204th and 205th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Saturday August 3rd, 1999 1:25 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE I actually feel a little guilty

Stacey, I’ve managed to sneak away from the party and steal into Elsa’s father’s office. They’re all singing and Elsa is dancing with her second cousin who has wonky eyes that keep trying to look at each other.

Good times.

Anyway, in case someone approaches and I quickly have to sign off and send this email, I’ll say a quick goodbe here.

So see you tomorrow at the party and if not a kiss I will certaintly slowly brush past you a couple of times during the night.


Love Dom

PS and the place is called abhaile – two thumbs up for you, Ms researcher.





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Saturday August 3rd, 1999 1:45 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE I actually feel a little guilty

Okay so there’s my goodbye in case there’s email interruptus.
God I don’t want to be here. I mean they’re nice people and all.

But there’s always a moment around 11:00 pm when everyone’s a bit pissed and the argument happens.

It usually starts over something political. Elsa’s parents are conservative and their children aren’t. I’ve always thought this was weird. They come from a working class background – and were certainly leftward in their youth.

But when they came to Australia, they abandoned their beliefs and voted conservatively. I’m not sure why. Is it because Australia offers new hope and with new hope comes a new form of government? Is it because they feel betrayed by the homeworld system and see a happier life with lazy thinking and less worry? Is it simply about money?

I don’t know. This always confuses me. I simply don’t understand the moment you abandon social justice for better tax breaks. Seems all fucked up to me.

(As you can tell I rarely enter the Family political debate and feel the
brief need to expel it with the above two paragraphs)

Anyway, it was 10:30 and Elsa’s father was already drunk. I could sense him gearing up for the debate. And sure enough, bang on 11:00 it started.

But tonight’s debate wasn’t about politics. It was about Elsa. It was about me.

See, Elsa’s folks had discovered that we were seeing each other and they didn’t like it. They didn’t approve of my nationality or my faith, not even my politics.

They admitted they liked me and enjoyed my company. They thought I was smartish (her mother’s words, not mine) but I had a sense of entitlement.
Elsa flipped out. She yelled that it was her life and she could be with whomever she wanted.

Her father fought back – yes he agreed in theory but he would much prefer it to be a good Irish lad.

The brother’s jumped in at this point. They defended me and Elsa. They thought we were the perfect couple; so desperately well suited.
Her mother jumped back in. She again offered a back handed compliment to me, saying that I did feel like part of the family but as a friend, not blood.

Elsa wailed at this one – threatening to never see her family again.
And me, I stood in the middle as this barrage of bombs exploded around me.

I have to admit, I felt a little impervious to the violence; I felt strangely invincible for as much as the shrapnel flew through the air, nothing hit me. I didn’t bleed, I didn’t fall over; I just stood there watching the war like a ghost.

Of course in Elsa’s true family tradition, come midnight, the argument was over and everyone was embracing. Her parents had accepted me into their flock and were deeply apologetic, confessing that they needed to yell it out so they could find happiness. I thanked them for their honesty and thought of you. And then he said:

Elsa’s Father: So when are you going to ask her to marry you, Dom?

I didn’t know what to say and I have to admit, I mumbled a truly weak reply.

Me: Soon.

Stacey, I can’t believe I said it. I could’ve been honest. I should’ve been honest; but all I said was ‘soon.’

Anyway, I’ve said my goodbye already. So I’ll just sign off. Miss you,
love.

See you tomorrow at the party.

90th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday 26th, 1999 11:32AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Matrix and Election

Stacey,

God, last weekend was so far away.

Friday we went out with some of Elsa’s friends from the dance company she works for.

Dance types can certainly drink.

It was fun though. Not much conversation but come 3:00am they took over the dance floor. Elsa was the lead. Everyone wanted to dance with her. I wanted to dance with her. But I was quite far back in the queue. So I danced with Anyone instead.

Can you believe it? Amazing what vodka, jealousy and lust can make you do.

Saturday was a quite day. It was nice not having to entertain an odd man in our Kitchen. I think Elsa feels a little lost without a stranger wandering nude.

So I changed my name, put on a homeless hat and stripped down to make her feel comfortable.

My God, I’ve become the strange man in my own Kitchen!

Anyway for the rest of the day Elsa and I had a quietee. She’s not much of a talker – more a sleeper. Funny how I thought that was endearing a few weeks ago.

I cooked a big breakfast – at 3:00pm

And at dinner time and we watched a couple of movies. Elsa really likes dance movies so we watched The Red Shoes and The Turning Point. I liked The Red Shoes (fell asleep during The Turning Point)

Sunday we had dinner at her folks. I’ve known them for a while and Sunday roast is a ritual. We didn’t tell them that we were seeing each other though – still played the "just friends" game.

It was kinda awkward because the evening’s focus of conversation turned to Elsa’s romantic life with suggestions from all of her family about who she could possibly date.

Her mother thinks she should date a doctor; an Irish doctor; an Irish catholic doctor.

Her father thinks she should become a nun.

And her brother, Kieran, suggested -- me.

Kieran:Elsa should marry Dom as they are already kinda married.

There was a strained moment of silence.

I looked at Elsa. She looked at me. But before we could respond; both of her parents burst out laughing.

This was extremely awkward as this gesture made it apparent how her parents thought of me as a suitor.

After the laughter the brief conversation went something like this:

Elsa’s Mother: Actually Dom, if you changed your degree to medicine – you could be in with a chance.

Elsa’s Father: Dom, finish your potatoes.

Elsa’s Mother: And there’s some Irish blood in you, isn’t there?

Elsa’s Father: Dom would you like some more wine?

Elsa’s Mother: And I’m sure I’ve seen you at mass.

Elsa’s Father: Dom, would you like me to give you a lift home, tonight?

Elsa and I said nothing.

I have to confess that after we cleared the dishes we did duck into her old room and made out. But Elsa has a lot of dolls. Freaky dolls from all over the world. They are all lined up on one side, facing the bed.

And as we kissed, I felt they were watching me; especially the one from East Germany – who was taking notes and reporting us to her father.

So that was the weekend.


Dom