Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Blind Eye 

We meet for Swish in a church hall in Maylands. On Saturday a woman came to the door and was offered a glass of water. When she didn't leave as asked, she was told again to go and one of the group went to call the police. I didn't see her and could only hear the requests for her to leave as I made a cup of tea in the kitchen. I felt bad that on such a hot day she had to leave. I know that the security of the hall is our responsibility while we are there, and that we need to protect ourselves and our own property. We have to make decisions.

On Tuesday I arrived at cricket practice late and nipped up to the changerooms to find them locked. I went to the drink fountain to wash nectarine juice from my hands, and remembered the second entrance to the rooms. It comes off a recess behind the canteen, which might have done as an alternative place to change. As I stepped up to the dim gap, I noticed some bags, or rubbish, on the concrete floor - not bags, but a man. Maybe. A decent-sized man. Was he asleep, or drugged or sick? Was he dead? Or alright?

I had smiled at the half-imagined human, and looked away so as not to intrude. I didn't feel comfortable checking out the situation further - not just because I didn't want to intrude but because I couldn't get close enough to see without getting close enough to be grabbed.

Instead, I walked around to the public toilets at the back of the change rooms. I didn't want to enter, or touch anything, even though they are light. Partly visible from the street, I stood behind the brick wall at the entrance and changed from work clothes into shorts and a t-shirt, taking off my boots, sighing and swearing gently under my breath, looking for sharps amongst the few dry twigs, and slipping into my sneakers.

Then I left for the oval to play cricket.

I'm surprised at how I didn't fret about the man at the changeroom door. None of my business. I looked after me first. I didn't freak out and I didn't look back. And maybe he was rubbish after all.

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Comments:
Tough story, Deanne!
 
Hi Iris! Thanks for reading my tough story! Hope you're well. :-) Dee
 
Deanne, thanks, I´m ok :-)
And I´m finally done with the Perth-pics. So, if you wanna see what I thought was worth being photographed in your town, look here :-)
 
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