Speakeasy is a fortnightly showcase of the creative writing talent at Flinders University

The plane bumps a little, a jitter as it drops momentarily in the sky. Theo clutches the edge of his armrests, his knuckles white, blood cut off as his hands tighten. He’s anxious; he always is on the descent. He’s never sure if it’s anxiety born out of thinking he’s about to go down in a burning explosive mess, as the plane loses traction on a wet tarmac and careers off the runway, or just anxiety about getting home. Home means a lot of things. It means a warm bed, slaps on the back from friends, smiles; some sincere, some less so. But home means other things as well-

He chances a look out the window, trying to see without moving, as if the slightest disruption will send the plane spiralling out of control. He cranes his neck, twists it. Outside, there’s not much to see, it’s pitch black. Every so often there’s a flash of red on the wing of the plane, and for a split second Theo can make out the engine, sucking in air furiously, roaring like a hungry beast, keeping them afloat. It goes on like this, darkness and then the eerie blood red, a moment’s illumination, reminding Theo that he’s suspended thousands of feet in the air. For a split second Theo half expects to see a little gremlin on the wing, pulling out wires with its teeth, like some sort of b-grade horror flick.

He turns back away from the window. It’s dark in the cabin. Most of the passengers are sleeping, squished up in their seats at odd angles; contortionists in Mickey Mouse shirts. Theo’s never had much success sleeping on planes. It’s not the lack of room exactly. It’s the thought that if he drifts off something will happen, as if he’s the only one truly in control of the plane. By amazing coincidence, both pilots might go into cardiac arrest at the same moment, one from diabetic shock after guiltily snacking on a jam-filled donut. In another similarly peculiar circumstance, the other captain’s heart would erupt, bursting like an expanding balloon, a final and spectacular bodily display after one too many cigarettes and porterhouse steaks. The plane would dip, rocketing towards the earth in a spiralling free-fall. Hulking luggage would crash from the overhead compartments and fly through the cabin, a lady of equal size following, screeching and flailing. Then, as the oxygen masks dropped, a flight attendant, desperately clawing at the head rests for fear of slipping to her death, would cry out over the screaming engines, ‘Can anyone fly a plane?’

And that’s when Theo would triumphantly rise, forgetting his paralysing fear, forgetting that he had absolutely no idea how to man an aeroplane. With a confident grin to the flight attendant, an attractive blonde who would swoon obligingly, Theo would clamber through the ensuing chaos into the cockpit. From there it would all be instinct, pure visceral thought. But somehow Theo would regain control, the plane would slowly level, and against all reasonable and believable odds, he would land it safely. What followed would be a blur of spinning newspaper headlines: Heroic Man Saves Lives; Handsome Man Proclaimed a Hero; Sexiest Man Alive Marries Miss Universe; Sexiest Man dies of Heroin overdose. At least that’s how Theo assumes it would happen. Nothing good lasts for ever.

There’s a strip of light that runs along the length of the cabin, a tiny human runway that gets you safely from your seat to the toilets, only most of the time passengers find it difficult to navigate, bumping and bouncing off seats and other peoples elbows. Theo prefers to stay in his seat, squished but safe. His eyes slide in and out of focus as he watches the cabin lights. They begin to shimmer and move, sliding up and down the walkway as if they’re connected to a conveyor belt. He blinks, and they sit still. Theo tries to shake the feeling that everything here, in this dark and whispering cabin, is slightly off, like a reconfigured dream state detached from reality.

Above him, a little nozzle coughs out recycled air. It’s cold and smells stale, like it’s been through someone’s nostrils already. He reaches up and gives it a twist, shutting off the stream. That’s better. It reminds him of the nights he’d spent in London, unrelenting, biting and harsh. It’s two years since he’s last been home. Two whole years away from everything he’s ever known. Theo was returning home to a hazy memory, a transparent half formed recollection, feeble and tenuous. He’d never felt truly settled in England, but home, his real home, seemed equally distant, foreign and strange.

Theo shifts uncomfortably in his seat. If he’s being honest with himself, he’d rather not think too much about it. He’d rather not be going home, even though another part of him longs for it. It’ll be comfortable enough, sure. He’ll make his own way home from the airport; there won’t be a parade of welcomers. Glen, his Dad, will just say he didn’t want to waste the car. His Mum probably doesn’t know he’s coming back today. Theo remembers a phone call he got from his mother, a few days after his 21st birthday.

‘Theo! Great to speak to you. How are you?’

