Transformation in Coral

by Jillian Jones

or if I was dreaming. The panic intensified. My forehead beading with sweat, my heart rate increased and my breath shortened as I checked through the handbag, sitting on the bedside table, in search of answers.

  I found a passport. Australian, and the picture was the 'me' reflected in the mirror. The address label on my bag was an apartment in New York. I'd never been to New York.

  At that point a wave of awareness washed over me. I'd walked out of my cabin and stepped into some sort of parallel life.

  Amongst the papers and laptop computer in the computer bag was an art magazine featuring me. It clarified that I was an established photography artist. It seemed I was much more confident and creative than I was in my original life so it was no wonder I'd had no trouble telling Magne’s lighting technician what to do.

  I let it sink in for a bit, but I didn't quite know what it all meant and I wondered where my other life had gone.

  I knew I wasn't dreaming. It all felt so very real. My dreams weren’t like this. My dreams were foggy and vague and confusing; not linear like this. I was living this day - fully aware and sensing everything, although it was a bit bizarre.

  Reading the article, in the magazine, I was enlightened. It spoke little of my private life, but it did mention I was recently single. I also told the interviewer that I had no room in my life for children but, all of my creative projects were my babies. The article was mostly about my current art exhibition; the images of which filled the pages with splashes of psychedelic colour. My work looked interesting to say the least - beautiful in a surreal kind of way. To me, it looked like a lot of montaged images but otherwise hard to describe. The writer of the article, however, described my work as representing a new and sophisticated use of light, colour and composition to create dramatic and complex photographs. I wondered if I would be bored by the photography workshop if I were the famous, accomplished artist I thought I was. I decided to take my chances.

  Everyone was standing around discussing the morning session when I walked into the education centre. It was crowded, but Magne was at my side within seconds.

  “Hi,” I smiled, relieved that I had someone to talk to.

  “Hi,” he smiled back. “I was hoping I’d see you again.” He told me he was doing the afternoon session as well and asked if I would partner him. He explained it involved underwater photography off the lagoon followed by a creative post-production session. He had his Mac computer already set up and suggested we work together. He was thrilled about the idea of our resulting artwork being part of an exhibition at the end of the program.

  He explained that everyone was going to lunch before the afternoon session and apologised for not being able to join me. He had a lunch meeting with the program organisers but introduced me to a group of artists from Sydney, before he left.

  In my other life, I had included a couple of art history subjects in my architecture degree but I dropped out of university after first year and opted to work as a medical receptionist to support Damien through his double economics and commerce degree. Naturally, my art language was rusty, to say the least, so it was a total surprise when I started channelling 'art speak', along with copious creative ideas, over lunch. It just seemed to flow effortlessly from my head into articulate and inspired conversation, leaving my lunch companions in awe. In that moment I was elated and in love with my new life.

  I looked and felt fabulous as I joined Magne and the rest of the participants at the lagoon after lunch. I was on a high and my vibrant, designer wetsuit, snorkel and flippers reflected pure inner confidence. Up until that point I'd avoided the lagoon during my time there, but swimming through the water I couldn't believe what I'd been missing.

  An abundance of inspiration was found, gliding gracefully through the coral with turtles, brightly coloured fish and sea stars. It was a rarefied atmosphere.

  Magne and I, underwater SLRs in hand, competed to create the most stunning and creative photograph but, if things got too intense and serious between us, he'd suddenly do something to make me laugh. His antics reminded me of an article from a teen magazine I'd read when I was around thirteen years old. The other members of a-ha had said he was both a fool and a genius and that he lived life to the fullest. I understood in that moment why they would say that. It was an adventure swimming and photographing with him. In my life I'd forgotten what it felt like to be creative, spontaneous and inspired.

  We made the most of every minute and all too soon it was over. We had twenty minutes to be changed and back in the workshop for the creative post-production session.

  The heaviness in my body as we emerged from the water, underscored my disappointment, but it was soon quelled when Magne took my hand in his. It took my breath, sending my knees weak, warmth flooding my body.

