Hide and Seek
Do ya wanna go for a walk?!
Out in the bush that day, we gulped in deep breaths of life as we played, serenaded by the familiar and comforting hum of nature. The Summer sun trickled through the eucalypts above, giving Charlie’s ebony coat a brilliant shine. This was our happy place, where we worked for the simple goal of wringing out the energy that always built to overflowing in his little Jack Russell body. The leaves crunched beneath our feet, releasing bursts of eucalyptus oil that clashed with the hot summer sun, serving to intensify the delicious smell of the Australian bush. Snakes probably slithered beneath our feet, but we were both unaware and didn’t care as we began Charlie’s first game of Hide and Seek. I am struck with Charlie’s apparent knowledge of how this game works, despite having never played before.
Even before we had reached this moment, before we had set foot in the bush, Charlie was alert and alive with anticipation. It is a simple thing, generating a dog’s anticipation. A simple interested look in their direction, a familiar pair of joggers that yet carry the odour of adventures past, or the almost imperceptible anticipation that our own bodies generate, and it is enough to seal the deal: a new adventure is on its way!! Our adventure today started with a certain inflection in my voice as I said, ‘Charlie, doyawanna go for a walk?’ (You know, that sentence that avoids correct grammar and runs together for added excitement?). His heart must have been filled to overflowing with joy, because it spilled out into every fibre of his little being, causing him to do endless circles, while his tail wagged at record-breaking speeds. And just like a greyhound trained to chase the mechanical rabbit, Charlie burst through the front door as soon as there was enough space to fit his small body through. His excitement quickly gave way to frustration with more circles and whining as our two legs had not yet made it to the car to open the door.
The 3km journey to The Drift must have seemed an eternity to him, his intense frustration at being confined was palpable, as he whined, panted, and paced impatiently in the back seat. He had his eyes on an invisible goal beyond the stretch of road and confines of my little blue Lancer. I mused that Charlie’s attitude in this moment is not unlike us impatient humans, our busyness refusing to enjoy small momentary pleasures. At last, the tar road gave way to dirt, and the puffs of dust came through the open car windows, hand rolled down- the age of my Lancer made it perfect for bush bashing like this. My husband is driving, expert at controlling the car for both safety and thrills in this uncertain terrain. He spots the perfect place to stop the car, a left turn off the main dirt strip, where the road narrows and pushes deeper into bushland.
As the car slows, Charlie’s whining and pacing increases, until that glorious moment when I opened the door, the only barrier now. In one swift movement, Charlie is out of the car, seeming to defy gravity for a body so small. Surely, he would beat any Olympian at any long jump competition, especially if scored by grace and excitement. Immediately he is racing towards the bush, no destination in mind, driven by some subconscious need to simply be active, to smell things, to mark territory as he went, and to bark at the big world around him. And then, with an excitement and happiness that matched Charlie’s, my husband says to him, ‘Where’s Rachel?’. That is enough to stop Charlie dead in his tracks, suddenly on high alert to respond to his master’s request. Unbeknownst to Charlie, in all his sniffing and marking, I had quietly walked deeper into the bush and tucked myself as small as I could behind a tree stump. There I sat, with a huge grin on my face, watching with pleasure and anticipation at being hunted out by my small and incredibly clever puppy. As I sit there, I wonder at how Charlie could possibly understand my husband’s request. My wonder dissipates quickly as I am discovered, having not even sat long enough to need to adjust my position. As soon as the question was in the air, Charlie had shot off into the bush, taking on the responsibility like a detective’s cloak, discovering me in record time.
And then it was on, this game of Hide and Seek that we all unanimously agreed was going to be epic. As I celebrate Charlie’s success, with scruffy pats and pride, I ask the question, ‘Where’s Phil?’. And off he went to find his next prize, then hurtling back to find me, like a little ping pong ball volleying between my husband and me. And so, the three of us danced, ran, and tromped through the bush, content to be in this little bubble of three, wonderfully unaware of the world around us.
At once, we all gathered to sit and rest, an unspoken agreement that ‘now’ was the right time to do just that. Breathing heavily, smiling stupidly, panting intensely. I am aware that my heart is full. My adult brain thought this day was for just Charlie- ‘he needs exercise!’ my husband and I had agreed. But sitting here, amongst the crickets, hidden snakes, and scorching summer sun, I am complete. And as we drive home, that 3km stretch no longer a frustration for Charlie as he lies on the back seat with his tongue hanging out further than I thought was possible, I am in no doubt that this was the best day he has ever had. Of course, until tomorrow, when another best day will certainly be on the horizon.
