Melange vol.4: Relay Writing

Cafe Evergreen
Chapter Two
By The 8th Continent

It was an unusual feeling. Almost imperceptible movement. A low rumbling noise. Water lapping against metal. All concealed through a hum of continuous conversation, punctuated by the squeals and laughs of children.

The Interislander ferry, operated by Tranzrail New Zealand, steadily moved away from Picton and began making its way out of the sounds and into Cook Strait. Few on board even noticed their departure until the view outside their windows began to move, replaced by panoramic vistas of bush and rock. Most were disinterested in this, their attention focused on the roar of a rugby game echoing from a nearby TV, parents casually restraining their children attempts to transform seating areas into a playground.

Music was softly playing over the speakers when there was a burst of static and an unrefined, monotone voice boomed out. "This is your captain speaking. We are pleased to advise that we have begun our journey to Wellington, despite a delay due to some mechanical difficulties…."

Peter McHardly sat up in his seat, disturbed from his rest by the voice. "What?"he said under his breath, before opening his eyes. The long journey from Christchurch to Picton had taken its toll on his aging body. Almost every step of the way sleep had crept up on him and he had spent most of the journey so far with his eyes closed. Peering through heavy eyelids, he saw Glen sitting next to him, looking out the window at the scenery drifting past. "What time is it?"

"Almost midday" Glen replied. "We were held up for nearly an hour."

Peter closed his eyes again. "Typical." He didn't need to explain himself. While they were waiting to drive the car into the ferry, Peter had spent some minutes explaining the various reasons why Tranzrail was not as financially viable as it used to be, which were all linked to government reform and American ownership.

"You mark my words. In less than a year the Americans will hand it all back to us and we will have yet another dog on our hands losing money,"he had said. "Oh for the good old days of public transport."

For Glen, thoughts of financial ownership or government reform were far from his mind. To him, this was the most exciting part of the trip. There were few other occasions when travelling New Zealand that afforded the opportunity for sea travel. And then there was the likelihood of rough weather. On the voyage to the South Island they had encountered an unexpected swell and the ferry spent at least fifteen minutes battling heavy waves. Walking was almost impossible and sick bags became a sought after commodity. But Glen loved every minute of it. Unfortunately, the forecast this time was for a fairly smooth crossing.

Before long the droning tone of the captain's voice sent Peter back to sleep. There was a sharp click at the end of his detailed report on their speed and sea conditions and the voice was replaced by the melodic harmonies of a synthesised orchestra. Glen looked at Peter. The Scotsman was settling into his seat, his head further slipping further back until the mouth opened. And then the snoring began. Softly at first, then increasing in texture and volume. Glen sighed to himself and looked back out of the window. The ragged coastline was beginning to open, exposing larger areas of the channel.

There was a sudden shrill scream as a young girl raced down the isle, chased by an even younger boy brandishing a water gun. The noise didn't even disturb Peter this time and it was at this point that Glen stood up. He was sick of the confines of his seat. He needed to stretch his legs. He made his way through the seats and found the stairwell leading up to the top deck.

Outside there was a blast of cold air that rushed across the vessel, sea spray occasionally breaching the railing and firing a volley of bullet like droplets of water over the deck. It was an uninviting, inhospitable environment, in stark contrast to the ferry's warm interior, and few of the passengers spent more than a two or three minutes here. But Glen walked over to the railing and looked over the side, watching the great body of water curl against the metal wall of the ship. They had almost reached Cook Strait and the ferry was beginning to move in the familiar sway of a vessel cutting through water, the deck very slowly dipping from side to side. There were some excited voices just along from Glen, some foreign tourists taking photographs as a sea bird swooped over the ship. But Glen seemed almost detached from all the sights and sounds around him. His body was locked against the rail, the movement of the ship mesmerising him as he looked far out to the blurred horizon of the Strait.

He was thinking of Irene. Their relationship had grown deeper in the last few months but recent events in their lives - even this trip - had caused them to drift apart so gradually that neither of them had even noticed it. It just wasn't like how it used to be, when they were so close emotionally that they seemed almost inseparable. And then Glen realised the irony of these thoughts. Not long ago Peter was reminiscing about the 'good old days of public transport' and complaining how different things are now. At the time Glen had thought to himself that there is no point dwelling on the past. No amount of wishing will ever change events that have been and gone. But even now he was thinking about the past, about times with Irene and how different their relationship is now.

He remembered the words of his high school history teacher. Life is not about the past. You can learn from it yet the only thing you can change is your reaction to it and your plans for the future. Looking out to the horizon, Glen settled in his heart that he would never live in the past. He had to be like this ferry: have a destination and set out on the journey despite any obstacles that might seemingly get in the way. The attack on the fish and chip shop was like a storm that had pushed their relationship off course. While a storm may temporarily cause the ferry to lose sight of its destination, it would always make it to Wellington in the end, one way or another.

That was what he had to do.

When they arrived in the North Island, he was going to take firm and positive steps in regard to his future.

He had a destination. And he was going to make it.

Main Writer: Daniel Parkes