Half a year ago and 125.7 chai lattes before the dawn I convinced a friend’s toddler’s imagination (AKA I lied) that the lump of bark she had found in her front yard had actually come from a pirate ship. I told her that the ship had sailed past where her house now stands, centuries ago, when the ocean still covered our suburb. To her delight I then concluded that she would have to go searching for a treasure map, as it was the only way to locate the ship and its glorious contents! Her mother did not thank me the next time we met as she described the painful hours they had spent over the next few days scouring the garden for the map.
Ever since that deceitful afternoon I have secretly remained convinced that my suburb, or at least my street, was held captive by Poseidon’s playground. This afternoon…I was proved correct!
Ripping out lavender in the backyard with my better half was proving soundly therapeutic when I stumbled upon a shard of white bone. Spitting dirt and digging a clump of thistles caught between my teeth out with a clawed index finger, I dusted the bone off to discover an ant-infested piece of coral. CORAL. Throwing it at my husband’s face I bellowed, “Underwater! All of this. You, me, all of it!”
I then raced up the driveway, tugging at my hair in fits of ecstasy and screeched to a halt in the middle of the road. Proof. I knew there would be more evidence now, I was certain of it. Drawing my middle finger at the HiLux that unceremoniously sounded its horn as it swerved around me I set off West…or maybe North…or towards Bunnings sort of direction… to quest for the missing piece of the puzzle. The pièce manquante (because when you break into European phrases you sound super eloquent and junk). The rippling piece of certainty buried somewhere in the concreted wash of street.