Lauren Korenblyum

The narrative, The City, aims to explore an individual’s perception of the Australian landscape, and the ways in which this can change over time. Lauren took inspiration from mentor texts studied in her unit on Contemporary Australian Experiences.

The City

The walk to the CBD was surprisingly calm. The sky was cloudless as Joel embarked on his journey, making his way through the quiet streets. He had expected more looks, perhaps an occasional drunken leer, but the uncharacteristic emptiness was relieving. He passed roads with broken gravel, grassy paths unkempt and dewy, alleys with dilapidated walls cocooning into dark shields, only disturbed by the occasional flicker of the broken overhead light, a buzz echoing, causing Joel’s ears to twitch from the disruption. He passed apartment complexes, graffiti-ridden with profanities and saddening confessions all moulded into short strings of words and symbols. Free of bearded ruffians with unfitted trench coats and flip-flops following him, Redfern almost felt welcoming. Almost.

The re-emergence of pedestrians and sounds of roaring engines reminded Joel of his purpose today. Soon the cracks in the walls were replaced with brick, and the exposed tree roots made way for cemented comfort. Joel’s feet welcomed this changed, and he quickened his steps to reach the approaching buildings. Tall buildings, not unlike those he was accustomed to, but these were glazed with a metallic elegance while his were encased in depths of brown and decay. Cars filled the narrow lanes, honking as angry drivers caterwauled and gestured at each other over the shrill beeps of the traffic lights. People shoved past him, hastily throwing about excuse-me’s and pardon’s but never losing sight of their path, almost trampling Joel in the process.

He remembered the last time he came here. It was mid-February, and the heat was unbearable. Pulling him by the hand, his mum marvelled and pointed at the sights to see.

“Look at that Joel! That’s the UBS building, bankers get a hefty wage over there”

His brain glossing over those foreign terms, focused on gripping tightly to her, for wherever they were was too crowded, and so darn hot! His mum kept on - how she remembered the paths like yesterday, scoffed at the ‘overly scandalous’ attire of the female workers - until they came to a halt at a large structure, doors substituted with glass panes revolving round and round, leaving small gaps to enter.

Joel was enthralled by the building’s intricacies. The marble exterior was adorned with bits of cobblestone engravings, glowing with light like golden sunshine escaping through the cracks. Looking through the glass to the inside, he could see woollen spreads, woven with expertise, tossed over leather couches, bright and luxurious. A man quickly pushed past them and ran to catch the next opening in the glass, muttering a nonchalant apology, briefcase clutched to his chest. Joel looked over at his mum to ask why the man did that, when he noticed her tears. Eyes squinted, trails of liquid sorrow and regret adorned her reminiscent features. As she noticed him watching, she shifted slightly, hands resting on his shoulders, a slight grin replacing her frown.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s just been a while.”

Not understanding, he asked her what was wrong.

“Nothing Joel, but promise me, promise you’ll come here again when you’re older, alright?”

Still uncertain, Joel agreed, and they embarked on their voyage back to Redfern.

Joel approached the building, and his eyes lit up in infantile delight. He rushed to the glass panes, revolving like he remembered, and delighted in stepping through the opening. He passed the leather couches, which had now taken on the monochromatic scheme of modernism, and practically glided to the elevator, giddy with anticipation. Leaning against the attached railing, Joel watched the doors slowly close, then halt inches away from each other, and re-open.

A man entered, and immediately the air had purified with cologne. Adorned head to toe in a tuxedo, everything about him spoke to his status; slacks ironed and weaved to perfection, shoes, long and uncreased, polished as if they had come straight from the window at RM Williams. His hair was sleek, not a single loose strand had escaped its gelled confinement.

The man turned his gaze towards Joel. Inquisitive eyes scanned him up and down, observed his fraying hem and worn tie, and asked:

“What are you doing here?”

Almost accusatory, his voice echoed with a cultivated nuance, his words laced with years of linguistic expertise. And yet this didn’t faze Joel.

“I’m here for an interview.”

Eyes squinting at the man, looking him over, he noticed the other’s abashed expression. Caught off guard, he turned away from Joel, choosing to fiddle with his bag handle. Gazing at the doors as they finally closed, elevator beginning to rise, Joel knew his mother would grin proudly at him when he told the story over dinner.

Exiting the building after the interview, elated, even the traffic lights sounded more melodic.

The CBD was rather welcoming after all. •