The Pillar

THE PILLAR

For many years, the sight of washing on the line amused motorists crossing the Sydney Harbour Bridge. [BEAT] It still does. 

Vivien Grey sat on her couch. Not a big couch. Not a small couch. Not a fancy couch by any means. Just a couch you might have seen once; perhaps late one rainy night in a second-hand shop. You may have had a glimpse of the suede leather sitting in the window whist waiting for the red light. The foggy windscreen stricken with streaks of rain and the reflection of dancing illuminations from the oncoming traffic. The couch probably once belonged to a wealthy French speaking hairdresser. With a goatee. And a pet poodle. He and his couch lived in Sydney all their lives and never had any intention of leaving. He was happy.

I guess that is what this city does to you. It sucks you in with its alleyways and tall buildings, making it nearly impossible to leave. At the peak of success, the decision is made to buy your very own suede leather couch. Similar to the French-speaking hairdressers [only more expensive]. It sits in your apartment matching the rug perfectly. But two years later, at your low, you find yourself in a different apartment. 75 meters above sea level. Curled up on the same couch wearing a hoddie watching reruns of Australia’s Next Top Gardener feeling sorry for yourself. Don’t worry they say. Your only 27 they say. 27 up my ass.

Vivien Grey sat on her couch watching reruns of Australia’s Next Top Gardener. The small pixelated television displayed an image of the beautiful presenter holding an envelope. The crowd went silent.

“And the winner, of Australia’s Next Top Gardener… is…”. Vivien spoke aloud, matching the female presenter word for word. Her voice echoed off the timber floorboards in the dark apartment.  One hand lay in a plastic bowl of salt and vinegar chips in her lap. The second, gripping the suede leather pillow.

“Our winner, Wendy Rix!” exclaimed the presenter. Her mawkish smile lit up the room. Vivien, however, did not smile. She did not cheer like the winning contestant nor did she laugh in glee alongside the judges. With notes of bitter and sarcasm, Vivienne stared at the small television whilst she narrated the ending moments of the episode on her own accord. 

“And the crowed applauded the winner in a moment of victory. But wait. What’s has just been told through the presenters earpiece. It looks as if… no…” she muttered with a cynical gasp.

“Has the tech crew made a mistake? Has the wrong winner been announced?” The television displayed an embarrassed presenter with an increasingly nervous smile. She took her hand to her mouth and was left speechless.

BANG BANG BANG.

Vivien Grey sat on her couch and ignored the sounds from the outside world.

BANG BANG BANG.

“Viv. Open up. I know you are in there. And don’t pretend you’re not. You haven’t left your flat for two years. It’s not like you’ve just ducked out or anything,” said the voice with a little chuckle.

Vivien muted the television. The presenter, looking mortified, re-announced the winner. Her hand up to the earpiece franticly muttering to the person on the other end. She started to tear up. The credits began to roll.

“Viv, seriously open up. I’ve got your groceries and it’s super windy outside today!”

            Vivien sulked off the couch and dragged herself to the front door. She opened it just barely enough to let George slide through. It was 11am. For a moment she just stood and listened. The wind swirled and the cars zoomed outside creating a tapestry of clamour, clatter and clang. It was as if the world below was having a debate and the gusts rebuttal was sweeping away any auditable din. It was all just noise. The door slammed.

Vivien Grey lived in an apartment with her suede leather couch 75 meters above sea level. She had been there for approximately two years and has never left once. Her apartment was in an unusual position located in the southwest pillar on the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Three out of the four pillars on the bridge were residential quarters with the final one being historically listed.  No one has been there since March. There were two occupants per pillar renting a healthy space of 50 square meters each. 50 square meters of isolation with the company of a single neighbour; and Vivien’s was called George.

George was 41 years old, unshaven and liked to play the bagpipes. That’s why he moved to The Pillar six years ago. He told Vivien that he only practiced in the early hours of the morning to replicate the feeling he got when he play at the ANZAC Day Dawn Service for his local RSL Club. But Vivien knew the reason why George moved to The Pillar was something more than just a place to play the bagpipes and not bother anyone. It was something much more darker. Why does anyone choose to live in a pillar location on the Sydney Harbour Bridge? To disappear.

Vivien Grey wandered back to her couch and stared at the muted rolling credits of Australia’s Next top Gardener. She placed the plastic bowl of salt and vinegar chips in her lap and continued eating. George stood in the dark holding three bags of groceries and one long baguette.

            “Geeze Viv. Welcome in George. How have you been George? Thanks for bringing me food for the last two years George. Even a hello would be nice,” he said with a sour smirk. He placed the groceries on the timber floorboards, rolled his eyes and opened the blinds.

