Serenna.

How did I get here?

The country house stands, overlooking a gently rolling meadow. The lush, green pasture is occupied by a smattering of dairy cows that are grazing in the early morning sun.

I am on my hands and knees on a hillock, not far from the resplendent house. My fingers clutch at the wet pasture underneath. I am breathless, nauseous, sweating and my legs feel like jelly - as though I've just completed an intense sprint.

How did I get here?

One moment I was...well...I can't remember where I was before now. Was I sleeping? Was I running? Did I fall over and hit my head? My sluggish mind refuses to work. I feel something in my throat. It is a scratchiness, as if something foreign is there. I cough without making a sound. I feel as though I have never existed before this moment. Adrenaline courses through me, tendrils of panic suffocate me. Desperately, I try to latch onto reason before it collapses beneath my feet. Groggily, I rise to my feet. I lower my hands and rest them on my knees. I close my eyes and breathe.

The air on the meadow smells sweet and moist. It is tinged with the dew of the early morning. Almost immediately, the tide of my panic loses purchase and retreats as I strengthen my grip on my calm. A peaceful warmth flows through me and I open my eyes once more.

It is like something out of a Jane Austen novel, a quintessentially English countryside. A meandering brook, lined by weeping willows and a tall oak tree, snakes though the middle of the meadow. I hear the water bubbling and broiling lazily, as if it is inside my head. Though this place is foreign to me, I have a sense of something familiar about it. I have seen it in my mind's eye before. The pasture is greener than any pasture I've ever encountered before. The morning sun rising before me, casts soft yellow shards across the meadow, bathing it in warm hues.

Is this is a dream?

I slow my breathing further, feeling my calm returning. I take in my surroundings more attentively. I hear the sound a church bell ding donging somewhere in the distance. There is the sound of a lawn mower closer by, but as I turn my attention towards the house - the most obvious source - I do not see anyone resembling a gardener in view.

I appraise the country house. It is a noble, three storey, red brick dwelling with crisp white windows, a tiled roof. Perfectly manicured lawns wrap around it and are divided by a wide cobblestone promenade that runs right up to the steps of the house. The promenade is flanked by shaped conifers.

My curiosity replaces my fear and I step forward, gingerly, realising in that moment, that my feet are bare. I am wearing light cotton pyjama bottoms and a navy T-Shirt.

Confusion and bemusement.

What is going on?

Down the hillock and across the meadow, I step cautiously, my feet squelching on the dewy grass. The dew is evaporating beneath my feet and wisps of steam rise. I approach the house cautiously. It appears there are no signs of life in the vicinity of the house. But as I put my hand up to open a large iron gate I hear sounds of laughter and chattering, the clinking of glasses coming from inside the house.

An incongruous image of a flock of flamingos flashes across my mind, but I will it away.

I make my way towards the grand front door of the house. It is clear that some sort of party is in progress - a breakfast of some sort perhaps?

I hesitate before the door, wondering if I should knock. I raise my hand to knock, hesitate again then withdraw. I feel a font of nausea in the pit of my stomach. Something tells me I should leave.

Before I can back away, the door clicks and opens and a kindly faced, elderly man appears.

He smiles warmly at me.

"Oh good!" he exclaims, clearly pleased. "We were beginning to think you weren't coming."

I am too surprised to speak. All I can do is blink.

Do I know this man?

The gentleman immediately takes my arm and gently shepherds me up and into the lobby of the house.

I am confronted by a crowd of people who are assembled in a parlour-like lounge beyond the entrance. The room is populated by exquisite furniture, dark timber fittings. There are paintings on the walls. Portraits of noblemen, dreamlike English landscapes. The guests moving about the parlour are dressed in the luxurious garments from that very Jane Austen period. Women in white, flowing gowns satin ribbons and delicate white gloves. Hair that has been coiffed and primped and decorated with flowers. The men are in jodhpurs and leather boots, navy jackets and ruffles. Everyone smiles and greets me warmly, raising their glasses as the gentleman announces my arrival.

They seem oblivious to my appearance and I frown visibly, confused by their generous greeting. I look down and flinch in shock.

My pyjamas have gone. In their place, I am wearing a gentleman's suit of clothes, like the other men in the room. Leather riding boots, cream coloured riding pants, a generous, mustard coloured jacket over a white shirt with frills that hang down from the neck and dove tail over my chest.

I hear my heart beat in my ears as I try to comprehend what is happening. But I am given little time to process my circumstance as the gentleman host gestures for me to join in the party.

I mingle among the guests, trying to get a sense of who they are and who they think I am, but their conversation gives no clue. A group of ladies who, evidently, think I am very popular draw me towards them. However I immediately notice that their conversation is broken and incomprehensible, like the shards of a shattered mirror. I hear them speak the words but none of it makes sense. Eventually I am 'rescued' by a tall and elegant gentleman with a perfectly groomed moustache and I move to a group of his companions in another corner. They are smoking cigars and sipping brandy. I am given a glass of my own and the man who brought me over hands me a cigar. I hold it in my hand but do not light it. Here, again, I listen to the conversation, but it is nothing but gibberish - words that I understand but they are formed into sentences that make no sense at all.

