Take the Weather with You

Bloo had been inextricably drawn to Priscilla by fate. Setting out in the world with no fixed plan, wandering directionless, head in the clouds, Bloo was entirely oblivious to the constraints of existence.

With a round face atop a tapering neck, and skin tightened drum-like under the baking Australian sun, Bloo sported a topknot placed far lower than fashionable, from which dangled a single weathered wispy thread. Bloo’s features were otherwise plain, symmetrical. Not ugly, but hardly distinctive either.

Bloo’s youth had been empty, crammed with too many others in a space too tight to allow individual growth and realisation of their true natures. Ignored, forgotten, they waited for their time to come.

And so it did. One sunny day, gathered on a grassy field, gentle wind caressed their faces, a sea of colors and voices heralded a new chapter for them all. Excited youth, bobbing heads, and urgent whispers, their only worldly belongings clutched closely, this day they would set out into the world at last.

Filled with potential, the moment came and all these companions were finally set free, and like birds released, they took to the skies to explore all the world had to offer.

It began with lofty expectations, but time and stormy weather changed that. As it happened, Bloo’s companions were fickle, and driven by forces they little understood, were scattered almost from the start.

Indifferent to their whims, Bloo sought a path unique. The cramped housing of the inner 'burbs with dark roofs, small backyards, and timber fences were quickly left behind, replaced by the new estates with green spaces, solar panels that drank in the sky, and wide gently curving roads.

Even so, Bloo still saw some companions, though they had become distant. Why did they scatter so? Bloo could not say.

Unable to settle, Bloo continued, to places where the landscapes were painted green and gold with open plains divided like asymmetrical checker boards by rusty wire fences. Here, weathered timber houses with silver roofs, dotted the open spaces, connected by pot-holed bitumen roads and power lines arranged in some incomprehensible pattern.

Uncertain, and now alone, Bloo kept steadfastly to the path ahead and drifted further westward. Even the sparsely populated spaces now gave way to the empty desert, green replaced by red, heat radiated off the land, dirt roads were unmolested by intersections from horizon to horizon.

Always though, in the eastern sky, clouds hovered in the far distance.

Now, nearing the end of the journey, and somewhat deflated by the ravages of time, baggage was Bloo’s last constant companion. As Bloo traversed the landscape, dotted with occasional buildings or settlements that went by unexplored, one place seemed much the same as another. But at last, driven by needs not understood, Bloo drifted into one such settlement. Shuffling along the dirt track that passed for the only road, fate was about to play its hand.

When Priscilla came into sight that lonely day, arms outstretched in greeting, she was bathed in the golden-red rays of the setting sun. A sight to behold in an otherwise washed out landscape, Priscilla was lithe and tall, with curves in all the right places. Though a daughter of the outback, she was not afflicted with the curse of a sun burnt complexion. She stood with a regal elegance that mesmerised Bloo to his core.

Bloo and Priscilla danced around each other for what seemed to be an endless time, their personal universes ceaselessly threatening to collide, only to shift and eddy with the wind. It was both beautiful and frustrating to watch all at once. Priscilla’s strength and beauty, nearly undone by her somewhat prickly demeanour, constantly threatened to burst Bloo’s bubble.

In affairs of the heart Bloo was no Julius Caesar, but was drawn ever closer by her public displays of affection. In a particular moment of poignant intimacy Bloo floated towards her, feet on a cushion of air.

At their first gentle touch, Bloo bobbed subtly, betraying an inner excitement that was hard to contain. Priscilla was the one, the one with whom all of Bloo’s remaining days would be shared.

As Bloo sank to the ground at her feet, she towered above him, smiling down, filling Bloo’s horizon. Time stopped for a heartbeat. A chill breeze touched them briefly, and drawn together against it, they embraced fully.

BANG!

Shaken from his contemplation of the distant horizon, Dusty drained the last of his beer, setting the pint glass down on the bench that ran the perimeter of the veranda. He plucked the last salty peanut from the small boat made of china, used here for a bowl, and settled his battered Akubra atop his head.

Descending the weather beaten stairs, his calloused hands slid easily across the top of the time worn railing that led to the street-side. Peering at the blue latex remains of the balloon, he plucked at the attached string, gingerly avoiding the sharp spines of the giant cactus that stood outside the entrance to the hotel. Squinting at the contents of the plastic baggie hanging from the string, he read the envelope inside:

If found, please provide location & contact details on reverse side,

and return by mail to:

Melody Dangerfield, 57 Mt Pleasant Street, Maitland, NSW.

Dusty chuckled to himself, this little fella had certainly travelled a distance. Collecting the remnants, he carefully wound up the string and latex and placed them in his pocket. Wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his deeply tanned arm, he swatted his hat feebly at the hovering blowies.

Envelope still clutched in his other hand, he mounted the stairs and returned to the bar. Grabbing a stubby pencil intended for filling in video lottery tickets, he scribbled some details, and slid the folded envelope into his shirt pocket, job done.

Acknowledging the friendly jibes of the cockies at the bar with a nod and a smile that barely touched the corner his eyes, he ordered a draught, and retreated to the relative quiet of veranda once more.

As he set his glass on a stained coaster to mop up the condensation gathering at it's base, he glanced out to the far horizon where storm clouds were gathering.

Time enough to mail that envelope after just one more pint.

A gecko on the wall cocked a single beady eye down at Dusty, as if dubious that the letter would ever reach its intended destination.

Acknowledgements: This story was partly inspired by the Crowded House song of the same name. Bloo was inspired by childhood memories of primary-school weather balloon experiments, and in case you hadn’t guessed, Bloo’s femme fatale was inspired by ‘Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.’