  He was speaking to me but I'd zoned out, savouring the sensations his touch was creating, as we negotiated our way through the coral towards the beach.

  Light-headed, attempting to avoid a large bed of coral, I lost my footing and over balanced. Magne spun around and enveloped me in his arms, catching my fall, holding me for longer than was necessary. I glanced up and the longing desire reflected in his eyes, stirred and tingled my nerve endings. He moved closer, softly pressing his lips to mine. I didn't resist. The kiss intensified, every cell in my body opening to the euphoric bliss. Eventually, gently and slowly, moving away, a lascivious grin on his face.

  “I’ll change and see you at the workshop,” I said, walking away. Glancing back, he was watching me. He sent me a cute wave. I smiled inside and out as I contemplated what might unfold between us as the afternoon and evening progressed. But, as I neared my cabin, the confusion hit me like a tonne of bricks as the memory of my other life washed over me. I was married and so was he. My head spun with desire and unanswered questions.

  As I changed out of my wetsuit, I noticed a journal sitting in the wardrobe. Curious to access some idea of the inner most thoughts of artist Sara Blake, I opened it, and started reading. The contents were startling.

  Underneath the extroverted public personality was a lost soul. Apparently, I was on Lady Elliot Island for a much-needed private retreat, from a busy and highflying social life in New York, and the recent spectacular breakup, with my lover of three months.

  As I flicked through the pages, Sara Blake's dissatisfaction and inner unhappiness, over her lack of ability to maintain a healthy, loving relationship, indeed any form of relationship, was overwhelmingly apparent. The melancholy seeped into my being.

  I arrived for the Photoshop session feeling unsure of myself, as a result of reading the journal. Thankfully, once we started, all of my woes were forgotten. My muscles relaxed as a sense of calm and ease washed over me. Magne and I came up with the most amazing creations. I knew from his comments he was in awe of me. And, a number of the other participants sought advice and suggestions from us, which validated my talent even further. I did, however, find my Sara Blake personality had a strong tendency to not compliment or validate others. In fact, there was a very critical and judgemental line of thinking in my mind, which wasn’t something I was familiar with. She was obviously very competitive. I found myself thinking it was no wonder she talked about so many relationship issues. I didn't like that aspect of this 'me'.

  We continued to work through dinner and on until midnight at which point everyone decided to call it a day, shutdown their computers and head to bed. Magne invited me to join him for a wine on the beach. Of course I said yes. My energy was high and there was no way I would've slept.

  It was a clear and balmy evening, filled with tantalising possibilities. We chatted excitedly about the day as we walked along the beach, our way lit by a mesmerising full moon and stars that looked like small diamonds sprinkled on a black velvet sky. We stopped when we reached a couple of deck chairs in front of my cabin.

  Before I could take a seat Magne put the glasses and wine cooler he'd been carrying, down on the ground and quickly stood up in front of me. He
looked into my eyes and I could see he was intoxicated by desire as he reached his hands to my face and kissed me. My whole body responded to the electricity between us. But, there was an internal tug of war happening within me.

  In my previous life, the teenage crush I had on the very famous Mags from a-ha didn't exist anymore. I didn't sleep around, I valued monogamy. But, my doppelganger in this world would sleep with anyone with a pulse, from what I could discern from her journal, and I was in turmoil, battling the personalities of two different lives. Thankfully, sound reasoning and my old self prevailed, momentarily. I pulled away and held his hands, looking deeply into his eyes.

  “Magne you’re married and so I am, we can’t do this,” I whispered.

  “I am?” he said, looking confused.

  “Yes, to Heidi,” I exclaimed.

  “Who’s Heidi?” he asked, his beautiful blue eyes penetrating mine.

  “You, know...” Making hand gestures as I spoke in the hope it would make more sense of things. “Your childhood sweetheart!”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” a blank expression on his face. I’m sure he thought I was totally insane.

  I sat down and invited Magne to do the same, and told him my story. He listened wholeheartedly and was