I feel frustration, anger.

What am I doing? What am I supposed to do?

I look about the parlour as casually as possible, scanning the guests, looking for the gentleman host. In the far corner, among a group of young and beautiful women, one of their number is looking at me.

I am instantly struck.

She is tall, willowy, with flowing auburn hair, delicate ringlets fall on either side of her high cheek bones. Her large and haunting eyes drill into mine and I feel a jolt of electricity as I lock mine with hers. One corner of her lips twitches upwards. She smiles demurely at me from across the room.

Out of the chaotic, incomprehensible conversation that surrounds me, her presence affords an unprecedented clarity. I turn towards her and make my way through the crowd, instantly arousing excited chattering from her pretty companions.

As I approach, she steps towards me gracefully, confidently. She is holding a champagne flute in her hands, from which she sips.

She smiles flirtatiously as I stop before her.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" she greets me in a precise British accent. I am instantly relieved to be able to understand somebody - anybody.

"I'm not used to large crowds," I reply cautiously, searching for the right words to enter the dialogue as casually as possible. "Especially in a place I'm not familiar with."

Her eyes narrow, almost imperceptibly.

"Oh come now," she scolds coquettishly. "You've no need to pretend with me. You've been coming here for years - every summer holiday, since you were a small boy."

I have?

I search my memory for some remembrance of any occasion I've spent here. But there are none.

She must have me confused with someone else.

"Are...we...supposed…,"

I am unable to finish my question. Flashes of light erupt before my eyes and needles of white hot pain assault me then disappear as if they have never been. I have entered the realm of my memories. I see images of her face before me, moving and shifting as though manipulated by someone unseen. 

We are walking in the meadow outside the house, taking in the beautiful morning. We are laughing and chatting like old friends - dear friends. Then we are holding hands. We stop underneath an oak tree. She gazes into my eyes and I see her love for me in return. I am drawn to her. I take her hand then we kiss softly, lingering in each others presence. Then, we are laying together in a bedroom, naked. We are holding each other, skin to skin, making love before a crackling fireplace. I feel the side of her foot sliding softly up my leg as I watch the glow of the flames dance across her body. I savour her touch, the feel of her skin. I cup her breast in my hand and gently devour her erect nipple. We are consumed by passion. Then, I am outdoors again. I am standing on the cobble stones. I see her, astride a mighty horse, preparing to ride away from me, a stiff breeze whips at a long scarf around her neck, threatening to pull it from her completely. She is looking at me with a stony expression. Eyes filled with torment. Tears stream down her face. I wither in her disappointment yet I know not what I have done.

The flashes stop abruptly. I am disoriented for a moment as I am brought back into the moment. Once again, I am in the parlour. But I am completely alone. No one is here, not even her.

Confusion again as I look around, searching. 

I prepare to step forward when the gentleman host taps my shoulder from behind me and I wheel around to face him.

His comforting smile settles me somewhat and I let my defenses fall.

"Come on," he cajoles. 

The gentleman host leas me through the parlour and into the long central hall of the house to the back door. 

"Everyone is waiting. Come outside and ride my horse for me."

We step out through the back door and onto the rear lawn of the grounds. The guests from inside have gathered on the grass, some distance from the house before a group of six horses, five of which have riders astride them. A man holds the reigns of a sixth steed, a beautiful chestnut mare - the same mare from my memories.

Evidently, I have been invited to participate in a contest. A single long course has been prepared beyond the rear fence of the country house. As I walk out among the group of guests, I search the gathering for her and find her standing with her friends once more, a little way off from the rest of the guests. She does not acknowledge me as I approach the animal. I pause to look at her - the cacophony of images of us together echoing in my memory - her expression is like stone. It is devoid of emotion. She is looking in my direction but her eyes pass straight through me. It is though I am not even there.

It chills me.

I turn to the horse. Its large eyes focus upon me and widen as I step forward. Without warning, the steed issues a guttural screech and rears up on its hind legs, tearing the reins from its handler who panics and furiously shoos me away. The mare’s nostrils flare and steam issues forth from them. It kicks and bucks wildly. planting its hooves into the ground before me, leaving deep impressions there. I look down to find blood bubbling up from them, staining the pasture. The mares screeches pierce my ears and I reflexively block them with my hands.

I back away from the frightened animal, into the throng of guests who, in turn, recoil from me simultaneously with thinly veiled disgust. They stand around me and I am separated by a wide circle. They fix me with disapproving glares. They shake their heads slowly. I feel the pressure of their distaste weighing me down, making my movements sluggish. Nausea foutains in the pit of my stomach. Acid creeps up my gullet, burning at the back of my throat.

