Over a decade after Audrey and I met one another, crossing paths in a Milanese hostel, she is facing me via the computer video screen, sitting in my picture frame, all I can see. She is – from the outskirts of the Danish city where I live to her area in the suburbs of Sydney – approximately 16,197 km away from me.
We often talk, sometimes deep, never
shallow, sometimes fall out, and over time, as it stretches out in front of us,
we share a great deal of conversational ground. She often appears a close ally
despite the phenomenal distance between our continents. Audrey is a luminous,
independent, occasionally fierce force, she knows her own mind and has a
genuine warmth and kindness, patience, too.
She is surrounded by light, a white
space, a mirror behind her, a peaceful aura to the bubble she is at the centre
of. She is cleaned up now after having played tennis earlier today. She says
she isn’t good at the sport, failing to execute her game plan, knowing what
needs doing but that being beyond reach for her. A more regular session would
fix it, bringing improvements only continuity can. Her honesty is refreshing. She
will later add that she only started in her twenties. She leaves it be by
saying she is ‘working on it,’ the desire clearly not lacking.
Audrey feels better today – after
getting a temporary crown yesterday to fix a cracked molar, owing to grinding
and clenching her teeth. Her dentist had massaged her jaw muscles from outside
and she had found it relaxing, wishing he would do a full-scale face massage.
He might not like the idea, as one time she accidentally bit him as he had
digits inside her mouth. We then discuss healthcare and having it covered, as
she does with her job.
Audrey is drinking a cup of dandelion
tea in a William and Kate 2011 Royal Wedding mug. She states she has quite a
few royal mugs. She adds that she sees the royal family as redundant, and that
one family being ordained by God to rule over the people is nonsense. Her
connection to the royal family is purely ‘kitsch.’
Audrey’s voice is a thick, sped-up Australian
drawl, loquacious indeed. She talks freely, naturally, only later, after the
call, telling me the nervousness of the interchange ramped up her speed of
delivery. I’ve heard her speak far quicker in the past. It’s languid, it’s
hyperactive, the whole shebang is a melange of sensations.
She is in her house, hanging out.
‘Yeah,’ she is comfortable, she replies when I ask if she feels good in this
new scenario. She has an ‘ugly’ office chair which provides brilliant support
for her back – something necessary given she labels herself ‘old’ and physical
comfort is therefore also key.
She lives in an elevated ground floor
flat. She likes looking out of the window at the trees, the street, and is currently
eyeing the ‘purple sunset’ delivered to her suburban Sydney home. She has a ‘bee
cemetery’ at her window – in between the fly screen and the windowpane. A
spider had previously set up a web, the bees attracted to the light in the
office, Audrey playing the bee god, letting them get caught in the web,
tricking them with her artificial sun. The four deceased bees ‘break my heart’
she says forlornly of the visible proof her actions have had. She likes to have
her windows open all year round. She has now closed her window to let no more
in, not wishing to be responsible for the further demise of bees. There is a
worldwide shortage she will proffer, and we desperately need them for our own
survival.
We then take a break, discuss Denmark
and its population and size, that people here all own homes and have trailers
to transport garden rubbish and more. Benji, her dog, an American Staffordshire
terrier, enters the room and exits when he finds our conversation less than
thrilling. He will briefly appear again later. Audrey talks about Benji’s
recent UTI. Her dog is undoubtedly one of her favourite subjects.
Audrey recently dyed her hair blonde
and has a ‘lob’ – a ‘long bob,’ I need informing. She has a supposedly
unfashionable ‘side part’ as opposed to the popular ‘middle part.’ The masses
are seldom worth following though. Ears hidden behind her hair as it neatly and
casually, sublimely, falls around her face.
Her blue green (grey when she cries)
eyes sit behind sophisticated tortoise shell glasses, known as the ‘Wayfarer’
style. She has worn glasses since she was ten, discovered as long-sighted early
on. The glasses, she says, are a protective mask or barrier that she wears,
even when she goes into an uncomfortable social situation. She considers her
face ‘oval,’ and every style of sunglasses is said to fit her face-type, something
she says is definitely not true.
She is bedecked in a black ‘Red Hot
Chili Peppers’ t-shirt with the band’s name in a circular pattern on the breast
(small) and – I ask her to stand up to show me the back of the t-shirt – the
back (large). Her earphones match the t-shirt – black buds with red wires (the
colour of the lettering on the tee). When she stands, I briefly clock her red
skirt with white brush marks on it. I was mistaken in saying they were polka
dots.
Audrey then discusses her home and how
to make it cosier and reflect her personality. She considers it too white and
in drastic need of a makeover. I crack open a cold coffee and she tells me she
has had two coffees today – one this morning while walking Benji, the second
with a friend this afternoon before her game of tennis. We talk about team
sports and handling winning and losing, and the madness of bad losers – we name
one or two (a little whispered secret between us).
She talks repeatedly about her age
and what is expected of being an adult – fashion, behaviour, stage of life. She
states we all try to justify the way we are – it’s apt, thought-provoking. I
tell her she makes a good point. She responds that she does so occasionally,
and then spouts rubbish about bee cemeteries and such topics. Why are we even
trying to meet all those rigid expectations though?
As she gestures, a couple of her
various tattoos become fleetingly visible, ones on her arm and wrist. She is a
lover of having them in not such brash places and they seem mostly small ones.
Her nose – upon which rest her
glasses – is a strong feature, not too large, straight, smooth. She turns to
give me a look at her profile and the nose takes on a new life as our features
sometimes tend to from other angles. It’s cute, not a button, fitting her face
well, as she has already said.
Her teeth are very straight – more
than should be, after using something to correct them – and they are ‘short’
because she grinds them. Her dentist thinks she should have veneers like film
stars and celebrities have, but while she acknowledges hers are not perfect,
she is contented with them.
We discuss being eight hours apart –
after the recent time changes – as opposed to ten hours. Time bringing us
closer together just as it will separate us further in the autumn (for me,
spring for you).
Audrey’s eyes are shining, telling
stories that sometimes corroborate what her mouth delivers and at others
secretly whisper of other tales – in contrast, untold treasures living there. When
she shifts on her seat, I see myself on the screen reflected in the mirror. She
is in her spare room that she uses as an office.
She lives opposite a trainline, and
her road can be busy. Two flights a day pass overhead. Luckily, it is only that
small number, but the local transportation links and infrastructure depict the
nearness to big city life, everything there, just around the corner.
Audrey has been delightful, effortlessly providing conversation, making the portrait full of the hustle and bustle of her character, of life, and of the centre of Sydney near to her suburban home bubble she had just shared with me. Her thick Australian notes are ringing in my ears long after the call ends. It feels like I have been swimming in Antipodean waters.
Connected to this literary portrait
is the artwork with number DJS00001 above.
Both works by Dominic J Stevenson (for more details contact me on dominicjstevenson@yahoo.co.uk)
