An Imperfect Circle

Smoking and bent, the car rested in a heap on the wall at turn four. Noberto took the long way back, eyes to the ground and helmet in hand. This was the ninth race out of a season of twelve - his sixth DNF - and while a few of them were due to mechanical failure, it still looked bad.

DNF ......DNF......Did Not Finish, he thought.

Pat, the team owner had pulled him aside before the race and said,

'Keep in mind, this is the business end of the season'.

Noberto knew what he meant.

It was silly season, musical chairs for sponsors, manufacturers, pit crew personnel - and drivers. Rumours everywhere - who's got a gig next year and who hasn't.

As he walked into the pits he fingered the medallion in his pocket, a small bronze charm from his nanna, back in Chile. That morning he'd put his left sock on first, worn his fire-proof suit inside out (against regulations), but nothing seemed to work anymore.

'What happened Bob?' the head mechanic asked.

`I don't know, I lost traction coming into the corner ...'.

`Don't worry mate. Not your fault'.

But it was, and he knew it.

Fucked up year, he thought.

I need to know, will Pat re-sign me or should I be looking for another team? This was what he wanted to ask the Colombian psychic woman. A friend of the family had suggested visiting her.

`Nob, she's very accurate. Not Chilean, but Columbian at least.'

He sat facing her at the table covered by a piece of green and blue tie-died material. Chole was flipping out cards in different directions while smoking a cigarette, the air already heavy with incense. The cards meant nothing to Noberto. Chole turned the last card over, placing it directly in front of him - `Death'. He gasped.

`Do not be alarmed, it only means change', Chole said without looking up. She stubbed out the cigarette and examined the information, head down and eyes flicking left and right.

`So does this mean I should-'.

`Give me your hand'. Chole held his hand lightly with thumbs and index fingers.

The flash of vision that came, as usual, was startlingly clear. She slowly inhaled to compose herself before letting go of the hand. She looked at him without expression.

`You should make moves to change ... your situation.'

It wasn't the news Noberto wanted to hear but it was better than not knowing. He left, sombre and thinking hard. Chole sat listening for the front door to close, feeling vague. It was noon. The racing man was the last client for the day.

Thank gods, she thought, and looked around the room at the props: the orb of clear quartz, the Book of Changes amongst the other reference books, and a china tea set. They were a little more than props, they helped her focus but whatever it was that `did it' was inside her.

Chole stared into the ramp of sunlight flowing through the window and the smoke and dust it made visible.

It's as if I get paid to see their darkness. No one wants to know what will really happen. And invariably it is darkness - apart from the regulars - who have the normal roller coaster lives.

Nobody ever came here for a reading just as they were about to fall in love, she thought.

Deep down, people know. People know something unfortunate will happen. But they still come to me because deep inside them, the voice says, `perhaps if I am not the only one to know of this ill fortune - then maybe it will not be so bad'.

Loud music started in the other front room. Chole snapped out of it and smiled to herself. The music sounded odd. She opened the door, Laughing Johnny was dancing like a retard to the LP version of The King's `Viva Las Vegas' playing at 16 rpm. He turned to her and grinned, his movement becoming more of a hula-hula.

`How's the soothsayin' business, Chol?'

`How did you get in?'

`Through the window. How's the soothsayin' business, Chol?' Laughing Johnny handed her a large joint. Chole relaxed into the couch and pulled a knee up to her chest. `Ah ... brutal. An old woman, Mrs. ...something, came to see me this morning. Her chihuahua is going to attack her next week, bite her on the neck.' Laughing Johnny sqawked and chortled with glee.

`It's not funny Johnny - I have to see it all. It's like they believe that I can change things.

You'd think that this might dull my senses, but no', she said, holding up the joint.

`You know I heard a thing - said it's to do with copper in the blood. Maybe that's it. Maybe you got a lot o' copper in your blood'. Laughing Johnny perched on the side of a chair near Chole.

`Hhmmm.'

They became silent and eventually so did the droning Presley. Laughing Johnny stood up and wandered around the room.

`Oh, I grabbed your mail on the way in', he handed her a small wad of envelopes. On top was something from the Readers Digest sweepstakes house. R.T.S had been heavily imprinted onto it with biro.

