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SupportCongratulations to Sale’s Amber Irving-Guthrie for winning third prize for Two Minute Noodle Tears in the 2024 Rise Up! Regional Writers Rise Short Story Competition.
Amber Irving-Guthrie has been living in Sale on beautiful Gunaikurnai country for the last seven years. She’s been lucky enough to share other people’s stories as an ABC radio presenter and sings/yells her own stories on stage with local punk band Two Last Names. Most recently she’s been working with Takeover Latrobe Valley, helping teenagers publish and broadcast their stories on the ABC.
They resurrected my belief in love. For a little while at least.
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After leaving my house and the person I’ve loved for most of my adult life, so quickly it was like it caught on fire, I became a guest in a multitude of new homes. Homes that I’d never been to before. Homes that weren’t mine. It started out of necessity. I needed to find new shelter. But then I slowly became obsessed with thinking about where I should travel to.
Who will take me in, and what quirks their house might have.
First, I decided to go east. I stayed with my dear friend, who at the time was one of the only people I could be a bit of a mess around. I could cry into a cup of two-minute noodles on his porch without judgment, adding some extra salt to the MSG and preservatives. I could drink beer on a school night and not feel bad about it.
I stayed there until I decided where I should go next. I had a bunch of time to fill – six months to be exact, but the only thing I’m more scared of than wasting time is spending time by myself, so I always made sure I was in arm’s length of someone I adored.
Without much thought I flew to Africa. I purchased travel insurance during the flight. Did you know the fancy airlines have Wi-Fi on flights now? It’s a shame really. It’s one of the last places we’re safe from the noise. It didn’t feel right at all. Not much did, but I couldn’t predict how severe the not-quite-right feelings would get.
We stayed in a gated community. Security guards with guns let us in. There was a lot of talk about race and how high the crime rate was. How dangerous it is. But when I asked them if they’ve been robbed, they said no. When I asked them if they’d seen violence, they said no. They then flicked on the news and continued to gossip and live their life in fear.
Next, I flew to Tassie, with other pesky mainlanders. I slept in a van out the front of my best friend’s house. It was so nice watching them frolic around the lounge and kitchen. They resurrected my belief in love. For a little while at least.
I finally decided to tackle the thing I was dreading, the company I was the least keen on keeping: my own. I drove across the Nullarbor in my Ute, which was still registered in her name. In the tray, I had my swag, my bike, a surfboard, an esky and two jerry cans
(Although I still managed to run out of fuel - classic).
I stayed at the house of every surfer’s dream with an outside shower and the inescapable smell of salt in every corner. I stayed with the sister of my colleague. They’re so alike it was like entering a parallel universe. I crashed on the lounge of someone’s family home. We watched movies and I pretended I knew them for years instead of hours. I discovered how comforting excessive couch cushions are when you’re so far away from home and your old life.
I still didn’t have my own house that I could return to. We were waiting for ours to be sold.
The closest I felt to being home was in my Ute, and the closest I felt to believing I would never feel at home again was sleeping in my swag in the outback. I’d always sleep in the swag with her. We bought it together. She’d tell me to zip it up properly so the bugs wouldn’t sneak in. She helped me roll it up tight when I drove away from her for the last time.
I will never forget punching the mattress of my swag, heaving with tears. Missing her in every organ of my body. Wondering how I lost my entire life so severely.
I was without phone reception and without distraction. Every moment can be boiled down to connection or distraction, and I had neither. I told you I didn’t want to be alone. But I needed to be. And only me and the rocky cliffs of the Nullarbor know what we both went through.
And finally, woven in between all of my trips, there was a safe haven where I could escape from it all. A house in the bush with art on the walls and floor. There was so much of her in everything. I’d wash the dishes with a bar of bath soap. She’d smoke outside and sometimes blow it in my mouth. She’d give me hippie deodorant that I’m convinced made me smellier. I left my stuff strewn out on the front veranda. She’d tease me about all the space it took up, but then she’d constantly buy me more stuff from the op shop. I felt so comfortable in that house. She has a knack of doing that with people. So comfy that I even wrote a song about my ex there. I cried and cried, and I showed her. She said it was beautiful and I could do no wrong. But I absolutely did do a lot of wrong.
It’s been six months now and I’m sick of being strong. I’m sick of resisting her company, so next time she invites me I’ll drive down that familiar highway and I’ll return to the place where I used to feel so at ease. It’ll be good for me to see her house setup slightly differently, to see her look at me slightly differently, to hear that her words come out slightly differently. It’ll be different. And it might be slightly good for me.
And I’ll drive back in my Ute to the house I live in now where I pay rent and I’m not sleeping on anyone’s couch. I’m finally starting to feel like I belong. I’m not there yet, but one day I’ll be home.
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It was an absolute treat being involved with the inaugural Regional Writers Rise Festival, held June 22–
23, 2024. The festival united the Federation University Professional and Creative Writing Internship Program (interns, you were amazing), mentors, festival supporters, industry partners, and passionate local writers and readers in a vibrant, supportive and creative atmosphere, encouraging the community to join a wonderful collection of diverse events.
NEXT YEAR'S COMPETITION — We've just heard from the Regional Writers Rise Festival Organisers that this wonderful event will be on again mid-next year, and that it's best to keep an eye on the festival website for the short story competition launch in early-ish 2025.