I lay in bed, the walls lighting up with a paparazzi of flashes from the lightning outside. Rain thundered on the skylight and between the roars of rain I caught the sound of sirens in the distance. The storm front had hit 30min ago.
Meanwhile, Billy sat at the boarding gates, in no-man's land, officially not in Australia anymore, but not going anywhere either. With each flash of lightening the queue of planes on the tarmac grew; the clock marching towards the 11pm curfew.
A few hours ago, we'd met up at the General Gorden, outside Sydenham Station for an old skool chicken schnitzel and Reschs to celebrate the start of his journey. Billy had walked out of the front door at Young St with his pack earlier in the afternoon and had enjoyed the late afternoon sun as he made his way towards the airport.
We made it to the arrival hall, a mixture of excitement, nervousness and anticipation. A search for last minute icecream was unsuccessful so we said goodbye, not expecting to see each other for around 2 months.
Back in bed, I checked the airport schedule on my iPhone. Steadily each flight was delayed - I gave Billy an update, but there was some hope they would extend the curfew.
At 1am, the stairs leading up to our loft bed creaked. A deflated Billy flopped over the top rung and explained that his flight had been delayed until early morning. Such an anticlimax after starting out on an amazing journey following weeks of frantic scrambling to finish work, pack and get ready!
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