by Shane Mole

Created on: April 15, 2011   Last Updated: April 16, 2011

CITY PARK

'High noon', the old Post Office clock tower bellows through the faceless voices and nervous leaves. I take my position on the bench, metaphorically and literally. The silent, melancholic rotunda before me, slightly left of centre, frames a family in the distance. Mother, Father, two boys, living and loving effortlessly. They unknowingly mock my present with two possible futures: The one I left behind and the one I now pursue. One gone forever, the other fantastical and seemingly lifetimes away. I came to this island to enrich the first. Instead, I found a vision of the second. Anna Prince.

John Patrick, underachiever and outcast, despite all odds, married the endearing Beth Messina. They procreated, as couples have a tendency to do, and relocated from the heat and dust of South Australia, to the green and mild Apple Isle. They settled here, and John felt at peace. He seemed to know contentment within himself. So much so, that he endeavored to finally make something of himself: Go to university, obtain a PhD and live out his days in familial peace and satisfying academia. Until the natural adversary of all plans reared its smirking head: Life.

Today is the first day of my quest. An arduous, albeit stationary, journey of the heart. I have an hour here, in this idyllic setting, to contemplate, anticipate and wait. It is a glorious day, something I would never appreciated until her. This place, though foreign and somewhat new to me, feels like home. In the shade of nature's parasols, there is a more than slight chill. Yet, I know that in the overpowering sunlight just beyond, it is searing and harsh. The great contradiction of this island which is reflected and amplified in Anna's slightly off-centre smile. Fifteen minutes have passed, as I am told in that by that all too familiar melody that all clock towers cover between the hours. I peer up from my park journal, take a 360 degree re-establishing shot, seeing everything but what I came here for.

That damn family are still there beyond the rotunda. Children at the playground squeal and giggle in simple, innocent pleasure. A young, blonde woman lays on the grass in the sunlight, attractively reading a novel. A man walks into the toilet. Two teenagers shoot behind the greenhouse on their skateboards. A smattering of gawkers stare and grin and the macaques in their charming little internment camp. The open gates at the entrance tell me 'I don't think it's happening today, buddy'. What do they know? I

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