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Contradictions
There was a faint smell of wet paint, mixed with the soothing smell of an open fire, crackling softly as the shadow of embers danced against the wall. There was the occasional croak of a frog, intermittent amidst the gentle hum of crickets that announced that the cool winter evenings had given way to warmer weather. Aside from the natural rhythm of this white noise, the night was still and quiet. Alone in his barn, Samuel soaked up the serenity, and smiled at the irony of an open fire, an odd contradiction on a warm night. Samuel’s smile faded as the memories rolled in- his whole life was a contradiction. As he worked deftly on the artwork in front of him, he recalled who he used to be- ‘Sam’. Fun loving, hilarious, ruffian Sam. Sam was well liked in his youth- he was smart, confident, athletic and had a bright future in front of him. Yet here he sat, an older version of himself, known only as the recluse ‘Samuel’, scruffy, sad, and always grumpy. As Samuel considers his younger self, the dissonance of this contradiction gives him pause as he works on his art. Sighing, he moves away from his easel and peers out the barn door at the still night. The stars are bright, and he can feel a cool breeze on his face, the type of breeze that is trying to warm up as it exits winter. Maybe that’s what he needed. To be more like the breeze and step out of the cool existence that had frozen him in his barn since his partner had flown into the night, never to return. Samuel turns sharply away from the barn door- it doesn’t matter where he is or what he does, the pain never leaves his side. Not a physical pain, for he was quite fit for his grey age, but the insidious and searing pain of grief. She was gone, and no painting, no contemplating, no amount of hiding from his life could erase that fact. Young ‘Sam’ never saw this coming, but now he was as wise as an owl, it was as clear as those stupid stars in the sky to Samuel. His love for her was not sufficient, or perhaps misdirected, never landing in her heart the way it needed to. He thought back to the night that she left. They had argued, over something stupid too. It was a familiar and empty argument, achieving nothing but compounding the layer of hardness of her heart that he had dedicated too many years to building. As a tear rolls from his eye, Samuel roughly brushes it away, once again angry with himself for allowing thoughts of her to provoke emotion. It was her foolish choice to go out on such a night, knowing the inherent dangers at that time of year. It was not unusual for her to return early morning on her infrequent nights out, but as the days rolled into weeks, into months, Samuel had made the choice to permanently close off his heart to her. He had to as this was the only way that the grief would not swallow him up and incapacitate him completely. Contradiction, like the crackling fire in the corner of the barn, which dimly lit Samuel’s art studio. Ha! Art studio indeed, how ridiculous. Sam the strong would never sit alone like this, absentmindedly dabbing rough patches of paint onto a blank canvas. That Sam was unruffled by life, proud and the envy of many. But she had undone him completely, turning him into a softer and kinder version of himself, filling his life with unexpected treasure. And so, her disappearance had the effect of a black hole in that starry sky- it created a dark void where nothingness was all he knew. Contradictions. A black hole in such a bright and happy night sky. Standing in the middle of his barn, Samuel shudders at the overwhelming feelings, feeling a wry smile at the fact that he could feel both endless nothingness and yet be unmovable by the weight of feeling. He stares at his artwork, complete except for his signature, the mark that forever joined this artwork to himself. Samuel always hesitated at this part of the process. Perhaps he felt ashamed. He guessed that creating art with passion and joy was a part of himself he was not yet willing to accept. With purposeful steps, Samuel picks up the pen and with one swift movement signs his artwork and stands back to look once more at the masterpiece he had created to remember her by. The painting has soft lines, the colours matched, and it is clear that this is the most passionate artwork he has created. Samuel is both pleased and astonished at himself, and at the beauty of the painting. Samuel glances at the barn door, and back at the painting. With one swift move, he douses the open fire, briefly pausing to watch the embers die and the smoke trail into the air. And with renewed energy, he hefts his aging body towards the door and begins to ascend to the skies with practiced wings, confident to reach those starry skies. Perhaps he will join the night hunt alongside the other barn owls, in search of unaware field mice, and once again take his place as patriarch. Or perhaps he will find that black hole where his beloved surely resides.
By Rachel Webb4 years ago in Fiction
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