She is looking for a new share house. Things have sorta fallen through with the old one. Late nights spent laughing, picking out art together, a close friendship gone wrong, a vengeful erstwhile lover relegated to his rightful and former role of housemate, its all rather untidy. She calls a few places.
One she goes to visit is by a large park. She is picks up apples on the way. When he opens the door she says "Look I know this whole process can be tiresome, so here are some pink ladies for your efforts." He is older than her, just a little.
"Why thank you." His eyes are quizzical and his speech is clear. He gives her a brief tour. She looks at the room. It is pretty and white and has a Juliet balcony from which she could toss petals, wax lyrical, blow smoke rings, empty pots of glitter, howl at the moon. Possibilities.
Practicalities.
They stand in an open plan kitchen and drink some tea. She looks through glass doors flung open onto an urban oasis of gardenias, green stuff, potted herbs, fairy lights and outdoor candles.
"So. Nice house. Look I won't waste your time. What's the longest you would leave a crusty wok in the sink?"
He looks at her. "Please sit down." He motions to an oriental chaise lounge. He studies her intently. The music playing in the background sounds like something from a harpsichord. The living room is sparsely decorated with ethnic and eclectic art, sculptures, lamps, a candle here and there.
Conversation time.
"Who are you?"
"Uh, I'm Caitlin. I emailed you and called about the room. We spoke for 15 minutes."
"Yes I know. You were eating chocolate cake the entire time. It was 11pm."
"Uh, well, sorry about that."
"No, I liked it."
"I see. Look, also, about the garbage chute thing. I couldn't give sh*t if there is a garbage chute or not, I only wrote "Loving the garbage chute!" in my email because some person specifically advertised that their house had a garbage chute, like it might be a major selling point. I got a bit mixed up there. I don't specifically need a garbage chute or have some massive appreciation for fine garbage chutes. That would be weird." She feels ridiculous explaining it.
"I work in film. Nothing is weird to me." He studies her some more. "We could make film about garbage chutes."
Silence.
"What?"
"We could make a film, You would be in it. Can you act?"
"Sure." He nods. Silence again. "Would it be in Aramaic or something?"
He nods. Silence again. He is circling from above waiting for a flicker of something familiar perhaps. Stop staring at me!! "Uh, look, I'm gonna have to percolate that for a bit. But about the room-"
"Apple?" He tears open the bag, inspects one and tosses it to her without waiting for an answer. "Where did you go to school?"
"What??"
"I just want some context. Back-story."
"Oh. The convent up there on the hill." She points out the window. "But I was expelled, sort of. So you and Pencey are no longer one… remember that line from the teacher in Catcher in the Rye? Something like that."
"Expelled for what?"
"Nothing. I don't know. A symphony of misdemeanours."
"What misdemeanours?"
"Ingratitude. Convent misdemeanours."
"Insurrection?"
She munches on her apple and smiles a little bit. "Look, have a think about the room thing, enjoy your apples, I have a few things going on, let me know."
"Sure. One more thing" he says at the door. "Why do you want to move?"
She leaves and dashes off down the yellow brick road in quick little steps.
Randomly, a year later, she sends him a message.
"Hows that garage chute film script coming along?"
He is surprised to hear from her but there is synchronicity to the timing. He is in her new town the next day en route to a party in Indonesia. An anniversary of a famous resort or something.
At his insistence they meet for a drink in a garden bar in Perth. They discuss collective nouns, her favourite topic. A flight of dragons. A nuisance of cats! A tabernacle of bakers, a murder of crows, a herd of harlots! a gaggle of gossips, a hastiness of cooks!! She loves them just a little too much, make it stop!
"Do you like to make up your own?" she asks.
"Come with me."
"Uh, to some whacked out party in a resort in Bali with a stranger? No."
"I'm hardly a stranger. We met a year ago. That's once more than strangers. This will be a party for anybody-who-is-anybody in film in the region."
She thinks about it.
"Look, the timing for a dalliance or some bizarre fling is actually pretty good. I just broke up with someone. But its all a bit mental. I don't know you from a bar of soap."
"Then marry me."
"What?!!" Her drink shoots out through her nose and she looks for a tissue. He is being serious. Hmmmm. Didn't see that one coming. He has surprised her. She tries it on for size. Not bad. Tastes like gelato.
"That is, dare I say, even weirder. Yet the absurdity of the idea is oddly appealing." She looks to her favourite constellations for guidance. Orion says No. She looks again. Where are you this evening Pegasus? Pegasus says No.
"It makes sense. You're intelligent. You're interesting. I find you beautiful. I would never tire of you. We would make excellent progeny."
"Oh my, what a lovely suite of compliments. However, you would tire of the chaos."
"I'm going to this party in Indo, then back to Sydney for a week, then Mongolia for 8 months. We would start our life in Mongolia. You have till midnight to decide?" He excuses himself to find the bathroom and she orders a glass of champagne and slips away, the arrival of bubbles a fading reminder of her swift departure. Or just plain rude, its always so hard to tell.
He implores from the airport and leaves several messages but she doesn't answer.
The sensible option is boring but she is trying to grasp grown up land and enjoy its sturdy circle of options. The proposal was tossed in permeable mental box, along with the tidy realms of randomness, journeys down rabbit holes, through windy alleys, through Dante's 7th circle.
At the eleventh hour he leaves a last message about the plane taking off. She is reminded of when they met. "I work in film. Nothing is weird to me."
