Reappearing
By Tim Sinclair
Disappearing in this traffic down the highway of my ignorance.
Marrickville the limit of my inner westy roads. Five years in
this city, and yet, and yet. 40k school zones and disappearing
time. Stay calm, stay focussed, and stay on the highway. There
is an end to this mess in a car park in Liverpool. Step from the
car and dive. The first day of school. Always. Forever. The
fear at the gates. Outsider inside. Sign in, take a number,
go directly to class, where beginnings begin and the fear falls
away. Creation. So many lives and so many stories, astonished
at the depth in answer to the question: what has disappeared
from you life? Childhood goes. The connection with parents. It
all disappears, because nothing lasts forever.
Assembly. The PA piped into every classroom. Just waiting
for a few very noisy people. The particular tone in the voice of
authority, straight down the shiver of my spine. I was
disappointed-pride disappearing-at the number of black
socks... We disappoint our elders, time and again. White socks
or blue socks are the only socks! My socks have stripes.
Terror. And the pile back in as recess is over as the brains
come full and exploding with ideas. Standing in lines and
rearranging lines. Room change! shouted at the puzzled door
knockers. Room change shouted until we shout it ourselves.
No doubt / we are dreaming / linked / we are linked / angry /
disrespectful / posing first person / bubbles of freedom /
celebration / rebel / place / questions / insecurity. The lines
rearranging and arranging again. We read, all read. Sharing
this space. Sharing this moment where our words stand equal.
After lunch there is a spoon dipped in honey. There are waves
on the beach. There is the smell of old book shops. Stones
transformed by words, words transformed by stones. Timer
switch. The lights go out. Test us with a skewer; we're not
quite ready. A conversation has power.