Asten woke me at 9am with a message. 'Check out Instagram #cageman. You've just been called a #melbourneicon.'
I typed #cageman into Instagram and sure enough, my work from the night before popped up. Someone had posted it with the hashtag Melbourne icon.
Ten minutes later Asten texted again. 'You're a hit #cageman'.
'Hardly,' I messaged back. I was surprised anyone had even seen my work, given the quarantine situation.
'Shall we get a takeaway coffee? Somewhere near you?'
I thought about his toxic girlfriend and how she was older and helping him out with money. But she wasn't my problem, she was his problem, so I said 'Sure. Let's meet at Mario's on Chapel St, there's some park benches that haven't been roped off near there.'
When I got to Mario's Asten had already found a nearby park bench and was slumped over the table, propping his chin up with one hand and holding a long black coffee in the other. 'I should've slept,' he said by way of a greeting.
'What? You haven't been to bed yet?'
'Nup. Don't ask. So, how does it feel being a #melbourneicon?'
'Oh ... I'm hardly a Melbourne icon.'
'If someone has snapped and posted your work in a pandemic, you're an icon.'
'I need to eat. You having something?'
'Just coffee.'
I looked over at Mario's. There was a queue out the door of almost ten people, all keeping their metre distance.
'It's busy,' I said.
'Yeah, you can't keep Melburnians away from their coffee for too long. Even in a quarantine.'
I went and joined the queue. There was a couple in front of me, he looked older, fifty perhaps, and she was maybe in her thirties. She had her head on his shoulder and would occasionally look up at him with such love and devotion. My heart ached for a relationship like this. I didn't know what I was doing here having coffee with some guy who had a toxic girlfriend.
Mario's had placed chairs upside down on all the tables and moved them to the side of the café. Then they'd moved the cash register to near the front door. The girl taking orders was wearing a face mask and latex gloves. A guy beside her was spraying the counter with disinfectant spray. I felt like I was risking my life just ordering a coffee. My heart started racing. The loving couple in front of me could be infected. The girl taking my order could be infected. She could have coronavirus all over her hands. Who knows if latex gloves do anything? Should I even eat anything from here?
I stepped up to order, deciding against having any food. Who knew what hygiene measures were being used out the back there. 'Just a regular latte,' I said.
When I returned with my latte, Asten had already finished his coffee. He looked at me with soppy red eyes and chewed at a dry spot on his lip. Our conversation got clogged in a septic water tank, ideas stagnant, mosquitoes buzzing to distraction. I felt like asking 'Why are you so quiet?' But for some reason I couldn't. I put up with his silence and I made small talk about the Laneway Festival and how I adore iced tea, hating the inane words that fell from my mouth like knocked-out teeth. He looked like he hadn't slept. I wondered if he was defying the orders and seeing his mates. Maybe he'd seen the girlfriend last night after we'd parted. Who knows how many people he was exposing me to?
'What did you do last night after we left town?' I asked.
'Oh, I just couldn't sleep. Sometimes I just need to go home and put some music on, you know, spend some time by myself. I think the quarantine is getting to me. I like being with people. I'm a social being.'
'I'm an introvert,' I stated. 'I think quarantine suits me. I'm kind of dreading it going back to normal. You know, all that pressure of going out on the weekends and stuff. The fear of missing out. Right now I have no FOMO as no one is doing anything. I like it. I can sit in my room and draw all day.'
'I'm up and down,' Asten said. 'Some things I like, some things I'm really missing.'
It almost made me want to vomit, but I asked, 'Are you still seeing your girlfriend?'
'Yes.'
I couldn't understand this possessive feeling I was having for this guy. We were just going out on the streets and painting and now all I was having was coffee with him, but I felt as though I was getting short changed somehow, like I was giving him more and getting less back. My heart was in a very dangerous game of dodgeball.
I felt like going home and shaking off this feeling. Yet when he asked, 'hey, should we catch a tram into town and check out our new work in the daylight?' I agreed.
We sat on the tram in silence. There were only a handful of other passengers on the tram on this sunny Saturday. People were clickbait. Our eyes clicked on each other and passed over to new material, we're content in this content-driven world, skim reading each other.
When we arrived at the UUS there was a girl having her photo taken next to my work.
'Here's the artist,' Asten said, pushing me forward in the back. 'You can take her photo.'
The two girls looked at me expectantly.
'No,' I said. 'He's only kidding.'
'She painted it last night,' Asten said, standing on a milk crate. The girls were made up like dolls; foundation caked on thick, eyebrows coloured in, lips glossed. The brunette had false eyelashes, the blonde had a thick plait swept over one shoulder.
