Writing 101 Day 2: Slipping

Often it happens just like this. I envy the “Jumpers” who can control when they go as well as where they can go. I’m not a “Jumper”. I guess I’m more of a “Slipper”

 

I’ve never had that their ability. I get a window of opportunity and I can take it or forget about it. I think it’s a thinning in the fabric of space / time I can sense and traverse. All I know is I’m here and then I’m there. Not knowing when I’m going means I always keep a bag handy just in case. Passport, pills, packed clothes in a carry-on bag. One at home, one at work.

 

And so it happened today. I felt it before anything else. All of a sudden a massive change of pressure in my sinuses, my skin feels tight, actual f*cking sparks on the hairs on my arms.

 

I stand up and I look around like a meerkat peering over the walls of my cubicle, no-ones looking. Some are at lunch, some are skiving, most are in meetings. I log off my computer hurriedly change from my shoes into the sandals I keep in my desk draw. In go the shoes, in goes the shirt. Jeans, sandals and t-shirt. Perfect.

 

The air leaves my lungs and I have just enough time to grab a hold of my travelling bag.

When I ”Slip” it feels like falling off the back of a bench or chair. That giddy feeling, that sense of “uh –oh”

I fall backwards and the ceiling of the office seems to zoom away into a point and disappear. Warm, suddenly I’m very warm.

And then a freaking American Airlines Airbus roars over head.

I’m laying on sand thank God. Concrete is always a bad sign. I l prop myself up and shield my eyes from the morning sun. Enterprise Beach, Barbados.

I’m getting good at this.

 

The sea air fills my lungs. The sand is warm and dry, bonus – didn’t land in the sea this time. I pick up my bag and trudge up the beach. There’s Mr Simmons, in his usual place selling soda’s and Coconut Water to the tourists. I always like his double takes when he sees me.

 

“Again Smiley? How come I never see you pass on the way to the beach”

“Teleportation” I laugh

He laughs and he goes back to fleecing Elderly Americans.

 

I walk up from the beach over the rocks protecting land from sea and into the carpark. Its still morning. I can hear the traffic, still beep beeping away.

 

I take my time walking up the hill to the Happy Landings Guest House. I need to time this perfectly or there will be questions, so I dawdle a little. Stopping to have breakfast, fried fish in a bun and cold fruit juice slushy. I give it a half an hour before I step through the guest house door.

“Morning Chills”

Chills, jumps at my voice. A young man, with the physique of a linebacker but as gentle as a mother hen

“What is this? What a life you have!” Turning to reach for a guest room key as he speaks.

“Joy of self employment” I lie. “A-A just landed from Florida.”

He nods sagely. Everyone in Barbados seems to have memorised the flight schedules. You tell them when you arrived and from where and they’ll be able to tell yo the flight number and how long it takes.

“You got through customs quick” his eyebrow raised questioning

I say nothing and just scratch my nose and smile.

He smiles back, thinking he’s in on the secret. A man with contacts. A man who moves around. A good man to know.

“I’m just going to drop my case in the room and then I’m going to go and surprise Dad”

“You surprise him so often he’’ll be expecting you”

Smart man Chills, smart man.

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