Engaged

On the tram on the way home from work the other day, I looked out the window into the gardens and saw a statue of a man who looks like he's in the middle of a wind-up to throwing the hammer: his knees are bent at right angles and he's leaning back as if against a great weight, almost into a sitting position. The only point anchoring the figure to the ground are his toes, but the weight is all on one side in a way that defies gravity. I remember that statue from way back when I used to live in Melbourne and I'm pretty sure I've even described it to various people in the States. And there it is again, out the window on my way home from work.

And that perfectly sums up what it's like to return to a city you used to live in once long, long ago - a place where they almost speak a different language: vaguely familiar things keep appearing. On Friday night, I walked into the women's restroom at the bar behind some girls who were chatting about the fact that last time they came in, all the stalls were engaged. It took my beer-heavy head a while to remember that engaged = occupied. And chockah means full and a dunny is a toilet and a pot is a half-pint (though I have no idea how to order a pint!) and one doesn't call someone back, one rings them back. And Uni and school are not the same thing; school is for children. It's hard keeping all of this straight and I grew up here.