Day Five

Like chicken.

Flavour arises not only from the marinade, but from time. Let's say your timing is perfect. You put the chicken in the oven. Will it come out burnt to a crisp? Will it turn out wrong for no apparent reason? And what if it comes out exactly as you wanted? You savour it, piece by piece, until there's nothing left. What then?

Like an expensive dress.

It's outside your budget by a mile. You save up for it. You buy it. You love it. You treasure it. But what if you show up at the store to realise that you were too late? What if it had been bought by someone else while you were scraping up the funds? Would you feel comforted, knowing that at least you've saved some cash?

I don't have answers to any of these questions.

I may look like somebody had just died, but failing to make an effort for somebody's 21st is just disrespectable. I picked out a cream (of course) dress. Black stockings. Black flats. Leather jacket.

I had an inspiration to shop for boots, and somehow found myself at Scooter in Greenwood Plaza. Of course I didn't buy anything. Full-priced items are never in a hurry to go anywhere. There was time to contemplate whether forking out $200 could really be justified. I have doubts.

It didn't surprise me that I ended up at the pharmacy. It has become a place of solace. Don't ask me how. I like to find John or Mirjana there, because I could feel free to be a child. I don't deserve it, I never asked for it, but they spoil me. All we ever talked about was me. How I was doing at uni. Where I bought my new shoes. Whether my boyfriend was still sick. I didn't tell them about Jez. I had had enough of the world revolving around my life.

Mirjana would never let me vacuum. When I wiped dust off the dispensary shelves she actually thanked me. She'd praise me after each script I process correctly, even though it's one of the lowest, most basic expectations of a pharmacist. She never let me pay her when we share lunch.

When I arrived, she had already left. I found John in the dispensary.

"Mirjana would have been disappointed she didn't see you." He said.

I pouted. "I miss Mirjana."

"She misses you too. She talks about you all the time."

"What does she say about me?"

John laughed at the sight of my expression. "She says good things. She really likes you. We all do. You're a good worker."

I snorted. Yeah, right. But I wasn't stupid enough to contradict my boss on that one.

I sat down on the carpet, next to the unkempt boxes of Famivir. It had been awhile since I tidied the dispensary. I felt guilt, like a little worm, wriggling in my stomach. They treat me far better than I deserve. I couldn't figure out why. They even ignore the mistakes on my time sheet when I end up working less hours than I filled out. Even when I insist on correcting it.

So despite the fact that I spent over two hours dispensing, I made it clear to John before I left that I was not to be paid.

He just smiled. "Riiiiight."

The Pharmacy Practice tute this afternoon consisted of nothing more than a follow-up of our second-year turbuhaler technique research project and orientation around tables of lollies. I picked absent-mindedly at a yellow gummy snake and didn't hear a word our tutor said.

I planned to go to Jenny's house, where someone will pick us up to go to Alan's together. She was still out when I left uni, so I went to Burwood to kill time.

The less time there is left before my birthday, the harder it is not to think about it. I've already confessed to Mylinh and Jenny that I may not be in the mood to celebrate. They understood. Nevertheless I wasn't going to get away with it without at least a formal dinner with the girls. Rather depressingly, I strolled around ground floor and browsed for a dress. A LBD caught my eye. I scavenged for a 6 and retreated to the dressing room. It was a bit of a disaster. The top half hung loosely around my waist, and the hem flared out unsuspectingly, like a mini satin umbrella.

"I'll think about it." I told the sales assistant.

"Don't think too long," she said, "they're selling fast."

"Well then I definitely won't be buying it." You don't sell an item of clothing by telling the potential buyer that everyone else is already wearing it. You just don't.

I ended up another Jodi Picoult.

No boots. No dress. A book. Am I still me?

We arrive at Alan's reasonably early. Everyone seems determined to puke by the end of the night. I decide to drink to forget. However, by the time the first diluted Midori shot makes its way down my throat I realise that alcohol and I may never be friends again. I let myself catch the contagious drunken atmosphere instead. It wasn't long before I was desperate to leave.

Time was the right move for me and Jez. It has only been a couple of days, but I'm already beginning to figure things out. I feel like starting a new post.