#20: Together Seven Years Apart

Memoir - Week 20

But, lurking within the nightshift shadows was another nice little fringe benefit. The time difference between Canberra and Virginia allowed me to chat with Erin at what was a good hour for her, while I was still in the office. There was some variance in hours depending on daylight savings either country, though I had a decent window of opportunity in which to phone Erin.

Our team was small and the floor, let alone the other floors of the Australian Federal Police headquarters, was otherwise people-less during nightshift hours, except for the two security guards on ground level behind a long pane of secure glass, probably discussing the cricket or the football or whichever sport was in season. Picking a moment between the hours of midnight and 4am, I would wander away in a nonchalant manner from my desk and sit down at another desk located on the opposite side of the floor, dimly lit and entirely private. There I’d dial up Erin and chat with her for a good half hour, often quite a bit a longer.

#19: Together Seven Years Apart

Memoir - Week 19

The other exception was during 1992, when I’d rise to croaking green tree frogs and heaving humidity in Cairns at 4.30-5.00am, summer time. Leaving my one-bedroom apartment at Pease Street, Manoora I would drive almost an hour north to Palm Cove, fire up the big BBQ stationed outside on the lush tropical grounds of The Jewel of the Reef Resort and begin flipping fried eggs, turning bacon rashers and swivelling breakfast sausages into their dedicated hotplate positions. This hot food I served directly to eagerly awaiting Germans – as I more prominently recall for some reason – and other mostly chirpy Europeans and Japanese. You’re usually chirpy while on vacation.

Now, mornings and I have never enjoyed a free and easy relationship. Ever. We still have an ongoing stand-off. Needless to say, afternoon shifts in any job I’ve ever had have always circulated well within my night-owl blood. I’m just not good in the mornings.

#18: Together Seven Years Apart

Memoir - Week 18

The 3pm to 11pm shift suited me. Before joining the Australian Federal Police I had been running around as a chef in hot and stressy kitchens – and did so for 11 years from 1985. With only two exceptions over this period, I would step into the kitchen at around 2-3pm and finish anywhere from 10-11.30pm, a little later was not unheard of either. The first exception was in 1991, when I churned out poached eggs, fried eggs, scrambled eggs, with or without toast, with or without Turkish bread, eggs with hollandaise sauce, eggs without hollandaise sauce, eggs with hollandaise sauce on the side (which side? I used to tease and confuse the waiters with), eggs Benedict and any number of other million menu items George’s Restaurant, Double Bay offered – while yelling out to (not ‘at’…settle down Gordon Ramsey and others, it’s counter-productive) Chinese Tom to churn out his pancakes, waffles and other items in a manner that was in sync with my dish churning. Let’s get it up at the same time, guys. 

#17: Together Seven Years Apart

Memoir - Week 17

Then shift-work became a hindrance to my social life and begun having a detrimental effect on my health. Nothing major. Just that my body had slowly commenced turning itself completely inside out. I had been with the Australian Federal Police for two years now – give or take a couple of months. At the time, I was positioned within a 24/7 response area. Our schedule consisted of three basic shift types: 7am starts to a 3pm finish, a 3pm start and finish at 11pm, and an 11pm start winding down at 7am. In between each of these three different blocks we would enjoy very generous days off. But, the graveyard shift was what started burying me. It was the instigator of my body’s newfound disruption.  I lost weight, periodically took on a sickly, pale complexion and generally fell unwell at times. Not feeling well or feeling tired and working odd hours also meant I suffered socially. It often meant having to cut my time out short with friends and head for work. Other times I just felt completely out of it and wanted to drop on the spot and sleep.

#16: Together Seven Years Apart

Memoir - Week 16

When I met Erin my job had entailed shift-work, which proved to be a novelty for a while. Like exiting the building lift to greet a brand new day on the way home at 7.30am, or thereabouts, while corporate-dressed figures with long faces stepped into the same lift only to begin their working day. I’d dawdle off amongst the influx of public service drones. I’d tap dance down the building entrance stairs and along the brick pathway of the building grounds and out into the streets I’d go, rotating my torso this way and that as I past the thicket of hurried individuals. I’d sit down at a nearby café. I’d sip a hot coffee. I’d settle comfortably and meld into my chair as if melting cheese over piping hot bread. Ahhh…I’m not part of this, the madness, the predictability, the pessimism and sense of resignation – I can go home now, do a couple of things for myself. It felt like someone spiritually high up there had bestowed upon me an exemption from regular life down here. 

#15: Together Seven Years Apart

Memoir - Week 15

Saying I love you to one another elevated our relationship; or perhaps cemented what was already there. Whichever was more accurate, maybe a combination of both, it pointed to our unassailable commitment to each other, and our legitimacy as a couple. Never mind that people here and there viewed our connection as a doomed fairy tale.

While others understood, “Yeah it’s risky, Julian, but it’s so hard to find someone in life you feel this way about. I agree. I think you should go for it” reassured Sharon, a lady I worked with at the time.

Had I conferred with a male I suspect I may have received a different perspective, at least from some males. Although not exclusively, matters of the heart – at the expense of purely physical gratification –  often find a happier home in a woman.

#14: Together Seven Years Apart

Memoir - Week 14

In the short time I knew Erin my opinion had always been that she well knew her own heart. So, the day when she said those words to me I accepted their full force and the conviction with which she had uttered them.  I was sitting on a stool in my living room, only days after Erin’s return home.

“I love you, Julian”.

Still, by the time I had processed the gravity of her words – merely a split second – much had flashed through my mind. Past relationships with girls. The direction I thought my life had been heading prior to meeting Erin and the month in Australia I had just experienced with her.

It was a surprise, and those few words caused in me a whole of body experience, ending with elation and the recognition of knowing I felt the same about Erin.

“Erin, I love you!” I spilt these words into the mouthpiece without knowing I had done so; simultaneously had spoken them with the utmost purpose and awareness. This seemed like a relationship gaining momentum that I had for once not fallen into by some error, caprice or default.