Chapter Fifteen Sadie
Chapter Fifteen Sadie
Time started to pass.
There was a famous narrative theorist named Paul Ric?ur who distinguished between ‘clock time’ and ‘human time’.
Clock time was measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days: the things we think of as the basic building blocks of time.
Human time, though, was measured in events: the basic building blocks of story – and thus, because humans love nothing more than to narrativize their own experiences, of our lives.
The first couple of weeks of our marriage had been full of milestones, packed to the brim with the eventful stuff of human time, but as we settled into our new apartment, our new jobs, our new (for lack of a better word) relationship, our routines became established, and clock time began to pass.
‘The difference between clock time and human time is really the fundamental conceit behind reality dating shows like this one,’ I explained to Jonah one night, sitting cross-legged on the couch we’d bought a few weekends earlier as I forced him to watch the season premiere of Wherefore Art Thou Romeo?
with me.
‘They’re experiments in prioritising human time over clock time.
The central question is essentially, “What happens if we run through all the human time milestones of the romance plot – meeting, liking, dating, kissing, sometimes fucking, committing – in a strictly limited amount of clock time?”?’
Jonah had a mouthful of pasta – he’d made a particularly delicious fettucine dish with a green sauce made from Isamu’s herbs, which I’d been carefully nurturing on the balcony – but his eyes said everything his mouth could not re: the proposition that reality dating shows were actually Ric?urian experimentation.
‘And it works!’ I insisted.
‘Sometimes, anyway. Three couples came out of the last season of this franchise. Three! I know you’re a terrible snob about reality TV, but you can’t tell me that on a basic narrative level, you don’t find that interesting.
’
He swallowed.
‘Only for you, Shaw, would I watch something with a title that was such an aggressive misinterpretation of early modern language. You know wherefore means—’
‘ Why , not where , yes, I know.’ I twirled some fettucine on my fork.
‘I listen when you talk, Fisher.’
‘Then you should know I’m not that bad a snob about reality TV.
’ He nudged my leg with a sock-clad foot.
‘If I’m going to watch this with you, then you have to watch the next season of Superchef with me.
’
I pretended to consider.
‘Fine, fine, seems fair.’
‘Good.’ He pointed his fork at me.
‘And I expect the same level of narrative analysis. Going on Superchef is my only backup plan if you divorce me and I get fired, so I need all the insight I can get on how to game the format to win.’
The show had started.
On the screen, the new lead was having an earnest conversation with the host about what she was looking for in a partner (‘I just want someone I can have an intelligent conversation with, you know?’).
But I turned away from it to face Jonah.
‘You know I’m not planning to divorce you anytime soon, right?
’
He was looking at his pasta, negotiating a particularly troublesome noodle.
‘I know you’re not planning on it,’ he said lightly, ‘but you never know when I’m going to piss you off again.
’
‘Is that a threat?’
I’d intended it jokingly, but his eyes, when he looked at me, were serious.
‘Of course not. But I don’t exactly have a strong record when it comes to not pissing you off.
’
I hesitated for a second, then I put my hand on his knee.
Beneath his pyjama pants, his skin was warm.
‘Fisher,’ I said, my own skin starting to heat in response, ‘unless you do something really awful – something where I have to, like, report you to The Hague – I’m not going to divorce you before probation is up, okay?
’
‘No war crimes in the next three years,’ he said, smiling faintly.
‘Got it.’
On the screen, the host and the lead were still talking.
‘Tell me what an ideal date would look like for you,’ the host said.
‘For a first date, I want the excitement, the theatre, the spark,’ the woman replied.
‘Let’s have an adventure.
Let’s have a beautiful dinner in a beautiful restaurant afterwards.
But once you really get to know someone, once you’ve built up that level of intimacy…
?
All I really want is dinner on the couch watching bad TV.
’
I snatched my hand away, busily twirling more pasta on my fork.
‘Besides, if we got divorced before we passed probation, I’d probably be the one who was fired, not you, given how passionately Petrovski hates me,’ I said, trying to keep my tone airy.
