As North American college students gallivant in varying states of sobriety during their summer break, I only have memories of my Australian university summer nearly six months ago. Beyond the usual lifestyle of the beach, cricket, and Crappy Summer Jobs, my enduring memory of that holiday is of highway asphalt. It was a summer of driving to friends’ houses for long nights of poker, and of interstate coach rides for job interviews and trips to beachside towns. Sure, I experienced more than enough car sickness, but the laughter, fun, and employment made the long journeys worthwhile. But for every opportunity I was four-wheeling towards, I was leaving something else behind.
At the start of the university summer, I packed my things into the car—why do I own so many CDs?—and drove home from college. Inside my back pocket sat a not insignificant prize—a girl’s phone number. There is no better way to inflate a man’s ego—or make him serene during the worst of Australian highway traffic—than to find him a nice girl and give him a real opportunity with her.
Those prized digits remained unused for two of the three months of my summer break. I always found excuses to avoid making the phone call – you’re in a different city, it’s too late in the day to call. And for all of the travelling I did, I never managed to book a ticket to go and see her. To be sure, I was pining for her, but I wasn’t about to act on it. I don’t hide behind the pen and a few hundred words of well-crafted prose because I’m brimming with Don Juan confidence. So, instead I strummed my guitar and listened to Brilliant Fanzine, finding meaning in the melodies of a band tucked away in Melbourne, Australia.
“One in 10,000” is the song of my hesitation. The insistent 4/4 beat on the snare transports me to a cramped seat on an interstate coach. It could be the throb of my headache, or it could be the seams in the asphalt under-tire. It could be my heart beating as I called the girl on her birthday—don’t fuck it up. The five note piano figure is the sound of me staring out the car window to see dried Australian plantation zoom past. Wistful moments contemplating—no, dreaming about—what could happen between this girl and yours truly.
I am haunted by the vocals: “And right from the first time I met you, I couldn’t forget you.” When Brilliant Fanzine penned that simple line, I’m certain they were referring to feelings that go beyond mere infatuation. After almost 22 years of living, breathing—feeling—on these brown lands, I can’t say that I have felt any real depth of emotions about any one person. I don’t even know if I’ve come close.
I have been looking for my one in 10,000; girls here, girls there. The story of my so-called life is really a series of shorter stories about girls. And the soundtrack can be found in the warm acoustic strum at the core of this song, which resurrects every lost opportunity, missed call or unspoken word. Despite its bittersweet associations, I cannot speak highly enough about this band and their evocative tune.
It is six months on from my holiday, and my yearning, and I barely even talk to this girl. The last time we spoke was after-dark and after much wine at her housewarming. People were dancing in her living room to Bob Sinclar—goddamn I hate that song—and I made valiant attempts to gyrate with all the grace I could muster, but soon gave up. I stood to the side, waiting to make my grand exit. In the end there was no goodbye, just a slight cuss under my breath and a bolt out the door. I could only think of my university summer as I ran across her yard to be confronted, once again, by more asphalt, more hesitation, and the ringing of “One in 10,000” in my ears.
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