There weren’t many things in Russia to remind us of the western world, but there were a few. Once of them was Subway in the city. What melts my heart is that when my sister speaks of Russia, she says she remembers going to Subway and eating meatballs subs.

There were no meatball subs at the subway in Russia. Instead, Patrick and I had another favourite, the little “snack” subs, with ham and melted cheese on top of the toasted bread. We used to smear generous amounts of tomato sauce on the subs. Strangely when I was like in year three, I got sick and my taste buds or my appetite or something changed, because for some reason I couldn’t stand the thought of tomato sauce and cheese together. I don’t think I’d mind so much now, but I just don’t put tomato sauce and ketchup together anymore.

There was also a kid’s play area at the subway in Krasnoyarsk. The two went together like peanut butter and jam in my mind – does that sound American? Well, we could all do with a little idiom sharing. On home assignments Subway felt incomplete without the kid’s play area. There were the small blue mats which we would spread out and hop across, and the small area accessed by the little red slide, with the punching bag you could wrap your arms around and lift your feet off the ground. I think there was another ones of those above the blue square mat near the entrance of the playground, which was an ocean to swing across- obviously.

The first time I went down the slide, Dad stood assuredly at the bottom. There was a net between the pit with all those plastic balls and Dad. I was confused on how I was supposed to get back, whether I’d need to climb back. Never mind, I’d cross that bridge later. I went down the slide. The netting was dark green and bordered the whole playground. There was an imbalance in the colours of the balls in the pit, so we used to play this game when we would fish for the pink ones, searching every corner for them, digging deep. It was like semi-swimming.

We would often go here with our dear friend Sergei, where he would chat with Mum and Dad about translating the bible into Evenki. We came here often, probably because it meant that the grown-ups could get some peace as they worked. I remember this one time distinctly. After playing my heart out, I rushed to the table to get a drink. We had bought bottles of water at Subway, so we couldn’t recognise whose was whose, unless we payed attention. I was vey thirsty, and eagerly held up a bottle of water to my lips. Dad and Sergei interrupted me, alarmed, and told me not to drink it. This was Sergei’s bottle. And it wasn’t because someone else was using it, sharing drink bottles is alright in Russian culture. It’s culture, really. But society would have to make an exception for Sergei, because he had Tuberculosis. It is easily spread thought drinks and stuff, so Sergei used to have his own mug which he would use when he visited. It had colourful polka dots lined up on a creamy white background, and he drank his tea out of this one only. It was an extra precaution that may not have been necessary, since we would wash it vigorously. Everyone in the family knew not to drink form it, it was Sergei’s cup. I know, it’s technically a mug, but it’s the sort of thing that happens to a fossilised, half Canadian half Australian dialect which is isolated from the outside world- partially.

I knew when I pulled the bottle, which had bene so close to my lips, that they had saved me. It was a close call, and I had a healthy fear of TB. This memory is imprinted into my mind so clearly, Dad’s wide eyes and Sergei’s shocked face. I could have caught TB. If my immune system was weak, it would steadily grow, eating away at my life, as it had to Sergei.

I was wrestling with memories a few weeks ago, when we had a science competition, and practice question to make sure we knew how it worked happened to be on TB. Like, of all the things it could have bene on. Keep it together, Abigail, you have a test to do. Yes, Sergei died. He’s in heaven now, no longer inflicted with TB. The writers couldn’t have known. Really, they were being somewhat considerate. They could have made the question about cancer or the flu or some other disease which would undo more people. They chose an obscure one. An obscure one which stabbed my heart. Just keep calm. TB is almost gone in Australia. My English teacher said it was insane that there was a TB case in this aboriginal community she worked with for a while.

I’ll tell you more about Sergei later. It’s a long, long, long story.

We also had ice cream after playing for a while in the kids play area, and way after we had the subs. Sometimes we would have the raspberry flavoured one, and sometimes the mango one, and sometimes both. There should be more raspberry flavoured ice cream. Occasionally we had cookies instead. There was poster which you could see from the kid’s play area, with a cold soft drink and the shiny droplets on its surface. That was not going to happen in Krasnoyarsk, but its surreal how it happens here in Darwin- because of the humidity, and the coldness of a slurpy reacts with the warm, sticky air and make little droplet. Lots of them. At first you would think the drink was somehow seeping out, but that wouldn’t work with plastic.

There were two entrances to the top of the kid’s play area, and these bags with giraffes, monkeys and pandas on them. We would grip them and swing to the nearby platform. You wouldn’t need to swing across since you could easily step down and back up. But that’s boring. Some of the soft bags were put sideways, like a cushioned beam. You could roll across them. In the back of the playground, a small area beneath the rising cushions. It was a school. On the second floor, a tunnel which you could scramble your feet up against and rest your back in a strange position, almost like a headstand. I would kick the bags hard, and they would swing back to my feet, pushing them away again. On the first level at the back, past the ocean, the dark green net was torn, and you could crawl through and pick up lost hair pins and food packaging, and retrieve balls back to the pit, which other children had hoarded away.

Subway over here should also have playgrounds.