The Wyld Girls

Chapter 11 - Michelle

Wyld Times, Episode 45

"Is he ever going to wake up?" Kylie is staring at the long-limbed creature in the tree.

"He'd better," jokes Bruce. "We flew all the way to South America to meet him! Ha, who am I kidding! I'd fly all this way just to watch those sparkly bikini girls dance at Carnival." He mimes a Samba dance and Kylie giggles.

Michelle smiles thinly, then says, "This is Jorge, a brown throated sloth. He's sleeping because that's what sloths do – his species sleeps up to 15 hours a day."

"That's even longer than Shell's weekend naps!"

She doesn't acknowledge his joke. Instead, she says, "Sloths have the lowest metabolic rate of any non-hibernating mammal. A low metabolism means they spend less time looking for food and exposing themselves to predators – but it doesn't leave them with a lot of energy. And the best way to conserve energy is through sleep."

Kylie stares up at the peaceful sloth. "I wonder if he dreams."

Michelle shrugs. "There's good evidence that most mammals dream during their REM cycles. Jorge might definitely dream."

"What do you think he dreams about?"

Bruce shouts, "Samba girls!"

Michelle forces a hollow laugh. "We have no way of knowing what animals dream about for sure. I think the real question is – even if we could see a sloth's dreams, would we understand them?"

I'm dreaming. I think. It's hard to tell; reality and my own imagination have been blurring at the edges, like watercolour paints running together.

"Michelle? Oh my god, Michelle!"

My eyes are closed, but it's Parker. I try to smile at the sound of his voice, but I can't seem to move. His arms are around me, his voice loud and urgent.

"Michelle, can you hear me? Michelle, squeeze my hand!"

I curl my fingers around his. It's nice to hold hands. I can't remember the last time someone held my hand, but then, I can't remember much at all right now.

Wait. I remember. I'm wearing black, standing beside a coffin. Bruce is in there.

Someone is holding my hand tightly. Kylie. Her face is vacant and tear-stained. She's too young to be wearing all black, burying another person. I squeeze her fingers. I'm here for you, Kyls. I promise, I'll always protect you.

Parker's voice is back again. "Yes, I need an ambulance, I have a 30 year old female who's non-responsive, she's collapsed in the shower. Her breathing is shallow... I don't know, it feels fast, maybe 120 beats per minute? She doesn't have a head injury that I can see... No blood... She's moving her arms and legs... Okay, we're at , at the reception building... Wait, how many hours? How is that possible? Goddamn rain – no, that's too long, I'll bring her to you."

Everything goes fuzzy. Now, I'm in a car. I'm pretty sure it's a car, although it could be a boat because I feel like I'm floating, the world gently bobbing around me with the occasional jolting lurch. "Hang in there, Michelle."

I'm fine, I say, except I don't say. But I am fine because I'm with Parker. I should have always been with Parker, right from the start.

I'm back on the stage at the Koala gala. I carefully walk down the stairs, holding up the hem of my silver dress.

A big man steps in front of me. G'day, I'm Bruce Wyld. And I've just decided that-

Excuse me, I say, pushing past him. I'm meeting someone.