Schoey93
Member
Hi all
Story attached. It's titled "Sergio meets Mr Gough". Anyway, if you could please critique it that would be very much appreciated.
Sorry, it's incredibly long - 3,000 words (4 A4 pages).
- James
“You! Out!” The tall, stocky, scruffy-haired man’s voice boomed across the room, causing Sergio to jump half a metre off the floor in fright. Sergio peered around the room, endeavouring to find someone else the beetroot-red faced man could be bellowing at. Nope, he could not see anyone else who looked remotely embarrassed or even a tad frightened.
“Yes, that’s right! You, young man, get out! Now!”
Keen not to anger his new teacher even more, Sergio left the room, wondering quietly what that man’s name was. He walked out on to the classroom’s long, wide balcony, peering up into the clear blue sky, full of regret. It was Drama class.
He had not meant to upset what’s-his-name…oh, that’s right…Mr Glasson. You see, Mr Glasson was also an English/Italian/history teacher. And stupid little Sergio had been talking to his little friends about how boring Australian history was. Naturally, Mr Glasson had to disagree. He was endlessly passionate about Australian history, so much so that he took four Australian history classes. Mr Glasson’s favourite area of Australian history was ‘The Policies and Prime Ministership of Gough Whitlam’. To make matters worse, this had been the particular area of history Sergio had been complaining about to his friends.
However, Sergio’s friends had the smarts to realise it was not an issue to be discussed in young Mr Glasson’s class. They had gone about trying to stop Sergio, better know as Sergt, from babbling on about this irrelevant issue, but had no success. Then Mr Glasson overheard and sent Sergt sprawling out the door.
Now, as Sergt looked up into the sky, he noticed some sky writing that just really hit home with him. It said ‘Gough Whitlam sacked 25 years ago today’. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…he had been such an ignoramus!
Mr Glasson had left the Year 10 Drama class and was approaching Sergt. He looked at him, fury flashing upon his deep blue eyes, eyebrow crinkled in disgust.
“I assume that you read the sky writing, young man?” Mr Glasson asked, evidently still fuming.
“Yes, sir, I have. I’m sorry about what I said. I understand that Gough Whitlam’s prime ministership is a very significant piece of history.”
“Oh, Sergio, you little loser, don’t give me that rubbish! You know as well as I do that you could not care less if Gough Whitlam was here right now and collapsed of a heart attack. Part of me doubts you’d even call an ambulance, Sergt. So don’t lie to me; I can see right through it.”
“Okay, sir.” Sergt looked down at his feet, biting his lip. “So, what’s my punishment…something fun, no doubt?”
“Ha, ha! Well, I have noticed that you have a great passion and love of the study of Italian, your other elective. Now, I implore you to utilise your knowledge of the Italian language and prepare an A2 poster for me. It is to be a creative reflection of your ideas about Gough Whitlam and Australian government is the 1970s, Sergio. I trust that it will be both highly informative and creative. I wish you to submit this poster to me next week. That shall give you a whole weekend to work on it. It must be colourful, historically accurate and written entirely in Italian.” Mr Glasson grinned.
“No, sir, please! Please don’t force me to make a poster. I have so much homework, and then there are the seven assignments I have to do, all due in the next two weeks! No!” Sergt dropped to the floor on his knees, grasping the sides of his skull, displaying a classic example of teenage angst.
“Sergio, I will gladly ignore that little outburst. No doubt you are glad to have been given further opportunity to demonstrate your historical knowledge?”
Sergt gulped. “Yes sir,” he said, almost swallowing his words.
“Chin up, young lad. Who knows, you might enjoy this little task I have set you. So you know…I do speak Italian, fluently. The task is due on Monday. There’s the bell,” he pokes his head into the classroom, “class dismissed!”
I sat down that night to do the assignment. I found it was, as Mr Glasson not doubt wanted, very boring. I could not concentrate and kept opening up games of Minesweeper on my computer. I stopped after Mamma caught me.
At the end of the night I had completed Mr Glasson’s assignment. I rested my head on the desk in my bedroom, just for a moment, and not soon after I fell asleep.
