The First Hurdle

New Year’s Hurdle 1


Marina stopped short when she entered the bedroom. Would she ever get used to that huge treadmill, looming at her like a bear? She could still see the impressions left from the cross trainer that sat for two years before it morphed into this treadmill. Her lovely morning sea green carpet. She sighed and reminded herself that it was just carpet. One day when this contraption died and went to neglected machine heaven she could put a pretty rug on top to hide the scars. Her foot kicked out behind her to swing the door closed. It rattled against the frame, Malcolm’s belts slung over the door handle tapping against the wood. Marina bent down and picked up a pair of shoes parked at the side of the bed, her side of the bed, no less, and chucked them into his side of the closet. She had borne two children but felt like she was raising three. The bed beckoned like a siren to a sailor and she plopped down. She shoved several pillows behind her back and wiggled into a supported upright position, her legs crossed and hands cupped in her lap. With a big sigh, she closed her eyes. I will learn to meditate, I will learn to meditate, I will learn to meditate, she whispered to herself. A shout from the lounge room made her eyes pop open.

“You stupid ump! What an idiot! Where’d you get your license from? A happy meal? Just bloody great. Unbelievable. Just unbelievable. You should have seen that call, Marina. He called it wide! Wide, my ass.”

Marina sighed again. “I’m trying to meditate,” she called back.

“Why don’t you walk on the treadmill?” he yelled.

Marina looked outside. The sun shone brightly. There were birds hopping all over her garden, eating the snails, she hoped. If she wanted exercise she would go out and do it where she could see the trees rattling in the breeze and feel the earth beneath her feet. The beach was only a twenty-minute walk away. She couldn’t understand why he wanted to traipse on a moving belt inside the house where all he could see was the bed.

She closed her eyes again. It was a new year, and she was not going to have a repeat of last year. She might implode, otherwise. Is this what a midlife crisis feels like? Another year of same old same old and a week on a beach on some tropical island because it was cheaper than a week anywhere else in Australia? She couldn’t possibly survive.

In, out. In, out. Peace. Joy. Love. In, out.

“Come on, you imbecile! Just play! Leave our guys alone. Oh go back to training camp! Can you believe that? Look at him all worked up like a toddler! How did he make the team? Marina? You should see what they’re doing. Well, if it’s too hot for you, go home!”

Marina’s breaths came faster and more forcefully. In. Out. In. Out. She suddenly realised her eyes were squished shut and her fists were clenched. Sure signs of total relaxation. She sighed again and opened her eyes. The treadmill stared back at her. Marina leaned backed and looked up. “Ok, I need some help here. Please guide me somewhere new,” she whispered.

“Yes! Finally! Now that’s how you play cricket!”

The urge to beat her head against the wall was so strong she could barely stop herself. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Quickly!” she added. “Please. Anyone out there?” She waited a moment, listening and watching for some message, some word, some inkling, a lightening bolt, something…something to shake things up. She repeated the word ‘shake’. Her legs swung over the side of the bed and she sat up, ready to consign herself like laundry to another cycle, another year.

It could be worse, she chided herself. At least she had her health, her parents had theirs, she had two healthy kids who grew up pretty well adjusted, she had a nice home, a nice husband, lived in a nice neighbourhood, had a nice job with nice people. She ran to the ensuite and vomited into the toilet. Thank God she’d cleaned it the day before or she’d ralph again if she saw a pubic hair on it or smelled urine.

Mouth wiped and rinsed she sat down on the tiles and leaned back against the cool wall. She could see past the walk-through closet into the bedroom and amazingly could not see the hulking form of that treadmill. Buck, she’d call it. Short for that bloody fucking machine. It was interesting to see her things from a different perspective. She looked up at her closet. Some spiderwebs dangled in the corners. At the bottom of the stack of pants she could see jeans she hadn’t worn in a very long time. They were faded yellow. Coloured jeans had come back in style and she’d forgotten that they were even up there. Marina shoved herself up, spat one more time into the toilet, flushed, and moved for the jeans. She lifted the stack above and pulled on the yellow pants. As she did, a book slid out and dropped onto her foot.

“Yow!” she barked, bending down to retrieve it. She gasped. It was a travel guide to Italy. Printed, she knew without looking, in 1986, the year she graduated from uni. The year she took off to travel Europe with a girlfriend. The year she met Antonio. Her heart stopped for a moment. Or maybe it raced instead. She couldn’t be sure but she felt her chest squeeze. Beautiful Antonio, with his loose curls and smiling brown eyes, and those crazy shoes he clopped around the village in, tall and sure of himself and his place in the world. Marina floated over to the bed and sank down. She dropped the jeans and held the book to her heart. She looked up. “Thank you,” she said, although she wasn’t sure what for except for the wonderful feeling that had erupted in her heart. “Antonio,” she whispered. She cracked the book open delicately, like a pressed flower that might turn to dust. There in the middle was a postcard. She’d forgotten about that too. She flipped it over without seeing the picture. There were his words, written to her. ‘Please come back. I will wait for you. I miss you. Love, Antonio.’ Why couldn’t she remember this postcard? When she thought about it, she couldn’t even remember making a conscious decision not to go back to him. Why didn’t she? She could have been an Italian wife, living on the beautiful Adriatic coast speaking the most beautiful language in the world and eating the most fantastic food.

