CHAPTER ONE

“People say time heals all wounds. That may be true,

but relocating to an alternate reality can sure help too." 

- Nathan Van Coops -

It wasn’t too long before it was habit. And like any habit, formed by continuing the same thing over so it became almost natural. That’s what a habit is, a recurrent, often unconscious pattern of behaviour acquired through frequent repetition.

Mitch would walk his dog the same time every day, following the same course so she became familiar with it and was soon a habit for her too. It was the norm within a few short months and Mitch only need reach for his walking shoes and sit on the bottom stair for the dog to start barking in anticipation. She knew what was going to happen and so did the neighbours given her excited yelps. Time to walk Peanut.

There was nothing overly special about Mitchell Atherton; he was an ordinary man living a once ordinary life who had through the years experienced his share of sufferance like everyone else.

In his late thirties, closer to forty if truth admitted, born in the winter of 1974. He hailed from a working-class family in Sydney’s west and afforded every opportunity his struggling parents could provide. Being the older of two brothers he was often called on as the man of the house while his father worked long and arduous hours producing brake and clutch pads at a nearby factory. The booming car industry of the 60’s and 70’s provided ample work for those who wanted it, and the Atherton family needed that work. But modern health and safety regulations were virtually non-existent during the time and little care was given to the workers wellbeing. The harmful side effects of asbestos use in manufacturing gave way to profits too easily. Mitchell’s father Brian endured a protracted battle with asbestos poisoning and passed away before Mitch’s eighteenth birthday. His mother died a few years later, most say of a broken heart, and it wasn’t long before he and his brother went their separate ways no longer bound by the parents they shared.

Mitchell studied diligently through a civil engineering degree that saw him predictably graduate with honours in the summer of 1996. He was immediately offered a position with a leading property development company, and with the growth of the Asian and Middle Eastern regions, travelled to many parts of the world working on some of the most innovative buildings of the day. The doom of the Global Financial Crisis though slowed funding for many of these projects, and Mitch was found back in Sydney after nearly eleven years abroad. He was chained to an office for another three and it came as both shock and bitter relief when the company finally let his services go.

But that was a lifetime ago. Time heals all wounds it is said, but the wound of vocational failure was the last thing on his mind. He had a more recent, deeper wound causing greater angst.

And so, the daily ritual began.

Mitchell never leashed Peanut on their walks; she enjoyed the freedom of being outside and exploring the world around her. Stopping to sniff at anything she passed she often lagged behind anyway. Running to catch up made her journey more laborious so Mitchell found it easier to leave Peanut untethered making the casual walks more enjoyable. She was a nutter of a dog anyway. Hence the name Peanut.

“Come on you nut,” Mitch called; followed by a brief whistle he gave to get her attention.

Peanut looked up from an invisible scent. A slight breeze wafting her ears backward, mirroring her tongue as it dangled sideways from her mouth. She quickened her pace and ran to him as best she could accentuating the ears and tongue even more.

“Why do you take so long on these walks?” he asked never expecting a reply. But she was his best friend. And friends talk to one another regardless.

Mitchell had been in a rush his whole life, looking to achieve self-imposed goals in the shortest time possible. To make a worthy life. That may have stemmed from his fathers’ early death and his need to get the most out of life before it was cruelly taken away; either way, he often missed the point of it all and lost things in the process - a job for one, friends for another.

But time he reflected. More importantly he’d lost time.

He watched Peanut sniff the tiniest things on her path; nose glued to the ground as if on a hunt considering the enjoyment she gained in the process. He regretted his own inability to ‘stop and smell the roses’ so he slowed and eventually leant on the walking stick he carried. It was an old tree branch found many walks ago, perfectly straight and devoid of splinters and bars, an ideal length for his six-foot frame. The top five inches had worn smooth being held so many times: the natural oils of his hand even softening the wood over time. Mitchell used the stick as an aid mostly up hills but would rap it lightly on the pavement to get Peanut’s attention when she defied his calls or whistle. It also gave purpose to the walking process, as if hiking in the countryside, high in the hills, away from recent troubles.