`I knew you wouldn't want that, so I did you a favour.'

`Thanks.' Cholly turned it over, Laughing Johnny had scrawled,

You bastards,

please take me off your mailing list

                                           Get Lost,

                                                           Chole

She smiled at Laughing Johnny. He didn't notice, he was attempting to rotate his arm to a position where he could examine a new tattoo on his bicep. It was of an eagle about to pluck up a rabbit. He studied the picture intently. A familiar persecuted expression grew in his face.

`Ah, on the train coming here, there was this guy, a suit, and his mobile phone goes off. It was playing Wagner, Cholly. Fucken Wagner! - you know what that means'.

She looked at Laughing Johnny blankly.

`He's a Nazi. And then I walked passed some other guy wearing tweed on the street, and he's just standing there talking into a walkie-talkie. Who uses walkie-talkies these days?' he shook his head slowly and ritually checked his pockets.

`I keep seeing cement mixers everywhere ... listen, I got to get going ... customers waiting', Laughing Johnny patted his breast pocket and reversed out the window. Cholly held up her hand but didn't wave it.

Laughing Johnny walked quickly down the street, scanning both sides of it regularly.

Who will catch up with me first, the State or the lizardmen? Heh heh, he thought, half seriously.

Laughing Johnny covered large tracts of the city each day while doing his rounds. He worked on mathematical equations between stops, but he kept them all in his head for fear of someone finding him out.

6 x 10 = 1   —>    12 = 0   —>   It's all starting to tie together.

A postie on a pushbike came up the footpath toward him. Laughing Johnny switched to the other side of the footpath at the same time as the postie did. The postie sqeezed the handbrake and came to an easy stop in front of Laughing Johnny. They both moved to get around the other, but moved in the same direction. Laughing Johnny quickly side stepped the other way onto the nature strip.

Damn postie, he thought and kept walking.

Gonna be one of those days thought Jill the postie.

Moments - one of those moments - a day is a long time, she corrected herself.

There was a postcard for 126 Abercrombie at the top of one of the bundles. Before the accident she would've read it while pedaling. Today was Jill's fifth day back at work and she wanted to keep her wits about her.

It felt good to be back at work. Her finger throbbed a little, pushing the bike up the hill. It was spring and the footpath was a sea of perfumes mixing from the hedges and plants along the fence line.

She stopped at a row of dark-brown brick letter boxes which sat in front of a row of dark-brown brick units.

Bills for 49a, bills for 49b and a real letter for 49c - English stamp. Jill stuck the blue envelope in the slot and rode on.

At the curb of the t-intersection where the accident happened it replayed in her head. The person was green, she was coasting across, the 4WD came out of nowhere - its tyres screeched slightly.

And Thunk. Me off the bullbar, through the air to there.

Jill looked at the spot on the asphalt a couple of metres away. It looked like any other piece of asphalt.

What could've I done different? It's not as if I was camoflaged. I was wearing the reflective vest, the bike's red - even my hair's orange. The light might've been red but there's no way that car was gonna stop.

Jill's little finger was mashed up, the nail was ripped off and it bled for hours, but it was the only injury she'd recieved.

The little finger was now permanently two millimetres shorter than its opposite, and it had a strange tapering quality. At 103, old Mrs.Cunningham was busy in her front yard, a pair of pruning shears in her hand.

`G'day Mrs. C.', Jill pulled the bike to a halt and handed the old woman her mail.

`Thankyou my love. How are you today?'

`Good.'

`the hand on the mend?'

`Slowly but surely.'

Mrs. Cunningham looked around at her garden.

`You know, I might be in the autumn of my life, but spring's still my favorite.' Jill looked at her and saw the glimmer in her eye connected to the active mind behind it.

Something was buzzing in the postie's hair. She brushed at it and looked around to see a red dragonfly.

`Marvelous things they are. The y only live for twenty-fout hours you know', said Mrs. Cunningham.

`No way. Well, you learn something new everyday ... I better get going, seeya tomorrow.'

`Right you are'.

