August 28th, 1997

So this is a fictional story based on my parent's families first arrival in Australia in honour of their 20th annaversary which was celebrated today! Love you Mum and Dad! xx

November 13^th, 1969

I wake up in a busy airport without having any idea as to how I got here. I’m sitting next to a stranger’s family in the lounge area outside gates 17 and 18. I guess that I might be at Essendon Airport but I'd never actually been here before; only told about it by my parents. Speaking of whom, I notice they are nowhere in sight nor do I have any luggage with me. What am I doing here? I decide to wander around. I try to look up at the flight information boards but my eyesight fails me and I can’t read any times or dates. I wheel over the gate desk where a man is attending to an elderly couple. When he is done, he turns and peers over the desk, at me. I have to tilt my head up to speak to him.

“How can I help you Miss?”

“I was just wondering if you could tell me the date?”. The man looks at me confused and then his face turns to pity. I knew he must have been thinking, poor child, poor retarded child. I decided to ignore that look this time.

“Its November 13^th, Miss”. I look around and then back at him before asking the next question.

“And what year?”. His eyebrows raised, more pity.

“19-67” he said each number slowly. I smile and nod. Ah huh!

“Thankyou sir, that will be all”.

I wheel away to a spot in the distance but still within full view of the gates, the date ringing in my head. November 13th, 1967. I remember why I am here. Though I am not actually here. I do not exist….at least not yet. Just as I turn around, I hear the announcement over the loudspeaker that flight 167 has just landed. My heart begins to pound as I wait for what feels like ages. People finally begin to appear through the gates, mostly families, all dark skinned, all speaking fast, foreign languages. They must have been either Bangali or Hindu. I stay put but keep my eyes peeled for one family in particular. Finally, they emerged. Two boys ran out in front already engaging in a game of tag. Their parents and sister walking out behind. The boys both wear t-shirts and shorts with dirty sneakers that scream years of playing soccer out on muddy fields. The youngest of the boys was 8 years old. He has a happy, round face with big round brown eyes and curly black hair. You can tell he is the cheekiest out of the siblings. The youngest is also the most familiar out of them all and I know he would turn out to be the most important to me. His brother is just a few years older and their sister is the middle child. I watch the young girl who is watching her two mischievous brothers, rolling her eyes. She wears a pretty floral dress and her dark hair stops just past her shoulders. The first thing I think is that she has a sweet face. I want badly to go over and put my arms around her. I want to meet her, for I already know how her fate would prevent us from ever meeting in the future. Then I remember I do not exist, not to them at least. Though, I would later be told how much she would have loved me. Lastly, I look up at their parents. The mother also wearing a long dress and the father in jeans and a polo. I am surprised at how seemingly westernised they already are. The children and parents all speak English with foreign accents. The mother is wide eyed and almost in awe, the father not quite so mesmerised but rather content. The couple are beautiful like their children. Much younger than the last time I saw them. The father stood with a smile crawling across his face and I realised he was facing in my direction. His features were still familiar even though it was his wife that I would know longer than him. A kind smile that I knew matched a kind soul. He had a lovely personality that would later be passed on to his youngers son. I long also to give him a hug, but his eyes are not looking at me, they look beyond. I watch him say something to his wife who clings onto his arm. I can’t quite hear him but I guess it was something like “We made it”. I wonder if in this moment, they are scared or just relieved.

February 18^th, 1957

I wake up and find myself in yet another airport, only this time the air is much muggier than the last one. The airport itself is completely different to the one in Essendon. I looked for the gate numbers, 23 and 24. Huh, am I in Queensland now? My next thought was going to be What a crazy day. But that made me wonder if it was the same day. A young women who looked like she was in her twenties is sitting next to me, flipping through a magazine. She seems nice enough.

“Excuse me?… um… excuse me, Miss?”. The woman looks up at me surprised. “Hi, I was just wondering if you could tell me the date?”. She smiles, thankfully it’s not pity I see. Confusion? Maybe.

“February 18^th, 1957”. She seems taken-aback by her own answer. “Sorry” she shakes her head. “Don’t know why just added the year, of course you already know that”. I chuckle with her but really, I’m thinking, thank goodness, I didn’t have to ask. I wheel away and contemplate getting a snack while I wait for the next family to arrive. Then I realised I have nothing with me. So here I sit once again, facing the gates waiting for international passengers to arrive. Wait… so I just travelled back in time, again? How am I doing this? More importantly, why am I not bothered by it at all?  I watch as a bunch of European travellers descended out of the gates. Most speak English and then there is a mixture of different Scandinavian nationalities. The family that I search for are Swedish. Pale, blue eyed and blonde haired, except for the young girl; she has dark hair. Strange, I think. But very pretty just the same.  

