We met at the edge of the world. It was July 4th and a few months shy of 2K. While
the masses obsessed over time and dates, you were completely unbothered. I was
smitten. Just like that, time lost all meaning.
I didn’t fear the hype, the predicted end of the world as we knew it. I was naïve, in
my invincible twenties and you were my escape. After years of having my nose to
the grindstone of studies, you patiently led me back to leisure. Lazy beach days,
the seagulls vying for our fish and chips in their greasy newspaper packets, while
we lay hypnotized by the steady surf and each other. Weeknights at King O’Malley’s
pub, the cheeky barkeep teasing as we scrambled for doubles at last call. Early
afternoon brunches with just a whisper of a hangover, the sun was all it took to
bring me around.
You didn’t show me all your cards, and I appreciated that. I was down for the hunt,
the dance of getting to know you. There were tranquil mornings in eclectic cafes,
the daily crossword accompanied by a steaming flat white. Rainy days lounging
under fuzzy blankets, lost in our latest finds from the last independent bookshop on
London circuit. Weekends brought runs through Eddison Park; our pace
synchronized with birdsong. Stunning rainbow summer rolls with a hint of
lemongrass and just the right wine; oh, how you kept surprising me!
We moved in together. It was a funky ground floor flat just south of city center, and
a leap outside my comfort zone. The rhythm of my days shifted; work took a
backseat, and discoveries trumped plans. Our lazy dial up Internet and the
anticipation of the morning kookaburra calls taught me patience. Presence. With
your steady guidance I had stumbled upon ease, and then, it got late so soon.
We parted in ’03. A mistake. But at the time, I was tone deaf to anything outside
the rhythm of my internal clock. You were content to remain as carefree as the day
we met. I had things to accomplish. A life list that needed ticking. That last morning
at the airport, after a messy breakdown over souvenirs, you embraced me with the
confidence of a psychic, predicting my return. Heartbroken that you could let me
go, I boarded at last call and refused to look back.
What I could never have predicted at that tender age of departure was the elasticity
of time. I now see that the 2K preparations were a foreshadowing. You can plan
and prepare all you like, but the most unexpected experiences will nestle in the tiny
nooks of your heart. A whiff of lemongrass can be a time machine. I left you, but
you never left me.
I returned to you through Facebook at first. The early days of social media had me
creeping your photos nightly until I mustered the courage and funds to book a
flight. It’s now been a decade since that last fling, a delicious 3 weeks in the mid-
2010s. An antidote to my midlife responsibilities.
Your turquoise waters are bordered by diamond sand. Your wildlife and nightlife are
unmatched. You tease out the ripples of possibility in my belly with your expansive
countryside, vibrant urban spaces, and quirky characters. My youth, my rebellion,
and reluctant passage into adulthood are written in the shores of your wide brown
land.
Nicole Druhan McGinn has been a writer since third grade but has only recently started to share her work widely. She is a two time finalist with WOW! Women on Writing. She reads and writes from Halifax, Nova Scotia where she collects sea glass and lives with her partner, two sons and two cats.
