Departure

| ARRIVAL | DEPARTURE | JOURNEY | ORIGIN | DESTINATION |

The party was already raucous when she arrived; already, she felt the camphor of dishonesty diffuse from her. She pulled her jacket more tightly around her, declined a cursory direction to the guest room to deposit it and her handbag, and made her way to the kitchen.

She picked a glass of red and surveyed the scene as an overly intricate diorama. The foreground: a bar laden with comestibles and libations. Behind: the couples and loose gatherings of fluctuating size and attention, talking and dancing; a rogue singer (hastily seated, handed water). Beyond: a tapestry of darkness and shimmering smoke, punctuated by flecks of orange stars.

Her mouth twitched, twisting a cord in her stomach with caustic yearning. She saw herself drift into the tableau: she would smile and laugh (the stench of her subterfuge unnoticed, or at least unmentioned); she would drink too much, casting shards of incoherent insight among the detritus of banter around her; she would cry; she would go; and, tomorrow, she would wake up with the same vacancy.

No.

She felt, suddenly, enlivened by her deceit, empowered by her unwelcomeness. She, the background extra, the incidental guest, would usurp centre stage for a spontaneous, enrapturing final act.

She gasped, and realised her hand had slipped into her bag and around the knife. She let go and pulled a sheet of paper towel from a nearby roll.

The picture in her head was unequivocal: clearer than memory, heavier than though. For months, it had been growing: first, a quiet whisper among many, then louder and more forceful, overpowering and cannibalising its fellows until, in the absence of dissent, it ascended from fear to reality. It was immanent in very moment: each thought, each action, deferred to it for legitimacy until, inevitably, she was here.

“… didn’t even see you arrive and oh fuck, are you alright?”

Here. She snapped her head to Felicity and pulled up a smile. “Yes, sorry, I accidentally… Anyway, I’m fine. Sorry. I was going to come find you once…” She lifted the scrunched paper towel, briefly inspecting her palm, and proffered it as evidence.

Felicity tapped a cupboard with her knee, revealing a bin. “I’m so glad you could make it. I know things have been crazy, for both of us.”

“No, of course. I wanted to say goodbye.”

“What? You just got… I mean, didn’t you just get..?”

“No, yes, I mean… I wanted to come see you, I just can’t stay long is all.” She threw the paper towel in the bin.

Felicity tilted her head and furrowed her brow. She reached out and squeezed her arm. “Are you sure you’re OK? I mean, we’ve got so much food, and you can stay the night if you want to drink.” Her foot tapped the cupboard closed.

“No, thank you, really. It’s been a week and I just wanted to say hi.” She grasped Felicity’s other hand and squeezed it, smiling. “Anyway, I should…” She let go.

“OK. If you’re sure. Let’s do coffee this week, yeah?” Felicity pulled her in for a hug, pecked her cheek, then was gone.

A shudder trembled up from her stomach to her fingers, and teased at her eyes and mouth. She breathed deeply: it could wait.

A side door lead her back into the night; it was colder than she’d remembered. The park was only a short walk, but her fervour had mellowed, so she meandered, dazed. She realised she had not said goodbye. In lieu of Felicity, she farewelled the footpath, the street sign, this car, that tree.

The vacancy stirred.

It was just a few trees and a strip of swampy water, but she had always loved this park. A neighbour had, a few years ago, begun a protracted land war with the “grass supremacists” of the local council and put in a small, but growing, flower bed. She stepped into it, feeling the leaves and the few blooms coaxed forth by the recent, unseasonable heat.

She reached for the knife, this time with purpose. In its blade, she saw the garlands and stars, the water and dirt, her sadness and resolve. Then it turned, and saw the darkness within her.

And, as her body fell, she turned and walked off into the night.