The last stop on the round was 127, which as always, recieved several mail-order catalogues. Heading back to the depot, Jill hummed a tune, feeling like the day had only started.

A minute after its arrival, Howard Knowles of 127 Abercrombie street emerged from behind his front door to retrieve his mail. He wore slippers and a dressing gown. Before shutting the door he took one quick look across the street, the way a soldier would look at the terrain in front of his trench.

Howard threaded his way along the hallway filled with homeware and new, richly adorned furniture. The kitchen was the same; white goods with the stickers still on were stacked on top of each other.

Three months ago Howard had won Tattslotto. Even at the moment of the last ball's dropping he did not feel joy, he started thinking.

I will make changes, he had thought. His list of changes included not showing up for work the next day and cutting himself off from everyone he knew.

They will only want to bleed me.

He bought all the things he had ever desired, and did it over the phone, through the mail and on the internet - for fear of bumping into someone he knew while outdoors.

This town is getting smaller. He flipped through the catalogues and saw nothing he liked.

Howard was in the middle of negotiations with real estate agents. He was attempting to buy a larger house in another state but it was almost impossible tio do without going to an office in person to sign forms.

In the lounge room he sat down in front of a coffee table, a large silver and glass chandelier sprawled crookedly across it. It needed to be installed, and maybe a week ago he would've let someone in the house to do it, but not now, not today. He was extremely rich and he couldn't afford to let anyone know about it.

Howard wanted to get on to the WWW to buy some more good quality towels. The last time he tried getting on it hadn't worked - another problem to deal with.

After signing on, he entered an online chatroom.

Those people seem to know how to work these things, and they won't know who I am.

Host: You are in 'Chat About The Web' chat room

Zeffi: after that I just had 2 let it go...

Rigel4: <knows what u mean, happened to her last year

Howard99: I have a problem I can't get on the web what do I do?

Rigel4: have u emptyied yor cache lately, howard?

Howard99: no how do I?

Rigel4: go into my computer, click on the c drive then open
temp internet folder and press delete on yur keyboard

Host: Howard99 has left the room

Zeffi: man some people are rude, what about a thnkyou?

Rigel4: ah, some ppl r just crazy

Rigel4: < has got 2 go now, seeya zef

Rigel logged off, shoved the keyboard away and shut the machine off. She hadn't slept at all last night and her eyes hurt from the screen glare. Pulling the covers up high, she curled up into a fist-shaped ball.

It was 7:oo pm - tomorrow was a big day.

Rigel thought of all her friends, Rove Mcmannis, Joey and Rachel from Friends, Jamie Oliver (the naked Chef) and Sophie Lee.

Except I sent that letter to Sophie months ago. She's had plenty of time to write back.

Rigel breathed coarsely through gritted teeth. The beginning of a scream rumbled in her gut.

That bitch. That fuckin' bitch. She's not going to write back to me. Bitch bitch bitch!

Rigel4 sobbed then fell asleep. She dreamt of a little girl sitting on a little tree stump. There was a white sticker attached to the girls dress with 'Olivia' written on it in thick, black texta. Olivia held a large book and read from it in a coarse, croaky voice that sounded put on.

“One day little Daisy was eating more than usual. Each day she was getting fatter and fatter and each day she was getting hairier and hairier. One day she flew up into the sky. She flew in and over the Sydney Harbour Bridge and she saw Guy Sebastian. He ran himself into some trouble. He was looking at himself in a shop window and he ran into a sharp pole. He exploded and he died. Daisy screamed out loud, 'I don't want you to die. I'm your Number One Fan'. So they put Guy into the operating theatre adnd did surgery to make him alive again. Guy said, 'Thank you Daisy. I will reward you with this. Will you marry me?'

'Yes', Daisy happily replied.”

The next morning Rigel4 woke but remembered none of this. Her thoughts continued from where and when she left consciousness the night before.

Besides, none of these friends mean much compared to my new friend. I have a big day today. I must get ready.

Hours later Rigel, in a daze, walked through the crowds near the edge of the track. Tears were pouring down her face but she could not feel them.

Ahead of Rigel was her friend, Noberto.

He likes me to call him Nobby. As his friend I will console him.

She looked down and noticed a knife in her hand.