The gentleman host is suddenly beside me. An expression of sympathy in his kindly features gives me a momentary comfort. He takes my arm firmly, but gently and leads me away from the group.

"Come on son. Come to the house. It wasn't to be."

I look for her in the gathering of guests. I find her and am stung. She is looking at me through anguished, tear filled eyes. Hurt dictates her posture - something akin to betrayal and my heart aches with the shame for that which I have not done. I try to go to her but the gentleman host won't let me go. His grip is too strong.

All at once, the brilliance of the colours of the meadow around us fade and turn a ruddy grey. The lush green of the pasture and the foliage in the tress wilt as though someone has taken a bucket of dirty water and splashed it over everything. The warm hues from the sun become a stark and garish white, causing shadows from the house, the trees and the contours of the meadow to lengthen and take on a foreboding malevolence. A coarse wind whips up. It stings my cheek. Dark clouds gather across the sky which choke the sun, choke the light.

Fingers of tightness begin to wrap themselves around the inside of my chest and I struggle once more to draw breath. The gentleman host leads me up the stairs and into the house where he gently deposits me into a lounge chair in the parlour. He leaves the room.

I can feel the panic beginning again. Waves of panic roll towards my shore, gathering height and breadth, overwhelming my senses. I look down at my hands. They are quivering uncontrollably and I shake them furiously, trying to rid them of their incapacity. My heart thuds in my ears, softly at first, then louder and louder on the back of rolling thunder that creeps across the sky outside the house.

What is happening?

I squeeze my eyes shut in a vain attempt to refocus, to try and close out the chaos. When I open them, I jump in my seat. The guests have filled the parlour once more. They are all standing around my chair staring directly at me. Their expressions are blank, lifeless. All of them hold the shattered remnants of their champagne flutes by the stem. Ruby red blood drips from their hands, curls around the broken glasses and falls to the floor.

She kneels before me now. Her delicate fingers have intertwined in my own and she holds them tight. Her anger and disgust have gone. Love and warmth radiate from her and it washes across my being, colliding with my fractured state, beating the waves back. Chaos and anarchy hold on, refusing to give ground, but they are rendered impotent by her strength. The thunder collapses. It is reduced to a low thrum, a distant protest. The howling wind is consumed. Quiet is restored. All that remains is the soft, slow beating of my heart. I gaze at her and feel her glow. She has salvaged me.

Suddenly, from outside the house, a chilling, animal scream erupts through the gulf of silence, rattling the glass panes of the parlour windows, threatening to shatter them. Every single guest in the parlour gasps without making a sound. Every hand relinquishes its grip on the champagne flutes. They clatter and shatter silently to the blood stained floor.

There is a guttural gurgling that follows for several seconds after the scream dissipates and the sound of something breathing heavily, forcing air noisily through its nostrils.

I move as though I am underwater. Releasing my grip on her fingers reluctantly, I struggle in the chair, eventually rising to my feet. I am no longer dressed in the clothes of a gentleman. Instead, I am wearing a ripped and torn navy T-Shirt and blood spattered pyjama bottoms.

She and I go to the front door of the house. The gentleman host follows. Together, we step out onto the stoop. The gathering clouds have blotted out the sun completely. Harsh shards of light pierce through the clouds, striking silently upon the ground. The meadow has completely disappeared now. The landscape has transformed from soft, rolling pastures to harsh rocky scrub. Brittle trees. Spinifex grass. Quartz topped boulders. There is dust everywhere.

My love is beside me, tightly holding onto my arm.

The bone chilling scream shatters the tranquillity again, shaking me to my bones. I search desperately for the source of the sound. It seems to be coming from all around. Then my eyes flick to my right, just in time to see a huge African elephant thundering towards the house in a full gallop. It bobs its head, as charging. Its long tusks scrape the earth, causing sparks to fly off agates of exposed quartz. Blood seeps heavily from a ragged gunshot wound in its left ear. It is a gaping hole through which I can see daylight.

Time slows...

The elephant slowly thunders past me, its monstrous form eclipsing the sun. There are grievous wounds all over its back and down over its flank. Blood drips freely from them, staining its hide. The broken ends of long poles - spears perhaps - jut outward from some of those wounds, quivering in the air. The elephant swings its damaged trunk, similarly injured by heinous wounds, as it passes by and rounds a bend, disappearing from view.

My jaw falls open in unmitigated horror. I cannot breathe, the scene before me has sucked all the air from my lungs. I cannot comprehend what I have just witnessed.

Once again, for a third time, the demonic animal scream assaults my ears. I am momentarily confused, thinking that it was coming from the elephant.

But it is not.

Hooves strike the gravel and rock. Air blows through flared equine nostrils, the metal components of a bridle clink loudly. The chestnut mare hooves into view, galloping crazily towards me, veering sickeningly from side to side, completely out of control.

Time slows...