However, I was shaken awake by Mamma storming down the hallway outside my room, perhaps fuming after an argument with Papa. Then, something caught my eye. I looked at my lamp; glowing blue. It gave off a tinge of red and when I touched the red spot, the globe gaped open. Instantly my navel was jerked and I was propelled into empty space.
“Mamma mia! Che cosa sta succedendo?” I spoke in Italian because it seemed natural to do so. Anyway, I soon realized that I had stopped falling into what I had assumed was a bottomless pit. My feet were placed firmly on the ground. Then I wobbled slightly, almost falling over. I looked around? Where was I? Surely this was not what the inside of a light bulb looked like?
Some guy approached me, grinning. “It is great news, isn’t it, mate?” I had a strong urge to tell him that we were not mates, but I would tell him with a rather nasty adjective thrown in. However, I just smiled and nodded quietly. He opened his mouth to say something, but then kept on walking. Afterwards, a woman came up to me and patted my shoulder.
“Fantastic news, no?” Grinning, she ruffled my hair and said, “What’s wrong Sergt, cat got your tongue?” I shook my head, swallowed and said,
“What year is it?”
“Why, Sergio, you know what year it is; it’s 1972. Don’t ask such silly questions! You make me worry sometimes, mio ragazzo. She just called me her boyfriend! I have a girlfriend! Oh, and yeah…I appear to have traveled back in time.
“Mi dispiace, la mia ragazza. I suppose I had a mental blank. Anyway, yes it’s such great news!” (I had a stab in the dark.) “Gough Whitlam has been voted Prime Minister!”
“Sì, sì…oh, it is just great news for Australians, Sergt. I know you think so.”
“Oh yes, it truly is a great moment in Australia’s history,” I said dully.
“Hey, what’s up with you?” She looked at me, annoyed.
“Oh, sorry…hard day,” I smiled weakly. I knew choosing drama would pay off someday.
“Okay, Sergio. I can understand.” Then she did something totally unexpected. She leaned towards me and locked lips with mine. Briefly, we kissed. She kissed me tenderly, and I kissed back. It was quite pleasant really. After a minute, it is over. However, it is as though through kissing me she has shared some secret knowledge. For I now remember her name (it is Joy). I also remember the exact date (5 December 1972), and then I realise I am wearing retro clothing. It’s kind of attractive; one might even say I thought it was sexy.
I wore flare jeans, a dull green T-Shirt, small white lace-up shoes…and…what were those chunky rims around my eyes that were bothering me? Oh; they’re big black tinted sunglasses! Hey, I could get used to those. I readjusted my sunglasses and followed Joy down the street. We are walking in beside the gutter. She smiles at me, beaming and asks, “So, what party did you vote for, Sergt?”
I reply automatically, “Labor, yes, I voted for the ALP. I support Whitlam!”
“Good choice!” She winked at me.
I smiled, realising that I was older. I brought my thumb and forefinger to my face, massaging my chin – hey, what were those little prickly hairs doing there? Oh my God, I had a beard! Wow! And then there was also my growth spurt. It occurred to me that I my height had been a foot different three decades later.
Joy was quite tall; too, her forehead would touch my nose when we kissed. She was also wearing tight jeans, but had a lime green T-shirt on, hidden under a dark leather jacket with fake brown fur around the collar. She was very attractive. She had naturally olive skin, similar to mine, but slightly darker, hazel eyes, a small, broad nose, tiny ears and long straight blonde hair parted down the middle. I suddenly had the urge to kiss her again, but ignored it and continued to follow her down the street. She looked over her shoulder at me, urging me to walk faster so we could talk.
I caught up to her, panting and grinned. “What do you Gough Whitlam’s and his party will do for Australia?” I asked her, curious.
“Whitlam will do lots for Australia,” she said. “As you know, he and his party ran a great campaign…using the slogan ‘It’s time’ really hit home with ordinary Aussies like you and me. He’s promised to promote equality. He’s promised to ensure Australians are more involved in parliament’s decision making. He’s promised to strive to improve education for all. He’s promised to introduce a universal health insurance system. He’s promised to promote justice and to be more welcoming of migrants. And, finally, Sergio…he’s promised to abolish conscription and give Aborigines land rights,” she drew breath, beamed at me and said thoughtfully, “now to see if he can fulfil those promises. I truly think he will and I am very hopeful.”
