Sydney's Song, page 19
“Must you work every frigging weekend?” Petra whinged. “Chuck a sickie for once!”
But Monica managed a kind smile. “Well, it’s not fair of us to expect you to play chauffeur on a regular basis.”
“Regular basis?” her miffed girlfriend continued bitching in stage whispers, “She’s only driven us home three times!”
Three times were way too many as I had not enjoyed the experience. With my current frame of mind, I was especially not in the right shape. I didn’t want to be a cranky wet blanket. And I was not for the after-drinking sex. There was no way I could participate just-for-the-fun-of-it. What if in their soused oblivion they forgot protection? What if some freaky sleaze took advantage of their vulnerability? Ask pregnant teens out there, Auntie Kate once admonished, how many would remember it fondly as youthful foibles? Call me chicken, but it truly scared the hell out of me.
Outside the last class Trevor hounded me. This senior student was not one to leave me alone.
“Come join us,” he urged, walking beside me. “It’s Friday evening.”
“No, thank you. Have to take calls tomorrow at 6am.”
“Sydney, missing out on grog is a social death,” he lectured, coming to stop in front of me, blocking my way. “Folks will think you’re abnormal. There’s no need to be so strict at our age. All of us drink all the time, and do our study and our projects and our exams and we’ll all get our degree. No one is harmed. Don’t waste your youth being a prude when you’re only young once. How can you even relate to friends?”
“Well, news flash. I’m a nonconformist.” I smiled at him to lessen the sting of my words. “Trevor, I refuse any pre-cast mould ‘cause I want to be accepted for who I am. But in case you’re curious, my friends and I rub well enough together. Hey, they all claimed to be my best friends when I arrived with homemade baking at last week’s group assignment. Go, enjoy yourselves.”
“What about a movie?” he switched. He threw in a cajoling smile, too. Too suave for my taste. I did not like the calculating gleam in his blue eyes. “Anything you want to see?”
“Not at the moment. Thanks. Good night.”
I rang Craig/Bridget, hoping they had heard from Pete or his family.
“I’ll chase them again,” Craig offered. “Come over this evening, bring Bronson. We’ll have dinner and walk the dogs.”
I heartily accepted. When I arrived home I quickly packed Bronson into Dad’s car—which I layered with a doggie hammock because he shed a lot of hair—and drove to Roseville.
“I’ve called the family’s home and left a message on their answering machine again,” Craig reported.
“And I texted every member of the household,” Bridget added.“Hopefully this time one of them will reply.”
It was at Killara cricket oval, as we were running and laughing with the dogs under the oval’s bright lights, that the bad news arrived.
“Pete met with an awful accident in March,” Lance replied to Bridget’s SMS. “He’s off the life support. But still in a terrible condition.”
My stomach dropped. My legs lost all their power to support me.
“He’s okay,” Bridget took me in her arms. “He’s off the life support. He’ll be alright.”
“He was put on life support!” I cried. “That meant it was very serious!”
We hurried home to call Lance using the landline, sitting in Craig’s living room with the speaker on.
“Why didn’t anybody let us know?” Craig asked as my tummy knotted in fear.
“We’ve been frantic here,” explained Lance in a voice eerily similar to Pete’s. “You wouldn’t believe how hysterical and difficult Mom’s been. Favourite son and all that. In the beginning she even needed to be given sedatives. Now she’s kinda very angry all the time, you don’t wanna cross her. Anyway, we’ve been to the hospital every time when we don’t have to be somewhere else. And Pete—God… Pete’s gone!”
I gasped.
“What do you mean he’s gone?” Craig asked.
“He doesn’t recognize us anymore. He’s been out of the coma for a few days now. His eyes are open. But that’s about it.”
“What happened to him? What injuries?”
“A bicycle accident. A hit and run. Pete regularly went cycling after dinner. Even in the coldest spring evening. But he wasn’t wearing a helmet when the car hit him.”
“That doesn’t sound like Pete!”