I am transfixed by the mare. Like the elephant before her, she has angry welts and vicious cuts all over her back. They weep blood, which falls to the earth - leaving a trail behind her. My horror is complete. Everything moves in slow motion. The galloping mare. Her breath, visible in the air around her snout. Her head is in shadow as she approaches me. I notice she is shaking her head in panic, as if trying to dislodge some sort of irritant.

And then I see why.

The mare passes in front of me, out of shadow, into full view. Her eyes have been hollowed out. I can see clear through to the other side - ragged fleshy cavities are all that remain. Blood streams down over her snout where some has clotted and hangs in string like crude vestiges, drying in the air.

I fall to my knees on the stoop of the country house. I want to vomit but I can't. My loves hand falls to my shoulder while, her other hand rises to cover her mouth. Grief floods through both of us as the stricken steed careens into to the trunk of a tree, glancing off it violently before continuing on its crazed trajectory, away from the country house.

My paralysis consumes me. The sky grows dark. Angry forks of lightning pierce the black clouds. Night falls like a blanket over everything. The scream of the mare rings hollow in my head, taunting me as it grows distant, ever distant. My throat burns and I choke on something foreign that wasn't there before. I can no longer see...

I am falling through an inky blackness, tumbling and falling. I try to open my eyes but I can't. Beams of light puncture the darkness, blinding me. I hear the screeching of tires on a wet road, as though they are far away from me. Headlights splash across a country house. The desperate sound of an air horn. The scream of an animal.

And then I land on something soft - a bed? Motion ceases. Sound ceases. Everything ceases.

I try once more to open my eyes and, with a supreme effort, I prevail.

A bed. A dark room. Soft lights. The sounds of beeping - methodical, rhythmic beeping.

Sounds of mechanical breath. A tube of some sort hangs right in front of my face and, through the subsequent haze I become aware of, I realise the tube is going into my mouth, down my throat. A hand holds mine. Delicate fingers entwined in my own. Slowly, I blink. A crusty grit is in my eyes.

I turn my head slightly, slowly.

She is here, sitting beside the rail of my hospital bed. Love and warmth radiate from eyes that are filled with tears. I look at her and try to speak, but she gently 'shushes' me and raises her other hand to stroke my brow.

A man steps into my field of view, coming up beside my love. A kindly faced, elderly man. He wears a white coat. A stethoscope hangs around his neck. He holds a clipboard under his arm. 

My eyes widen in recognition. Panic assails me again and I try to speak. But the breathing tube down my gullet prevents me from doing so.

The doctor leans down, close to my love and speaks softly into her ear. I crane my neck to hear what he says.

"I'm very sorry Ma'am. I've just had word..."

My grief and my anguish are absolute in that moment of pause.

"...The mare did not survive."

DFA.

Terminal

Scenario...

Twice in the past 10 days, I have had two similar and disturbing dreams wherein, in both cases I miss a flight that is apparently an important one. 

The first dream has me racing through traffic - in my father's utility vehicle - in a desperate attempt to get to the airport and I am panicky the whole way because I am running late and I fear that I will miss the flight. There is a sense of dire inevitability about it. I get to the airport and I am running through the terminal searching desperately for my gate. It is then that I hear a scream. I turn around in time to see a small figure, a child, falling from a mezzanine level above me and hit the floor a few feet away. I rush to the child's aid and desperately try to lend aid to it. It is an Indian child, maybe two or three years old. 

As a crowd mills about I call out for someone to call an ambulance. A couple emerge from the crowd - I think it's the child's parents but I am not sure. I look into the eyes of the father and right away, a chill passes through me. I suspect right away that the child has not fallen from the mezzanine. Rather, he/she has been pitched or pushed. Paramedics arrive and I urge them to take over as the panic of my previous feelings of dread about missing my flight begin to take over once more. This time however an airline representative assists me by leading me to the departure gate. However the hallway is like a maze. We cannot find our way, my panic escalates. The corridor twists and turns on itself - it is so maddening. Then, finally we make it to a glass door that leads out onto the tarmac...

...just in time to see the plane taxi-ing away from the departure gate. I have missed my flight. I am beside myself and I scream No!! But there is nothing I can do. The airline staffer is gone and I am alone, watching the plane disappear from view. 

I wake up at that point and I was disturbed for a long time after-wards.

The second dream has me trying to catch a transit bus from some kind of hotel or lodge where there are a lot of athletes about...it's some kind of tournament but I am not participating in it. I have to bluff my way onto a mini bus that is taking people to the airport. I am in a similar state of rising panic - I have to get to my flight and once again, the clock is against me. There is delay after delay as the bus stops to pick up more passengers on route but before too long, I can see the airport up ahead and, for a brief moment I feel a flicker of relief. 

However the bus eventually stops in a field some few kilometers from where I have to go and the driver declares that this is as far as he can take me. I have to walk the rest of the way. A series of foot bridges that weave and curve like spaghetti lay between me and the terminal in the distance. Panic returns and I grab my bag and run as fast as I can towards the terminal. I fight against an insane amount of human traffic that have seemingly flooded onto the foot bridge that I am on.

