Destiny

Recently I have been working in the suburb of Chatswood, which coincidentally happens to be the suburb in which I was born. Technically I was born in a hospital a few suburbs north of Chatswood, but it was in Chatswood that I was first brought home, and it was in Chatswood that I ruptured the innermost membranes of my embryo and sent amniotic fluids dripping down my mother’s legs.

The interesting thing about this heritage is that after the first year and a bit of my life I left Chatswood and I never went back there again. Not once. Not until I landed a new job and started catching a train through the suburb on a daily basis. Then work moved to Chatswood and I was walking around in it on a daily basis. It was a strange feeling.

All those times I passed by on the train I wondered to myself, what would it be like going into Chatswood? How would it make me feel? Would I remember things? I thought surely I would experience some ethereal sensation, some stirring inside of me that this part of the planet was significant to my life. I mean, I know it’s been twenty seven years since I’ve been there. Would it be like finally coming home? I wasn’t after something big. I didn’t expect I’d turn a corner and slip over my own discarded placenta. I just thought I would feel something.

It was a beautiful mid-winter day today. The sun was out and it was twenty-three degrees. During my lunch break I decided to go on a quest, I was going to walk and see my old house. I used Google Maps and my birth certificate to plan a path. It was less than two kilometres. I crossed the Pacific Highway and started walking. I kept my eyes sharp, wondering when or if I would start to recognise anything. I stopped briefly to scroll through the songs on my phone to find something poignant to play as I walked up the street to my childhood home.

Nothing I saw as I walked seemed familiar or important. I was close to my house now, and I turned onto my first street. A chill went through me. I won’t lie, it was a shady street, but a powerful thought did at that moment cross my mind. It was an image of my mother, heavily pregnant and cleaning the bathroom of what was about to become my home. She had a red bandana on, and George Michael’s Careless Whisper was playing on the radio. Did I travel through time at that moment? Did I really hear the saxophones? I don’t think so.

I found my house. It was just as my parents described it. My eyes glanced from place to place - the gate, the path, the letterbox, the fence. Nothing registered. It could have been any house on any street. I took a few camera phone photos regardless, and then I scampered away guiltily because I always feel shameful after using my camera phone in public.

As I was walking back to the office, enjoying the sunshine and irrelevant music, I heard footsteps behind me, running. An old man had chased me down. He waved his hands in my face and I stopped my music.

Who was this man? Was it someone who recognised me? Was it me, from the future?

“I was yelling at you,” he said, “you had your music in.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Can you help me? I need to lift a wheelbarrow onto my truck.”
Behind him there was a dual cab ute with a roof rack. One wheelbarrow was on top of it already, another stood forlorn beside the vehicle.
“Sure,” I said. I took the handles and together we put it onto the roof racks.
“Thanks,” he said, “you are a real gentleman.”
“No worries,” I said. “Bye.” I walked off quickly, because interacting with strangers makes me uncomfortable.