Stranded
Category C: Highly Commended (2024) Monash Short Story Writing Competition
Author: Marieste Lozande
I’m stranded. I look around trying to identify a landmark, a street name, something familiar but I have no idea where I am or where my shoes went (At least you’re not in your pyjamas!).
The last thing I remember clearly is going to bed. I was listening to whale songs in Spotify to buffer (harmonise with) my husband’s snores. Those nights when Morpheus takes longer to embrace me, I blend all the sounds into a beautifully complex symphony. Where is he? Where are the children? (their screams woke you up this morning, fighting over the last slice of cold pizza).
Yes, they were fighting and I was confused. I think I was dreaming that I was sleeping in the station wagon (mum’s 1979 Ford woody wagon!), so that was probably a dream, but, why would I be listening to Howard Stern, is he still alive? (Perhaps, but in the wrong continent, so that was a dream for sure). I was safely in my bed; how did I get here? And where is my phone? (at least you have the motel room key and…are those mum’s station wagon keys?). Impossible. My brother crashed that car in the early 90’s. His now-wife gave him this keyring after her trip to Disneyworld…
My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the beautiful notes of mariachis tuning their instruments. I follow the sound since it’s the only thing I can recognise at the moment. Three men, dressed in jeans and matching t-shirts, stand in a corner, busking. The music starts and I listen to the song, trying not to sing along too loudly. I am transported for a second to where everyone wishes they were (and you left voluntarily following a man). I sigh. Where is that man now? And my children. Where am I? The music goes on and I stop trying to keep it in. Despite my dirty, cold feet, I sing and dance along with the music. I would give them a 10, if I had a wallet.
“Comadre!” I hear a voice I know well, calling. I turn around and my daughter’s godmother stands there, in her work clothes, holding a large coffee in her hand. I’m so confused. “Comadre! Thank God you’re here!” I reply as we embrace. “Where are we?” She looks at me, puzzled, and then laughs.
“She’s something else” she tells her friend (or co-worker), referring to me. The young woman greets me too, a wave of the hand like they do here (where is here?). “Comadre, I’m not joking, look at me! I’m so lost. I don’t know where I am, where anyone is”.
“Where are your shoes comadre, you must be freezing!”
“I don’t know. I’m quite numb, actually. I don’t have my phone, either. I don’t know where I am. I think we’re staying in a motel. But why?”
She turns to her co-worker, gives her instructions, and with a worried wave the young woman leaves.
“I’ll drive you home, comadre, don’t worry, just wait here, I’m going to get my car”.
“Don’t leave me, please! I’ll come with you” I beg in a panic.
“No, you’ll hurt your feet. Stay in this corner, listening to the music and I’ll be back in 5. Please don’t move”.
I feel relieved and keep singing to pass the time until the musicians start packing up. I try to talk to them in Spanish. “Hola, ¿de dónde son? Tocan muy bien!”
They stare at me. “Soy Mexicana!” I tell them. They smile cordially at the madwoman and say “Slovenia”. I start singing “y volver volver volveeeeeeer ” and they join in, every word flawlessly pronounced.
“Wow. Slovenia, huh? Where did you learn to sing in Spanish?” I ask baffled. “No Spanish” they repeat, taking in my dishevelled and shoeless appearance (where is Comadre?). “Slovenia”.
They walk away and I’m still in the same corner (”…en la misma ciudad, y con la misma gente…”).