“Yeah, we all know politicians aren’t always the most honest folk,” I mused.
“Indeed, Sergt. Well, I trust Whitlam, don’t ask me why – but I do. I think he will leave a lasting legacy for our country and I know he understands Australians are placing deep trust in him, and he feels he has great responsibility to do what’s right.” She smiled. And I smiled back. She was so passionate about her views, so honest, so trusting. I could see how I had ended up with her.
“Want to go grab a bite to eat?” I asked her.
“Yeah, sure!”
“That place on the corner looks good. ‘Real burgers, real milkshakes, real fast!’ Great!”
“Ah, the old hang out.” She smiled.
“Uh…yeah. Sure is. OK, let’s be on our way.”
So we stopped at the burger shop and got some great tucker. It was fun. And as we sat there, Gough Whitlam walked into the shop. Joy looked at me over her burger, had a sip from her milkshake and gave me a nudge. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”
“Volentieri!” I wrestled the bacon out of my teeth, chewed and swallowed, then washed it down with a sip of my lime milkshake. I walked over to the Man of the Moment, sat down next to him (he had received his burger very promptly) and said, “Hi, sir. Can I have a word?”
He smiled. “Certainly, young man. What would you like to know?”
“I just wanted to know what you’re going to do for own country, sir.” I looked at him intently. I found that the longer I stayed in this time, the stronger my appreciation of Mr Whitlam became.
“Young man, please! Call me Gough, that’s my name after all. What will I do for the country? Well, I’m only one man, but my party and I strive to promote equality. That is at the top of Labor’s agenda of things to achieve before the next election. We are also very focused on the areas of health and education, young man. May I ask what your name is?”
“I’m Sergio, Gough. Sergt for short.”
“Uh-huh.” He chewed into his beef, beetroot, tomato and lettuce burger with plum sauce. “Well Sergt,” he talked between mouthfuls, “I’m very upset about the unequal treatment of Australian women. That simply has to be fixed. And we will shortly be introducing the country’s first national healthy insurance scheme. We will bring sewerage to all urban areas, create passports that do not call Australians ‘British subjects’, create an office to provide legal representation for the poor and we, the ALP will ensure consumers are treated fairly. We will also create several organisations to protect Australian heritage sites and promote the arts. Well…did you have any other questions?”
“Yes, Gough. You aim to achieve a lot. Did you ever stop to think that maybe your policies and hopes for the future aren’t a bit too ambitious?”
“Yes, of course, young man. Why, Sergt, I’d be lying if,” he takes another bite of his burger, “I said I never doubt myself. But young man, this party is about change! You know that. Labor strives to change Australia radically and bring about great reform. After all, it’s time.” He grinned at me. I grinned back. I believe I agreed.
The date is November 11, 1975. I have been in the past for nearly three years. I have waited for this day with intense anticipation since the day after my arrival, when I awoke and realised that I was still in the past. I realised long ago that Joy and I live together in Canberra, quite near Parliament House. I am sitting on the balcony now, staring at the mass of people crowded there, chanting intently, “We want Gough, we want Gough, we want Gough!”
I have watched this man and his government triumph, I have watched them make one mistake after the next and ultimately put themselves in the red. The ALP has damaged their credibility with the Loans Affair and Dr Jim Cairns’s alleged affair with Juni Morosi. A part of me regrets voting Whitlam and the Labor Party to office, but then I remember that charismatic man I met in the burger shop that day and smile quietly to myself. I would not have it any other way. Sir John Kerr, in the midst of this constitutional crisis, has appointed Malcolm Fraser caretaker Prime Minister, under strict conditions. I, of course, already know that Fraser and the Coalition are voted in at next month’s election. However, there is an atmosphere of anger and, to a point, nostalgia as people relive in their minds, Whitlam’s time in office.
I am glad that I got to be here until this day. I know that I do not have much time left here, so I’m savouring my last moments with Joy. She comes up behind me and massages my shoulders, peers into my eyes and kisses me. We are in love.
Sergio said something to me today about having to leave. I am not sure what he meant, but I know that whatever happens, I will always love him. We have been seeing each other for four years now. I am going to miss him.
