Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS writer
There were probably early signals. Little hints, subtleties along the way. Like an overly careful choice of words or the speed with which he would look away. But you see I was moving through the world with grandiose ambition and an elephantine ego. These small ripples? They were immaterial against my grand plans. After all, I was in Adelaide. Some kind of ghost town meets country town hybrid that didn’t know where to go after their premier wore pink hot pants in parliament. The whole state still holding their breath, smiling nervously, not making eye contact, waiting for a new collective identity. A communal pause that had gone on so long that they’d forgotten that they were still turning in slow lazy circles, pretending not to notice, casting about for the right next move.
Every footstep in Adelaide gave this kid from London a tiny stage on which to wow the audience. Look at me. Look at fucking me.
So that first meeting, the first one I remember, there were definitely already signs. He came in late and I was in his office waiting. When I say waiting I mean the kind that looks like standing on his coffee table, air-surfing and humming along to Hawaii-Five-O. I didn’t see him until he cleared his throat. Quick smart I jumped down and plonked my hefty arse in a chair. Delighted with my quirky self. Look at me. Look at fucking me.
He had a slight stutter and wore cardigans with leather elbow patches. He seemed timid. I imagined him in the cream brick, low lying western suburbs with a lemon tree in the front yard and old, musty carpet on his lounge room floor. In my mind I gave him elderly parents and made him a dutiful son. He was my new boss and so far he was scoring low on the relevance radar.
He sat carefully and neatly and looked down at his desk while he lined up the pen against the edge of the paper. My knee was still jiggling up and down to the theme music.
He looked up. “I’m saying this for your benefit”.
Shuffle. More pen straightening. My knee still now.
“If you want to succeed here you should pretend not to be gay”.
I remember it was sunny that day. I could hear the water trickling in the pond outside his window. Adelaide-hot, clear and dry.
I floated back in to the room. Something had moved in my chest. Not hurting, just rearranged. I couldn’t work out if time was really fast or really slow. Maybe it was just that the speed with which my heart shot blood around my body made the second hand on the wall clock seem to hesitate. Tick. Pause. Tick.
Look at me. Look at fucking me.