Yesterday I had the misfortune to be walking up an intimate Melbourne CBD side street at the exact same time a couple of people from my past were walking in the opposite direction.
I was off with the fairies with thoughts of holiday destinations involving sun-loving, cossie wearing days capped off with seafood dining evenings getting drunk on wine and margaritas on the porch of our beach house listening to the hypnotic sound of lapping waves. I was in the middle of dreaming about swimming in the ocean when I crashed back to reality and noticed them about 5 metres away from me, at which point it would have been way too obvious to change direction or cross the road. I just had to grin and bear it and assume they wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to even notice me at all given I was walking behind two 20 something goddesses in all their cleavage revealing, big hair, fake tan wonderfulness.
Sometimes I thank the lord for Ice Queens!
I had imagined this day might come, but had always assumed I couldn’t possibly be so unlucky in one year. And I have to smile to myself, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that things can always get worse – and most likely, they will.
What I didn’t anticipate was exactly how the moment would make me feel. My heart raced so fast that I suddenly became deaf and I forgot to breathe. I thanked god I was wearing sunglasses so that I at least had some anonymity and some way of belying what was going through my head. Why is it we can’t stand for someone to read our thoughts? Surely they would know I would feel this way? Why does it matter to me what they think? Why does it matter to me what somebody who made threats against my life (which I reported to the Police) and the other person who so totally hung me out to dry, would actually think?
I’m fairly certain one noticed me and the feeling in the pit of my stomach as their hand swung nearly 5cm away from my own was utterly gruelling. I felt sick as he looked at me with what appeared to be surprise and bewilderment. I broke out in a sweat. I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest and beat its last few pumps on the pavement in front of me.
But I kept my head and endured those seconds that felt like hours.
And then I suddenly became angry. And pissed off. And I thought ”Fuck em’!”
I raised my head, continuing on at my usual pace, walking on and not looking back. Breathing, unclenching my fists and enduring those tremors resulting from the adrenalin, I walked on as if nothing had happened until I hit Hardware Lane and turned the corner.
I reached for my mobile phone to call my partner, but realised I couldn’t call him because my hands were totally incapable of dialling his number – or any number for that matter.
All I could do was walk it out until I got back to work.
I dunno what the moral of the story is. Certainly they would have their own opinions on that which they can shove up their collective arsehole. They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and I think certainly that is true to the extent that as I get older I seem to be able to endure more and more creative forms of torture. But at least that hump’s outta the way now.
Back to thinking about sun-kissed holiday destinations….