‘This is delicious, by the way. My compliments to the chef.’
‘Thanks,’ Jonah said.
He settled back into his corner of the couch.
‘So explain to me who these people are, Shaw.’ He gestured at the screen.
‘What do I need to know?’
‘Okay, so…’
I launched into an extended explanation.
The interruption from the TV had been awkward, but I was grateful for it.
If it hadn’t happened, there was a chance I might have let the actual truth slip out.
I’m not going to divorce you, Jonah.
You’re all I have.
After that first couple of weeks in Hobart – and after an incredibly long stream of unanswered texts and calls – I’d stopped trying to contact Chess.
She’d asked me for space, and in return I’d bombarded her with messages.
If I wanted her back anytime soon, I had to show her I respected her wishes.
But going completely radio-silent was inconceivable.
Not speaking to my sister – even if she wasn’t speaking back – was something I just couldn’t do.
How was she meant to know how sorry I was for the things I’d said to her if I didn’t tell her?
Every Wednesday evening, Jonah and I would take Veronica and Lin, the two casual academics who were teaching into our courses, out for a glass of wine and a cheeseboard at Tsundoku so we could talk about our plans for the following week (after so many years of being casuals ourselves, we were determined to treat our staff the best that we possibly could).
Every time, I’d pick out a couple of books for Chess from Satoshi’s very well-stocked romance shelves.
Then, after Jonah and I went home, had dinner, and watched Wherefore Art Thou Romeo?
, he’d retire to his room for his weekly Zoom with Elias, and I’d retire to mine to write Chess a letter.
Dear Chessie,
Do you remember that first veggie patch we cultivated when I was seven, behind our old house?
It was such a little overgrown disaster, but I was so proud of it, and you told me it was the best garden in the world.
I babysat Rosie and Georgia today (also aged seven) while Jonah took Fiona out, and they helped me prepare my patch in the community garden for autumn planting – and MY GOD, Chess, was I this bad?
I remember you and me spending hours looking after that garden and having the best time, but they got bored after about five minutes and started throwing dirt at each other (and also me).
Here’s a picture, in case you want to see what I look like with mud all through my hair.
I have an incredibly long way to go as a babysitter.
I was also babysitting Lex (Fiona’s eldest, they just turned twelve), and completely forgot about them for about two hours because I was so distracted by the twins.
Thankfully they were just sitting quietly on the balcony reading, but I felt so awful.
Fiona laughed at me when I apologised, but…
oof.
The guilt.
The age difference between Lex and the girls is the same as the one between you and me.
I don’t think I’ve ever really appreciated how hard that must have been for you, looking after me when you were only a kid yourself.
I miss you.
I love you.
And I’m so sorry for the things I said to you.
All my love,
Sadie xxx
Dear Chessie,
I took my friend Julia to Tsundoku yesterday.
She lives on the other side of the river – people are really intense about east side/west side stuff in Hobart, it’s a whole identity thing – so she’d never even heard of it before.
Suffice to say she loved it.
Another convert to Bibliophile!
I can’t wait to take you here someday.
You’d like Julia.
She’s a real no-nonsense, no-bullshit type.
She’s the co-lead of this interdisciplinary research network I joined, and in our meeting the other day, a guy from the Health faculty tried to speak over her.
I’ve never seen someone get so politely but thoroughly eviscerated.
It was a thing of beauty.
I’m going to have to get her to teach me how to do it, because my boss…
ugggghhhhhhhh.
Anyway, I found out when we went for drinks that Julia knows Jonah’s brother Elias?
?
?
More than knows him, if I’m reading between the lines right.
‘Remember how I told you the first thing that happened to me when I got my permanent job was a divorce?’ she said.
‘It wasn’t just the job’s fault.
’
Whatever happened, she absolutely fucking hates Elias’s guts.
She was pretty sus on Jonah for a while too, but when he declined to join her research network because, in his words, ‘It’s about time my family connections did me a disservice for a change’, she decided he was probably okay.
‘I mean, I like you, and you liked him enough to marry him,’ she said.
‘How bad can he be?’
