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06
Nov 19Stud lives
At about the same time every Sunday morning, somewhere between 9.30 and 11.30 am she would take out the stud box and examine the contents.
Taking them out one at a time she would lie them side by side on the dressing table.
The first is written in pencil on lined paper.
It says in capital letters: Jacq, the word underlined in a scratchy line – creased now from years of holding and folding and reading. Jacq, leather waistcoat, beautiful feet, strong arms, Chinese restaurant Fortitude Valley.
The 2nd written in crayon and on card paper: MT, a rough drawing of a feminist fist with the word DEAD in a barely coherent scrawl.
The 3rd a folded paper beer-coaster with an advertisement for upstairs Oxford St, Sydney, she has forgotten the name of the bar but has etched on her mind Sam, buzz cut, firm legs to wrap around. Back walls and Passionate Kisses Mary Chapin Carpenter.
4th is a photograph, creased and worn, edges cracking, Dani. Oh, Dani. Button up jeans. Bonds ripped white t-shirt, Doc Martins, leather jacket, shaved head.
These are her studs, longed for, remembered, and put away into the stud box for longevity.