Vivien sat in a hoddie on the suede leather couch covered in chip crumbs. Her short blonde hair messy. Eyes honey brown. Freckled lined her cheekbones. She blinked a few times waiting for her sight to adjust to the light. 

            “So, it was your birthday yesterday. 27, Viv, how do you feel?” He began lifting the groceries onto the bench. “Look, I know you’re still bummed about the gardener model announcement thing, but that happened, seriously, two years ago. It’s in the past. Are you listening to me?”

            Vivien crunched down on another chip. George walked over and turned the television off. Her glare burned a hole through his forehead. He sat on the couch next to her.

            “Come on Viv. It was your birthday yesterday. Put a smile on your dial. We could do something exciting. Change it up, you know. I thought you and I could go for a walk outside. Leave The Pillar for the day. It’s only 11am. It will be good for you.” George spoke in his typical optimistic fashion.

“I can’t go outside. I can’t leave here.”

“Oh quit being so dramatic. Renting out a loft on the Sydney Harbour Bo isolate yourself from society isn’t exactly normal.”

“You did it”, Vivien retaliated.

“Yeah, but it was so I didn’t bother the neighbours with my bagpipes at 3am in the morning. I, in fact, was being courteous. Even Carla from the southeast pillar goes outsides. She’s been here for 16 years and accumulates one cat for every year of residency.  Stupid old bat. She dresses them up, goes down the stairs and shows people walking across the bridge. Personally, my favourite is when she finds helpless tourists and just holds the cat in their face.” He mimics her, “this is Patricia. Don’t you think she loooooks beautiful,” George crowed; quite satisfied with his impression. “But at least she is living her life and leaving her flat,” he said in a more serious tone.

“You don’t understand George. I can’t just go outside. People know me. I was in the newspapers. I announced the wrong person for Australian’s Next Top Gardener.” Vivien’s hand dove into the plastic bowl of salt and vinegar chips.

“Seriously, Viv, listen to me. That happened two years ago. People don’t even remember what happened on television last month. I can see you are not in the greatest state of mind today so I’ll pop in next week and we will go outside.” “Besides you’ll have to do it soon anyway”. He lifted his body off the suede couch and put his hand into his pocket, reaching out and handing Vivien a crumpled up letter. She stared it. Notice of Leave. BANG. The door slammed as George left her apartment.

Unit 1a/Pillar 2

14 Bradfield Highway

SYDNEY NSW

2000

To whom it may concern,

This letter constitutes a written 30 day notice of leave. I expect all possessions to be vacant from the premises by the Sunday the 1^st of August.

It was in your knowledge when adhering to this lease that the Sydney Harbour Bridge residential flats were under historical examination. With recent the news acquired from the Sydney City Council, these flats will now be vacated and placed as a heritage listed site.

I expect full corporation in this matter.

Sincerely,

Barry Balthasar

Sydney Harbour Bridge Landlord

Vivien Grey sat on her couch and seethed over the letter. She held it above her face at different arms lengths trying to make sense of it. In an angry range, she stormed over to her balcony, flung open the sliding glass door and stood on the tiles looking out at the bridge. This place was the furthest she had made it to the outside world in about two years. Her washing pegged on a piece of nylon rope flying around in the wind. If the landlord Barry Balthasar wants her to move out, then why not start this very moment. She viciously tugged a green dress off the line and threw it out over the railing; watching it slowly fall down into the Sydney Harbour. Vivien stared at it until the little green patch of material was no more. Then in a heartbeat, she grabbed them all. Shirts, jeans, scarfs and throw, throw, throw. Down they fell. Socks and bras. Undies and stockings. She ran inside, bunched her bed sheets together and made her way to the balcony. The ball of pillow, duvet and crumpled white sheet sat in a pillow blocking her face. Vivien walked to the balcony and held the pile high in the air. She could feel the wind caressing her cheek.

“There’s an easier way to move out, miss,” spoke a youthful, kiwi accent. “Seriously, if you need help, I’m really good at carrying shit. See these arm.”

            “What?” snapped Vivien.

“You’re thicker than I thought, blondie. Just offering a hand.”

            Vivien dropped the bundle of sheets and stared up at the 24 year old kiwi man. He wore a white hardhat that hid most of his curly black hair and sat in a harness suspended to the right of her balcony. His physique was tall and sculpted. But even in his brand new orange workman’s shirt, Tana still looked like a scruffy kid.

            “Just making sure you’re all goods, hey,” Tana said with a half crooked smile.

            “Yeah, I’m fine. It was all just an act. I’m not really moving out or anything. Just acting. Something you wouldn’t know much about.” She said. Trying to regain composure.