I suggested to him after our kiss that we go and join the demonstrators, but he was reluctant to do so. He said he preferred to just watch and enjoy it. I thought this was a decent enough idea. I sit with him, watching, just watching them and thinking, “This day will go down in Australia’s history.”
Sometimes I think that Sir John Kerr should never have sacked Whitlam. Something tells me Fraser will be voted in at the next election. Peccato, ma è va bene. If it was meant to be, then so be it.
It is okay with me that Sergio does not want to stay with me. I can cope with that. I know that he loves me, but there is something he has to do. It is not something I can understand, but he is my boyfriend and I support him in everything that he does. Oh – he has just stood up. The demonstrators have calmed now.
“Joy, I have to go. I will not see you again.” He takes a swig of dark ale from his glass, swishes it around his mouth, looks at me and we rub noses. He swallows, and we kiss. I hold him tight, caressing his body, fascinated by this gorgeous young man and his intelligence.
I say to him, “It’s okay, baby, I understand. I support you.” We go inside and lay on the bed, just hugging and kissing, being close to each other. I will miss the intimacy we shared.
Afterwards, he stands up and pulls on his jacket. He stands at the door, I run to him and we share one last kiss. Then he walks out into the hallway, I close the door, and a minute later – he is gone.
I miss Joy. She is who I miss most from the past. And I miss my height! I miss being who I was then; I had become so accustomed to my body and who I was. But now, I am back in the year 2000. I am pleasantly surprised by the familiarity of it all, everything comes flooding back.
I stare at my lamp, glowing blue in the darkness of night. I smile weakly and climb into bed, still staring at the lamp. Then, suddenly resolute, I reach out and turn it off.
This time it does not glow red. I lay there in the darkness, crying softly. I miss her. I miss that time. I miss the atmosphere of ‘change’.
I will sleep now. I cry myself to sleep, and for the first time, I do not feel like a loser just because I am crying. It feels good to cry. Then – I have my eyes closed, and the darkness swallows me, so I sleep. And the hurt I feel, the longing to be back in the 1970s, it passes, because I remember, in my dreams that I have so much to live for in the 21st century, and I tell myself that I am lucky and that I will take advantage of all the opportunities that come my way; I will.
Do not even think about plagarising. I will sue the pants off you if do lol
Okay, bye!
James
Story attached. It's titled "Sergio meets Mr Gough". Anyway, if you could please critique it that would be very much appreciated.
Sorry, it's incredibly long - 3,000 words (4 A4 pages).
- James
Sergio Meets Mr Gough
© James Schofield, 2008
“Yes, that’s right! You, young man, get out! Now!”
Keen not to anger his new teacher even more, Sergio left the room, wondering quietly what that man’s name was. He walked out on to the classroom’s long, wide balcony, peering up into the clear blue sky, full of regret. It was Drama class.
He had not meant to upset what’s-his-name…oh, that’s right…Mr Glasson. You see, Mr Glasson was also an English/Italian/history teacher. And stupid little Sergio had been talking to his little friends about how boring Australian history was. Naturally, Mr Glasson had to disagree. He was endlessly passionate about Australian history, so much so that he took four Australian history classes. Mr Glasson’s favourite area of Australian history was ‘The Policies and Prime Ministership of Gough Whitlam’. To make matters worse, this had been the particular area of history Sergio had been complaining about to his friends.
However, Sergio’s friends had the smarts to realise it was not an issue to be discussed in young Mr Glasson’s class. They had gone about trying to stop Sergio, better know as Sergt, from babbling on about this irrelevant issue, but had no success. Then Mr Glasson overheard and sent Sergt sprawling out the door.
Now, as Sergt looked up into the sky, he noticed some sky writing that just really hit home with him. It said ‘Gough Whitlam sacked 25 years ago today’. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…he had been such an ignoramus!
Mr Glasson had left the Year 10 Drama class and was approaching Sergt. He looked at him, fury flashing upon his deep blue eyes, eyebrow crinkled in disgust.
“I assume that you read the sky writing, young man?” Mr Glasson asked, evidently still fuming.
“Yes, sir, I have. I’m sorry about what I said. I understand that Gough Whitlam’s prime ministership is a very significant piece of history.”