“I know. Everybody’s saying Pete’s always been careful. But the fact is, he didn’t wear a helmet that night. Suffered a closed brain injury. Many broken bones. Nearly bled to death too. Luckily another car found him soon enough.”
“So what’s his condition now?”
“Looks like a mummy. Doesn’t recognize anyone. Can’t talk at all.Screams very loudly in pain—usually when he tries to move, but of course he can’t move at all.”
“No…” I sobbed. My poor Pete!
“Who’s that?” Lance asked curiously.
“We have Sydney here,” Craig informed him. “She’s Pete’s dear friend.”
“Yes,” Lance responded. “Pete had her pictures everywhere in his room. I’ve packed up all his belongings in the apartment, though.Brought them back here. His condition looks to be a long-term thing, Dad says to pack up.” Then he addressed me, “I’m sorry Sydney…”
“Hi,” I managed. “What does his doctor say?”
“They can’t tell. They can’t tell whether his brain injury will completely heal. Whether his broken arm and leg will ever regain their full use. It’s just wait and see.”
He was very blunt about it. Perhaps because he was only 17, he did not try to gloss up the facts as he knew them. He gave only honest answers.
“What about his ex?” I asked, remembering.
“She’s out of the picture. The divorce was through just before the accident. She’s in an alcohol-rehab centre somewhere in New York.”
“Which hospital is Pete in?” Craig asked.
“Mass General. It’s one of the best.”
“Super. You hear that, Sydney? Massachusetts General. Pete’s getting the best care. He’ll be alright in no time,” Craig tried to ease my anxiety. “Hey Lance, Pete does have medical insurance, doesn’t he? Or do we need to chip in?”
“He does have one. Forever careful, old Pete. He’s all covered.Thank you.”
“Lance,” I asked, my mind clicking at something else, “When exactly did this happen?”
“Monday, March the 20th. He was found at nine-oh-five pm.”
Boston time.
The hair on my neck stood up. 11:05am, Tuesday, 21 March 2000, Sydney time.
I was frantic. The thought of my love in a critical condition and the tremendous fear of never again seeing his beloved face ate at me. I desperately needed to get over there.
But I didn’t have any money. All my savings had gone to pay for uni. I had lived frugally day to day, my dismal salary going to my books and food. Damn if I asked my parents’ help for anything. I was too proud.
Eventually, my worries exceeding my pride, I phoned Dad, hoping to borrow some funds.
But as it turned out he had just been sacked. My wonderful Dad tried to help his employees and paid for it. As the company’s new Chief Geophysicist, he was petitioned by the local employees to increase their meagre pay. Dad heartily approved, thinking these people deserved it because the company was making HUGE profits.
“You wouldn’t believe it!” he confided. “My drafter was only paid a pathetic 75 dollars a month! I visited. They could only afford to live in appalling condition.” It so went against his conscience, because his pay was over a half-million dollars a year.
But the American oil company objected to the pay rise and Dad lost his job.
“What about—Geraldine?” I asked.
“She still has her job. At the moment I’m staying here with her while she makes up her mind whether to follow me home.”
“What’s there to decide? She wants to build a family with you! She can’t possibly want to stay there.”
“But she loves it here.”
“Living in woop-woop?” I asked in disbelief.
“Honey, this part of Balikpapan where the oil people live is a very posh one. Very upper class. Country-club life and such. She’s made friends. Expats’ wives and highly-educated locals.”
“But she loves you, Dad. Doesn’t she?” My Dad was a great bloke.And very handsome too. “You should come first!”
“I’ll wait a bit for her decision.”
So Dad was in hot water. No way would I burden him with my own problems. I was too tongue-tied to mention anything, let alone borrow money.
Still I must see Pete urgently. Swallowing my pride, quelling my fear, I called on Mum at her partner’s opulent home for help.
She objected fiercely and we had a big fight.