I find myself watching the family closely for any signs of discomfort or dysfunction. It makes me sad when I recall the stories about them. How the father was a short-tempered, alcoholic with a bit of a personality disorder of sorts. he was a troubled man to say the least but I like to think he was once a better man. A man that was worth his wife's love. The mother was hopeless at defending or helping herself let alone her children. Though she loved them dearly. The children would each be affected by this in the future but all in different ways. Yet here I am sitting right in front of this very family just watching. A thought crosses my mind I should help them before it’s too late. Then I realise how absolutely, absurd that sounds. What am I gonna do? Besides if this is real time travel, then I don’t want to go messing around their lives now; It could change what happens in the future and therefore what happens to me. No matter how disturbing the circumstances, it’s what makes them who they are in the future and I don’t think I want to change that to be honest.

The young girl I have never met and knew I never would. Though I know who she is; I have seen photos of her but was told that her life ended before mine began. I wish that I could go up and introduce myself but realise this would freak her out. It would freak them all out. She has two older brothers. The younger of the two is a kind and sensitive soul, his brother much more serious and stubborn. I notice there is one family member missing. The last child, another blond haired, blue eyed, girl would be born five years after the family had moved to Queensland from Sweden. The youngest would turn out to be the rebellious type, the free spirited one. She would also be incredibly beautiful and although she may experience a rough childhood, she would turn out to be a wonderfully kind and loving mother. I watch the mother and father carefully now. The father looked tired and grumpy from the long flight. Not surprised I suppose. I found myself wondering what he thought of me in the little time that he knew me. He wasn't well when I was a baby - mentally - and passed away shortly after. The mother also looked a little exhausted and nervous as she glanced around the airport. She calls out to her kids in English and gathers them all together as the father consults with a lady at the reception desk. They then proceed to baggage claim. There go the Forsberg clan.

August 28^th, 1997

The third time I wake up I’m in a bar. Hmm. Now I’m stumped. I look around and suddenly a young male bartender behind the counter approaches.

“Excuse me young lady, I didn’t see you walk in there” he gives me a friendly smile and then notices my wheelchair. “I mean wheel… sorry”

“It’s fine” I said waving my hand dismissively. “Yo, what day is it?” I began glancing around in search of some clue as to where I was.

“August 28^th?”

“Ah!” I exclaimed excitedly. “let me guess, it’s 1997?”

“Yeah” he replies slowly. I laugh. The bartender clears his throat and I turn my head back to him. He puts the tea towel over his shoulder and drums his hands.

“Look please take this as a compliment but you look really young, may I see some ID?”

“Oh sure, yeah” I reach into my pocket and then realised once again I have nothing with me. “Oh shit! Uh listen, I wasn’t planning on drinking anyway, I was just meeting some people and then I’m gonna leave just as soon as they get here”. The bartender looks at me for a few moments and I pull the most earnest face that I could possibly come up with. He finally sucks air through his nostrils and leans in close. “I’ll give you five minutes and then you have to get out or my boss’ll kill me” and then he disappeared to serve another customer.

“No worries sir, I promise. Thank you!” I called after him. I tapped my fingers on the counter as I waited impatiently. There was live music playing in the background; some reggae band. Finally, I hear the sound of the bell that rang when the door opened behind me. A young couple in their mid-thirties walk in together laughing. The man is dark skinned, brown eyed with a black afro. The woman is pale skinned, blue eyed and blond haired. It would seem that the little Indian boy who had arrived at Essendon airport with his family back in 1969 was all grown up. He has now met the women that he would later describe to be as “The love of his life”. She, the fourth child of the Swedish family that arrived in Queensland 1957, had moved to Melbourne in her early twenties. Though they were friends for 17 years before they actually got together. Two years later they would have me and soon after that two other children.

The two could not be more different, their worlds could not have started further apart. And yet, together they are perfect. I watch them take their seats at a booth. I smile over at them feeling overjoyed, being careful that they don’t notice me on my way out of the bar.

Have a lovely day! xx