Bulky's 'Mclaren'-Personal Narrative

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McLaren Divvying A home that echoes five lifetimes is sequentially hollowed. Bulky, anonymous men and their trolleys bare walls and reveal tabs of pristine carpet. Dust takes flight in panic; unprepared and entirely disorientated as its empire is dismantled. On to unfamiliar ledges, lintels and landings it settles in surrender. Lint, litter and lost things rest in intermittent rows along the skirting – the secret stashes of now removed side boards and book cases. Worn floor board halls, picture hooks and odd imperfections in sound plaster walls reverberate a life time of activity; a presence. Dust-laden memories are boxed; wrapped in past editions of “the Australian” by a lone daughter, choking back tears. She pauses and sets down a miniature…show more content…
She does not want the stuff; the plates, the playing cards, the bed linen – she wants their collective impression of home. She wants the intangible yet vivid impression that life has played out here, amongst these things and so defines the space. It is as though there is an invisible web of memory around her; one composed of love, life, happiness and trial, joining each of the things she packs and every corner of the space. It is like a spider’s web set between trees, broken strand at a time by the unstoppable wind of…show more content…
Its aluminium legs jiggle in her hand. Its paint has been worn bare by devoted play. It is wrapped, boxed and farewelled. Within her, another gust of wind - another strand is breaking. Another tear graces her cheek. The men continue for much of the afternoon, tessellating an entire home into a van until she finds herself in the cavernous space alone. A space it is; merely a shell whose reality seems foreign to fond memories. The light has changed, and unfamiliar reflections surprise her. It is large with a newly acquired echo, like a theatre; be it one devoid of cast, set and script. Floors are floors and walls are walls, distinguished plainly by the battered skirtings. Her footsteps feel empty and queer; noise seems to play differently. Entering the sitting room, geometric shafts of late afternoon sun arrive on the floor, curious as to the whereabouts of the furniture on which they had previously rested. An expected smell of oak is overpowered by a lingering odour of perspiration, and that of boxes, tape and newspaper. Lighting fixtures hang dully in remembrance – often the only highlight in bare

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