Home' LOTL : December 2005 Contents 40
What’s the biggest personal risk you’ve
taken for the love of a good woman?
How far out on the shaky limb of human
relations have you travelled? I’m yet to
improve on a particular episode which
took place during a long, sweltering
summer in Canberra at the beginning of
the last decade.
I was a young thing of 20 and keen
to land myself a ladylove. My best
friend lived in Canberra’s version of a
lesbian ghetto, next door to the coolest
group house you ever saw. Everywhere
you looked in that joint, there was
a fascinating young lesbian of some
description – students, musos, students
who fancied themselves as musos, the
gainfully unemployed… it was a thrilling
den of bohemian lesbian iniquity to a
baby dyke like me. One girl in particular
caught my eye – the guitarist of the
household. Skinny as a rake with brushed
back brown hair, an imitation Stratocaster
and an EH Holden to die for. At 21, she
was the enigmatic older woman. And,
recently split up from her partner, she
was, to my mind, ripe for the picking.
One night, the girls had a party. Like
all their parties, it involved a band – of
which most of the house was a member
– playing a set or two. The Smiths,
They Might Be Giants, REM, The Go-
Betweens – it was like they’d raided
my record collection. Mooning over the
object of my affections and swept along
by the moody lyrics of my favourite
bands, my young heart was awash with
a turgid miasma of emotions. I love her!
How exciting! But she barely knows I
exist! Poor me! What! Is! A! Girl! To!
Do? Then, as the band cranked up into
their next song, it came to me on a wave
Ana Ng and I are getting old and we still
haven’t walked in the glow of each other’s
That was my romantic eureka moment.
The next day, I wrote a note: “We still
haven’t walked in the glow of each
other ’s majestic presence.” I rolled it tight
and put it inside a red balloon. I blew the
smallest amount of air into the balloon
and tied it up. I squeezed the rubbery
package down into an empty milk bottle.
With the help of Billy Bragg, I had the
perfect message for the note I stuck in
the top of the bottle. “To Charlotte*, from
the milkperson of human kindness”. I
finished it off with a kitsch plastic rose
and set out on my mission.
It was a beautiful day. The sun shone
down promisingly on my enterprise.
Driving across town in my beat-up old
Renault I was smug in the knowledge
that, despite my inexperience, this
was one killer of a romantic gesture in
anyone’s language. I was almost there
when I saw a sea of small yellow flowers
rippling in the grass at the side of the
road. I abruptly stopped, picking a fistful
and adding them to the bottle for good
I got to the house of my dreams and
placed the bottle on the front porch. I
didn’t ring the bell. Something told me
the effect would be more dramatic if the
offering was happened upon casually.
Sure enough, it hit the mark. I shook
with brain-busting excitement (and gut-
twisting terror) when she called me. She
Story by Liz Uhlmann
NE I LOVE.
M GOING TO MEET
THE ONE I LOVE
ONE I LOVE.
ONE I LOVE.
one i love
GOING TO ME
GOING TO ME
Links Archive November 2005 January 2006 Navigation Previous Page Next Page