The Thing About Melbourne…

“That’s the thing about this city…” Carla looked over the balcony, taking a sip of the vodka spritzer that Perry brought her. The hustle and bustle beneath her, cars tooting their horns, people rushing about, heading home from work, the busyness she just couldn’t deal with anymore. “I used to know it like the back of my hand. Now I can’t even see right across the road beyond this stupid hunk of concrete.” 

“I love it,” Perry replied, leaning over the glass barrier. “Yum.” He took a deep breath and Carla twisted her mouth in irritation. What exactly was the man inhaling? The sound behind them, the blaring of music, wasn’t helping to lighten her mood.

“When I was…”

“When you were what?” Perry turned to look at her, a half-smile on his face. “Please don’t say, ‘in my day’.’ Now he laughed. “You’re barely forty.”

Carla was pleased with that. She was, in fact, nearly fifty and probably should have enlightened him, but she didn’t. He was still smiling, this young man, barely forty himself, and she wondered what he was doing here with her.

She leaned forward over the railing as he was doing, trying to see, hear and feel what he was and he pointed to the left to an array of dazzling buildings, the sun’s ray so brilliantly bouncing off them, she shielded her eyes. A woman bumped into her and Carla almost spilled her drink on Perry, who put a protective arm around her. Even through her irritation, she felt a jolt of exhilaration, but she knew better than to get excited about these dates. She had been on many and they always ended in utter disappointment, but the scent of his cologne, a lemony scent, seemed to be having an unexpected effect, a good effect.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Carla didn’t want to go anywhere, except home, her little cottage, more than an hour away from here in a quiet suburb with her large green backyard and her two German Shepherds. She couldn’t stand this place anymore, the crowd, the noise, it was like this everywhere in the city. “We just got here,” she protested, wanting to stay close to him, but he grabbed her hand.

“I want to show you my town.” Perry lifted his chin, a smile of pride spreading across his face.

Carla had seen more of this town than he assumed. Melbourne, one of the most liveable cities in the world, according to some random surveys, taken once a year. Yes, she could see how it was, how it used to be once upon a very long time ago, at least for her. As a teenager and in her twenties, it was inviting, sitting at a café, sipping on lattes, a cigarette perched in one hand, and gasbagging to a friend about the latest exhibition at The National Gallery of Victoria. Watching the sights, the hurrying crowds, the spring of new love, the river boats on the Yarra, the green trams emblazoned with The Met, that one could jump onto and out of, that went right from one side of the city to the other.

She was reluctant, but she plastered a smile on her face and followed him. It would be over soon. The sun was still piercing through the clouds, the heat of the summer afternoon was stifling, but she knew it wouldn’t last. This was Melbourne.

“I used to go to that one,” she said pointing to a closed club across the road. Her eyes lit up. She used to love the nightlife. Oh yes, Carla did enjoy that. From the ritzy Hilton, to the R&B hotspots, even the drug riddled venues, where overdoses were occasionally occurred. But in those days, it was just fun! People were out to have a good time and the feeling was contagious, especially on a Saturday night; not these days, if what she heard was anything to go by, where trouble seemed to be an expectation, where people, kids even, came prepared with knives and machetes.

They had been walking down Russell Street and even though she liked the idea of Perry’s footsteps walking in sync with hers, she was still deflated. “I remember when I used my sister’s ID to get in,” she said with a giggle when they walked past a nightclub. “The bouncer asked if it was me. I was a good actress then.”

“It’s still open,” Perry replied. “Just on Thursdays and Fridays. I used to go there too.”

“Well, now it will be filled with young eggheads!” Carla retorted. “Probably most of my students.” She laughed. “I can’t go anywhere now without bumping into one of them.” She sniffed. “Do you know I met my first husband there?”

“How did that work out?” She could hear the humour in his voice.

“Well, hmmm…” Carla didn’t want to talk about David, the father of her children, and luckily for her, a pair of drunk middle-aged men landed right in front of them. A barman was dusting his hands, clearly the one who had thrown them out. Carla sidestepped them and tried not to laugh. She could hear them yell obscenities behind her at the barman and now she did laugh. Perry was chuckling too. It seemed to relieve the tension she felt, a tension she didn’t even realise she was feeling.

They were at Federation Square now and every time Carla saw that monstrosity, she balked. A towering piece of ‘art’ was what they called it. She remembered when it was being built, when she worked in the city, watching that thing go up.

“It will destroy Melbourne,” said her colleague as they had lunched at the MacDonald’s across the road and Carla had nodded sagely.

Well, Melbourne is still here, still thriving, she thought to herself. I guess they knew what they were doing. It may be ugly, but the controversy was enough to give it legs.

“I’m sorry? What did you say?” Perry was leaning into her.

