Some of you may remember being introduced to you the joys of living with superheroes toward the end of last year. But little did I know, lurking in the shadows of a pseudo-identity, was the Real Jane.
In recent weeks, several events have come to light that lead me to believe this very special lady has hidden superpowers, although the exact nature of said abilities are not yet clear – there is, beyond doubt, a sense of curiosity with in me about her true, unspoken potential. Perhaps you’d like to decide for yourself?
The Chronicles of Jane Part 1
The Chronicles of Jane: An unlikely superhero?
We join our unlikely hero on a sunny spring Australian morning. Having just moved in to a new apartment, Jane is in a particularly good mood. Today is her first day of work, and as she now lives only a 3 minute walk from the train station, she’s been afforded an extra 20 minutes in bed. Life is good.
Whistling as she comes down the stairs, she flicks the switch on the radio, and cranks up ABC’s Classic FM - The World’s Most Beautiful Music - a serenade to the sensitive, and rejuvenation for the reflective.
Humming to herself, Jane takes out the stainless steel stovetop espresso maker from the cupboards. There is a distinct smell of pine – the smell of clean – that wafts out as the door swings open. Good morning world.
She fills the bottom chamber to the brim with water, and fills the little cup with scoops of coffee. It smells good. Freshly roasted from the foothills of Andes. Hmmmmmm. She loads it onto the stove. clickclickclickclickbooom! goes the gas, and fills the corner of the kitchen with a warm, blue glow.
The coffee pot was a gift from her dad upon returning from a stint abroad. It was second hand, something he had picked up off an old mate, and needed a loving home. What a perfect match. If it had been new, however, Jane might have recognised some familiar words written on the side of the box. Written in English – she is an experienced English teacher, after all. 12 cup espresso maker.
Before the long, the house is filled with the roasted aroma of nature’s gold. Eagerly, Jane fills her cup, adds a splash of milk, and tucks into her special treat. How generous. She thinks to herself – a whole extra cup. Her kitchen is fitted out with the latest IKEA range of cutlery and crockery. FÄRGRIK. She reads off the bottom of her super large coffee mugs. They were the biggest ones on the shelf that she could see at the time, and would be essential in the biting cold midyear winter months.
Jane packs her bag, adds her final touches to her make up and hair, adjusting her trademark handcrafted ear rings, carved out of the intestinal tract of 8748 sub-saharan African mosquitoes, and her colorful necklace, carefully moulded out of PVC, and makes her way down the drive way, with a slight spring in her step.
An unusual freshness flows over Jane’s cheeks in the morning air. There is an eagerness to her gait that she does not recognise. A dog barks. She flinches, blinking hard.
“Excuse me!” a passing pedestrian calls out as Jane stagers from craning her neck, startling her, but she continues, undetermined, blinking hard, confused. Stunned, perhaps. Her lips move to say sorry, but don’t quite get there. Ssssssssssoooossshhhh.
She thinks back through her morning – the long morning shower. The conversation with the leprechaun over a crunchy bowl of muesli. The final touches to her make up and accessories…it just….just…
Boo! She turns. There is nobody behind her. She wonders if her new boss would like mulled wine or a West Coast Eagles scarf for Christmas, although currently being September, it might be best to wait until the regular delivery of christmas catalogues in the mail come late October. She likes October, it’s better than August because she finds the ct consonant cluster so unromantic, and reminiscent of the guttural rumblings of Germanic accents, not that German is a language she would ever consider studying, unless Twisties were on special at Woolworths. Everyone could afford to study German on a diet of clearance-sale Twisties. Mind the yellow food colouring, though, it stains like all buggery and will find almost any crevice to hide in…for months…just like the Germans.
She gasps for air. Stunned. She looks at her watch, suspiciously. It’s Monday. Morning. Unless her watch is upside down….no…no…Monday morning. The train. Ah, yes, the train. She looks behind her once more. The last half block peers back at her like an incredulous pensioner with half a set of working hearing aids, somewhat like that old lady that used to live across the road when she was in primary school. Yes, the one who…The train.
Our hero crosses the road, checking each way two and a half times, making sure not to step on the white lines in the middle of the road. She makes a mental note to make a note about those damn Christmas catalogues for sometime in the distant future, and descends the walkway into the station to catch the arriving train into the city.
It’s going to be a long day.
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