Service Interrupted

There would be no second chances. It had taken just a second to realise that the delivery was not legit. It had been a chance of nature that he had detoured to the toilet instead of going straight to the door.

He had been lazed across his bed at a strange angle. The discomfort was a small price to pay for the company of just himself, a pizza box and a few empty cans of full strength red. Five fingers, 5 great oceans, 5 players, Gibb’s Rule’s. Caffeine and sugar rush, Kapow. Five minutes or five hours or five days or 5 something. That 5 something would help.

Normally he would be invested in the game, pacing the floor, leaning to guide the sherrin home from 2000 kms away. Clapping like thunder as the desperate defender dragged his opponent to the ground and hearing Ball roar from the tiny crowd and tinny speakers. If the drink you have when you’re not having a drink could win a flag in 99 then we can all dream. 99 Luft Balloons leaving us forever young, all living in his land of confusion.

“Apologies, service has been interrupted. As we wait to return you to Blundstone Arena for the final quarter of the North ….”. His ears jumped from the bed and he braced for impact. No good could come from anyone wanting to visit him.

As he bounced off the cupboard his mind wandered to the delivery.  Wine? Cricket balls? Or dog food? None needed but Ebay was impossible sometimes. It was probably a good thing that the ABC had lost their Hobart connection. Better to open a mystery box than hear the end of a dreary afternoon for the Roos in a dismal season.

As his zip lowered he wondered who delivered on a Sunday. And what was lying at his feet. With a casual glance out the tiny window he looked for the daily business of his street. No dogs being walked. No lawns being mowed. No cars rat running down to the 7 11. All that looked as expected was the tall silver gum tree, like Uluru changing colour and hues as the sun journeyed across the sky.

As he flushed he thought it was time to leave. Reversing into his bedroom grabbing whatever was on the crowded book shelf before stuffing his hands deep into his hoodie. A quick scratch of the ears before throwing the tennis ball down the hall. Yeap, that noise will be good.

Slipping out the study window he pulled his hoodie over his bared stomach and wondered which way. His hands fiddled through his pockets mindlessly checking the strange contents. Some magnets, a few coins, a receipt , and a mini torch.

Grabbing the 20 cent coin out he noted that it was from 1975. Had its life been better than his without relationships and cares? God save the queen because nothing would save Norman Gunston. As the cable waded out to the burns the pensioners cried proudly.

Emus had the right idea. If you can’t see them then life was better. Rough chin on chest, his finger printed sunglass lenses blocked the world as he stumbled down the gentle slope. Deep breaths and an abnormal determination to stay out of the house propelled him to the station. Go, get away from that door. Escape that rap.

Airport? Beenleigh? Shorncliffe? Only his bed could save him now but it was not his anymore. It belonged to that echoing rap on the door. But the whir of steel wheels might save him. Cool gentle steel tucking him into a gentle forever nap. Beenleigh? Shorncliffe? Yes the pier and cliffs of Shorncliffe as a steel ship of fools would never get there.

His bed was no more, though it was everything. That whir of electric steel was a 5 beat replacing his 5 potted colours. You mowed it or called it a tree. You don’t go to the hardware and buy the pretty things. You don’t hang them on the fence or have to water them. You don’t need a reminder of failed responsibilities as you see them curl up and fade away.

“Apologies, service has been interrupted. A police action at Rocklea has meant delays. Please be patient while Translink arranges buses to continue your journey.”

Grey blurry clouds filled the sky. Was it Blundstone? Surely Miss Woodward had said clear skies and westerly winds. It has to be August if the westerlies are blowing or the kids have showbags. Would the highest firework ever be blue? Would the guy starting on the count of 5 finish first?

Shaking his head he stumbled away from the confused mass of stranded travellers. Maybe once he would have offered ideas but today he offered distance. Maybe once he would have offered an empathetic ear but today he offered stubble and tears.

Join in the Chorus….. had they made a comeback? Was it even Sunday anymore? Furry teeth and a slight odour. No brush on his sheets, just his bed. You need to brush your teeth. If a boat takes 6 months then a retriever needs 12 tennis balls. Less if they didn’t return to him.

Sivyer’s Holden. How could something be the same and different. Was that his dad haggling over a Torana? Or was it just vaguely familiar reflection eyeing him back. Its all glass now and all that he wanted is gravel, with the flap of worn plastic in the wind. Chasing a tennis ball in thongs around the shiny Holdens washed by denim shorts and bikini tops, risking a grazed knee cap. But his feet were still and toes pointed to the sky, his back resting on smooth bitumen.

No, it wasn’t the Old Man, he’d be at home calling Warren here then Bruce there at Salters. Every call would take a few dollars off the price, not bad for a 10 cent call. Not bad for a few laughs by annoyed salesmen. If only they had another wood duck on the the pond they’d let that phone just ring. But that grumpy old bastard was a sale, like last month and last year. And next quarter and next Christmas.

He always had a niece from the bush looking for a smart vehicle or a son looking for an upgrade. A HJ or HQ. Maybe a VE or Statesman. Once a Gemini but never again. And for this reflection, a bloody bluebird. Or Cortina? Is that right or just a security guard pulling up? How does a family of lions grant the youngest a bluebird?

It’d never be the Old Man again. It’d never be aerial ping pong or the head out of a window breathing diesel. The steady throb of a steady engine versus the character of the number 88 or Flying Scotsman. Just the echo of his own feet leaving the 80s and hurrying towards nothing.

Oh if only it could definitely be nothing. But there was always something. The driver in the front carriage feeling the tonnes of steel bump over the body. Or the dog walker who could never again bring the pup to its favourite park. Where do these images grow from? All that is needed is a bed. But the bed is echoing as it burns in that rap on the door without dancing free.

Count to five, do the five. Water, nah. Real food, sometime. Shower, sniff, no. Brushed teeth, hardly. Get out of the house, no my longings getting longer. Bed, that was the answer. Never sure what the question was but the bed was burning and there was no dancing.

“Apologies, service has been interrupted. Father Dooley has been called away.” Why is a penguin talking to him? Maybe the silverware needs a polish again. Maybe the mick midgets had finally left the plantation. Maybe the Old Man was right, men in dresses gave odd advice.

The penguins always needed to go somewhere. They always gave a distance between the Old Cheese and Old Man. They always gave a reason when none was really needed. The Ying and yang of separate bedrooms, if one was upstairs the other was downstairs. People stopped visiting twice at once. Repeating anecdotes and questions to 2 households in one house had been too much to too many.

“R u ok Toad?” Someone was banging on his tv. “Surprised you weren’t at home when I popped round.”

The images were going bottom to top, bottom to top, bottom to top. Well the blurriness was gone.

“R U OK? Toad!” That’s it, bang the tv again and rattle the coat hangar a bit. Yes the picture was back but no audio. Who’d spend 3 months’ wages on this box of wire and timber?

“R u ok….. TOAD”. That’s it brother, you always had the knack like the Fonz. Wait, watch, and measure before …..thump. A gentle bang in a secret spot and service was restored. A miraculous comeback as the chrystal clear images from a cold wintry Moorooka steadied. Dulcet familiar tones to his ears replacing the knock.

Service was restored. Well for 5 minutes or 5 days.