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‘A bell stops ringing.
Autumn leaves fall in my path.
I am alone now.’
The poem sounded a bit like the ones Helen used to write to Oliver in school. ‘Was that a haiku?’ she whispered.
‘I don’t know,’ murmured Elle. ‘But it was bad.’
The speaker stepped back from the mic and a flutter of apologetic applause rippled through the crowd.
‘It was indeed a haiku,’ a softly-spoken man in glasses and a cassock ventured. ‘I’m Max Savage, sharing stage’s creator and what we’re trying to achieve here is people feeling that they finally have permission to be radically honest. It’s all about connection: that if we’re finally able to speak our truth, then and only then can we be fully understood. You can join the speaker’s queue there.’ He gestured towards the end of the chain. ‘It’s pretty quiet at this time of day.’
Elle exhaled slowly, took Helen’s hand and marched to the end of the line. They both squinted into the darkness.
‘How are we ever going to find him here?’
‘We will!’ Elle hissed, sidling up to a particularly hairy guy who formed the end of the queue. Helen could see her looking menacingly at the scraggly black hairs on his shoulder. She bet Elle wished she had her tweezers with her right now.
‘So what’s our plan of action?’ Helen nervously pulled the bodysuit away from her hips, it was a bit too clingy on her bum.
‘Why don’t you go on stage?’ Elle folded her arms.
‘What?!’
‘At least he’ll definitely see you there.’
‘Elle …’
‘Yes …’
‘This isn’t where I imagined meeting Brody …’
‘Well funnily enough this isn’t how I imagined spending my day either …’
Helen winced. She could go on stage, maybe? But what could she say? ‘Hi I’m Helen, a desperate single woman looking for … oh hi Brody …’
‘What do I talk about though? I can’t really go on stage looking like this either.’ The body suit clung like a second skin to Helen.
The person next to Elle let out a little snort. ‘Darling, what you need to talk about is your relationship with that beautiful body of yours!’
Helen did a double take. The person wore a PVC sailor outfit, had dark stubble and was definitely wearing mascara.
‘Honestly darling, if I looked like you, I would take it off!’ The line moved forwards and the person gave Elle and Helen a coquettish wave as they stepped onto the stage.
‘Hello beauties.’ They draped themself over the mic. ‘So today on this sharing stage, this place for openness, love and acceptance, I was going to talk about myself …’ they paused for a moment to do an imaginary hair flick away from their grade one haircut ‘but then I realised that the world isn’t all about me!’
A ripple of laughter went through the crowd.
‘I know it’s shocking, but it’s true. It’s actually about how we see each other and the stories we tell ourselves about our own self-worth.’ A murmur of agreement bubbled in the dark. ‘Just now I was speaking to the most gorgeous woman, well apart from meobviously,’ they did a little curtsy, ‘who didn’t realise just how beautiful she was.’
Helen’s heart thumped louder in her chest.
‘Please can you welcome to the stage … my new friend!’ The person reached out their hand towards Helen.
‘Mio dios,’ whispered Elle as Helen was dragged on to the stage to a round of applause.
Helen adjusted her utility belt awkwardly. The stage lights made it hard to see anything past the front row: where some people were sleeping, others kissing, some were in a deep conversation about the positive impact of cuddling on your oxytocin levels. None looked remotely like Brody or Alice. There were no tiger jumpsuits or sequined flapper caps. Thank. God.