“Oh, Sergio, you little loser, don’t give me that rubbish! You know as well as I do that you could not care less if Gough Whitlam was here right now and collapsed of a heart attack. Part of me doubts you’d even call an ambulance, Sergt. So don’t lie to me; I can see right through it.”
“Okay, sir.” Sergt looked down at his feet, biting his lip. “So, what’s my punishment…something fun, no doubt?”
“Ha, ha! Well, I have noticed that you have a great passion and love of the study of Italian, your other elective. Now, I implore you to utilise your knowledge of the Italian language and prepare an A2 poster for me. It is to be a creative reflection of your ideas about Gough Whitlam and Australian government is the 1970s, Sergio. I trust that it will be both highly informative and creative. I wish you to submit this poster to me next week. That shall give you a whole weekend to work on it. It must be colourful, historically accurate and written entirely in Italian.” Mr Glasson grinned.
“No, sir, please! Please don’t force me to make a poster. I have so much homework, and then there are the seven assignments I have to do, all due in the next two weeks! No!” Sergt dropped to the floor on his knees, grasping the sides of his skull, displaying a classic example of teenage angst.
“Sergio, I will gladly ignore that little outburst. No doubt you are glad to have been given further opportunity to demonstrate your historical knowledge?”
Sergt gulped. “Yes sir,” he said, almost swallowing his words.
“Chin up, young lad. Who knows, you might enjoy this little task I have set you. So you know…I do speak Italian, fluently. The task is due on Monday. There’s the bell,” he pokes his head into the classroom, “class dismissed!”
I sat down that night to do the assignment. I found it was, as Mr Glasson not doubt wanted, very boring. I could not concentrate and kept opening up games of Minesweeper on my computer. I stopped after Mamma caught me.
At the end of the night I had completed Mr Glasson’s assignment. I rested my head on the desk in my bedroom, just for a moment, and not soon after I fell asleep.
However, I was shaken awake by Mamma storming down the hallway outside my room, perhaps fuming after an argument with Papa. Then, something caught my eye. I looked at my lamp; glowing blue. It gave off a tinge of red and when I touched the red spot, the globe gaped open. Instantly my navel was jerked and I was propelled into empty space.
“Mamma mia! Che cosa sta succedendo?” I spoke in Italian because it seemed natural to do so. Anyway, I soon realized that I had stopped falling into what I had assumed was a bottomless pit. My feet were placed firmly on the ground. Then I wobbled slightly, almost falling over. I looked around? Where was I? Surely this was not what the inside of a light bulb looked like?
Some guy approached me, grinning. “It is great news, isn’t it, mate?” I had a strong urge to tell him that we were not mates, but I would tell him with a rather nasty adjective thrown in. However, I just smiled and nodded quietly. He opened his mouth to say something, but then kept on walking. Afterwards, a woman came up to me and patted my shoulder.
“Fantastic news, no?” Grinning, she ruffled my hair and said, “What’s wrong Sergt, cat got your tongue?” I shook my head, swallowed and said,
“What year is it?”
“Why, Sergio, you know what year it is; it’s 1972. Don’t ask such silly questions! You make me worry sometimes, mio ragazzo. She just called me her boyfriend! I have a girlfriend! Oh, and yeah…I appear to have traveled back in time.
“Mi dispiace, la mia ragazza. I suppose I had a mental blank. Anyway, yes it’s such great news!” (I had a stab in the dark.) “Gough Whitlam has been voted Prime Minister!”
“Sì, sì…oh, it is just great news for Australians, Sergt. I know you think so.”
“Oh yes, it truly is a great moment in Australia’s history,” I said dully.
“Hey, what’s up with you?” She looked at me, annoyed.
“Oh, sorry…hard day,” I smiled weakly. I knew choosing drama would pay off someday.
“Okay, Sergio. I can understand.” Then she did something totally unexpected. She leaned towards me and locked lips with mine. Briefly, we kissed. She kissed me tenderly, and I kissed back. It was quite pleasant really. After a minute, it is over. However, it is as though through kissing me she has shared some secret knowledge. For I now remember her name (it is Joy). I also remember the exact date (5 December 1972), and then I realise I am wearing retro clothing. It’s kind of attractive; one might even say I thought it was sexy.