A barely concealed sigh from Theo. ‘Yeah good Mum, how are-‘

And then she’s off, giving him a rundown of everything she’s done that day: the new job, the new course she’s studying, the new old boyfriend. Same old problems disguised and packaged as new ones.

‘Anyway, I wasn’t sure. Is it your birthday today, or-‘

Typical. She tries to slip it in casually, a little aside, just a curious enquiry.

‘Last week, Mum. Thanks for remembering.’ Theo’s used to it, but he can’t help but add a little venom.

‘Oh, right. Well, because you always remember mine.’ She’s turned the tables straight away, emphasising the “you” and “mine” nice and heavy just to get the point across, as if Theo wouldn’t understand the sarcasm otherwise.

He’s resigned to losing the battle already. Really, he doesn’t care all that much. Theo recognises her as his mother, but only in title. In a way that even he sees as a little messed up, she’s simply become the “woman who gave birth to him”. Anyway, it’s not worth the lengthy conversation that’ll follow if he chooses to push it. Better to just accept that his mum doesn’t know when his birthday is and get off the phone.

‘It’s ok, Mum. It’s no biggie … ‘

Theo doesn’t remember how it finished.

The plane gives another jolt and Theo’s heart jumps uncomfortably, finding a new home somewhere between his chest and his throat. A woman passes quietly on the way back to her seat. She catches Theo’s eye and gives him a smile, one where the lips never open, just the edges arch up slightly. It’s a sympathetic gesture, nothing more than an acknowledgement, but Theo accepts the connection they share and returns a brief smile. He suddenly gets the strangest sense that the passengers are all connected, united in an unspoken wish that their pilot will get them home safely. They’ve never met before, all strangers, but there’s still this shared experience. For the flight’s duration, Theo thinks, there is a curious link, a silent marriage, a brief and fleeting relationship.

Theo heart does another little jump, but this time it’s not because of the plane. He’s remembered suddenly what he’s returning home to. Relationships. Those damn things. He’ll be fine with everyone else. When he sees everyone else he’ll just shake their hands, or give them a hug and they’ll talk about the superficial stuff: favourite city, worst hostel, Amsterdam. With everyone else, it’ll be a beer or a coffee. With everyone else. But with Sophie, well, Theo knows that’ll be tricky. With her, Theo doesn’t even know what he’ll say. With her–

They’d been together since high school; one of those tempestuous, adolescent relationships that somehow turns into a long term thing. They fought all the time, but they had sex even more often, so somehow it seemed to balance itself out. She’d loved him and he supposed he’d loved her, at least at some point. When they first said that word, love, Theo wasn’t actually sure he’d felt it. At the time he didn’t really understand the concept. The word held some weird significance he couldn’t really attach any personal experience to; no wilted roses or tear stained letters. For him, love had been a mess of clichés, something he’d seen on television: standing out in the pouring rain, reciting Shakespeare from a library book that would demand a hefty replacement fee from water damage, the curtains on the second floor tightly drawn but the shadows flitting behind betraying movement; jumping up at the culmination of a wedding, much to the shocked gasps of the congregation, and declaring ‘you’re marrying the wrong man! He’s not even human, he’s an alien!’, before being manhandled out of the church, screaming and kicking in protest; watching them walk away, a sharp pang with every little wiggle of their arse until they disappeared in a throng of people, biting back big salty tears. That had been Theo’s idea of love, a mixed jumble of images, sounds and pop culture references, all squashed together in a grossly twisted amalgamation of human emotion. Still, Theo had known he’d felt something powerful for her, some sort of whispered little pride that she’d been all his, that she’d belonged to him. He just couldn’t articulate it, and even if he could, at the time he’d probably have been too embarrassed. The years after school had come with added pressures. Increasingly the sex didn’t help, and much to Theo’s dismay, didn’t always happen. When she became distant, he’d entertain twisted conspiracies, lies and deceits: men with six-packs and iron clad hair, sex romps and satisfied moans. Although it pained him, Theo was all too aware the balance had shifted. Theo loved her. She wasn’t so sure.

The last time he saw her–

She was waiting for him in a coffee shop, one of those little neighbourhood ones, couches and hardcover books, staff with trendy haircuts and even trendier threads. So f**king clichéd, Theo thought, meeting in a coffee shop to talk about–Theo didn’t know what. He assumed the worst. She smiled as he sat down but didn’t show teeth.

‘Hey Theo.’

‘Hey,’ he said back. ‘You look nice.’