 

Suddenly, from behind me I hear the sounds of whistles being blown shrilly and I turn to see a group of security guards - again these people are Indian - running towards me, pointing at me. They bail me up and issue me with a fine for running on the foot bridge. They then demand to see the contents of my bag but I refuse, telling them that I am going to miss my flight. I lurch away from them and they begin to pursue me but then they disappear into the crowd and again I am hopelessly lost on the foot bridge, unsure of which way to go. 

The dream becomes fractured at this point and I can't remember specifically what happens next but I can remember being in a shopping precinct looking for a public phone. And I remember that same feeling of dread that lingered within me long after I shook myself from the dream and lay awake disturbed by the imagery. 

They were two separate dreams, dealing with identical states of mind and they both dealt with my struggle to get to a flight that I ultimately missed. I woke from both of them feeling disturbed for a long time afterward. I have spent the past few days trying to comprehend their meaning but until now I have drawn a blank.

My subconscious mind scares the shit out of me sometimes.

DFA.

Editing The Dream - Part 11.

I stamped FINAL on my manuscript this morning - just before midday.

Over the past two days I have been pleasantly ensconced at my holiday house at American River/Kangaroo Island with a stunning view of a lagoon, working on the final edits suggested to me by my editor J. who supplied me with a brilliant set of notes with her edit. I didn't take me as long as I thought to achieve it but then again I kinda lost track of time, particularly yesterday when I got the bulk of the work done.

I made a few minor tweaks of my own which came to me late in the peace but were ones that I felt were of value in order to enhance the mystery of the early part of the novel. So now I sit before my laptop with Keith and the Girl playing on my smart phone writing this and feeling a sense of accomplishment and a sense of sadness. There is nothing more to do to the story. I can't see anything in it that I can improve on or change. I no longer need to inhabit this world that I created on my own, in my head and transmitted it to paper (or the computer as it were). I have come to really like the characters that I created, their simple ways, their flaws, their hopes and their dreams. I am happy with the settings that I have populated. Although I haven't been able to visit the city of Chicago - where part of the novel is set - I hope I have portrayed it in such a way that sounds authentic. I did a lot of reading about Chicago during the writing of the novel and have had contact with many people there. The places here in Australia were much easier to portray as I have experienced them all first hand. And I liked them a lot.

So now - where to? Well I need to bed down the cover art for the book still and I need to come up with a decent bio blurb about myself. I have discovered that it is much harder to do than I thought. And then I cast myself and my work forth for consideration. Beyond that - once the work is out there - the job of promoting it HARD begins. And I intend to make use of as many resources online as I can...

Back to feeding the baby...

DFA.

Dreams Of A Love Indestructible (Part Twenty)

Andy felt his breath quicken as he realized that Soneya was actually approaching him. His eyes darted between her and the beer in his hand, his heart thumped noisily in his ears. As his nerves almost managed to overwhelm him, Andy managed to pull himself together just as Soneya stepped around a group of people in between Andy and her. Then she was standing before him.

Her beauty, her presence, her perfume, her auburn hair, lustrous and shining. The scent of rosemary and mint that he had always remembered. Her eyes – shimmering jewels, vibrant and alive. Everything about her that Andy had remembered and dreamed of from the moment that he had been brought back to life in that trauma room so far away became very real, very tangible in that single moment. Soneya offered her hand to Andy and he took it, hesitantly at first – until he caught himself and grabbed onto his rational state of mind – then he firmed his grip on hers. The feeling of her hand in his was electric. When she spoke, her voice made his heart almost stop.

“Congratulations” Soneya repeated smiling politely. “I just wanted to say that I thought you were superb this afternoon. That piece is a favorite of mine”

Andy nodded respectfully. He could feel his cheeks flushing just a little.

“Thank you,” he replied softly. “It was a pleasure to play it – if a little scary. I haven't performed for such a large audience before”

“Well one would never have known it. I think you managed to capture the entire audience's imagination today”

Soneya sipped her champagne and looked around her at the people mingling.

“How are you finding Australia?” she asked. “Is it your first time here?”

Andy nodded.

“It's very hospitable. I've enjoyed this city very much. It's very different to Chicago...very warm...and I don't just mean weather wise”

He shifted nervously on the spot then gazed at her - almost as if he was hoping she would recognize something within him telling her he was Denny.

“You're Soneya Llewellyn right?” he finally said, tripping a little over his words.

Soneya met his gaze, caught off guard by his question.

“I...I am” she responded surprised. “How di...”

Andy turned and gestured discreetly at Jochen Zinski.

“Zinski pointed you out to a few of the performers earlier. He told us that you were visiting to present the trophy at the end of the week”

“Oh,” Soneya said, nodding. “Yes. He invited me to attend personally. It was his idea to name the award”

“He...must have been pretty special huh”

Again Soneya nodded, looking down and away from Andy momentarily.

