Three on a Bench

The earth turns revealing the sun of a new day. Two women sit on a wooden bench looking down the tussock covered sand dunes out over the surf and across the vast expanse of ocean to those first rays of a new day. The tide is out, but the briny scent cast from the crashing waves hovers, playing in the burgeoning sunlight. Their noses slightly drippy from their early morning walk, they sniff and laugh and chat and wait on their friend who remains down on the hard packed sand, her feet leaving momentary reflective depressions as she skips and twirls, her little friend following her every move.

The eyes of the two on the bench follow her final pirouette as she scoops up her discarded shoes and dances up the track across the dunes to reach the bench. She plops herself down with a flourish of dress and hair and drippy nose. Her little friend jumps onto the knee of the middle bench dweller and gives an almighty girrating shake, dislodging fine sand and drips of salty water from her coat.

Sam!

Sammy!!

That’s gross.

I’m covered in it.

Who invited you?

I’m gonna be gritty all day.

You could do with a bit of grit.

Speak for yourself.

I have plenty, she gives it to me all the time!

There is laughing, pats and scratches are given. Sam settles on the bench between two of the bench dwellers, the third reaches down and pulls a thermos and three mugs from a bag. The question of tea need not be asked, it is just poured and handed along the bench. They cradle their mugs as steam rises awakening their senses in spite of their drippy noses.

Green?

Only the finest.

It’s good for digestion you know.

Says who? Besides, I don’t have anything to digest yet.

Says the internet and it will set you up for the day.

Yanno, so you can digest the TimTams you’ll have at morning tea.

Mmmmm, TimTams, the King of the morning tea options.

Or Queen.

No, King. We have a King now, so it’s King.

You might have a King.

Fine, fuck the patriarchy and the monarchy, it’s just the best biscuit!

Agreed.

The tea is sipped, the sun watched, the waves appreciated, and time passes.

You looked like a child on the beach.

Well, thank you. If only I still was!

Ha, too true.

And if only I didn’t have to regret that run later.

Urgh, I hear yah.

Whyyyyy is it like this?

Well, yanno, Eve ate the apple and…

Oh my God!

You asked.

Returning to fucking the patriarchy

Phrasing!

I don’t think that means what you want it to mean.

You know what I mean. Anyway, did you catch the news about the school lunch thing?

What is wrong with those people?

They are so out of touch with reality.

True, well out of touch with a reality, just living in their own version of reality.

Virtual reality.

Virtually incomprehensible for most of us.

Imagine what it would be like…

Don’t they get their school lunches paid for?

And everything else. Can take a limo a hundred meters down the road and then say that feeding children is wasteful.

I would prefer not to get political, but I think I am gonna have to get political.

We should start our own party.

Fuck the patriarchy party.

Pay women for all the free labour. Back pay included.

Imagine that? Then we could pay the patriarchy for menial tasks like running the economy where they only get paid if everyone is living above the poverty line.

Of course we will need to raise the poverty line.

Yeah, we can have a national standard for it.

*sniggers*

Dreams are free.

It’s a generational thing, aye?

Yeah. Bad behaviour and ramraiding aside, I reckon once the current wankers retire the next generation will be okay.

That’s true, look at our kids.

And grandkids.

Hope I don’t need to look at grandkids any time soon!

They know what it means to be decent human beings.

How to love.

Quiet contemplation accompanies the dregs of their tea. Sam has jumped down and is sniffing around the bench for dropped morsels.

Sammy sit.

Good girl.

She is a very good girl.

Here’s a treaty for a very good girl.

Sammy takes the treat and gulps it back with a happily wagging tail. She sits again and looks up in anticipation of another treat.

If only we got treats every time we were good girls.

I guess it’s just lucky we have opposable thumbs and we can get our own treats.

I’m gonna treat myself to a hot crossed bun when I get home.

No TimTams today then?

Tis the season for hot crossed buns.

When isn’t it the season for them?

I only eat them this week, as God intended.

But you can have them all year round.

But then they are not special now.

But…

What?

You don’t have to wait.

I want to.

But you like them.

Yeah. But I like them better just this week. Having everything all the time makes it not special. I like waiting.

Reckon more people could do with some waiting.

Perhaps the supermarkets could not make hot crossed buns all year round.

Is it hot crossed buns or hot cross buns?

Whichever it is, life’s too short to wait, let them eat hot cross buns all year round.

Life gets longer when you wait.

It actually doesn’t.

Feels that way.

Like waiting for your birthday.

I ignore my birthday. Like waiting for hot crossed buns.

The anticipation.

Yeah, the anticipation.

Such a good feeling.

Maybe that’s why people are so anxious these days. Don’t have to wait.

Don’t know how to wait.

Haven’t had waiting practice.

All they are waiting for is death.

That’s a bit morbid.

The human condition is a bit morbid.

Born just so we can die.

What if we didn’t?

Die?

Yeah.

Then we wouldn’t age.

We could get to the perfect age and then just stop.

What age would that be?

42.

With a laugh the mugs are shaken out and passed back down the bench to be packed away, Sammy’s lead is clipped to her collar, and they stand, brushing the fine sand from their clothes.

Same time next week?

Same time next week.

See yah.