“You’re putting too much importance on this relationship,” she protested, ranting and raving. “And at an age when you haven’t the maturity to know better. Well, I’ll have you know. A man isn’t a woman’s destiny in life! He is not the purpose of a woman’s existence. Not a woman’s raison d’être. To live happily you first have to discover your own self. Make something of yourself for yourself that satisfies your intelligence and self respect. Know your worth. Find your own purpose in life. And I repeat, your purpose in life isn’t the man you’re in love with!”
“Of course not,” I retorted. “I totally agree with you. I believe the man we’re in love with is our friend along the journey to those goals.
But without him to share our life, the journey will be lonely and those achievements will be hollow.
“I may be young but I know firsthand—through my parents’abandonment,” I threw her a dirty look, “that as social beings we all need genuine companionship to feel complete. After you left me alone, I found it with Pete. I’m not giving him up for any reason. No, no, no! I wanna grow up with him! Grow old with him! But he’s sick, so please… I need your help to visit him now.”
“No way! You’re only 18! You can’t leave your study, give up your future, to go halfway across the world.”
“I’m not giving up my study… Only deferring it. And it’s not like I’m going away for fun.”
“Still irresponsible! Even if it’s not for fun. A complete waste of time because there’s absolutely nothing—nothing!—you can do over there. You’re too young to understand, but teenage love will soon fade.”
“No! Our love will last forever.”
“Spoken exactly like a teenager. But sorry Miss, I’m not paying for you to waste your time and resources on your silly, immature love.”
“Mum?” I begged. “Please…”
“No way! Do you hear me? No. Way.”
“What do you want me to do? Ditch my boyfriend because he’s become an invalid?” I stomped my foot, working myself into a rage.
“You’re so mean! So heartless!”—my volume escalated. “I’m never going to visit you again!”
Angry and crying, I left. Hating her. Hating the clash. But as I was running to the door someone snatched at my arm.
Ettoré had appeared from nowhere, looking at me with fury.
“Don’t do this to your mother,” he protested sternly, looking like he would love to give me a sound trashing. He whirled me around and dragged me back to Mum in purposeful steps. His grip on my arm hurt. I couldn’t believe how strong he was, sophisticated Mr Beautiful of the slender, delicate frame. Fiercely he instructed me, eyes flashing, “Now hug your Mum!”
And somehow I ended up in Mum’s arms, both of us crying. We were two different individuals who could not relate to each other.What had life done to us? We used to be a happy family, what felt like a million lifetimes ago. I used to adore her, even when she was bossy and strict and hogged the internet and bought me grownup shoes that I wouldn’t be seen dead wearing.
In the aftermath Mum went to freshen up. Ettoré took me to the kitchen and sat me at his table, a contemporary glass-and-steel affair.
“Be good to everyone.” He shoved a glass of cold water at me. His unsmiling jaw tight. “Say only kind words. Soft words. Because you never know one day you may have to eat them.”
“But she wants me to get over Pete!” I railed in full despair. “How could I go on my merry way when Pete’s in this condition?” Could you do that to someone dear to your heart? When the going gets very, very tough, would you walk away from him who has taught you the meaning of the word ‘euphoria’ and has promised to love you until he dies? “It hurts me to know he’s in pain.”
“I could help you, you know.”
My eyes widened.
“I could find you sponsors for a visa,” he continued.
For the first time, a glimmer of hope flickered in my heart.
“I have connections. Everywhere.” He took the seat across from me. “My business takes me all over the world. Hey, I can even attend a meeting in New York this week, instead of my deputy. I can easily fly to Boston from there.”
I gaped.
“Yes, I’ll do it,” he came to a swift decision. “Your Mum and I will go. But we’re not taking you with us. Stay home and study. We’ll check on Pete and report everything to you. Alright? We’ll assess whether it’ll be a good thing for you to go to him then. And if so, what you may need.”
“But I’m going to die if I don’t see him now!”
“Use your head, Sydney. He’s been in the hospital for several weeks, you say. It won’t make much difference to wait a week longer.”