“He was...very special”

Again an awkward silence threatened to settle upon them. Andy tried to think of something, anything to advance the conversation further. Little did he know that Soneya was thinking exactly the same thing. She felt extremely nervous and unsure of herself in his presence. She felt a powerful attraction to him but she betrayed nothing of this outwardly.

“How long have you played the guitar?” Soneya asked finally, finding the words that he couldn't.

“Since I was about eight years old,” Andy replied, relieved for her question. “Some would say I came to it quite late. Most of the contestants here probably started when they were still in diapers so I feel as though I'm on the back foot a little”

Soneya smiled at his quip.

“Well, if today was anything to go by I think you'll be a definite contender. It's a wonderful event. Are you excited about the finals?”

“I think terrified is perhaps a more appropriate feeling right now” Andy said. “I've never done anything like this before...but I am looking forward to the final though. I think I'll spend the next few days taking in some of the other performances and seeing what I'll be up against”

Soneya nodded, lifting her brow slightly.

“Oh...well that will be nice. I...I guess I'll probably see you again then”

She felt herself feeling light headed and realized as she lifted her glass to her lips that she had emptied the champagne from it completely.

Andy looked at it and gestured towards the bar.

“Could I get you another drink?”

Soneya considered his offer. She wanted to say yes but she suddenly felt her nerves getting the better of her. She looked over her shoulder at Joss who wore a wicked half grin as she chatted with another group of people – every so often stealing a glance over in Soneya's direction.

“I probably shouldn't,” Soneya finally decided. “I fear if I have another I won't be able to walk. This stuff is pretty potent”

Andy smiled warmly as she offered her hand again.

“I just wanted to say how lovely your performance was” she said.

Andy nodded.

“Thank you. Perhaps I'll see you again”

“Perhaps you will”

Soneya stepped back, holding his hand a moment longer, holding his gaze a moment longer then she turned and headed back to where Joss was standing. He watched her go unable to take his eyes off her until he realized he had forgotten to breathe.

Michyko appeared beside him then and tugged at his arm.

“There you are! We've been looking all over for you. Have you had enough praise thrust upon you yet?”

“I think so,” Andy smiled, still gazing after Soneya who had disappeared into the crowd as if she had never been. Michyko followed his gaze fleetingly.

“Well a group of us have decided to hit a pub in the City that was recommended to us. Want to join us?”

“Yeah...that would be cool”

Michyko gave him a silly grin.

“Who are you looking at?” she ribbed him conspiratorially.

Andy squirmed uncomfortably and blushed.

“Nobody,” he said a little too quickly and Michyko studied him with mock suspicion.

“Nobody – a likely story. Come on – we'll miss the cab”

Andy followed Michyko out of the Pavilion, looking back to where Soneya had been standing with her friend – but she was no longer there.

Soneya and Joss had hailed a cab just outside the Garden not too long after. As they rode towards the City Joss noted a curious expression on Soneya's face and she smiled wickedly.

“You're definitely attracted to him aren't you” she teased mercilessly. “

Soneya screwed up her nose at Joss.

“Oh stop it. You're a pain in the arse”

But deep down Soneya couldn't deny that Joss was right.

“Well I think he's hot” Joss persisted, trying to get a rise out of Soneya.

Soneya just laughed softly and gazed out through the window as it passed by. She felt an old, familiar warm glow within that she hadn't felt in a long time.

* * *

While the others from the Chicago group went on a tour the following morning - none of them were performing - Andy decided to slip out early and walk down to the Gardens from the hotel to see the performances. He had hardly slept a wink. All he could think about was Soneya, their meeting in the Pavilion and their brief conversation, the touch of her hand. Though he had intended to watch the concert heats for the genuine purpose of studying his competition, now that he had made contact with her and that contact had been good, all he wanted to do now was to find her again.

His walk took no more than approximately twenty minutes. He crossed over a wide thoroughfare separating the Fitzroy Gardens from the smaller Treasury Gardens, noting that a sizable crowd was already gathering on the lawns in front of the conservatory. Though it was not quite 10AM, the intense summer sun was beginning to warm the city significantly and Andy felt beads of sweat forming on his brow. Quickly daubing them away, he made his way into the Gardens, instantly trying to appear as casual as he could without making it obvious that he was looking for her.

Aside from the concerts today, the Gardens were playing host to several other gatherings related to the International Festival. There were several stages set up throughout the Gardens that were to play host to a number of visiting performers from all across the world. They ranged from blues and roots artists, to South American and Spanish guitar virtuosos to jazz outfits sourced locally and from the UK, the US and Europe.

