 to 50: your social skills, your sense of humor – while Everybody Hates Chris plays on the television, a perfect backing track - , your demeanor, the way you direct your gaze, your posture, your enthusiasm, and your manners. You don't mind. Never before have you not given a damn but now you confidently take a seat beside some employee and apologize for your intrusion. Yeah – this is your room now, the desk your stage, the laughter track playing on the sit com your cheering audience. If you can kiss a fuckin' high school teacher when you're only in the ninth grade, like you did just yesterday, then you've got heads up on anyone, anyone anywhere any time. The world is your oyster.
Needless to say, the interview which followed was practically a theater production. I probably wasn't the star performer but this didn't concern me one little bit. When a starlet, with ginger hair like a sun-kissed rainbow, and a stare which holds your gaze in the same manner the best superglue Bunnings sells holds together two sheets of wood as though they were wings of angels, walks into the room you don't think of her as a competitor. I didn't. She was the star performer and I was an audience member. I sat back, relaxed, smiled, and turned the whites of my eyes on her as though they were spotlights, and my heart, an excited guard, did not stop moving.
I'm not an idiot. I was confident, cool, calm and collected throughout the entire interview, I was sure I'd be called back for the two on one interview which would follow for successful applicants and, furthermore, I was sure I'll be working at the new Bunnings in Chatswood when it opens. I also thought I might have a chance to talk to this starlet a little later on, but I wasn't going to go out of my way. Instead, I decided to talk to another girl, one who sat just opposite me during the group interview. And