Over the fence

White Picket Fence, Newcastle, Australia © Paul Foley (Purchase here)

She was coming home and the tattered picture stuck to the inside of her carry on pack was the only reality of ’home’ she possessed. Her memories were now more like third party recollections. The concept of home wasn't even tangible now. Her parents had died years ago and her siblings had long since escaped the home town just as she had (albeit well before them).

The best of her friends knew this before her. They hadn't given up on her - just given her time. The precious gift that only true friends have and only bequest to those they know best deserve it. Even when they're not sure why. The kind of gift that allows the giver moments of pride and satisfaction that don't wash over until well after it is given.

In her secret, dark moments, when she most missed the place she had wandered from, the fear of going back was stronger than any pull drawing her there. Now though, as the plane banked over the inner west of Sydney her face was up close to the window beside her. Fingers unconsciously tracing across the cold pexi-glass outlining the city below. 

It was moments past dawn and to the east patchy clouds scrambled across the horizon. The sun was bursting through right now - below the tilting right wing as the plane slowly turned through north then north east. It would land from the east and as it completed the turn she saw the harbour reflecting the low glaring light. To the west of the bridge a long shadow defined it - an arch of endeavour, connection and strength. She couldn't believe how sentimental she felt about coming home. It was unexpected. So not her. But there she was, home. Nearly.

She opened the flap of the pack that held her tattered picture. She had made it many years ago with her first camera (a then treasured Pentax). It had lots of bright Australian blue sky and in the bottom right hand corner of the frame was a white picket fence caught by winter’s afternoon sun.

Though the picture didn't show it, the fence guarded against the lure of a cliff and the long fall to rocks licked by the Pacific Ocean.

She remembered ‘seeing’ that picture before she raised the camera to her eye. It was when she knew she could translate things she saw and felt to a reality she could show to others. Even if they didn't always get it.

She chose to show a lot more sky and just a little fence. She could have easily moved closer and pointed the camera over the cliff’s edge and down to the rocks and waves.

Instead, she had looked at that blue, blue sky and, with the press of the shutter, made the photograph that helped her decide to leave and find other skies.

Nostalgia was shuddered away by the plane’s wheels almost soft bounce on the tarmac. How planes left air and kissed ground was one of those things she had long accepted she could never explain. She understood why planes crashed - just not how they landed.

It was very weird how she felt right now as the plane shuddered to taxi speed. So excited to be ’home’. The dread she had felt when she boarded this flight was gone. She was ready to climb back over from the sky side of that white picket fence.

Felt good.

First Date

For some reason he had thought he'd have a chance if he asked her to the dance. Always the optimist. Though never confident. It was something he didn't understand right now but somehow knew this trait (flaw?) would be important to him one day.

The Party Dress © Paul Foley (Purchase here)

Tonight, however, he was fifteen (nearly sixteen) and he was about to take the most beautiful girl he had ever seen to the school dance. That he'd found the courage (or lost his mind enough) to ask her in the first place was nearly a month behind him. That she'd said yes was a fantastic and unbelievable concoction. Tonight was the night and here he stood at her front door ready to knock.

Actually, it wasn't the “actual” night - just a memory from 40 years ago. For some reason it had flashed into his immediate existence as he was about to knock on another door, a whole lifetime later.

The memory of the long wait for that door to open and the sight of her appearing down the hallway was almost mystical. He had looked past her smiling mother, his eyes glassy yet locked on her. His date. The most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

What a moment for a flashback like this. This, in fact, was the night he was taking out his first online date and, due to a long email courtship period, he knew it was her first time as well.

His first eBay date. No, wait! eHarmony date. Perhaps it was an innate scepticism of this whole internet dating thing that he always got the two mixed up.

They had both been advised to meet somewhere neutral for the first time but the emails and phone calls had helped them each feel comfortable about this ’traditional’ first date process. The ’man picks up woman’ approach was the way it was done when either of them had last dated. (He was pretty sure, though, that the door wouldn't be opened by her mother.)

Both had been married for very long periods and had taken a long time come to terms with the idea of another relationship. They'd endured some well meant setups and somewhat less innocent approaches that friends, family or acquaintances had arranged (or inflicted). They just hadn't really been ready.

But lately they had each sensed the timing was right to meet someone new and here they were - either side of a door.

So, a fifty-five year old man with a lifetime of experiences behind him was about to knock on a door. About to go on a date?! OMG! his daughter had texted with a smiley face. (The next text had helpfully explained what OMG meant.)

He knocked - a jamble of nerves, anticipation and a somehow comforting random flashback.

OMG indeed.