On The Park Jetty

Sitting on the park jetty, waiting for Saffa — who probably wouldn’t be on time if the date took place in her bedroom — I found myself having the most profound realisation of my life about bánh mi. Maybe it was the Vietnam trip I just took, or maybe it was some guy feeding it to the ducks earlier, but I couldn’t shake the epiphany: that the bánh mi in Marrickville was superior to the ones in Hanoi. Seriously.

The question is not why. The why is simple: the food quality is better in Sydney and the Vietnamese ones are too meaty. No, the question is how. How could the Vietnamese let this happen? How could the ‘OG’s’ be beaten at their own game by a couple of sunburnt first gen immigrants? And speaking of burnt — today I have a surprise for Saffa, a couple of joints that I’ve stuffed into my socks. A small token for our third date. And what’s more, I’m sitting in the centre of the park, the perfect panopticon of a place where she can’t sneak up and scare me for once. 

As my legs dangle over the lilies below, I see a mangy duck trying to make his way back to his friends who are evading him like he was the duck devil, and I can’t help but imagine myself as the sad duck. Not really fully belonging here or there, too much for some and too little for others. Just like the wilting lily beneath me that is… moving towards me very quickly?

The lily bursts up and a creature from the depths grabs my leg with malicious intent dragging me down.

“GOTCHA, BITCH!”  

****

After a short scolding from the park rangers and a lot of guilty ‘yep, got it, won’t happen again’ from Saffa and me, we were let off with a cautionary warning and a month-long ban.

As we walk off, I nudge her wet shoulder playfully. “I would ask you to be more normal in public, but I know that’s like asking the sun to stop rising, huh?”

“No, it’s like asking me to be on time.” A small smile tugs at her lips as she peels a spare lily off of her back. “Sorry for destroying your joints by the way. How’s this for weed?” 

She passes me the lily. I hold the wet thing and shoot her a face like she’s crazy (she is).

“It’s duckweed.” She smiles. “You didn’t know? It’s like one of the few plants with floating roots. It ekes out its own living half above and half below water. It’s free. Kind of like you, Riley.” 

“Because of my complex genealogy and struggles with being a first generation immigrant?”

“...Uh sure that too. I was thinking more so ‘cause you kinda float around aimlessly.”