Opposites

'What's the opposite of thrifty?'

Marie always asked the darnedest questions. This one threw me for a sixer, but I'm not one to admit ignorance. And I had a rough idea, anyway. 'Wasteful.'

She frowned. 'It can't be wasteful. It has to be something like thrifty. Say, dethrifty, or misthrifty, or unthrifty.'

I thought hard. 'Unthrifty sounds right.'

Juliana chose that moment to join us in the kitchen. She picked up the tea towel and took over drying the china. 'Unthrifty is right,' she agreed, 'unless you are referring to someone with no thrift at all. Then they are thriftless.'

Stranger In My Sights

I wouldn't have believed her, but for that forlorn sigh. It tore at my heart. I knew something must have gone terribly, terribly wrong. I wanted to comfort her, but I didn't know how. I didn't even know if she wanted comforting.

As if she'd read my thoughts, she straightened up in her chair and her face became a mask once more. It struck me that I knew almost nothing about this woman who sat across the table from me. She was, and always would be, an enigma. And suddenly, that tiny distance between us grew to a yawning divide.

I yawned. It seemed such an inappropriate response, given the circumstances. I hurried to cover my face, scolding myself for reacting to the word association.

Callie grinned. 'Same old Sue.'

I tested the water again; this time it went down smoothly. 'So, what happened? Was it an accident?'

'No... more like an incident.' She spoke nonchalantly, then hurriedly added, 'A regrettable one.'

My mind whirred, trying to make sense of what she was saying. I had no reason to doubt her, but I needed more information. 'Callie, please, tell me.'

She looked me dead in the eye and said, in a cool voice, 'I can't. I'm sure you understand.'

Then she called for the bill.

Have you read Part 1: Café-In-Confidence?

Three Truths and a Lie (or vice versa)

'I love you,' he said. She said,
'I love you, too.'

'I want to be with you forever,' he said. She said,
'I'm exhausted—I need sleep. Can you turn out the light?'

Fuel wars… again

The Australian Competition and Consumer Commission (ACCC) is investigating whether major fuel retailers are colluding to drive out competition. You can read all about it here.

Apparently, this investigation is great, as it may lead to opening up the information to the public. That means consumers will be able to see where the cheap fuel is without touring the suburbs to figure it out. What a great way to save a dollar!

How's this for an alternative way to save a dollar? Drive less.

As an added bonus, the opportunity to do more physical activity may help people lose weight, which will mean they burn less fuel when they do drive.

Think I'm joking? Reuters reported on Monday that in the US

Cars are burning nearly a billion gallons of gasoline more a year than if passengers weighed what they did in 1960.

The article goes on to explain that

Some costs of obesity reflect basic physics. It requires twice as much energy to move 250 pounds than 125 pounds. As a result, a vehicle burns more gasoline carrying heavier passengers than lighter ones.

"Growing obesity rates increase fuel consumption," said engineer Sheldon Jacobson of the University of Illinois. How much? An additional 938 million gallons of gasoline each year due to overweight and obesity in the United States, or 0.8 percent, he calculated. That's $4 billion extra.

Of course, these statistics don't necessarily translate readily to Australia. But I'm left with the impression that driving less might be the best way to save money at the bowser.

In case you're wondering, I own a 50cc scooter, and it costs me about $1 to travel 100 km on it. The 'family car' only comes out when it's got two or more people in it.

Refugee

I press my back into the tree trunk and close my eyes, willing my body not to give me away as it shakes in beat with my pounding heart. My breathing, audible over the rush of blood in my ears, sounds panicked and gasping.

Something crashes through the undergrowth to my felt. I flinch, but do not run. An acrid smell rises to offend my nostrils: I have wet myself. I shiver, and make a weak attempt to assuage my own fears: It's a mere mortal beast… no doubt as scared as I am.

I wait there in the darkness for the thunder of a thousand feet to fade into the distance. Then I take a deep breath, and step back onto the road.