I wore flare jeans, a dull green T-Shirt, small white lace-up shoes…and…what were those chunky rims around my eyes that were bothering me? Oh; they’re big black tinted sunglasses! Hey, I could get used to those. I readjusted my sunglasses and followed Joy down the street. We are walking in beside the gutter. She smiles at me, beaming and asks, “So, what party did you vote for, Sergt?”
I reply automatically, “Labor, yes, I voted for the ALP. I support Whitlam!”
“Good choice!” She winked at me.
I smiled, realising that I was older. I brought my thumb and forefinger to my face, massaging my chin – hey, what were those little prickly hairs doing there? Oh my God, I had a beard! Wow! And then there was also my growth spurt. It occurred to me that I my height had been a foot different three decades later.
Joy was quite tall; too, her forehead would touch my nose when we kissed. She was also wearing tight jeans, but had a lime green T-shirt on, hidden under a dark leather jacket with fake brown fur around the collar. She was very attractive. She had naturally olive skin, similar to mine, but slightly darker, hazel eyes, a small, broad nose, tiny ears and long straight blonde hair parted down the middle. I suddenly had the urge to kiss her again, but ignored it and continued to follow her down the street. She looked over her shoulder at me, urging me to walk faster so we could talk.
I caught up to her, panting and grinned. “What do you Gough Whitlam’s and his party will do for Australia?” I asked her, curious.
“Whitlam will do lots for Australia,” she said. “As you know, he and his party ran a great campaign…using the slogan ‘It’s time’ really hit home with ordinary Aussies like you and me. He’s promised to promote equality. He’s promised to ensure Australians are more involved in parliament’s decision making. He’s promised to strive to improve education for all. He’s promised to introduce a universal health insurance system. He’s promised to promote justice and to be more welcoming of migrants. And, finally, Sergio…he’s promised to abolish conscription and give Aborigines land rights,” she drew breath, beamed at me and said thoughtfully, “now to see if he can fulfil those promises. I truly think he will and I am very hopeful.”
“Yeah, we all know politicians aren’t always the most honest folk,” I mused.
“Indeed, Sergt. Well, I trust Whitlam, don’t ask me why – but I do. I think he will leave a lasting legacy for our country and I know he understands Australians are placing deep trust in him, and he feels he has great responsibility to do what’s right.” She smiled. And I smiled back. She was so passionate about her views, so honest, so trusting. I could see how I had ended up with her.
“Want to go grab a bite to eat?” I asked her.
“Yeah, sure!”
“That place on the corner looks good. ‘Real burgers, real milkshakes, real fast!’ Great!”
“Ah, the old hang out.” She smiled.
“Uh…yeah. Sure is. OK, let’s be on our way.”
So we stopped at the burger shop and got some great tucker. It was fun. And as we sat there, Gough Whitlam walked into the shop. Joy looked at me over her burger, had a sip from her milkshake and gave me a nudge. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”
“Volentieri!” I wrestled the bacon out of my teeth, chewed and swallowed, then washed it down with a sip of my lime milkshake. I walked over to the Man of the Moment, sat down next to him (he had received his burger very promptly) and said, “Hi, sir. Can I have a word?”
He smiled. “Certainly, young man. What would you like to know?”
“I just wanted to know what you’re going to do for own country, sir.” I looked at him intently. I found that the longer I stayed in this time, the stronger my appreciation of Mr Whitlam became.
“Young man, please! Call me Gough, that’s my name after all. What will I do for the country? Well, I’m only one man, but my party and I strive to promote equality. That is at the top of Labor’s agenda of things to achieve before the next election. We are also very focused on the areas of health and education, young man. May I ask what your name is?”
“I’m Sergio, Gough. Sergt for short.”
“Uh-huh.” He chewed into his beef, beetroot, tomato and lettuce burger with plum sauce. “Well Sergt,” he talked between mouthfuls, “I’m very upset about the unequal treatment of Australian women. That simply has to be fixed. And we will shortly be introducing the country’s first national healthy insurance scheme. We will bring sewerage to all urban areas, create passports that do not call Australians ‘British subjects’, create an office to provide legal representation for the poor and we, the ALP will ensure consumers are treated fairly. We will also create several organisations to protect Australian heritage sites and promote the arts. Well…did you have any other questions?”