I know you don’t like Jonah either, Chess, but I promise you, he really is okay.
We’re…
I guess you could say we’re sort of friends now?
We’re getting along, anyway.
I wish you were here so I could show you.
I love you so much, and I always, always will.
Sadie xxx
Dear Chessie,
Ugggggghhhhhhhh I wish we were still having dinner twice a week so I could vent.
I need your advice on how to deal with my horrible boss.
So it’s always been clear that Petrovski doesn’t like me, right?
Like, from the first time I met him, he thought I was garbage.
Julia said it’s probably because I was hired by Vargas (his boss) who he hates – he and Carmichael (the sex predator head of history) are gunning for her, and they try to undermine her every chance they get.
But I think there’s a solid dose of garden-variety misogyny in there too (along with the classic tweed bro anti-pop-fic snobbery).
I’ve never seen him look at a female colleague without contempt in his eyes.
Anyway, Petrovski’s hatred of me has mostly been coming out in little ways; e.
g.
he’s always ordering me to take minutes in department meetings like I’m his secretary (which Jonah has been great about, actually – he always volunteers to take them instead).
Today, though, really took the fucking cake.
He rocked up to our Romanticism lecture (about twenty minutes in, just to make it extra rude).
It was Jonah’s turn to lecture, but we’re doing this thing where we interrupt each other to clarify or build on what the other person is saying.
We got this piece of student feedback when we were teaching at Bass about how they were always waiting for our entrance music to hit when the other one of us was teaching – like professional wrestling – so we’ve been experimenting with dramatically interrupting each other (sans music) and teaching via argument.
So I got up and interrupted Jonah, just like we planned, and we had this – entirely scripted!
– debate about Coleridge’s scathing review of Charles Maturin’s play Bertram.
The students loved it (Bertram is a ridiculous play and Coleridge’s review is hilarious, so it was fun to argue about).
But then afterwards, as the students were leaving – leaving!
not left!
some of them were still in the lecture theatre!
– Petrovski grabbed my elbow, pulled me aside, and absolutely reamed me out for disrespecting another scholar.
Jonah jumped in immediately and tried to explain our teaching strategy.
Our casuals Lin and Veronica were there too, and they backed him up, but Petrovski wouldn’t hear it.
He just completely ignored the two of them like they weren’t even there, and said, ‘Jonah, it does you credit to defend your wife like this, but Sadie, this is unacceptable.’
Then – oh yes, there’s more!
– he had the gall to ask me when to expect my next research output, because unless I achieve the requisite number of research points per year, I won’t pass probation.
As if I have time for research at the moment!
Jonah and I spend basically every second of every day writing all these fucking lectures!
(Jonah is also subject to the research points thing – we have exactly the same job with exactly the same conditions – but do you think Petrovski asked him where his next output was?
)
Jonah and I had a good idea, though.
We’re going to co-author an article on our professional wrestling-style pedagogy for one of the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning journals (more work, yes, but what’s another 8000 words when we already have to co-write, like, 300,000?
).
At least then, if Petrovski tries to formally discipline me for being a bitch to Jonah in lectures, we’ll have a publication to say that I was being a bitch for very serious, scholarly reasons.
I’m going to talk to Julia and brainstorm some strategies for dealing with Petrovski – conveniently, she’s also our union rep, so if he REALLY gets out of hand, she’ll know all the processes – but God, I miss you, Chessie.
Every time I see his horrible little face, I think, ‘Chess would know how to handle this. Chess would know what to do.’
I know you need time and space and I respect that (I mean, I know it might not look like it, considering all these letters, but I promise, I do).
But when you’re ready…
it would mean everything to me, just to hear your voice.
Please call me?
?
All my love, to the end of the universe and back again,
Sadie xxx
Every week, I slid my letter inside one of the romance novels I’d bought for her – Honey and Spice by Bolu Babalola, Second First Impressions by Sally Thorne, Iris After The Incident by Mina V.
Esguerra – and sent it off.
But Chess never replied.
And with every week of silence, I became more and more convinced that I’d lost the one person who I’d thought would love me forever.