The message consisted of 4 questions:
Where are you?
What are you doing?
How long are you there for?
Would you like a visitor?
No greeting. No salutation. Nothing in the subject line.
Though I did managed to sign off with a "Hope you're grand" and my name.
I had been meaning to write Chris for a while now. We had met in February when he and his friends were looking for a fourth person to join their trek around the West Coast. When I finally chose to stay in Melbourne first, travel after, the possibility of meeting up later on was suggested. Messages were exchanged sporadically and I figured they had reached the north by the time I added "Write Chris" on my Internet to-do list.
About two weeks later, I drew a red box around "Write Chris," highlighting the importance of this task in contrast to the other tightly scrawled items.
Two weeks after that, I've hit send on my no-frills note. [I am Queen of the Procrastinators.] I'm sitting in an Internet café, waiting to meet a friend, suffering the tail end of a brutal head cold, chilled, and a bundle of nerves due to a series of un-carnet-worthy events.
Having just found out I'm staring down a second week without work, one thing is clear: I need to get out of Melbourne for a bit.
***
A few hours later, I get the text: Chris got to Sydney yesterday, was planning to head home to the UK, probably Tuesday. Drat.
"Too bad. Was thinking of visiting."
"Haven't changed my flight yet. Come up."
The next day, with the utmost of synchronicity, I had a ticket, a place to stay, and the prospect of an adventure.
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