The Lovers and the Nurse

I.
I can’t lift my arms, my legs;
can’t raise my eyes to see you;
can’t summon my voice to greet you.
My body is betraying me,
but you must know
I love you.

II.
My heart breaks to see you
like this: so weak, so broken.
But it’s me who is weak;
it’s me who won’t set you free.
I need you too much.
I always will.

III.
I do my duty with pride,
though my back aches and
my feet protest at each step.
You need me; he needs me.
This is what gives me the strength to
keep going.

Morning

A toe peeps out,
testing the air. It darts
beneath the covers,
where it is warm.

A buzz rings out,
waking her up. She starts,
resenting the intrusion that
assaults her senses.
She was dreaming of lovers
beneath the storm.

She then climbs out,
hating her job. These parts
of the morning—waking up,
from that deep, blissful slumber;
getting out of bed into the cold,
empty space—this
she can do without.
She can do without brothers,
their hovering swarm.

And, for a time,
she does.

Can't wait—get out.
The day begins. Her heart's
pounding with the thrill of
something new. She shakes
off the morning chill and moves
in spirited patterns of creation
with other writers. They give birth
to words and, like all mothers,
shape their final form.

Café-In-Confidence

'I tell you this in the strictest confidence,' she said. 'Do you understand me?'

I nodded and made as if to zip my mouth shut. 'Sure.' For the life of me, I couldn't understand why she was making such a big deal out of Smithy's holiday destination. Smithy was laid-back and had a habit of giving too much information, so I was pretty sure he wasn't behind the secrecy.

Callie leaned in closer and motioned to me to do the same. Then, in a hushed tone, she said, 'He's dead.'

I sat back in shock, my heart racing. Time stood still, but the people in the café kept moving around me, oblivious. Callie rested back into her chair and took another sip of coffee, as if to wash down the gritty words she'd just spoken. I searched for meaning in those words, but they were in a foreign language. They made no sense to me.

And then I realised: she was joking. I burst out laughing, interrupting the café's subdued buzz. 'Oh, Callie! You had me going there!' I reached for my water glass.

She raised an eyebrow. 'You've drawn us a little attention.' She was right. Several of the patrons were glaring at me, unimpressed by my outburst. 'And I'm not joking. I'm serious.'

I choked on my water, coughing and gasping for air. Callie calmly passed me her napkin so I could wipe the spittle from my lips. When I'd recovered enough to speak, I asked the logical question. 'Cal, how could you possibly know that?'

She sighed. 'Because I killed him.'

Good Times

It's been years since I saw you.
People tell me I haven't changed
too much. They don't see see
how much I have changed,
perhaps because I keep reverting back
to how I was then.

Back then, the beer was cold and sharp.
My tongue was sharper, it cut you
faster than my teeth cut through the pizza.
You found me before I ever did, and I never
forgave you for it. Or forgot you.
But, ahhh—the memories. Good times,
good friends and goodbyes.

Return

The chill down my spine was a stark contrast to the heat of the cabin, the crackling fire. In a flash I was gone, drawn away from the trashy drivel I had been writing, something full of passion and plot holes. My mind wandered out across the snow and I struggled to breathe as the night’s icy hand clenched around my heart. After all this time, he had returned.

The fire flashed higher and I was back, present, the half-blank page still before me, taunting me. I pulled it from the typewriter in disgust, scrunched it up and flung it into the fire, watching it burn. If only all half-formed ideas could be disposed of so readily.

It seemed inevitable and then it came, the knock at the door. The sense of foreboding was unbearable, but I moved toward it, unable to stop myself. And why would I? It was always going to be this way. I could feel his tangible presence surrounding me, yet I still couldn’t believe that he was real, couldn’t define him.

With trepidation, I opened the door and looked out into the empty night. Empty, dark, cold, like my heart. Another flash from the fire as it consumed the last of my romance, darkening my shadow on the snow at the doorstep. A creature made a lonesome call in the distance, echoing my soul. I took a step forward and stumbled.

From an endless tumble I started awake, present, the half-blank page still before me, taunting me.