Repeat After Me

Chapter 1

This is how I figured out that the sooner I stopped trying to figure things out, the better they became.

COVID-19 cancelled plans for the weekend. My school shut down. All the Disneylands in the world were closed. The mantra was stay home and flatten the curve. Yet even a global virus couldn't shut down the laneways in Melbourne, so I found myself out, spray painting little figures on a brick wall, soothing my anxiety in the only way I knew how.

Even the predictable had become unpredictable. The city was deserted. Shops, restaurants, cafes and bars were closed so there was no one around. It was the perfect setting for a street artist. Everyone was too afraid to be out.

It was 1am and I was spray painting stencilled figures on a wall near Desgraves Street, when I heard: 'Hey, what the hell are you doing?' I turned, and saw a guy standing there with a gas mask on his face. A shiver played cold notes up and down my spine. 'That's my work right there. Respect.'

'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I couldn't see it. I thought this part of the wall was ...'

'What the hell are you doing out, anyway?' he asked.

'What are you doing out?' I replied.

'You're a chick.'

'Yeah.'

'I know your work. I wasn't expecting you to be a girl.' I wondered if I should make a run for it, grab my backpack and sprint away. But the stencil took me a month to perfect, so I decided to take my chances and stay. The guy shone his torch in my face. I stood there dumbly in the glare of the light. I could feel him summing me up. Eventually he moved the torch away and shone it on my work.

'You've been painting those little people in Fitzroy, haven't you? I recognise your style. But they're half finished.'

'The police came.'

'I like them anyway. Finish your work. I'll watch out for any cops. But don't touch my work, you hear? Don't worry, I'll stand 1.5 metres away. Social distancing and all that.'

I readjusted my facemask uneasily and started spraying again.

'What's your name?' I asked.

'Asten. What's yours?'

'Ivy.'

'Like poison, hey?'

I finished spraying and wiped the stencil with a paper towel and placed my equipment in my backpack.

'Your work is gutsy. I never would've guessed you're a girl. Hey, come with me. I've got something to show you – a piece I've been working on down by the station. You been down there? It's a god damn gallery, I swear.'

'How do I know I can trust you?' I ask.

'Who can trust anyone? Besides, what else are you gonna do? The city is deserted of people. We never get to see it like this. It's kind of exciting, don't you think? We should make the most of it.'

'I guess.'

'I'm not gonna touch you or nothing. I'm gonna blow your mind with some art.'

I doubted this guy could blow my mind with anything. But I hadn't spoken to anyone for two days. My family was interstate again and loneliness breeds desperation. Sometimes I asked Google Home Mini 'can you see the future?' just to check if my voice was still working. Now, I found myself following a stranger down a laneway.

A homeless man was camped under a staircase. His life's possessions were shoved into a shopping trolley. I got my usual urge to stare and look away at the same time; block my eyes, block my nose, as if being homeless was contagious.