Chapter 7
SEVEN
I know I could technically walk home and get the car and then drive to some remote location to end my day early, or I could even catch a cab or bus and then wander off into the forest, but it seems kind of morbid.
I’ve never ever entertained thoughts of harming myself, so I don’t want to dwell on it now.
Better to make the most of my remaining time.
When I enter the house, I’m both relieved and sad neither of my parents are home.
My brother Chris would already have been overseas for a while too.
Once he finished high school, he was supposed to go to university, but instead, he took off backpacking around Europe.
After that, he visited south-east Asia, and once he reached Thailand, he fell in love with the country and decided to stay there.
He spends most of his time as a scuba diving instructor in Koh Samui, but he also travels to Bangkok a few times a year to get his city fix.
I had planned on travelling around Asia after high school too and meeting up with him then, but I broke my leg after a misguided attempt to take up skateboarding—so I decided to begin my arts degree early instead.
My last encounter with my brother was at the beginning of last year when he made a brief trip home, but he isn’t very good at staying in touch online, so we don’t talk often these days.
It’s kind of weird being here, since it still looks very similar in the future.
My parents aren’t the kind to renovate or replace furniture unless you count my mum reupholstering one of the couches about five years ago.
Otherwise, the kitchen and bathrooms are exactly the same, not counting for a little wear and tear.
I wonder if Anna had a harder time than me coming back to this time period because she’d been living in Brisbane for a while, and her parents had moved out of the family home.
Technically, it could be weirder for me since the differences are more subtle.
I remember reading an article about Americans visiting Australia and finding small cultural differences that threw them off, but it was hard to pinpoint some of them. That’s sort of how I’m feeling now.
Like when I open the cupboard and it contains snack foods I haven’t eaten for almost two decades, like Dunkaroos and Space Food Sticks.
I’m sure I would have been too old for that stuff in 1999, but I vaguely remember Mum buying those products because she refused to accept that the teen phase of my life had come to an end.
Sometimes the nineties don’t seem that long ago, but today, I’m definitely noticing the difference.
The disconcertion continues as I see my wardrobe and change into a fresh outfit.
I sort of remember all these clothes, but at the same time, I don’t.
I choose a white button-up shirt and denim mini-skirt and then inspect my bookshelf, which contains a bunch of university textbooks.
I remember having to pay several hundred dollars each semester for a huge pile of thick books that I only used for six months, and they’d often release new versions the next year, so you couldn’t buy them second-hand from previous students.
That element of study must be so much cheaper now because students can access most of the readings online for free.
Below the textbooks are a bunch of novels: Stephen King’s IT, a couple of John Grisham books, and Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now. It’s interesting that they’re mostly still relevant today.
And then I notice a garbage bag on the floor, full of old clothes. My mother used to make me clear out my wardrobe each year and donate all the stuff I no longer wore. There’s a note on top that says Could you please take these in today along with the bag in the laundry? Love, Mum.
I can’t even remember where I used to take them.
I feel like my mum must have done it most of the time.
How am I supposed to remember things like this decades later?
Did I even obey the instructions the first time around?
I have a feeling I would have made some excuse about being too busy, and my mum would have done it anyway.
But today, I figure accomplishing something vaguely charitable would be better than trying to injure myself.
I pick up the bag and take it out to my car before finding the one in the laundry. I then return to the kitchen and open the cupboard beside the phone, pulling out our phone directory. I flick to the charity shop category and look for the nearest one.
There. There’s a community centre less than ten minutes away that advertises it accepts clothing donations. Good enough.
I grab my handbag again and head out to my car.
When I turn the key, As Long as You Love Me by the Backstreet Boys comes on the radio. I used to be a huge boy band fan, and the Backstreet Boys were one of my favourites.
I reverse out onto the street, singing along with the lyrics. I’m sure I saw a meme somewhere that says it’s weird you can remember song lyrics from twenty years ago but forget what you did that morning. It’s so true.
I don’t think I’ve ever been to this community centre—either in the nineties or since. But it seems to be well run, and the building is clean and modern. I drag the two bags inside and follow the sign for donation drop-offs, which happens to be a room at the back of the main hall.
I stop in the doorway and tap on the frame. “Hello?”
A head pops up from behind a partition.
“Yes?”
I freeze.
Oh my God.
It’s Jarvis.