A little walk I took a couple of years ago…

Night time

I went out walking and the cats watched me
All through the back of Newtown along the trainline
On top of terrace walls and under cars
Their heads turned silently or not at all
And I strolled, marvelling at the orange light
And purple dimples of the clouds.

When I started out I saw a boy who was tall and a girl in a green cardigan cross my path at Abercrombie St. I see them again at Codrington as our routes cross over again. I descend into the shadows, closer still to the tracks, quieter darker streets where the cats are. Under the giant old oak tree, past the three proud people graffiti, down the little lane I’m convinced is haunted.

My night companions appear at the end of the lane, just near Macdonaldtown station, I follow them almost to the Imperial. I am glad to see them again.

The air was just so still and the breeze so slight when I took the rubbish out this evening, that I couldn’t let it go to waste and fall asleep on the couch, waiting for someone to get home. Perhaps it was something about the wide open roads on the documentary about the Grafton Jacaranda Queen that make me homesick for big quiet streets. Familiar streets to stroll. It was a night for my new haircut, my soft ears pricked for any sound. I was all eyes and ears, keen to get out and just walk. Anywhere. Wherever I could. Because I could. Because my short hair gives me new kid attitude. I pulled on some jeans and headed out.

The wind buffered the back of my head, gently, as I walked down Union St. It’s a long straight narrow street, one way, which changes direction in the middle. What beautiful big old houses. I bet some are empties. One house is terrible, it’s made of two big terraced townhouses both painted apricot with brown detailing, and in the left hand ground level there’s a giant brown roller door for a garage, and a car in front. I thought about making a movie with model cars which all live in hollowed out terrace houses.

The jasmine and night flowers were out. I considered going to St Peters, or finding a phone booth and calling Ali, but I couldn’t remember her number, and decided that I just wanted to be alone. I sauntered back up King, crossing over at Newtown square and skulking up Eliza. I came to a stop in Camperdown memorial rest park, and sat on a bench.

There are noises all around the edge of the park, the middle is bright and green in the lamplight, clear as a sweeping gesture. Will it last? There is a wonderful bug buzzing around on the grass nearby. I realise later it’s a cockroach, as it crawls along the wall behind me. It’s a beautiful witching hour, I watch a couple of people walk by, I felt happy, I felt at peace. I felt good and free. Less angst. Just eyes and ears. And nose. Jeans and a pullover, and two hands in pockets. A collared shirt underneath. Preppy, with glasses. Happy that the weather made it all so simple. Happy to be alone, strolling. Biding time in a park at night. Loving the Newtown streets, checking up on old haunts.

I walked past Hordern St, past our old house, superlatively done up by the lesbians who bought it. They even renovated the outhouse down the back of the garden. Further on, past the back of the Newtown North and the Trocadero, on the other side of Missenden Rd, is another long line of beautiful terrace houses. Different styles, some of them are positively scandinavian looking, with their steep steep rooves and dormer windows, tiles gleaming in the streetlight.

I turned back up towards King St, up the little paved street with all the tiny old apartments built almost right up to the gutter, letterboxes perched sideways on each window ledge. When I reached Lander St, I stopped again, and stood across the road from our house, looking up at the stringybark tree behind me, and gazing over the orange sky. It’s so beautiful! And the little gallery with it’s white roller door and ivy covered wall, two doors down. I wanted to stand outside for a long time, but it was time to move on. Yes, I think I could be Gaylourdes.

October 2006