The cars look different, the streets are no streets I know. I mean, I know them well, but never intersecting in the same continent. I’m in the corner of Burwood Highway and Avenida San Pedro which is impossible. I don’t have a watch, but it feels like hours since Comadre left me. I need to find my way home; any home will do. I choose to walk down Avenida San Pedro because I’m hoping to get to the houses where I grew up. I just need to find the right intersection where, if I turn left, I’ll be with my mum, and if I go right, I will be at grandma’s house. She hasn’t lived there (lived at all) since the mid 90’s, but who is to say when I am. The street is all wrong. There is a wide sidewalk for starters, and no pot holes. The ratio of luxury cars is also completely wrong for this part of town, the occasional Chrysler goes by but no Mercs, Hummers or Beamers. This is NQR. (Is that NQR?!). I’m standing outside an orange sign with big neon letters. NQR. Damn! Across the road is Dimmey’s and a Franco Cozzo. Am I in Footescray? I should have taken Burwood highway. At least the sun is shining. I still need shoes and a ride home. If I had some money….
I look back to retrace my steps but the scenery has changed. I don’t want to leave NQR, at least I know what it is, if not when or where. The footpath is getting hot. There should be a nature strip. A thin, plastic bag makes its way towards me, tumbling up and down, side to side as the wind plays with it. I catch it and marvel at its perfection. “We took you for granted all those years”, I whisper in its handle. I debate whether to release it or keep it just in case (homeless and still hoarding!). I keep the bag to spare marine life (where is the bay?). I could wrap it around one foot. Because my back is starting to hurt, I sit against the wall, hoping not to be a nuisance to passers-by. I put the bag under my feet so it won’t fly away. I open my eyes after what feels like a slow blink, and find the bag now has coins; silver and gold and a 5 dollar note! There’s nobody around. I made $13.60 in my sleep. Not bad at all. I decide to go into Dimmey’s, maybe I will find flip flops my size. But of course, Dimmey’s is gone.
Even though my little payday came through no effort of my own (or idea of how to repeat it), I feel encouraged by it, positive that I can make it on my own. I will solve this mystery and find my way home. I debate whether to retrace my steps but I have learnt that you can never go back, something always changes, the only way in life is to always go forward.
As I walk, I notice that the sun moves in predictable ways, it is the afternoon. I don’t want to be lost when it gets dark (you will be fine). I will be fine. I can start over if I must. I have two degrees. International commerce was all the rage at the time so I fell for it, but my passion was always history and art history. So that’s what I taught for years before I met, married and migrated. Je parle Français. So cantare in italiano e tedesco. Hablo español e inglés. I’ll be fine.
Will I be fine? All that, I did in my first life. When I was taken care of and my only focus was me: reading, writing, painting, studying, singing, teaching the things I loved, having fun. In my second life, the spotlight was never again on me. I became a secondary character first, eventually an NPC, when the children reached adolescence. In Spanish, we have the verb adolecer, from where adolescence comes. It means to suffer, but it also means to cause suffering. It’s not just the growing creatures that suffer during that ever-longer transitional period, they wreak havoc and devastation on those who thought they knew how best to keep them safe (Where are they now? Are they safe?).
My back pain is now joined by knee and ankle pain. For some reason I can’t lift my left arm very far. How can I have tennis elbow without my phone? Pain has never stopped me before. I will find my way home. I see a tram pass by at the intersection and I sigh with relief. I’m almost there. Each step hurts more. My feet are cold and burning at once. My skin itches and prickles (formication). Yes, I’m a woman of a certain age, but I was perfectly fine at the start of this nightmare! Strong, healthy, able, capable, I spent every waking hour planning. From their feeding schedule and tummy time, to play dates, holiday programs, afterschool activities, holidays, family catch-ups, my whole brain power devoted to making sure they had the best experiences, the most learning, the most fun, the best life (getting lost in them, I was the best supporting act – I would do it all again).
“Comadre! there you are! I have been looking for you everywhere!”
“Ay, Comadrita, everything is messed up! Everything hurts, I was just going to keep walking to the tram over there, but my body aches so much, my head hurts, why is it so bright?”
“Did you take your medications?” she asks with a concerned look.
“what medications? will they help with the pain? Do you have some?” I beg.
“Let’s get you home, ok? I can’t believe you’ve been walking around without your stick. You could have broken something! You can’t go out alone anymore, remember?”