“What if—”
“No what ifs! And what other options do you have anyway?”
Oh. I stared at him like a halfwit. What other options? Contritely I reined in my temper.
“But—, but you and Mum are key executives… Very important and very busy. You’d really do this? Drop everything and go thousands of miles to check Pete out for me?”
“Time for parental leave,” he reasoned. “Annette loves you. I’ll talk her into agreeing to this. And with the phone and internet, I can still do most of my work throughout the trip.”
“Please tell Pete,” I asked with pent-up emotion, “Tell Pete I love him.”
“Be strong,” he ordered strictly. “You’re useless to Pete broken.”
It was extremely hard to cope with the interminable wait.
Missing my school friends, I perused their emails.
Lucy was in the Army and “so not writing about it” because she had had enough “after the whole day living it.” She wrote she was awfully tired every night and could not manage to jot down more than a few lines each time.
In stark contrast, Brenna who was studying music in Melbourne waxed rhapsodies about the pianist she had fallen madly in love with.She went on and on about him, positively head over heels.
Meanwhile Alex in India grimly recounted the world’s many miseries he witnessed. Appalling living conditions. Child slavery.Underage prostitution. Poverty beyond imagination. Contaminated water and diseases. Deforestation. I asked him if it was so disturbing, why didn’t he move on? “The lovely people”, he replied. “On my first day, I wondered why the hell had people come here. At the end of the third day, I was already making plans to extend my stay. And I’ll definitely come back here in the future.”
How could I mention my woes to these friends? Lucy, struggling to be the future hero of our country. Brenna—I would not dent her joy.And Alex. Wouldn’t it be shallow of me to compete with hefty world issues?
In silence I grieved for my Pete.
Then one morning, during my break at campus, I had a phone call from Nina.
“Sydney. You okay?” she enquired in a concerned tone.
For a moment I could not answer.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” I replied after a pause.
“Well—I had a dream about you. In the dream, you looked sad.”
Somehow this made me burst into tears.
“Pete’s injured!” I wailed. “He had an accident, Nina. A despicable hit-and-run! It’s been weeks! And still he’s hardly conscious!”
“No… So sorry to hear that. Where is he?”
“In Boston! So far away I can’t see him!”
“Pray for him to get better.”
“But he’s in America!”
“Sydney? Your prayer for him will reach God, no matter the location. It’s the same one God, darl, wherever you are.”
“If there was a God, he wouldn’t be so cruel! If there was a God, he wouldn’t have let this happen to Pete! He’s the most wonderful person, Nina. He doesn’t deserve this. Not at all! No, I don’t believe there’s a God!”
Then I realised a few people were watching me. In fact, Trevor was looking at me strangely. Did I look deranged? I whirled around and stormed off.
“May I visit?” Pete knew her from his stint at the call centre and I needed to pour my heart out to someone who had met my love.
“Can’t talk right now.”
I arrived as her kids were leaving for a kung-fu practice, all in their white uniform.
“You don’t take your mum along?” I asked.
“She already knows how to throw you. Easy.”
“Really?” I turned to Nina. “Then why don’t you go to their practice and throw all the smart-assed guys?”
“Um—I don’t touch strangers. You know, it’s hard to throw a man without touching him.”
I laughed.
Nina had baked some pastries for me, making me miss Pete even more. My love—a champ in the kitchen.
“Pete needs your prayers,” she advised. “God does exist and He is there for your benefit.”
“What God? There’s no God. If God did exist, why so much mess?If he was one, then why did he create so many confusing religions?”
“Because our ancestors had not developed the internet. Or TV. Or jet planes. One civilisation didn’t have the means to communicate with another. So the limit was with the people—not God.”
“Oh?”
“Religion is God’s grace, His way to show people how to live easier. God loves all people. So He chose a messenger from among each people as a guide. Confucius for the Chinese. Zoroaster for the Persians. There haven’t been any people to whom a messenger of God has not been sent.”
