Darsh was a handsome Indian guy in a Jet Star uniform, with a name tag. He smiled, tilted his head, stepped sideways, and swept his hand in front of himself for me to walk through before him. Tall, dark and handsome, with the body of a football star, or an athlete, or an Indian prince (maybe that is just me). And those black trousers and black shirt just fitted him perfectly.
“I’ve just flown in from Hobart,” he said.
He looked me in the eye and smiled as I hesitated. His beautiful eyes twinkled, his lips parted gently to show a row of pearly white teeth. My breath was taken away just for a millisecond. I guessed he knew it, he had the self assured smile of a man who was born handsome.
"After you." His voice sounded like honey.
I nodded, as if to say thank you, and stepped past.
That jawline, that bone structure, that skin. I won't tell you how he filled out those black trousers. (They could have had their own identity and separate billing) Suffice to say, I would have been happy following him.
"Thank you."
"Oh no, it is my pleasure," he said.
I looked back and he was still gazing at me. I nodded my head again and smiled.
He smiled too. I wouldn't have been surprised to see glint sparkle off one of his teeth, as his lips parted and his eyes twinkled.
He winked.
I laughed nervously to myself as I turned the corner. I took in a big breath and exhaled quickly.
What was I doing? I asked myself. I laughed at the thought. So easily distracted. No, seriously, any pretty face and I go gaga.
Did I have my carryon bag. I felt for it over my shoulders. My laptop, I suddenly thought? Back pack, I said to myself. Backpack. I’m so used to carrying my computer bag in my hand.
The mirror finish floor tiles spread out in front of me all the way to the escalator. I wondered if a mirror finished floor was really a good use of funds?
I stepped onto the escalator and descended to the floor below and the luggage carousels. B1 ground into life as I approached as if there was some sort of sensor detecting my approach. Those goddam coincidences that occur every moment of every day in which my spiritually aware friends are forever searching for meaning. No, I said to myself, sometimes it is just a carousel starting up.
I stood waiting for my bag, as though I was waiting for a bus that was never coming. I’m good at falling into that default stasis setting that I find is required at least once in every day. It’s the secret to life, I often think, don’t try and fill in the boring bits constantly, take them as a gift to be enjoyed and just stop and feel your own skin, stare off into space, tune out.
The bags were talking a while. I should have gone and had a piss, I’m only going to have to go to the toilets with my bag anyway. I should have gone when it was only my dick I had to hold in my hand. The thought makes me laugh. The woman in the red hand knitted jumper and tweed skirt standing next to me with the pointy face eyed me suspiciously. Is he a nutter, I could see the expression written all over her face, as she witnessed me, seemingly, spontaneously laughing.
Oh yes, I think, life has become a very serious affair, now hasn’t it. I wondered, momentarily, what she’d do if I just laughed out loud really heartily, I wondered if it would make her move away, and then that made me chuckle again, and she observed me carefully with side eye even more so because of it.
I wanted to say, Boo! Just for the hell of it, you know, to relieve the boredom of waiting, but, of course, I didn’t.
I looked straight ahead, no use scaring the punters any more than necessary. And there was Darsh standing over the other side of the carousel. He smiled when he saw me look at him, waving, without moving his hand from his side, making a circle with his fingers. I felt myself nod in recognition. You know, automatically, as you do. Hello there, I see you.
Then, I didn’t really know where to look. To my right and I was looking at Helen Lovejoy, if I looked straight ahead, I was gazing at Darsh, so I looked to my left and the still empty language carousel, grinding on its endless quest, at which point the first suitcase mounted the panicle of the conveyor belt and dropped into view.
Another coincidence? Of course, Tamarin Moonbeam would say there are no coincidences in life and that I possessed important spirituality and power. Seriously, I think? If only I could manifest my suitcase in double quick time, and my suit case suddenly came into view on the black rubber conveyor belt. I chuckled audibly, and the lady in red, next to me, took a few steps away from me, clearly convinced I was some kind of loop.
I was readying myself to grab the handle of my bag, as it approached, approached, approached. And as it got close, a hand to my left reached in and grabbed it and hauled it off the carousel.
“Hey?” I said, as I turned to see who the mystery hand belonged to.
“Allow me,” came the silky tones of Darsh’s baritone voice.
“You were over there,” I said. “Just moments…”
“I know,” said Darsh. “But then I saw from where the language was coming, and figured this was the optimum position… right here by you.” He smiled. His teeth sure were white up close.
“Yes,” I said. I looked down at my suitcase by my feet. I looked up at Darsh. “Well, thank you.”
“Oh, don’t mention it,” said Darsh.
I reached for my suitcase, Darsh reached for it too, I wasn’t exactly sure why. “Allow me…” And we ended up holding hands, momentarily. He pulled his hand away.
“It’s okay, I’ve got it,” I said. “But thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Darsh.
There wasn’t really anything to mention, I thought. Got hands, sweetie, got hands, said Edina Monsoon in my head.
I smiled.
Darsh smiled.
You really are handsome, I thought.
“My bag will be along soon, no doubt,” said Darsh.
“Yes,” I said. “Good luck.”
“Good luck to you too,” said Darsh.
Bag? Check? Carryon bag? Check. I headed for the exit.
There were more of those mirror finished floors stretching out in front of me, sliding all the way to the outside.
The air was fresh outside. I walked to the taxi rank. I like catching late flights into town, the airport is quiet at such times, not that that is guaranteed, but on this occasion it was true. The concours to the taxi rank was deserted, there is a certain melancholy loneliness that is enjoyable arriving late to an airport, particularly when it is home territory.
My suitcase was heavy by the time I got to the railings delineating the lines for the taxis. There were several people ahead of me. It looked like a business man with a copy of the financial review, a mother and son coming home from somewhere. Otherwise, it was grey concrete and empty spaces.
“It’s a quiet night at the taxi rank,” a voice says behind me.
“Yes… indee…” It was Darsh he’d arrived at the taxi rank. “We meet again,” I say.
“Of all the gin joints…”
“In all the towns…” I say.
He laughs. “What do you think the wait time is?” He points to the front of the taxi rank with his chin.
“Oh, it won’t be any time,” I say. “To wait at all is kind of unusual.”
“I am waiting in silence. In a city that is bustling. Whose inhabitants are hustling. Stationary in this place. For want of a taxi to take me away from here.”
“Very poetic,” I say.
“Oh, I am full of them,” Darsh says.
“Go gently into the night, until a taxi cab comes into sight, to facilitate you with your… um, plight?” I shrug.
“Why not,” says Darsh.
“Homeward bound,” I say.
“Well saved,” he says.
At that point a Yellow Taxi comes along the main roadway and stops at the taxi rank.
“Like magic,” says Darsh.
“Oh yes, I am full of it,” I say.
“Magic?” questions Darsh.
“But of course,” I say.
The businessman with the copy of the financial review gets into the taxi and it drives away.
Two more taxis’ appear and stop at the rank.
The mother and son get in one taxi. Then there is one waiting for either of us.
“Where are you going?” asks Darsh. “Can we share a taxi?”
“Emerald,” I say.
“Well, I’m going to Cockatoo, so you are on my way,” he says. “Shall we share?”
“I don’t see why not,” I say.
The driver is out of the car and at the boot, which he’d already popped open. “Let me get that,” the driver says. He takes my suitcase and then he takes Darsh’s. We get in either side of the back of the car.
No comments:
Post a Comment