That’s it, she determined to herself, this is the action I need to take to shake up this life of mine. She put the card back in the book and tucked it under her pillow. She strode out of the bedroom, belt buckles be damned if they mark the door as they rattled as she passed. She marched down the hall to her oldest child’s room and found her iPad, fully charged, under the edge of the bed. She got so tired of finding her iPad completely flat that she’d taken a charger and hidden it. Now she always knew where to find it when she wanted it. He had his own anyway, so why he even needed hers was beyond her.

She sank down on the floor and swiped it on. First she wondered how much it would be to fly to Italy. She had her own account balance. She could do this. She didn’t need permission. She was an adult. The webjet page came up and she spent several minutes trying different days and months and flights to see what she could find. The further away the date, the cheaper the flight. It would be part of the excitement to anticipate the departure date, so she decided six months away would be fine. She left that window and opened another. She wondered what Antonio looked like now. She imagined his hair greying at the temples. He wondered if might have acquired a bit of a belly too, but she knew he’d still stand tall and proud. No doubt he was still living in the same town and working for his father. Both sons followed their father into the legal profession. What was the brother’s name? He was a few years older and she hadn’t got to know him so well. Massimo, that was it. She smiled to herself. She could feel adrenalin surging through her body, so much of it that her fingers shook. She typed Antonio’s name into Google and hit enter. Maybe he was widowed, or divorced, and when they met again it would be just like old times, the same old flame, that crazy desire that plagues teenagers. She could feel herself get excited in anticipation. Ohmigod! She saw his name. Dozens of entries. She clicked on them one by one. No photos, but the address of the law firm and confirmation that he still worked at the family business. Even a map! She could just appear at the door. Would he recognise her?  She clicked on the White pages, Yellow pages, and every search engine out there. She tried Facebook with no luck. No doubt he wanted his privacy. Lawyers, clients, couldn’t have his face and family all out there, could he? Marina remembered how sexy her name sounded when it rolled off his tongue. Perhaps it was his warm brown eyes looking at her as he spoke that amplified the warmth of the memory. She sighed and closed her eyes. Gorgeous Antonio. Where are you, my love?

She scrolled down. LinkedIn! She called up her account and typed in his name. Ohmigod! He had an account, although it looked rather incomplete. There was no photo but there was an email address. Could she just email him after all this time? Dare she? She read over the bare bones of his history. It had to be him. University of Bari. She shifted on the floor, wiggling like an excited child. She drummed her fingers and coaxed herself to breath. She went back to the results page and scanned down the list. Twitter! He had a twitter account? She clicked on it. A photo! A picture! She held the iPad away from her face to better focus. Could that be him? On the water on some kind of boat. That would be like him. He’s holding his hand up. He sure had long fingers. But look at his face. He was bald! There was that fading ring around his head of thin brown hair. No curls. How could virile, beautiful Antonio be balding? He does have a tummy too. Look at that. Even through the oversized collared shirt he wore there was the distinct outline of a stomach.

Marina felt her own stomach clench. Or maybe it was her heart aching. Exhaustion suddenly descended on her. She clicked off the iPad and let it slide onto the floor as if it was too heavy to bother with.  She felt a bit stunned, let down. How could the universe have let him go like that? Such beauty, such a force of energy. She knew she wasn't exactly Venus reborn, but still. Hair dye, Pilates and a dog that needed far more walks than she ever thought possible helped her to keep her shape.  After two babies there wasn't a lot of perk left in her breasts, but she still considered herself energetic and competent.

She hauled herself up and left the room, closing the door gently behind her. She floated down the stairs in a daze and wandered into the lounge where Malcolm was eating a bowl of corn chips and salsa, and chasing them with a cold James Boag. She plopped down beside him on the couch.
He smiled over at her. “Want a beer or glass of wine? Have a corn chip.” He handed the bowl over to her. She looked at him, then studied his hair. He had nice hair. Thinner, and almost all grey, but still wavy and still there. He glanced away from her when the broadcaster’s tone of voice went up an octave in excitement.

“A glass of wine would be great,” she said. He stood up immediately and danced his way to the kitchen. “Anything for you, love.” Marina watched him go, then turned her attention to the cricket match.