Experimental writing 1: A missed connection

Prologue

It had always been the colours. Everything about this place had enriched her vision; it wasn’t just the the blue of the sky or green of the woodlands. It was also the clarity of thought which the open sea offered. She trod water and against the turquoise depths, looked down at the new jewels on her finger. The glittering wedding ring of emerald green and sapphire blue seemed to be part of the water, part of her. She moved suddenly, twisting and diving, a perfect physical expression of the pure joy she felt. She was finally at peace with all facets of her life for once. It seems miracles do happen.

***

She was excited about the thought of spending a couple of months staying with her best friend. When you meet your soul mate time apart doesn’t seem to count, so even though it had only been eight short weeks since she had been on Sark with Vicky, she was looking forward to more time on the island with her. She had enjoyed the time there earlier in the year and a germ of an idea was forming about a move to the Channel Islands. She just needed to be certain it was right. 

After several years abroad, she had certainly not given up on the idea of remaining in Dalmatia but there were European events to consider; who knows if she would be able to stay indefinitely, even if it was now her only home. She considered getting her own little clifftop stone cottage and join the friendly, slightly crazy community of people on that isolated rock. She could do lonely and windswept, and, she mused, it would be nice to be reunited with her books too. Whatever the outcome it was better than being back in London, or some other place in the UK. 

The UK in 2019 was an unwelcoming and unfamiliar place. She often had to return there for work purposes and despite the intensity of her job and the consuming nature of interesting conversations with like minded people, it was no longer her spiritual home;  that busy world had faded from her mind and she no longer suffered pangs when a new exhibition opened. FOMO had FO. She only missed certain friends, and she often thought of her family. Meeting with her brother in Brighton whilst she had been at a conference had been a real treat. There is nothing like a hug from a family member to make you feel warm and loved. Anyway, all she knew was that the first time she sailed out of Poole towards Guernsey, she didn’t look back, but faced forward, leaving exhaustion and hangover work conference fumes behind her. 

***

"Wake up, wake up”, screamed an alarm clock at 5.30am.

It was an early start on this particular two day voyage. Getting from Split to Sark was a logistical nightmare and involved a change in Germany, an overnight stay in an overpriced Guernsey Airbnb so she could get the first ferry out to Sark. Typically she hadn’t checked the calendar properly when she’d booked the flights and she had managed to include a bank holiday weekend which meant everyone was going to the Channel Islands at the same time as she was. Or so it felt. 

A sleepy lift to the airport and a hug from a friend sent her on her way. She was soon regretting her decision to arrive early as she waited and waited for the gate to open. As it happens the flight was delayed leaving and  she experienced a fleeting unease about her connection in Stuttgart. She dismissed it remembering how she’d managed to catch every other connecting flight during those awkward off-season trips. She was determined not to feel anxious, what could possibly go wrong?

Thirty minutes into the short flight, through her headphones, she heard her name being announced over the tannoy. What on earth was going on?

“Excuse me, I understand you have a connecting flight? Would you come to the front of the cabin?”, the flight attendant explained. "You will get off first and must run through the terminal because you have no time to lose. We will ask them to hold the flight for you and you will be fine but you must not stop and have a beer.”

Having a beer wasn’t really her first thought when she had a tight connection to make. Although she oddly felt in need of a stiff drink now - full anxiety mode had kicked in. She sat there, green-faced, clutching her handbag, poised and ready to fly off the plane as soon as it was ready. 

It was inevitable. She had finally met her airport match and her travel luck had run out, along with the once-a-week flight to the Channel Islands. Clearly they hadn’t received the message that someone else was joining them from another flight. She wandered miserably back through the terminal towards baggage reclaim, where she waited ages for her bag to appear. Frankly she was just relieved that it hadn’t decided to take the flight without her! She had no idea what to do next, so went to have a conversation with a brisk but kindly lady at the airport information desk. She was offered another ticket which promised a 15 minute run through Birmingham International airport, and an over-night in Jersey. Another Airbnb at stupidly inflated prices, IF she made that midlands-channel island connection. 

“Seriously? You want me to get on a flight with another tight connection, after missing this one?” The patient woman looked sympathetic. Close to tears, Clare made an instant decision and begged for a flight back home to Split and was efficiently provided with a ticket for the next day and hotel vouchers. Slightly dazed and unthinking, she checked in and entered a smart hotel bedroom. Hot, dishevelled and tears starting to fall, she sat on the bed. Vicky was given the story and both of them decided this was the best thing to do, despite the obvious sadness. There would be other opportunities. 

