Sydney's Song (26 page)

A few days later I flew outside when a FedEx van stopped beneath my room. At last! Smiling broadly I could have kissed the delivery man. But he handed my own letter back to me. Bewildered I looked at it.
Failed delivery
.

Pain sliced through my chest as I staggered inside. I closed the door. Leaned on it. Then slid boneless to the floor with my sinking spirit. There, in the foyer where my love first kissed me, I broke down.

That night I had a nightmare.

In the dream I attended an evening party, where, swathed in happiness, I came to realise it was to be my wedding ball. Tulips were everywhere as if people were walking in a field of them and overhead brilliant chandeliers glittered merrily. But—but the groom never showed up! I waited and waited. I saw wisps of snow floating down silently from the now open ceiling. Slowly… So slowly… Cold and quiet. Into the grand ballroom that was now vacant of people or flowers. Except for a solitary girl in a pretty wedding gown…

I was caught in that dream, cold and helpless, trying to break free but I could not. Tied… I had to endure the dream for a very long time even after I realised I was dreaming.

The first thing I saw when I could finally open my eyes was a photo of Pete on my night table. I had one whole wall of my photos of him in my room. In one, I remembered how the sun had slanted in the kitchen and played on his shiny blue-black hair. In another, he was happily laughing. In this one on the night table he was maintaining strong eye contact, silently conveying his deep love.

With a trembling hand I reached for it and touched his beloved face. His eyes looked back at me and I felt a meeting of our souls. In my mind I heard his voice.
Sydney… there's no way I can live without you.

I jumped out of the bed and hauled his duffel bag from my wardrobe, the one he left because he was to come back soon. Earlier I had laundered the clothes he had worn to swimming and skating. I dug out his T-shirt, stared at it, and changed into it. The moment it wrapped my body I felt some kind of relief. There was his subtle scent that I relished. But more, I felt as if he was with me and I
could
feel his love.

There was a land out there. In a parallel world. In that land, we were one. Nobody could take this away from us. ‘Cause nobody else knew this place. In this land of ours, nobody else existed.

After many days of near insomnia, I finally fell asleep.

Waking up, I drove to Freshwater and surfed by myself, needing the adrenalin. There I made the discovery that although it did not conjure Pete, shouting to the waves deadened my frustration a bit.And hey, I lived in Sydney—why would I mope in a dark corner when I could have endless, magnificent views?

From then on I went surfing by myself
every day.
Even in the coldest autumn, and when I could only afford to be there a short time. On chilly mornings there was hardly anybody about. The beach was all mine. I watched the glorious sun, rising golden from the glittering Pacific, casting orangey-yellow hues of dawn on the intriguing patterns of cirrus clouds above.

Alone I screamed my heart out loud to the roaring waves. “My love, where are you?”

“C'mon. We'll pay for your parking. The taxis always refuse to take us home,” Petra, Monica's very beautiful doll-like girlfriend, whined.

“I know all about taxi complaints, girls. Either drivers refuse drunks, or they take advantage by taking you the long way home.”

“So you'll drive us?” Monica tried to make me feel guilty, “It's not safe for young girls to be stranded in the City you know.”

Duh. ‘Young girls'? Only in my taxi complaints girls referred to themselves as young. Who again wanted to go out in the first place?

“Catch the NightRide,” I advised. It was okay if friends happened to drink around me, but why should I go out of my way to watch them drink? It was plain unintelligent (no-brainer, Pete would say) to force myself to do so just to gain their acceptance.

“We'll ask the boys too,” hazel-eyed Chantelle offered, trying to entice me. “Seven can fit in your big car, right? Whom do you prefer? The regulars? I'll text Stefan and Trevor.”

“No thank you.”

“You want someone new? Good idea! Can't stand a man for more than a few weeks. I love the anticipation of going to bed with a new body.” Chantelle smiled eagerly. “Shall we pick up some cute boys tonight?”

“Just you. Hope you have a good time.” And be safe.

“You have to try it Sydney… Sex will loosen you up a bit.”

“Sydney has a guy overseas,” Monica interjected.

“Fantastic. That means this is her chance to go out bonking others!Check out if she's got the best deal. And Sydney, who knows you'll meet Mr Right tonight?!”

“Yeah right. Are you suggesting I wait for Mr Right by bonking every Mr Right Now?” I shook my head. “Think again.”

“Sydney…” Chantelle whined. “Think of the fun.”

“You know I work twenty hours on weekends.” My excuse. True anyway. “I just want to be lazy in the evenings.”

“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.