'It's very good,' one of the girls said in a European accent.
Asten stepped off the milk crate towards them.
'Where are you two from?' he asked.
'Slovenia,' the blonde answered.
'Really? What are you doing here? Are you international students?'
'Yes. We can't get home at the moment.'
'Jesus. What are you going to do? Are you stuck? Have you got money?' he asked.
'Of course. Our parents are helping. But we can't work or go to class anymore.'
'Well, you're lucky you have each other.' Asten lowered his voice. The brunette looked as though she was blushing. Was he standing here flirting with them, right in front of me? They were beautiful.
'You should walk around the laneways on this beautiful sunny day, they're the only gallery open. Start down Flinders Lane,' he said, excitedly. I wondered if he was about to offer to be their tour guide.
'Okay,' the brunette said, her smile as pure as white lace. 'Thanks.' They turned and walked the other way. When Asten turned to me, he looked like he'd greatly enjoyed this exchange. It had recharged his batteries. Where was the tired guy from before? Now he looked animated and energised, like talking to two beautiful overseas students had given him a massive hard on. It was gross.
I felt exasperated by every emotion this guy was winding out of me on a conveyer belt; here's adoration, place it on frustration, click it into uncertainty, snap it into despair. What was I left with? What was he constructing here? He was looking at me with a wry smile, like he'd wound me up just the way he enjoys.
'I'm going home,' I said.
'But we were just getting started,' Asten said.
Started with what, I wondered. 'Nah, I have to go.' I turned to walk away. Just then, two policemen walked into the UUS.
'What are you two doing here?' the taller one asked, his thumb hooked into his belt.
'We were just going for a walk,' Asten said, 'Getting some exercise.'
The stouter policeman asked, 'Where's your active wear?' The taller one laughed.
Asten readjusted his black beanie on his head and shuffled his feet on the spot.
'We could give you a fine,' the tall one said, taking a step towards Asten. 'I don't believe you're out exercising. I believe you're up to no good.'
Asten squinted his eyes, but remained unusually silent.
'Show us your ID.' The stout one demanded. 'We'll take down your details.'
'What for?' Asten asked.
'So we know who you are.' My heart started beating, I didn't know where this was heading. We weren't doing anything wrong. We were just out walking. I didn't know why Asten was being questioned and the policemen were mostly ignoring me. It was like I wasn't even there.
'Show us your ID,' the taller one repeated.
Asten fumbled in his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a driver's licence. The shorter policeman wrote his details down in a notebook. 'You still at this address?' he asked.
'Yeah,' Asten said.
The cop handed him his licence back.
The taller one, using his height as intimidation, lifted his chin and announced 'You're on the record now.' The two of them smiled at each other.
'Hope you're not eating from any wet markets, hey?' the stout one said.
'Your people have totally screwed the world,' the tall one stated.
'My parents are from Taiwan,' Asten answered.
'Same difference,' the shorter guy said.
Asten's face was going red. I wanted to say something to support him, but felt powerless.
The tall one nodded at me and said, 'Have a good day,' and they walked off together.
I turned to Asten. 'What the hell was that?' I asked, once they'd rounded the corner. 'Did they fine you?'
'I don't think so,' he said.
'What was that then?'
'That was white supremacy. Intimidation. Blatant racism.' He tugged at the cuff of his sleeve. 'They are thugs dressed in a police uniform. The bastards.' He walked over to a milk crate and looked as if he was about to kick it, but instead he sat down with his head in his hands.
I felt so sorry for him being targeted like that. 'That was awful,' I said to him. 'I'm sorry for ...'
'It happens all the time,' he said. 'This is a racist country.'
'I haven't seen anything like that before,' I admitted.
'I'm telling you it happens. You shouldn't be so shocked.'
'We should tell somebody,' I said.
'Who are we going to tell? The police? Ha.'
'They shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I'm so sorry.'
'Stop apologising, it makes it worse.' Asten's shoulders were deflated, his whole posture was like the wind had been taken out of him. I felt like I'd just seen someone I respected take money out of the donation box, that the thing I believed in – the police – that they were here to protect us and uphold the law – were actually flawed and small minded and dubious. And if I couldn't believe in the police, who could I believe in?
'I thought you were going home,' Asten said. 'Well go on then. It's time to go.'
He was suffering from the double whammy of humiliation and the fact that someone was there to witness the humiliation. There was nothing I could say or do to make it better.
'Okay,' I said. 'See you.'
'See you.'