“Sure thing. Well miss actor. Show me scared. Happy. I’m love with a man but he eats Vegemite for every meal, so I cannot possibly love him for all eternity.” He bounced against the pillar in amusement. In an instance, Vivien was on it. Acting out with much tenacity, flair and commitment she could muster. She could never give up a challenge and wouldn’t stop now.

“How’s that,” Vivien splattered breathless, looking rather satisfied.

“In that last one, your face looked like a smashed crab”.

“What?” she said in complete disbelief.

“Like, meahhh,” he said mimicking. “I mean, I mean, in a good way. Like, that’s what it reminded me of. A cute little smashed up crab. I like crabs. They’re my favourite animal.  By the way, my names Tana,” he spoke revealing his crooked smile again.

“Vivien,” she said as a matter of factly. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Well, I was a construction worker on the bridge.”

“You say… was,” Vivien points out cautiously.

“My team got fired last month and I was responsible for finishing off the maintenance work. Pulling down all the wires and the pullies. That only took a week. So now I’m just hanging out here. On the bridge.  By myself. Just chillin. The useee’. You know.”

“So this is what you do all day. You’re hiding from the world. Pretending?”

“I can’t tell my mum I got fired. She’d kill me.”

“Excuse me… but how old are you Tana?” Vivien curiously asked.

“I’m 24. I don’t want to let my mum down, you know. She’s done so much for me. I just want a place to kill time until I get a new job. She’ll never know my team got fired.”

“Well, did you want to hang with me for the week. I could help you try and get a new job. I’m being kicked out anyway,” She spat bitterly.  A gust of wind blew past Vivien. 75 meters above sea level, she stood on the titles on her balcony talking to a stranger. I guess that is what this city does to you. It sucks you in with its alleyways and tall buildings, making it nearly impossible to leave. At the peak of success, the decision is made to buy your very own suede leather couch or to invite a stranger into your home.

Vivien Grey sat on her couch with a stranger called Tana. She ate salt and vinegar chips from a plastic bowel and listened as he spoke about all the things he saw working on the bridge. How, one of the old workmen had a huge crush on the cat lady from the southeast pillar. He said she was a genius. Not bat crazy at all. She was comedic and kept herself entertained by pranking people with the crazy cat act. He’d spend the whole afternoon cleaning the southeast pillar just to watch her.

“Seriously?”

            “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it, hey!” Tana beamed. He ate a peanut butter sandwich from his metal batman lunchbox. “I just thought that the guy was super obsessed with cleaning the southeast pillar. Oh, and the bagpipes guy above you. We hear him every morning. You’d think he’d get better by the amount of time he spends practicing.” He said chewing. His crusts are left in the gladwrap. “And that crazy landlord with the small hunch. The boys and I called him Quasimodo.”

            “What?”

            “Hunchback of Notre Dame? Seen it. Guys got a hunch. Never leaves the bell tower. Seen the movie? Except the only flaw in his name is that he does leave. He waddles around…. But you on the other hand. I’ve never seen you. Outside. That’s why I was so curious about the washing on your balcony. I thought bagpipe man must have had a misses or something. Are you allergic to the sun?”

            Vivien just glared.

            “Then why don’t you go outside?”

            “Okay. This is a big deal for me but…” she sighed. “Have you seen Australia’s Next Top Gardener?

            “No.”

            “The show on the quest to search for the best gardener, landscape architect and green thumbed individual in Australian. Ring any bells? Uh, well I announced the wrong person at the grand finale two years ago and…”

            “Oh man. That must have sucked, bad! Did you get fired?”

            “Tana!”

“Okay, okay, being sensitive and all. But geeze. Ohhhh man.” He chuckled knocking over his batman lunchbox. The crusts fell to the floor. “That’s the best story ever. You are a world changer. Defying the laws of television. Pay attention to the presenter. She’s got all the power. You’re munted.”

            “Yeah. Yeah. That’s right. I am a munted.”

            “Do you even know what that means?”

            “Uhh, not really,” Vivien said in an unsure tone.

            “It means you’ve done good, miss”.

Vivien Grey and Tana sat on a couch watching reruns of Australia’s Next Top Gardener. The small pixelated television displayed an image of the beautiful presenter holding an envelope. The crowd went silent.

            “Can’t believe it’s taken you a whole week to show me this.”

            “Shhhsss, it’s about to happen.” Vivien held a pillow over her head.

BANG BANG BANG.

Vivien Grey and Tana sat on a couch and ignored the sounds from the outside world.

BANG BANG BANG.

“Viv. Open up. I know you are in there. And don’t pretend you’re not.”

            “Who’s that?” whispered Tana.

            “It’s George.” Vivien said. Her eyes glued straight on the screen.

            “Vivien, it time for you to face the outside world”.