Author's note: I'm not an Australian, but I'm trying to play one in this story. I'm not sure why I wrote this as I did, I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time. As such I've probably butchered my attempts at Aussie colloquialisms and for that I apologize to any readers from Down Under.
"Goddammit!" Lachlan muttered under his breath, "what the bloody hell is this?"
Lachlan Mceuen, Lockie to his mates, was only at the chemist for barely ten minutes. Yet upon his return to his ute the right-side taillight and rear bumper had been hit, most probably by the sedan that had been parked behind him when he had originally parked his ute. Pieces of plastic were strewn out onto the street indicating the perpetrator had pulled out of their parking spot, clipped his driver side rear, and left without a trace.
"Isn't this just fucking smashing," he said to himself. "God, what else can go wrong today?"
It had been one of "those" kinds of days. First he had overslept so he was ten minutes late for his construction job, which had earned him a rebuke from his foreman. Lachlan worked as a sparkie on a building site and of all the sticklers for rules, his foreman was the worst. Then at lunch when he opened his esky he discovered that instead of the container with his intended meal, he had grabbed the container of spaghetti sauce instead. As such, that had been his lunch, spaghetti sauce and an apple.
Just after lunch, a chippy carrying a sheet of plywood rammed into the ladder Lachlan was working from knocking him and his tool bag to the ground. The fall wasn't far, and he landed in dirt, but still his leg had caught on then ladder rung and the whole thing crashed on top of him. The incident caused him to reaggravate a knee injury suffered when he was an amateur footy several years prior. He tried to shake it off, but the pain was intense enough to force him to visit the doc, who had prescribed him pain medication, which was why he was at the chemist, which brings things to the present.
Picking up what large pieces of taillight he could, Lachlan cleaned up as best he could before driving off. He opened his ute and threw his bag onto the front seat and the pieces of light into the cargo box when he saw a piece of paper flutter to the ground. A slight breeze blew it under the ute forcing him to get down on his knees to retrieve it from under his vehicle.
"Fucking hell, what else can go wrong today?" he asked of no one in particular, but a passing bloke turned to offer sympathy. His stooping motion to reach the note quickly reminded Lachlan of the pain in his leg and why he was in this spot in the first place.
Sitting behind the tiller he opened the note. The note was plainly legible and in a woman's handwriting.
"This explains a lot,"
Lachlan thought to himself, "
leave it to some fucking sheila to not know how to parallel park."
I'm so sorry about your pickup. Here is my phone number. My name is Kiana Duncan, I'm from Hawaii and am not used to driving here. Call me. Again, I'm so sorry about your pickup.
Lachlan folded the paper and put it in his pocket.
"Bloody American. At least sheila did the right thing,"
he thought as he started the engine and headed back to his unit (aka "condo" for American readers). As he drove he passed a flower shop with roses all around the front door. Lachlan then remembered today was Valentine's Day, another bur under his skin as his girlfriend of the past eight months just last week had decided she was more interested in an accountant from her office and had promptly dumped the luckless Lachlan. Lachlan yelled an expletive as he watched a young couple exiting the shop with a large bouquet.
Arriving home he took his first dose of the medicine and went to his fridge where his intended lunch still sat. In a way he was pleased about his earlier mishap as this way he did not have to find something else to eat. After his meal he disrobed and started his shower, as he still had the dirt from the construction site on his clothes and arms, face, and hair.
Finally clean, his spirits began to lift, and he felt a little better. There would be no girl this Valentine's Day, but he had Fosters in the fridge and music on his Amazon device. "Alexa, play Pink Floyd," he commanded. Alexa's Australian female voice responded, "shuffling Pink Floyd and similar artists on Amazon music." The first song was "
Wish You Were Here
" a personal favorite, to which Lachlan opened the note from the sheila who struck his ute. He picked up his mobile and dialed.
"Hello?"
"My name is Lachlan, Lachlan Mceuen and I believe you struck my ute today."
"Your what? Oh, wait, I'm sorry. I'm from Hawaii recently transplanted and am not familiar with all your slang. Yes, I hit your ute, and I cannot tell you how badly I feel about it."
"I'll be getting an estimate for repairs, but I'll need your insurance number for the claim. Is this the best way to reach you? Are you in town?"