There wasn’t much else to do but get changed and get something to eat and drink. The wine waiter decided that she was in need of cheering up and instead of the glass she’d ordered, he brought the entire bottle. 

It was an uneventful journey home and the same friend that dropped her off, picked her up at the airport. The Dalmatian “what can you do" shrug was contagious, and the warm hugging weather did it’s best to cheer her up. How sad can you stay when the sun and light gives you such a welcome home? With this in her mind, she decided to book a proper tourist boat trip for her bank holiday treat for the coming Monday. What better way of contemplating the future is there than bowling along on the waves of the Adriatic?

Seasons, seasoning, reasoning

Pinch punch first of the month! September is one of my favourite months; a few more weeks of ever lengthening golden light, squidgy purple berries and honeyed Russet apples, warmer clothes and a snug duvet, as well as exciting new lectures and exhibitions to brighten the dark evenings. In Northern Europe, September primarily exists as an apology for a terrible summer and is the only time, weather-wise, that I wish I was home. Even rain and mist is appealing as seen through the rainbow of falling leaves.

This year I'm greeting September with incredulity because this means I've been here seven months. It seems incredible that we arrived on a dark March morning with a long summer in front of us. Strangely it is partly the weather that has truncated time - by having mostly warm sunshine since June, days have disappeared in a languidity of pleasure and colour. Only the occasional storm has offered punctuation marks in time; a difference to mark the passage of summer, and most recently the appearance of dewy mornings to announce an Adriatic autumnal turn.

Which has necessary got me thinking about plans. I'm officially here on Šipan until the end of October leaving me with two months to decide what to do next. Some things are yet to be confirmed but are certainties nonetheless. A trip to London for blood tests and medication has to happen before the end of November. It's not life or death, just means there won't be any hormone based meltdowns over winter. This ensures I'll also be properly equipped clothes-wise for winter because I possess nothing thicker than a jacket and fleece jogging top. I also need a trip to Split to retrieve a duvet and my miniature library!

The other certainties include travelling more. Someone has suggested they fancy seeing Barcelona in October (subject to a million responsibilities) so I'm open to suggestions regarding interesting places to stay there. I've seen a boat on Airbnb that could be interesting for a week although it specifies 'no number 2s in the toilet'. Given my digestion on a week long diet of churros and manchega...but I digress. I'm mildly regretful that I haven't used my time to see more of this country and its neighbours, but height of season isn't conducive to cheap, quiet, comfortable getting-about. And frankly I've enjoyed an anxiety free life. At the end of September I am considering resurrecting the carefully mapped Balkan odyssey, and taking in Albania, Macedonia, Serbia, and Hungary. Using the February road trip as inspiration, it would be interesting to just book the first couple of nights to be secure, then wing it from there and fly back to Dubrovnik from whichever Eastern European city I get stuck in after a couple of weeks.

Did I mention regrets? A conversation yesterday about whether I had any has prompted a few thoughts. If I went with one of my options and returned to London in November I would regret nothing - despite the travel mentioned above. Although this could be remedied by shipping stuff home and back-packing leisurely to the UK via Austria, Czech Republic, Poland, the Baltic states, Scandinavia and the North Sea. To be honest I could do that anyway. There is only one event which to this day makes me shrivel with dismay at my stupidity. Although in reality the reawakening of true lingering conscience and care for others is to be embraced rather than easily shrugged off with regrets. Croatia has given me a sense of domestic peace which I've never experienced before. Although cooking contrary style meals for locals terrifies me! I hadn't realised black pepper or mild paprika were classed as ljuti.

When you've finally let go of neuroses and realised that nothing but loved ones are important, it's easier to let go of other desires and pulls. Instead of trying to constantly chase and expand to fill an entire universe, my universe has found and shrunk comfortably around me. I have caught my own precious falling stars, no longer having to reach unsteadily for those always out of reach. I am finally content with my abilities and what I have, so there is no further need for obsessing.