Andy stopped by the Pavilion and purchased a coffee and a muffin – he hadn't had anything to eat so far today – then sat down to browse through the days program. He had made a mental list of a number of artists who he wanted to see perform while he was here including a name sake of his Doug de Vries – a celebrated Australian guitarist who had caught his eye as well as Slava Grigoryan – a former Kazakhstan native who'd immigrated to Australia with his family as a child and who had become one of Australia's most prominent classical guitarists. He chatted with some of the performers from the previous day's heat with whom he had become acquainted, received yet more congratulations and well wishes for Saturdays semi final then he managed to extricate himself and wander off to take in some of the musical acts for today...

...and hopefully bump into Soneya.

How was he going to tell her?

Andy had wrestled with the prospect through an almost sleepless night and he was still no closer to resolving it. The idea was preposterous and even he had had difficulty in coming to terms with it in the beginning. Soneya had always been a very grounded person and didn't have much time for anything of an existential nature. The only way that he felt he could convince her would be to spend some time with her - get to know her in his guise now and then reveal himself to her. But he only had a short window of opportunity. Their encounter last night at been painfully brief and the chances of finding her amongst the hundreds of people moving about the Gardens today were slim. Andy felt an uncomfortable knot of panic tighten in his chest. If he didn't take the chance at some point while they were here, together, in Melbourne the chance would be lost to him perhaps for good.

He meandered up to an old stone band stand far from the conservatory and took in a performance by Doug de Vries and a jazz quartet which had attracted a sizable audience. He sat on the grass, every so often looking around in the hope that he might spot her somewhere in the crowd.

But she wasn't anywhere to be seen.

After an hour or so, Andy eventually made his way back to the southern end of the Gardens, to the conservatory where the afternoon heats would be taking place. He stopped by the Pavilion to purchase a mineral water then he made his way across the lawn to find a spot on the grass where he could view the performances best.

“Hello Andy”

Andy turned around at the sound of her voice to find Soneya and Joss relaxing on a rug on the lawn just a few feet away. His heart skipped a beat as Soneya waved to him and he smiled warmly.

“Hello again” he greeted, placing his hands in his pocket and walking over to them as casually as he could, trying desperately not too seem too eager.

Soneya was wearing a light cotton dress with a pearl colored cardigan and large sunglasses underneath an overtly large sun hat. A pair of leather sandles lay near her feet. She looked positively radiant.

Soneya lifted the brim of her hat as he approached.

“Beautiful day once again isn't it” she said. “We've really turned it on for you don't you agree?”

Andy nodded reservedly and lifted his hands to his eyes to shield them from the mid morning sun.

“I'm finding Melbourne a little addictive actually. I could get used to this”

Soneya got to her feet and gestured to him to come closer before turning slightly towards Joss who also got to her feet and brushed down a pair of three quarter length cargo pants. She wore a multicolored sleeveless top that showed off tanned arms – the product of spending hours out running. She had always been something of a fitness fanatic.

“Andy DeVries, I'd like you to meet Jocelyn Banister a very good friend of mine”

Andy stepped forward to take Denny's sister's hand and noticed a small tattoo of a humming bird on the inside of her left wrist.

That's a new one, Andy thought to himself.

“You can call me Joss” she greeted. “Though I'm sure you've already heard this a bunch of times I have to say I thought you were amazing yesterday. There's a real buzz for you out there already”

Andy blushed and scratched the grass nervously with his foot.

“Well there's a long way to go until Saturday and I'm not taking anything for granted right now...there are a lot of better performers here than me”

“Are...you here to watch the heats this afternoon?” Soneya ventured hopefully to which Joss nudged her elbow with a discreet grin.

“Yeah. I thought I'd see if there was a patch of ground up near the front so I could get a good view of the performers...but somehow, I think I might be pushing my luck”

“You could join us...if you'd like” Soneya offered.

Andy gave the pretense of considering her offer even though inside he was nearly bursting. He nodded and smiled again.

“Thank you. That would be nice”

They made room on the rug and then sat down to watch the afternoon heats, during which they shared a conversation that seemed very natural and very easy to sustain. Joss gently maneuvered it by asking Andy questions about himself, encouraging him to talk a little about life in Chicago – how incredibly cold it was there right now in contrast to here in Melbourne. He talked about the Conservatory and Veldtman as well as working and playing at The Pub. During the concert heats Andy's concentration drifted towards the performances, studying them with a practiced eye, making mental notes of how each of candidates played their way through their pieces. Soneya found herself stealing discreet glances at him – watching his expressions, the way he made subtle movements of his head as he listened to the music as though he were moving with it. There was something so familiar about him and so attractive but she felt an troubling, distracting guilt at the feelings she was having. It felt wrong to be entertaining this attraction she felt. It was as though she were somehow cheating Denny, being unfaithful to him.

Andy could sense her attraction too but felt unsure of whether it was real or not. He noticed Soneya looking at him and every so often he did the same, their eyes meeting for just the briefest of moments before both of them bashfully looked away from one another. She was so beautiful, she hadn't changed at all. She was exactly as how he remembered her from his memories – Denny's memories.

