And finally! I enjoy some security. I asked Paul if he was Zin. He flashed his eyebrows at me- what could be interpretted as a sign of aggression, if you were a hamadrayas babboon. He asked me why I took my space down. If Mrs Savvy-Walsh wasn’t in the classroom, and there was enough room to manouver, I would have punched him in the face. At least, I like to talk myself into believing I could. All the same. He crossed a line. He violated not only my Domain, but Willow’s, and he will pay for this, by my hand or some other god’s.
Now, in other news, I got a lift home from Mr Redden! He lives a suburb away, and when I enquired at the English office if Mr Watson was available, Mr R. randomly offered me (quite out of the blue) if I’d like a lift. Of course I accepted! I learned a lot of things from dear old Timmy Redden, this afternoon.
There was one word for the English teacher’s car. Aussie. It reeked with an Australian aura that I felt welcomed into. By that I mean it was squalid. McDonalds bag on the floor, paper scattered everywhere, toys, fluff, dust infiiltrated everything. The cup-holder was broken, but he used it anyway, and the CD player was crooked, but loyal. It was a comforting degree of filth. I suddenly realised, "Hey, aussie blokes don’t care." It was considered acceptable to be lazy and, well, messy. I laughed to myself when I realised it.
Mr Redden pointed out all the tough guys talking to their mothers in the cars around us. It was a hobby of his to see the different side of people when they weren’t making useless death threats. I saw an interesting side of Mr Redden too.
"Fucking trucks. What are they doing in the right line?" I blinked. Did I just hear that right? I also noted the rhyming and almost hypnotic rhythm.
"Don’t you dare," he admonished, as a driver pulled into the lane just in front of him. It was a close call.
"Look behind me! No one there!" he continued to rave. I laughed. Why was he so impatient?
"Oh you bastard fuck. It’s orange! Go!" he swore at the car in front of him, who stopped at the traffic light. He explained to me that safe driving is not trying to drive safely, but to drive as if everyone is going to do the most stupid thing they can. And he’s not been proven wrong since.
He came from the country- no real traffic like the city. He has a nice singing voice. Two year old daughter named Betty, who has amazing English. Musical wife. Plays the guitar. Loves John Butler. He’s pretty much the role father, in my eyes, both practical and real in an Australian fashion. He’s not too perfect so he remains human, but he cares and has a word or two to put in about life and existence. He makes a good example, curious as he is. I love Mr Redden.
PS: Lateef Crowder. New Champion of the World.