Cars passed in a frenzy taking occupants to another meeting, another appointment. Their drone almost drowning the song of mid-spring cicadas and cockatoos screeching in the limbs high above. Slowly, Mitchell was learning to appreciate these sounds he once didn’t even recognise. He was too enthralled in his own world to be present to the real one around him.

The sun now beat upon the back of his neck causing small beads of sweat to form on his brow. He’d been sadder of late, feeding thought to recent events, fully knowing they could never change. If only Peanut taught him the virtues of smelling the roses before then.

Mitch jolted from the tortuous reflection and tapped his walking stick to summon Peanut. He turned to continue their daily path and she, this time, obediently cantered to his side.

The council pavement was typical of Sydney walkways; a combination of neatly troweled cement slabs occasionally dissected with hastily laid asphalt repairs. Cracks appeared randomly for weeds and grass to fight through, searching for life-giving sunlight. Graffiti and markings adorned in places, and names etched into once drying cement left a permanent reminder of those who’d travelled before them.

With his head bowed, Mitch mirrored the imperfections to his life. Cracks and scars he’d made over the years and the band-aids used to mend them. One scarred more than others and that quickly filled his mind again. Man and dog continued briskly and soon began climbing a rather steep section of the path.

Mitch was now deep in thought and instinctively strengthened his stride for the next hundred meters. Peanut’s heavy panting suggesting the speed didn’t impress her. He ignored her though. He was thinking of a day many months passed when having lunch with Juliana. An unexpected date they shared quite by accident that ended in despair for one of them.

The wine was crisp and refreshing on the palette, but unlike today, the sun rarely shone in the cloud-filled sky. Occasionally a ray would break free of their cover to lick the nearby waves with a golden hue Mitch would remember forever. Juliana’s almond eyes sparkled in that erratic light captivating Mitchell as they always did.

He looked into them deeply, seeing more than spoken. He gave it little thought on the day; however knowing now what secret they imprisoned, his own eyes welled with regret.

But that was a lifetime ago and just a memory.

Peanut meandered from scent to scent, and despite her usual ability to sense Mitchell’s emotions, was oblivious to his journey of thought.

Along the path manhole covers occasionally replaced the cement and asphalt. Metal plates used by sewerage and telecommunication companies to access the wires and pipes beneath. Mitchell rarely noticed them save the different sound they made under foot. A creak from the uneven surface, or Peanuts nails clipping the metallic surface in a distinct tone from the dominant cement before and after.

Mitch was still thinking of that fateful lunch when he stepped onto one of the larger covers; almost as wide as the pavement itself, and perhaps two metres in length. Together, four metal plates took up two square metres of the walkway. He’d crossed the cover many times and thought nothing of it. Why would he? During his second step though, while still reminiscing about that luncheon, Mitch looked up the road to his right. He wasn’t sure why, perhaps it was the slight movement of the plate beneath his weight, but he looked up nonetheless. In that split second he saw a red 4WD coming toward him from the opposite side of the road. He continued his step off the plate and onto the next rectangle of cement. When he did, the car was gone.

He quickly checked over his shoulder to see if it had passed, then turned back as quickly confirming the car had disappeared. It was a short straight stretch of road with no side streets to turn into, and parked cars lined the opposite kerb leaving no chance for the 4WD to take a quick parking spot.

“Did you see that Nut?” he asked Peanut who now sat next to him. A stupid question on reflection, but needed for his own clarification.

“Of course you didn’t. Neither did I,” he said answering his own question. Mitch wiped his eyes dismissing the apparition as he’d done with so many things before.

“Come on mate, let’s get going,” he cried accompanied by another short whistle, and the pair continued their walk.

Nearing home, Mitchell couldn’t help but wonder what he’d seen, or at least thought he’d seen. His mind was always so active. Had the slowing pace of life, the willingness to listen to birds and watch cloud formations begun to slow his mind too?

Was he beginning to imagine things?

If anything, it took his mind from Juliana and that was a welcome reprieve.

He needed a drink.

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