Plane Ballet

I am looking at a brochure of discount vouchers for food court takeaway. On the front a stock photography woman with elfin ears licks her well-manicured and perfectly clean fingers. The kerning and alignment are so bad I am convinced it must be intentional, until I spot grocer’s apostrophes by the dozen. This, and a crumpled Optus bill explaining the reasons I am expected to fork out two dollars twenty for each piece of correspondence they send me henceforth, are the only two pieces of paper I find in my bag, as I sort through the front pocket looking for my keys. Spend $5 or more and receive your FREE Giant Jelly Baby.¹

These are remnants of a week spent at “home” when I felt more a stranger than ever before. People still ask “When are you coming back?” but these days it’s preceded with, “So, it must have been almost a year now” and I know, more than anything, it’s an effort at solidarity. It’s okay though; I still entertain thoughts of coming back to that world of structure, dependable certainty and familiar hierarchy. Being surrounded by the ebb and flow of a consistent, but varied, workload. But I won’t, not yet. For now I’m in the grey zone, that purgatory of the traveller, where home isn’t really home, but hasn’t yet been replaced by something, or somewhere, else.

I move out in two weeks, and I won’t miss the white sheets, plastic flowers and prints of tulips that I have pushed until they are slightly askew. Nor will I miss the nights the kids above me get drunk and run down the internal stairs to use the intercom to call back upstairs, and inform their housemates that they are slags. Or that I know you get Choc Wedges and Dairy Milk on 719, and Trumpets and Lindt on 718, but only if you’re flying on a Sunday.

Saturday is 717 and you usually get a spare seat.

I’ve now watched Doubt, with Meryl Streep and Philip Seymour Hoffman, four times without sound, except for the one part where the altar boy ducks, rings his bell, and steps backward. That frequency must carry perfectly on the complimentary headphones because suddenly it sounds like mobile phones are ringing in the overhead lockers, and for a second everyone not watching the movie looks panicked and pats their pockets, thinking it’s theirs.

¹ Not valid with any other offer. One voucher per person. Photo’s are illustrative only.