An Odd Kind Of Wonderful

Chapter Four

"Has he?" Josh, lonely? Didn't he have his sock collection to hold his attention?

"Oh, yeah. But maybe it's not your leaving, maybe it's the whole Y2K thing." Georgia says. "He's been writing out little notes in—what is it, computer code? The ones and zeroes? It's kinda' stressing me out by extension," she laughs, "But if it helps put his mind to rest, I don't think I'm bothered. What do you think?"

"About what?"

"The Y2K bug."

I sigh. "My Dad reckons it's crap. But I guess there's some sense to it. It's about computer code isn't it? And those numbers only go up to 1999? How do they go past that?"

Georgia giggles. I'm trying to talk about a possible dawning apocalypse and this girl giggles. "I don't know, Nathan. But I'm not going to worry about it. What's that old saying—'live every day like it's your last'. This day isn't really different to any other day."

"It's the new century in a few hours." I say. "It's a bit different. But I know what you mean. Do you live every day like it's your last, Georgia?"

"No way!" Georgia snorts out a laugh. "I'd be dead by now. But it's a nice way to think, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I suppose it is."

"Yeah," Georgia repeats, like an echo. "It's been nice talking to you, Nathan."

"You, too," I say, and go to hang up the phone.

"Wait!" shouts Georiga.

"Yeah?"

"Can we meet up?" she says. "Like, can we go and see a movie? Or a band? As friends. When I get to go home."

I want to tell Georgia that's she's probably going to be transferred to the anorexia ward, where she'll spend another glory-filled six weeks, depending on whether or not she gets better. But I don't. Instead, I smile against the reciever and thank everyone there is to thank for this lovely girl who doesn't really have a proper grasp on the situation. "Sure," I tell her. "Now go buy some pizza for Josh. And make sure he doesn't colour-code your socks while you're not looking. He used to do that all the time. Pissed me off no end."

Georgia laughs, says, "Bye, Nathan," and the line goes dead.

-

It's four in the afternoon and I'm packing a small, black backpack with all my money in my wallet, safe and piggy bank from years ago I only just found under my bed combined, a jacket in case it gets cold somehow, my bus pass, a water-bottle, my blue Polaroid and a few muesli bars. I feel like I might as well have packed for a hike through the Apalachian trail, but I figure it's better to be prepared.

Mum appears in the doorway. "Where are you off to?"

She looks over me, sees my 'Frogstomp'-inspired t-shirt with the least daggy pair of jeans I own, a pair of Levi's Mum bought for the year ten formal last year (it wasn't as formal as it sounds) and my black canvas shoes. For me, this is 'dressed up'. "Leichhardt." I say. "Dad said I could go to one of my mate's parties."

"Dad said that?" Mum raises an eyebrow.

"It's nothing big," I say. "It's just...It's just Wills and a few of his friends, few of my friends."

"Will the parents be home?"

"Yeah,"

"Are you sure?"