"Yes, I live on King Street near the intersection with King William. Let me get my insurance card," Kiana's voice was soft but confident.
Lachlan felt his anger and frustrations melting away as the woman spoke. Briefly, he tried to place himself in her shoes, having to relearn how to drive totally opposite from what she had been taught, and find her way in a city where he had lived his entire life.
Lachlan wrote her policy number then had an idea. "Pardon me for being blunt, but I'd like to meet you. I'm not mad, and I do not mean you harm, but I'd like to meet you so we can put faces with the names. I'm talking about meeting in open public with people all around. We could have a cuppa at a place called O'Neil's, it's on King St. about two blocks from King William. It won't be but twenty minutes and I'll be gone to back home and out of your life." After speaking he thought,
"what a dumb suggestion, people who've been in accidents don't get together to talk about it over coffee."
Kiana took a moment to mull it over. There something about Lachlan's voice which put her at ease. She felt like she could trust him, then for a moment she thought,
"and so did those women who encountered Jack the Ripper."
But Kiana decided to accept his offer, she could at least prove to him she was not just some idiot girl who collided with other people's vehicles. Besides, part of her line of work brought her in frequent contact with men from many walks of life. If there was one thing she could do, it was taking care of herself. Kiana worked as a clerk at an accounting firm but also did parttime work as a masseuse. She knew what it was like to have male clients in a room where they were alone together.
"OK," she finally replied after a pregnant pause. "I'm open right now, I can meet you in 15 minutes."
Her response caught Lachlan off guard as he was expecting a different answer. "Right," he said quickly, "could we make it a half hour? I need to get ready and it's a five-block walk, and my leg is hurting from a fall I had earlier today."
"OK," Kiana responded. "It's 2:30 now, let's say 3:10 in front of O'Neil's. I'll be wearing a flowery print top and blue jeans; dungarees I believe you call them. There's that large boulder with the plaque, do you know the spot? Oh, and I said I'm Hawaiian, and I have the look of a native Hawaiian: black hair and olive-toned skin."
"I know the boulder well; I wired the lighting that comes on at night. I'm a sparkie, and I'll be wearing a Melbourne Demons guernsey."
"I have no idea what any of that means, but Lachan remember, this is only a meet and greet, not a date. Yet, I feel that I owe you for hitting your truck."
"Right, but Happy Valentine's Day just the same, I'll see you at 3:10 at the boulder."
Lachlan dressed and ambled down to the street. His stride was hobbled from the injury but at least the pain pills were taking effect making the walk less arduous. He arrived at the meeting place at 3:07 and scanned for a woman fitting the description Kiana had provided. There were at least two dozen people in the vicinity, but none looked like how Kiana had described herself. Certainly, none appeared Hawaiian.
"Am I ever going to fucking learn?"
he asked himself, thinking he'd been stood up.
Across the street obscured by a lamppost, Kiana watched the man who appeared similar what she thought Lachlan would look like. She had no way of knowing what or who the Melbourne Demons were and what they might wear; she didn't know (or care) anything about sports, either in Australia or in the United States. But across the street at the boulder stood a man wearing what looked like a sports jersey. Nobody else in the area wore such a ridiculous looking shirt. When it looked like Lachlan was about to give up and return home, she ran across the street calling his name.
"Lachlan? I'm Kiana. I'm sorry, but I forgot my wallet and had to return home." The lie was good enough for Lachlan, who smiled when he saw her and made the introduction.
The couple briefly chatted idly and went into O'Neil's where Kiana made good on her promise to buy Lachlan a cup of coffee, cuppa in the local slang. They conversed some more and learned that they had a few things in common. First and foremost, both were unattached on Valentine's Day. They also talked about work. When Kiana said she worked for an accounting firm, Lachlan immediately rolled his eyes.
"What?" Kiana asked.
"Please don't tell me you work for Smyth and Lewis," he retorted. Kiana sensed something was amiss from the way he spat out the name.
"No, I work for Metzger's, is there something wrong with Smyth and Lewis? I've heard of them, but I've never been associated with them."
"It's not important. It just so happens that I know someone who works at that firm and she's probably having a better day than I am." Lachlan did not want to unload his failed romance story on someone he'd just met.
"Oh? And what makes this day so bad? I mean besides the obvious that a certain young lady who doesn't understand Aussie driving damaged your truck, I mean ute."