During an interval Andy excused himself so he could go to the bathroom and once he was out of view, Joss nudged Soneya in the ribs.

“What do you think?” she interrogated Soneya eagerly. “He is definitely interested in you”

Soneya flashed Joss a disapproving glare but she couldn't maintain the facade. “Alright, alright – he is very cute. But I am not here to meet anyone Joss. I know that may have been in your plan but I just...don't need that kind of complication right now”

Joss shook her head at Soneya, fishing a bottle of wine out of their picnic basket and pouring them both a glass.

“Soneya...You are a beautiful woman but you are as stubborn as my grand mother. Denny wouldn't have wanted you to remain alone forever. He would want you to be happy. Why don't you allow yourself the chance for a little happiness. This guy is interested in you and you're sure as shit interested in him”

Soneya tilted her head slowly with a pained expression on her face.

“I...I can't”

Joss leveled a disapproving stare at her.
“You're stalling for an excuse Soneya. If you don't at least ask him out for a coffee – I will”

Soneya's shoulders slumped then in a gesture of defeat and she laughed wearily, sipping from her glass.

“You are relentless”

Joss nodded triumphantly and looked over Soneya's shoulder. Andy was coming back.

“Here he comes”

Both women smiled a little too broadly at Andy as he approached causing him to look about and check himself over.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“Not at all” Joss replied patting the rug and gesturing towards the basket. Would you like a glass of wine?”

Before he could respond she had poured him a glass and was handing it over.

Andy sensed that something was cooking between the two of them as they continued to watch the concert. Joss kept whispering in Soneya's ear - he could see her out of the corner of his eye.

She was probably trying to engineer something, Andy thought amused.

Joss was the perennial social butterfly had always been adept at playing match maker when there was even the slightest whiff of potential romance. Andy wanted to slap his – Denny's – younger sister on the arm the way he'd always remembered doing but had no trouble in restraining himself. In her presence, a whole new flood of memories sprang forth from Denny's consciousness and into Andy's – memories of his childhood, of growing up with Joss. They had been inseparable as children.

As the performances continued Andy explained what it was that he was keen to study about the performers. How they presented themselves on stage, how they played the pieces they had chosen. The performance wasn't merely an exercise in the technical mastery of the guitar or the music but it was also a performance of emotions. One needed to feel the the music, know it's history and it's meaning and apply those to the performance. Soneya listened to him intently, absorbed by his genuine love for the art of the guitar. She was moved by his enthusiasm for it, describing the stories behind the pieces themselves. It was clear that he had a deep knowledge of music – a passion for the guitar.

The concert finished towards late afternoon and the trio remained on the rug as the crowds of people began to disperse slowly but surely towards other parts of the Gardens while other remained, continuing their picnics and BBQ's with the clear intention of staying around long into the evening to take in an concert by the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra.

Joss looked at her watch and gestured wordlessly to Soneya that they had to think about heading off. Soneya's expression approximated something akin to disappointment, her brow furrowing at Denny's sister worriedly. Joss pointed towards Andy with her eyes and pursed her lips tightly as though she were saying 'ask him'.

Soneya felt her pulse reverberating in her ears, felt her breath quicken almost involuntarily as a rush of adrenaline surged through. She couldn't believe she what she was about to do.

Turning to Andy she smiled.

“We have to go,” she said, clearly disappointed. “We're meeting Joss' parents for dinner on the other side of the City and we're sort of running against the clock”

“Oh...okay” Andy replied. Inwardly his mind shouted – 'What are you doing?'

They stood up and Joss began packing up the picnic basket while Andy and Soneya stood to one side.

“Well – I've had a lovely time” Andy said warmly. “Thank you for inviting me to join you”

Soneya nodded, fidgeting with her hands and biting the inside of her lip. Clearly she had something more to say.

“Me too...,” she said, pausing clumsily.

She closed her eyes and took a quick breath.

“Umm...are you free at all...tomorrow? I thought maybe you'd like to – you know – have a cup of coffee. If you have time”

Andy felt dizzy with joy but he contained himself – barely.

“I would love to,” he said quietly, smiling broadly. “I don't have any commitments tomorrow as far as I know so...yeah...”

Joss watched the two of them gazing dumbly at one another and screwed her face up out of view of them both. It was all she could do to stop herself from giggling uncontrollably.

Andy checked his watch and looked up at Soneya.

“Shall we meet at my hotel at say, about 10? I'm staying at The Windsor”

Soneya nodded slowly, unable to pull her gaze away from his, unable to wipe the smile from her face. Andy stepped forward and took her hand gently.

“Thank you” he whispered hypnotically before nodding to Joss. “Nice meeting you too Joss”

“Likewise. I'll look forward to Saturday”

Andy turned away slowly without taking his eyes off Soneya and parted. As he crossed over a path and under a line of trees his smile broke into a broad grin and he felt a rush of endorphins course though him.

He could not believe his luck.

Copyright © 2009, Dean Mayes.