This place has made me a better, less-superficial person because I have time to stop and consider what would be better for other people. I'm never going to be perfect (who is!?) but I'm not finding myself so distracted and disconnected as I used to be. The road - or ferry - to recovery is still long, requiring patience. A few months here is just the start. It is easy to be content with scrubbing toilets when your head is preparing an article, a short story, or thinking about the next freelance writing job. Perhaps this is who I truly am. Let's hope September continues to bring forth a harvest of ideas to welcome the olive oil. Hours on the Elafiti ferries to restock my flour and baking powder once again provoking homespun profundity; or perhaps I'm simply being profoundly domestic.

The Coral Kosjenka

Sea stripes

Turquoise slices

 Pebbly froth

Flinty golds

Rhythmic diamonds

Across the bay


Unusually the stifling atmosphere of the scholarly London university library was dragging heavily on my torso making it hard to breathe. A gap in the persistent rain outside had sent shafts of weak sunlight through the windows, lighting up the dust drifting like protozoa through the heavy air. The reef of textbooks on antique corals with their many pearls of wisdom were for once failing to inspire me, and instead, were hemming in my imagination. It was like diving through murky harbour water; every sense was unnaturally and dangerously stifled. I was suffocating.

A Tyrant Spell Has Bound Me

Whilst away in Croatia, there was a piece of writing I shared with Vicky and Clare. It was a piece I had to do as a controlled assessment for college. I thought it was captivating enough to share; it did also nab me an A. Here's to the Friday Blog Challenge! 

We had to pick a line from a poem and write our own prose based upon it. I chose "Spellbound" by Emily Bronte.

My Dearest Evangeline

I sit here pondering, your beautiful face resonates in my mind, as I feel the ice cold trail of an apparent cure feeding my blood. Oh, how I will miss the mornings of our Marigold friend; billowing into the room, as if he owns it. The joyous laughs spilling from yourself, jumping on my bed, eager for me to wake and get the day started.

I sit here, cold. Our glorious morning sun has faded. He has decided once more, to don his hat and say farewell to the skies, for now.

I find it hard writing, I find it tiring, I find it unimaginably difficult.

How am I supposed to say goodbye, when my body yearns to say, hello.

I remember the day they told me. Do you?

How ironically hilarious, that I should find out about my friend, Steve; who seems to have taken up residence in a "very smart mind" your words echo.

We were swimming and I suddenly collapsed! You were so worried, you clutched my favourite bear that night and snuggled beside me to sleep in those very cold, cast iron hospital beds. You watched over me like my guardian angel. My angel Evangeline.

After those pesky tests and surgery, we managed to say goodbye to Steve. However, they found his brother Dave and his other siblings. "Malignant tumour colonies" they called them. My brain all of a sudden felt very occupied. The most activity it's seen in a while. I just wished they had asked my permission first.

After that disastrous bout of radiotherapy, 6 weeks it took up. 6 weeks of yuck! I loved your happiness though. So determined to see me happy, so determined to keep me smiling. Even if it was prancing around in a tutu, wearing a tiara, shouting "I'm a lady", as we both tried on my first wig.

They phoned to let us know, the bearers of good news; HA. Some of Dave and his friends had spread and I had now more new metastases. Wow, loved that bit of news.

I've always wondered. Why do they wear those coats of pure white? Do you think it could be, that they wear them to feel clean and pure when delivering such "good news" to people?

I digress. The reason for this letter is to say goodbye. To inform you as to why I have chosen the action that I am currently taking.

I remember you pleading with me to continue with the therapies. I know you can't bear the thought of losing me, but I cannot bear the thought of losing you also, but I am spellbound. I am in and out of cold hospitals, in and out of cold, cold, cold places. I just want to feel warm again. I am so tired of moving from pillar to post for the hope that my "friends"; might take up residency elsewhere.

But, the cold hard fact is, they won't.

I am not doing this to be difficult, but I am doing this to take back control, to take back my body; what is left of it.

I have lived a good life, and I have you to thank for that. Let me join our friend Marigold, the sun.

Let me join the rest of our family, let me join Dad.

I know you say I am too young, but I say I have lived life.

Don't cry at the morning sun for me and weep sorrow.

Look at the sun, and every time it shines, remember that's me saying, Hi.

And when it isn't out, remember that's me being a stubborn child, as you like to say.

I love you with all my heart, I won't say goodbye Mummy.

Just Goodnight.

Forever yours, always.

Me.