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It happened roughly a year ago. I was poking around
the Telephone Exchange in Hastings Street, all but abandoned except for the
occasional Telstra contractor dropping off some goods for another workmate. The
building was in good shape, though maintenance was sparse and minimal. That it
was set back and tucked away on a curb that was a No Standing zone meant
most people were oblivious to its existence now as they drove past. It made it
easy for me to poke about, with my iPad loaded with old pictures of the property
when it had a function as the heartbeat of communications for all the homes and
businesses in the area that had a telephone.
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| The Exchange as it is today. |
My first experience was sudden and (understatement) unexpected. At the front of the building, a Lillypilly tree had grown, covering up what appeared to be removed signage, and I wanted a better look. Taking off my backpack, I stepped onto the small garden bed and slipped behind the tree. All I can remember from that first time was that I blinked, and then there was a noise. I kid you not, and this is the only way I can best describe it. It was a long, loud fart. So convincing, I braced myself for a horrendous stench. Luckily, it didn’t come. However, I knew I was not where I stood a split second before.
It took me a few seconds to orient myself, not only
from the missing smell but also from the instant abundance of natural light.
I realised I was no longer standing behind the tree.
Because it wasn’t there anymore. The day, which was overcast and a cool late
Autumn morning, was now blue midday skies, the sun directly above. I could
instantly feel its heat. I placed my hand against the brick wall and noticed it
was cleaner, and above my head were silver-painted letters screwed into the
brick courses spelling out. BORONIA TELEPHONE EXCHANGE. Above the
letters, the Royal Cypher of Queen Elizabeth the Second: EIIR.
Turning to my right, I looked out towards the front of the building onto the street and saw clear to the horizon. When it dawned on me, all the shops that were there when I arrived twenty minutes ago were now gone. I stumbled and fell backwards off the small garden bed and onto the grass. I stood up and went to stand in the same position I had fallen from to take in this open vista when the same farting noise rang out, and I was behind the tree again under overcast skies and a blank brick wall.
Trying to gather my senses, I thought I would do
something on impulse. Stepped out of the garden bed and then back into it. Once
again, the same fart noise, back to the treeless front wall with letters, but
this time, no blue sky. It was cloudy and cooler than it was five seconds ago
in another space. I turned to look back at the horizon. It seemed the same, I assume,
as my last look was so fleeting, but in the distance, the sun was low in the
sky, peeking through broken clouds. I was back, but it was a different season
and time of day. Taking my time to soak in the sight in front of me, I started
to take mental notes. Everything pointed towards something I thought was never
achievable except in science fiction and fantasy. I was back in time, at least forty
to fifty years by my reckoning. Then, with all confidence, I stepped out of the
garden bed and entered it again. The same obscene noise sent me back again to my
time and place. My car was parked across the road in the Dance Studio car park
on the same dull Autumn morning.
I needed to go home and process what had just
happened. At least sit down before my heart bursts out of my chest.
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