Red Jeep

I am here but I want to be in a red jeep, three years ago. The Buddhists call it duality. I have this, but I want that.

I want to be driving through the countryside, where my best friend used to live. Dew on the grass of a morning and crisp air laced with the fragrance of farm life. Even cow shit smells sweet in my memories.

High beams had to be flicked on when driving at night; you never knew when a kangaroo would hop out in front of you. I killed a wombat out there once. It was standing in the middle of the road and by the time I saw it, it was too late.

We used to see plenty of road kill. One night we stopped the car to move three huge, dead wombats from the middle of the road. We knew we couldn’t leave them so we stood there, biting our nails and cringing at the blood.

I miss leaving too late for school after sleepovers, running out of the house holding shoes in our hands and jamming lunchboxes into our bags. We would drive in the red jeep, with the bite of morning air hitting our cheeks through the open windows. We had buns on top of our heads and shimmer on our cheek bones. We listened to pretty songs on FBi radio, but the volume from our speakers was never quite loud enough. The urge to ditch school and go to the beach would tug mercilessly at our minds.

A huntsman spider would often crawl across the window screen, making us squeal with fearful despair. Our trip would become delayed as we would pull over and dive out of the car, waiting for the spider to reappear. It would hide from us and we would be forced to hesitantly get back in the car and try to make it to school before the bell - imaginary bugs crawling over our skin.

Those are some of the best memoires of my life, I think. When I remember back to mist rising from deep green grass, the smell of hay, sun glittering off the hairs on our arms, energetic chatter, the birds, the music, the nothingness. I think back and taste freedom, excitement, wine from the local winery, cups of tea out of colourful mugs with mismatching saucers. I see kittens that were born on Valentines Day, parties, skinny dipping, laughing everyday to the point of breathlessness, gardening. I remember breakfast outside and feeding the dog our scraps, watching the dog play with the chickens and cats, birds sitting on horses’ backs and feeling free to walk around outside in undies because the neighbours house was so far away.

The red jeep now sits down the back of her old house where she no longer lives. It lays untouched, broken in many ways, amongst overgrown grass. That cheeky huntsman has probably had babies by now, and lives undisturbed in the car with all its family and friends. Meanwhile, the squealing girls with buns on their heads have joined the real world, where weekday trips to the beach have been replaced with offices and paperwork.

But I haven’t grown up completely; I still run late each morning, holding my shoes as I tumble out of the house, jamming my lunch into my bag. It’s just not as fun without a best friend and a red jeep.

Dani