Searching for Maz

by KISHA BARI
Brunch with Maz would always be a gorgeous affair. Champagne and Bloody Marys, toasted baguettes with ricotta and chilli honey, perfectly poached eggs on a bed of spinach, all on a divinely set table.  Five of us would lounge for hours in her picturesque backyard moving from brunch to lunch to supper through fits of laughter and animated story telling. Captivating tales of crazy love letters, troubles with Mexican police and night fishing in Fiji were told as we devoured stuffed olives and felt the warm Summer sun lower over our shoulders.  These are the best days Maz. It’s Summer now. Oh where are you?

Brunch with Maz would always be a gorgeous affair. Champagne and Bloody Marys, toasted baguettes with ricotta and chilli honey, perfectly poached eggs on a bed of spinach, all on a divinely set table. 

Five of us would lounge for hours in her picturesque backyard moving from brunch to lunch to supper through fits of laughter and animated story telling. Captivating tales of crazy love letters, troubles with Mexican police and night fishing in Fiji were told as we devoured stuffed olives and felt the warm Summer sun lower over our shoulders. 

These are the best days Maz. It’s Summer now. Oh where are you?

There she goes. She’s off and away again. 

She’s only had two hours sleep. Her tousled hair aglow with the early morning sun, she softly giggles in my ear where she spent the night before. Then exclaims “I’ve come to kiss you goodbye!” 

She steps into that yellow New York taxi. To the airport. Destination unknown. 

How often have we done this? How often has the whirlwind of Maz swept in and out of my life?

I love that bright spark. I love that she always leaves me with some of it. 

Oh the pain in my brain! How could I do such a thing to myself! Never again Maz, never again….

Oh the pain in my brain!

How could I do such a thing to myself!

Never again Maz, never again….

I saw Maz last week. It seemed only a brief moment…. Might have been a dream. It must have been a dream.

In my dream, I flew over the seas to Australia. It took me 24 hours. I knew she was there.

I found her dancing with bearded men, flowers in her hair and arguing with the bar tender that ‘Ten dollars, was far too much to pay for a pint of Coopers!’.

We were our usual terrible twosome. Sneaky booze, cheeky smiles, lounging at Dexter, lounging in gardens and waking up in a different place each morning.

We soaked up the sun in a succulent garden, drank perfect Melbourne cafe lattes and read vintage magazines. We partied with local rockers till 5am. We spent a lush night dancing & listening to records in a broken down house. We watched the sun set on a Golden Plain. We drank Talisker till 4am and then woke up to million dollar views in a million dollar house. We hitched a ride to a music festival with a famous band and danced on stage in front of 10,000 people.

How decadent a dream. How ridiculous the ride.

I am looking forward to the next dream Maz. It was all sorts of fun….

Fire escapes in New York are a classic element to it’s famous landscape. Each building is marked with it’s own distinct ascending iron zig zag. I love to sit out on this particular intersection. A Broadway and Canal top floor and watch the bustling business of tourists, hawkers, buskers and New York’s particular brand of crazy people.  The human movement heaves and sways and swirls way below me with electric energy. Bright yellow cabs, a topless woman, reckless bike couriers, the drumming busker with only plastic buckets and one lone cymbal for his sound. I once thought I spied Maz. A brilliant glowing tangerine dream weaving and skipping amongst a nondescript Impressionist landscape.  A momentary flash of colour and inspiration. Where was she going?!

Fire escapes in New York are a classic element to it’s famous landscape. Each building is marked with it’s own distinct ascending iron zig zag.

I love to sit out on this particular intersection. A Broadway and Canal top floor and watch the bustling business of tourists, hawkers, buskers and New York’s particular brand of crazy people. 

The human movement heaves and sways and swirls way below me with electric energy. Bright yellow cabs, a topless woman, reckless bike couriers, the drumming busker with only plastic buckets and one lone cymbal for his sound.

I once thought I spied Maz. A brilliant glowing tangerine dream weaving and skipping amongst a nondescript Impressionist landscape.  A momentary flash of colour and inspiration.

Where was she going?!

Ruffians and musicians. Debauchery and dive bars. Lap dances and cocktails. Loud music and bloody eyes.  Maz is amongst it. She loves it.

Ruffians and musicians.

Debauchery and dive bars.

Lap dances and cocktails.

Loud music and bloody eyes. 

Maz is amongst it. She loves it.

Maybe Maz is in Italy. Might she be cruising the coast on a Vespa with two Italian lovers?Her broken Italian just getting her by, but charming none the less. 

She’s always wanted to travel Italy. It’s in her blood. Pasta and vino. Vino and more vino. 

Open fires, soft inch thick carpets and the high arched windows of the sitting room with brilliant fall tree views. I caught Maz retreating in the woods.  How she manages to wind up in such stunning surroundings, sometimes, astounds me.  Lovingly surrounded by a select few favourites, Maz has a large lamb roasting in the oven and although the pumpkin pie was ready early, we all can’t help but eat it before the roast is ready.  Muscat with breakfast, a fine prosecco with a late afternoon lunch and a luscious four day weekend with fine whiskeys, inspiring conversations and a scrabble board full of dirty words. This is how Maz takes time out.  She reads a while and then stares out those brilliant windows. What is she thinking about, I wonder? Where she’s headed next? What shall be her next adventure?

Open fires, soft inch thick carpets and the high arched windows of the sitting room with brilliant fall tree views. I caught Maz retreating in the woods. 

How she manages to wind up in such stunning surroundings, sometimes, astounds me. 

Lovingly surrounded by a select few favourites, Maz has a large lamb roasting in the oven and although the pumpkin pie was ready early, we all can’t help but eat it before the roast is ready. 

Muscat with breakfast, a fine prosecco with a late afternoon lunch and a luscious four day weekend with fine whiskeys, inspiring conversations and a scrabble board full of dirty words. This is how Maz takes time out. 

She reads a while and then stares out those brilliant windows. What is she thinking about, I wonder? Where she’s headed next? What shall be her next adventure?

Maz wears cowboy boots. If ever I see them laying about with no feet in them, I know that Maz is dancing barefoot somewhere…

Maz wears cowboy boots. If ever I see them laying about with no feet in them, I know that Maz is dancing barefoot somewhere…

Sometimes, I think Maz might call me. Out of the blue.  “Hey! Where you at?! I’m in town. Right around the corner. At that bar you love!” She’s done it before.  I look at the telephone in anticipation sometimes. It could be nothing, or it could end up a wild adventure where my only memory for five days appears in the photos. Maybe, she might call today….. 

Sometimes, I think Maz might call me. Out of the blue. 

“Hey! Where you at?! I’m in town. Right around the corner. At that bar you love!” She’s done it before. 

I look at the telephone in anticipation sometimes. It could be nothing, or it could end up a wild adventure where my only memory for five days appears in the photos.

Maybe, she might call today…..