“Yes, Gough. You aim to achieve a lot. Did you ever stop to think that maybe your policies and hopes for the future aren’t a bit too ambitious?”
“Yes, of course, young man. Why, Sergt, I’d be lying if,” he takes another bite of his burger, “I said I never doubt myself. But young man, this party is about change! You know that. Labor strives to change Australia radically and bring about great reform. After all, it’s time.” He grinned at me. I grinned back. I believe I agreed.
The date is November 11, 1975. I have been in the past for nearly three years. I have waited for this day with intense anticipation since the day after my arrival, when I awoke and realised that I was still in the past. I realised long ago that Joy and I live together in Canberra, quite near Parliament House. I am sitting on the balcony now, staring at the mass of people crowded there, chanting intently, “We want Gough, we want Gough, we want Gough!”
I have watched this man and his government triumph, I have watched them make one mistake after the next and ultimately put themselves in the red. The ALP has damaged their credibility with the Loans Affair and Dr Jim Cairns’s alleged affair with Juni Morosi. A part of me regrets voting Whitlam and the Labor Party to office, but then I remember that charismatic man I met in the burger shop that day and smile quietly to myself. I would not have it any other way. Sir John Kerr, in the midst of this constitutional crisis, has appointed Malcolm Fraser caretaker Prime Minister, under strict conditions. I, of course, already know that Fraser and the Coalition are voted in at next month’s election. However, there is an atmosphere of anger and, to a point, nostalgia as people relive in their minds, Whitlam’s time in office.
I am glad that I got to be here until this day. I know that I do not have much time left here, so I’m savouring my last moments with Joy. She comes up behind me and massages my shoulders, peers into my eyes and kisses me. We are in love.
Sergio said something to me today about having to leave. I am not sure what he meant, but I know that whatever happens, I will always love him. We have been seeing each other for four years now. I am going to miss him.
I suggested to him after our kiss that we go and join the demonstrators, but he was reluctant to do so. He said he preferred to just watch and enjoy it. I thought this was a decent enough idea. I sit with him, watching, just watching them and thinking, “This day will go down in Australia’s history.”
Sometimes I think that Sir John Kerr should never have sacked Whitlam. Something tells me Fraser will be voted in at the next election. Peccato, ma è va bene. If it was meant to be, then so be it.
It is okay with me that Sergio does not want to stay with me. I can cope with that. I know that he loves me, but there is something he has to do. It is not something I can understand, but he is my boyfriend and I support him in everything that he does. Oh – he has just stood up. The demonstrators have calmed now.
“Joy, I have to go. I will not see you again.” He takes a swig of dark ale from his glass, swishes it around his mouth, looks at me and we rub noses. He swallows, and we kiss. I hold him tight, caressing his body, fascinated by this gorgeous young man and his intelligence.
I say to him, “It’s okay, baby, I understand. I support you.” We go inside and lay on the bed, just hugging and kissing, being close to each other. I will miss the intimacy we shared.
Afterwards, he stands up and pulls on his jacket. He stands at the door, I run to him and we share one last kiss. Then he walks out into the hallway, I close the door, and a minute later – he is gone.
I miss Joy. She is who I miss most from the past. And I miss my height! I miss being who I was then; I had become so accustomed to my body and who I was. But now, I am back in the year 2000. I am pleasantly surprised by the familiarity of it all, everything comes flooding back.
I stare at my lamp, glowing blue in the darkness of night. I smile weakly and climb into bed, still staring at the lamp. Then, suddenly resolute, I reach out and turn it off.
This time it does not glow red. I lay there in the darkness, crying softly. I miss her. I miss that time. I miss the atmosphere of ‘change’.
I will sleep now. I cry myself to sleep, and for the first time, I do not feel like a loser just because I am crying. It feels good to cry. Then – I have my eyes closed, and the darkness swallows me, so I sleep. And the hurt I feel, the longing to be back in the 1970s, it passes, because I remember, in my dreams that I have so much to live for in the 21st century, and I tell myself that I am lucky and that I will take advantage of all the opportunities that come my way; I will.
Do not even think about plagarising. I will sue the pants off you if do lol
Okay, bye!
James