He tried to be pleasant. She gave her head a little twitch and flicked her hair back, as if yeah, I do look f**king nice, thanks. They were greeted by a waitress; she was wearing a sweater that her grandma had knitted her, or that she’d bought in an expensive store.

‘What can I get you guys?’

Theo looked at the pattern on her sweater. It was Christmas themed. He caught himself and turned his head before it looked like he was staring at her breasts.

They ordered and the waitress left them alone again.

‘Listen, Sophie.’ Theo wanted to get it over and done with.

Sophie was looking somewhere else, at a painting on the wall, something abstract that cost a lot of money. Theo wouldn’t have bought it. Sophie might’ve.

‘So Theo,’ now she was on the offensive, trying to throw him off, get the upper hand. ‘I guess we should talk about all of this–‘

She told him she was going away on a trip. To find herself, to experience the world, to f**k a bunch of strangers. Theo tried not to think about it. What they had was great, special even, but there’s a time when everyone needs to grow up and get out there and see the world. See something new. So, that was it.

Well I couldn’t care less Sophie. I’m already done with you anyway. That girl at that party, I f**ked her. I told you I didn’t but I did. And it was f**king ace. So yeah, go ahead and “experience the world”, I couldn’t care less.

Except Theo didn’t say that. Even if he had it wouldn’t be true.

She was up to leave before he even finished his coffee. He stammered a goodbye and knocked her cheek with an awkward kiss.

Theo remembers exactly how it finished.

There’s a little crackle from overhead and Theo looks up. The captain of the plane tells them that it’s currently 7am in Adelaide. Theo looks outside and it’s getting light. He didn’t even notice. He sighs and massages his neck. His stomach gives another little lurch as the plane tilts and begins a slow turning arc through the sky, preparing for the final descent. Theo grips the armrests and his knuckles go white as the blood is cut off.

Theo makes it through the customs officials without trouble. He always gets a little nervous, certain he’s forgotten something or someone’s slipped something into his luggage. Did you pack this yourself? Yes. Has anyone else had contact with your luggage? No. Did you enjoy your trip? Maybe.

He hurries through the final checkpoint and makes it to the carousel. Other people’s luggage spins lazily in a little half circle before disappearing again through a hole in the wall. Theo spots his, a lumpy backpack that’s breaking at the seams, and grabs it. He walks past the welcoming parties, the bleary eyed but beaming mothers, the grumpy unshaven dads, and continues out through the main entrance. And there she is, standing with her back to the terminal just past the automatic doors that lead outside. Theo’s heart does a little skip, and jumps up into his throat again, trying to push its way out his mouth. Despite the way they parted, and despite every bit of twisted fiction he’d conjured up since, with her as the unfortunate victim, he can’t help but feel a pang. Theo isn’t prepared for this. He stops for a second, contemplating running back through customs and demanding they send him back where he came from. He’ll say whatever he has to: he’s contracted a super bug and if he unleashes it on the Australian ecosystem there will be ecological disaster; he’s forgotten his favourite pair of sneakers and he just has to get them back from his flat in London; he’s just seen his ex-girlfriend outside and he’s really not ready to see her. Except none of these will do, no excuse can get him out of this. He suddenly feels stupid and lame. He shouldn’t still be feeling this, he should be walking past her, dumping his bag at her feet with cool disregard and asking her if she’s brought the car round. Instead, he’s quaking in his boots, fighting off ridiculous shivers of nausea. Theo takes a shaky breath and walks towards the exit. The doors slide open obligingly and he steps through. He’s hit by a cold chill and his skin prickles, but he barely notices it. And then she turns around, except, she doesn’t look the same at all. Theo stops dead and stares. She gives him a curious look and he can’t help but crack up.

‘I’m sorry.’ He grins. ‘I thought you were someone else.’

The unknown lady hurries past him, a little frightened and confused. Theo just keeps laughing. Here he is, losing his mind over a woman he said goodbye to a long time ago and who he now knows, when he actually sees her, won’t cause him a moments pain. He suddenly feels the cold and cushions his armpits with his hands. He hails a cab and hops in. Theo’s home, and despite it all, he’s happy to be here.

Piri Eddy is a writer, actor and comedian. He recently completed an honours degree in creative writing at Flinders University. His work has featured in several publications including Flinders Indaily and Transnational Literature. As a performer, Piri has enjoyed success in several Adelaide Fringe events and has performed as a comedian alongside acts such as Fiona O’Loughlin, Bart Freebairn and Harley Breen.