Cherry Pie and Airport Goodbyes

The return journey reversed Anth's path through Namadgi, the familiar landmarks scrolling past in opposite order, wilderness surrendering to suburban sprawl. Three days of solo exploration complete, the national park releasing him back to civilisation and reunion.

Sal had settled at Liz's place following the coastal getaway, and her suggestion arrived via text as Anth navigated the city's edges. Stay the night here. She could drive him to the airport in the morning for his Melbourne flight. The logic was sound, the opportunity for one more evening together too valuable to decline.

But logistics intervened, as they so often did. His bag remained at Jan's, on the opposite side of Canberra from where Sal now waited. The last-minute change of plans translated into thirty minutes of driving north, a quick collection of belongings, then an about-face and thirty minutes heading south. An hour of navigation through suburban streets to achieve what should have been simple. Yet even this minor frustration dissolved when the bus finally pulled up at Liz's and Sal emerged to greet him.

The evening unfolded with the particular warmth of genuine hospitality. Jeff, Liz's husband, had been busy in the kitchen, and the aromas that greeted us carried promises of comfort. Homemade pizza emerged from the oven, its crust achieving that perfect balance of crisp and chewy that only home baking produces. But the true centrepiece arrived afterwards: cherry pie, the fruit picked fresh that very day by Sal and Liz from the garden. Each bite burst with the intensity of sun-warmed cherries transformed into something approaching perfection. These were the moments that made the logistics worthwhile, the driving and planning and constant adaptation rewarded by connection and generosity.

Night brought restlessness rather than rest. The unfamiliar bed contributed its share of discomfort, mattress and pillows arranged in configurations that didn't quite suit. But the physical unease merely amplified what our minds were already churning through: another separation approaching with morning's light. We lay in the darkness listening to each other's breathing, the quiet broken by occasional repositioning, by sighs that carried weight beyond their sound.

Dawn arrived regardless of our readiness for it. The drive to Canberra Airport passed in that particular silence of imminent parting, words feeling inadequate against the reality of what approached. We said our goodbyes at the departure zone, the familiar ritual of embraces and reassurances performed once more.

This time the uncertainty carried different flavour. If Anth entered the trial as scheduled, a week of confinement awaited. But if he turned out to be an alternate, the plan pivoted entirely: a flight straight to Queensland, arriving ahead of Sal's slower journey north with Grannie. Either outcome would find us reunited eventually, though the paths diverged dramatically depending on factors beyond our control.

The automatic doors swallowed Anth into the terminal's clinical brightness, and Sal drove away with the particular hollowness that farewells always leave behind. Somewhere between cherries picked in friendship's garden and clinical trials awaiting in Melbourne, our story continued its familiar pattern of convergence and separation, trusting always that the threads would weave back together when the time was right.Read more