The Vacant Lot

Last night, had drinks at Caboose with friends Jason, Luke, Maria, and Ben. When the bar closed at midnight, Jason said he had a selection of wines and craft beers in his car so we all went back to mine in Maylands and drank on the front veranda with my house-mate, Graham. Our house is a century old, and looks it, with a big veranda overlooking the river. It’s a nice place to drink.

As the night went on, we’d had a few and Jason put in an order with Uber Eats, some Lebanese food, before realising that he’d accidentally ordered it to his home in Mt Lawley. As you probably know, the Uber Eats app doesn’t allow you to change the address of an order once it’s been made. When the driver collects your order for delivery you have a small window to call them and see if they can deliver to an alternate address.

Jason was lifting his phone every so often to see if the order had been collected. At last it was and he called the driver. 

‘Hello, yes, sorry, I meant to put in a different address, we are in Maylands, not Mt Lawley. If you can come here I’ll make it worth your while …’ Jason’s speech was slurred. We’d all had a few beers by this point. ‘… oh you’re on a bicycle … Maylands is too far … okay … just drop it off at my home, thanks.’

A few of us commented that the Uber driver would probably wake Jason’s wife Amanda and son Henry, who were asleep at theirs and that he should call the Uber driver back and advise them not to knock. 

Jason called the Uber driver back, ‘Hello, yes, my wife and son are asleep so please just leave the food at the door without knocking. Thank you.’

‘Now what?’ we asked.

‘I’ll have it in the morning.’ Jason said. A collective sigh followed.

Ben placed a new Uber Eats order: three serves of fried chicken from Chimek, to much applause. We carried on drinking.

‘Oh,’ Ben said, looking at his phone ‘the pin dropped on number 3 … it’s the vacant lot next door!’

The property next door is an open field on an incline with a steep hill in the centre. A great mansion had been there once but it had burned down some fifty years ago. Candles, apparently.

Ben turned and looked out at the lot. ‘Wouldn’t it be great if I was sitting there on top of the hill when the driver arrived.’ We chuckled at the image.

‘How far off is the driver?’ I asked.

‘Four minutes.’ Ben said.

I had a long industrial extension cord coiled on a chair on the veranda. I connected it and took a lamp from my room. Ben took a chair from the veranda and we made our way down the stairs, through the garden and bushes and over to the vacant lot.

‘You go there!’ Ben said, pointing to the bushes. ‘Film it!’

Ben trekked up the hill and sat down on the chair. He placed the lamp on the arm of the chair and switched it on. It was one of those banker lamps with the brass stand and green glass shade. A slice of yellow light spilled down the hill and his shadow met the darkness around him.

I crouched in the bushes and started videoing Ben. The whole thing felt stupid but we were drunk so it was reasonable.

‘How long?’ I asked.

‘Two minutes.’ Ben said.

It didn’t look like much on my phone camera. The optical zoom on my phone was broken and the focus was soft. Ben looked more glow-worm than king on the hill.

‘One minute!’ Ben said.

Maria came from the bushes and started to approach Ben.

‘Maria, you have to hide!’ Ben barked. ‘You’ll wreck the surprise!’

‘I just wanted to take a photo’ Maria protested before returning to the house. The others were still on the veranda. I don’t think they’d noticed we were gone.

I heard the Uber arriving at the base of the hill. I pushed record. Ben waved to the driver, lifting his arm high as if signalling the moon. I panned right and the front of the car pulled into view. I could see headlights and heard a brake being activated, but most of my view was obscured by the bushes. I panned back to Ben who had left the chair and was making his way down to meet the driver.

Their footsteps grew until they were both in front of me. I sank back into the bushes and held my breath. I could hear the driver puffing from the exertion of climbing the hill. 

‘Heeey,’ the driver said. His intonation was high and sweet, like a song. His accent was Singaporean possibly. 

‘Thanks.’ Ben said. 

‘You’re welcooooome,’ the driver said. ‘thanks for waiting.’ 

‘No, you’re welcome,’ Ben said. ‘Thank you.’

I heard them part ways. I panned left and saw Ben’s silhouette clambering back up to his chair, chicken rich. He sat on his throne and opened the bag. I heard the car engine start. I panned right and saw the car start to pull away but then heard the handbrake activate again and the car stopped. The engine idled. The car didn’t go. I panned back to Ben, who was still in character, now eating the chicken under the moonlight on his hill. I started to feel homesick.