Embarrassed that she had voiced some of her thoughts, she said quickly. “Just checking out this… thing.”

Perry stopped to survey it. “Yeah, I always thought it was ugly too. But at least it got itself in a song.”

Carla rolled her eyes and gazed at it for a moment. It was something one could get used to, if you stared long enough.

“Want to stop for a coffee?” Perry offered, motioning to the brightly lit bars and cafes that surrounded the structure.

It did look inviting, but Carla didn’t want to stop now. She was beginning to feel something tug at her. She labelled it nostalgia, but it was a warm kernel of longing, for what she couldn’t work out. “Can we walk a little more first?”

It was cooling now, and Carla was sure she felt a spatter of a raindrop hit her forehead. She pulled the hand that was attached to hers throughout the walk. She liked the feel of it, the softness inside, but slightly rough when she stroked the knuckles. She realised she had just done this and blushed. She hurried forward, Perry’s grip tightening on hers.

Across the road, Flinders Street Station loomed, large and orange, a crazy colour for a landmark as big as this, but it was that way as long as she had been here. It seemed like home, even the clock below the tower appeared to welcome her back.

“My dad worked there,” she said. She remembered visiting her father at work, when she was in the city with her friends and he would always give her a little extra spending money for her trip. She missed her father and felt a jolt of sorrow. This place always did that.

Perry seemed to sense her despondency and pointed to the pub on the corner, the Young and Jackson Hotel. “I used to go there a bit, something was always happening there.”

“Yes! Same here.” She stopped herself from mentioning that it was probably in a time when Perry was still in grade school.

By the time they crossed the road, the drops of rain had turned into a shower and they dashed under the eaves of the station. Little kiosks littered the front and the smell of the different foods assaulted Carla’s senses. Her tummy rumbled and she sniffed the air.

“Hungry?” Parry asked.

“You?”

“A bit. C’mon, what do you feel like?” He waved his arm about. “There’s a smorgasbord at our fingertips.”

“Mmmm… ” Carla closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Chorizo sausage!” she declared.

“Yes, I’m with you on that.”

The rain was pelting down now and Carla wished she had been a bit more prepared. Her car was usually littered with jackets and cardigans. She was always prepared for the weather in Melbourne. There was even a saying; if you don’t like the weather in Melbourne, just wait a minute. But no, Carla was too busy trying to look like someone half her age and had deliberately left her jacket in the car.

“Oh well,” she said out loud, and ran out into the rain. She turned to see Perry with a broad smile on his face, and a moment later, he was by her side.

Strolling down Southbank under the awnings, Carla remembered the bursts of fire that blew from the posts along the river every couple of hours; she used to love watching them, like a magic trick. The river gleamed beside them on the right, the rain now hitting the water more gently. It was the picture of serenity and Carla again felt that hit of longing for something of the past. On the left of them, it seemed like they were in a different universe. More cafes and bars and young people also sitting and watching the world go by, just as Carla once did. Buskers sang and juggled and children gaped and shyly offered coins, while their parents were probably telling them of their own adventures in the city.

It was a long walk and Perry chatted about the sights and sounds, Carla not wanting to tell him she had been there and done all that. He pointed to a tall building, once the tallest in Melbourne, The Eureka Tower.

“I used to work there,” Perry said. “On the Skydeck too. Went out on it so many times. You been?”

“Yeah, once, I nearly cacked myself.” Carla recalled how she nearly backed out, but David had laughed so hard, she did it to prove a point. She knew better that to give them what they wanted now, but she did admit it was worth it, watching from so high above, what floor she couldn’t remember, but it was high, so high, she could see most of the city from there.

“Want to place a bet?” Carla felt impulsive. They had just come upon the casino, another creation she had watched being built from the ground up. Her eyes were alight and she saw a look in Perry’s that she couldn’t quite fathom.

“No, not really,” he said. “I just want to keep walking with you.” Carla wasn’t disappointed at all and she felt herself blush again. They walked in silence to the bridge and Carla bent down to look for those iconic locks. “No, they’re gone,” Perry said, understanding. “Love locks they were called.”

“Yes, they were so strange but so interesting. A love gesture, something about commitment…”

Carla leaned over the bridge and looked into the water, which reflected the now clearing sky, even a misty star. She saw herself in the reflection, the image of a young girl, a teenager, a young woman, a light in her eyes, and her reflection smiled back to her. Another head appeared, another smiling eyed face. Carla felt his arm around her waist.

“Thank you for tonight,” she said to his reflection.

“I should thank you,” he replied taking her in his arms. “The best tour guide ever and in my own town!”

“Yes,” she said looking into his eyes as he leaned toward her. “That’s the thing about…”

Rita H Rowe (C)