Special Agents

I’m the Head of the Agency. Well, that’s what the Little Travellers are calling me. They call me that or “Boss”. They are a team of special agents, each with their own special personality. The eldest tells me she is the crazy leader “Oh, like Gadaffi?” I asked, “no, I’m much more fun”. The second is the brainiac, the third and fourth have super powers and do whatever their older sisters tell them “it works better that way” they tell me.

They are all living in the car. By the amount of what I’ve seen be carried out the door, it looks like they will be there for the remainder of the year. It appears to be cold where they are going, everyone is wearing a hat, gloves and scarf. Strangely, they are all wearing t-shirts. The third and fourth travellers have laid the seats of the van back, turned their car seats upside down and are pretending to be spacemen. They have their heads pushed back against the seats, ready for the impending G force. Every now and then, they begin to count back for “take-off” and are abruptly reminded “NOT YET” by their leader.

They’ve have all just been inside for what they have called an “emergency meeting” or what I would call “lunch” and have filled me in on the story as I’ve worked on their sandwich requests.

They received a call from Head Office, the dinosaurs have entered our world, they got in through the portal. It is their job as special agents to head in to the portal to “shut it down”. They are armed with torches, a map of Parliament House (except of course it’s not Parliament House it’s the portal), and a tube of lip balm.

I know at some stage there will be a fight. My guess is Gadaffi will probably remind the team at a crucial point that it is not a democracy, that she is in fact a dictator. If history is an indicator, there will be an uprising and the second little traveller will organize a revolution. The third and fourth little traveller will follow whoever is offering the better bribe. The words “I’m telling Mum” will set off a chain reaction and I will have four little faces in front of me, all sharing their version of how it all went terribly wrong.

In three weeks we will be back in Qatar. The ‘portal’ will have been returned to the car rental company. The little travellers and I shall walk back in to the school gates and find our new teachers and classrooms. Swimming lessons, basketball and music classes will begin. They will re-unite with their friends from school and talk of homework, future birthday parties and tag games at recess.

While all of this happening, I will continue on with my geographical schizophrenia. It will be great to be back in to a routine, to catch up with friends, to watch the travellers reunite with theirs. A little piece of me though, will be at this table, looking out at a portal, full of secret agents hunting dinosaurs.

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