Sydney's Song (28 page)

I prayed while walking around watering my garden. I prayed as I stood slicing tomatoes for my dinner. I prayed hugging a cushion, staring at my empty fireplace. I prayed kneeling down in front of my bed. I prayed lying on my pillow, a picture of Pete looking on from the night table.

I fervently prayed he would get better.

One late afternoon, as I left to walk Bronson, I saw Trevor waiting in front of my house with his little dog. Vaguely I wondered why Trevor, who lived in Wollstonecraft, would come this far just to walk his dog. Indulging his pet?

His little shih-tzu was more exuberant than my long-haired collie.Bronson had grown very long fur and he looked magnificent and very dignified. He looked at Li'l Shiht with interest but refused to be drawn to play. And both the dogs were too lazy to run.

“I can't tell whether it's because Bronson is downright lazy or highly intelligent,”
I had once written to Pete,
“but his haughty demeanour is so endearing, and I fall in love with him more because he makes me laugh. Pete, you should see us running.

When I run around the oval, at first he'll just stand still in that majestic posturing of his, watching me in a condescending stare, his now long mane looking so beautiful. After I've run three sides of the oval, he'll sprint towards me and run the last side of the oval with me, joyously barking and biting at the side of my shirt.

When we reach the starting point, he'll stand still again and watch, his haughty expression saying: ‘Why are you stupidly running all around the oval, when you can just traverse it quickly?'

He will join me again when I've run the three sides of the oval.”

To that Pete had replied,

“Give Bronson a hug from me. Tell the little baggage I love him

‘cause he makes you happy. I talked to my flatmate about him and Mario gave me a recipe for dog toothpaste: 2 Tablesp bicarbonate soda

Add olive oil just enough to make it into paste Add 2 teasp aniseed essence.

Try this, ‘cause I think his $26 toothpaste from your vet is a rip off.”

“It works?” Trevor asked me now when I told him about this cheap recipe. We were talking about dog habits and dog breeds and everything dog. And he had never brushed his dog's teeth.

“Sure does. Bronson's breath isn't smelly at all.”

When we returned in the diminishing light to my house, where Trevor had parked his car, he asked, “Can Li'l Shiht please have some water?”

I took them to the backyard. As it was getting dark early at this time of the year, I switched on the lights. At that moment I heard a car coming. By the sound of it, Ettoré's Maserati.

My heart pounded so hard. News at last!

“I'm sorry honey, but he'll always be a vegetable.”

“No! I won't have it. Not my Pete, no! Not my love. My life. No!”

“Darling…” Mum took me into her arms. “We questioned his doctors all about it. The orthopaedic surgeon. The neurosurgeon. I know you're shocked. But hush now, keep your cool.”

“Let her cry,” Ettoré suggested. “Time enough to talk later.”

I pulled away from Mum at this. Fresh tears kept spilling out, but I faced them.

“I want to talk. Please… Don't leave anything out.”

Ettoré took me to the couch. I tried hard to suppress the sobs jerking my body and he wrapped a consoling arm around my shoulders.

“He has regained consciousness, but not awareness,” Mum explained. “When we visited, his eyes were open, but he just stared, unseeing, oblivious of everything. There was no response whatsoever to any sound or sight. He didn't show recognition to anybody—even his mum. He didn't know what was going on. He didn't talk, or couldn't.

“It was a month after his accident. He had been like that since coming out of the coma. The first three weeks, he was totally out.The doctor said
severe
brain injury occurred when the patient was in a prolonged coma. As in days, weeks, or longer. Well, Pete was out for three weeks, and based on the doctor's experience this type of patient would stay in a vegetative state, which is exactly Pete's current unresponsive state. So honey, he's not there.

“His body is broken. Bandages and plasters everywhere. Closed right brain injury. Broken right shin. Broken right arm. Jarred shoulder. And there's nobody inhabiting this broken shell. He's simply not there.”

“He
is
there,” I declared fiercely, swiping at my tears.
There was a
parallel land out there…
“I still
feel
him. We have this connection.
I
know.”

“Darling… We've seen how close you two were. But we're telling you the truth. Generally, patients with moderate traumatic brain injury can recover with treatment. They can successfully learn to overcome their deficits. But Pete's case is a severe one, honey. How will he
learn
to get better when he doesn't even know what's going on and can't respond to stimulation? His doctors say not to expect much.”

“No! They're so wrong! He'll get better.” I stood up and paced and paced furiously. I was extremely angry with whoever had hit my Pete. Why, oh why, had he not been wearing his helmet that night?

“So Pete's injured. So the injury is extensive. He can't even talk.That means he needs me now more than ever! I have to be there. Oh God, I have to be there.” I hugged myself. “Help me,
please help me
, I have to be there.”

Mum ordered, “Be reasonable,” and Ettoré asked, “What about your study?” at the same time.

They looked at each other and silently they agreed Ettoré was the one to talk.

“Annette and I will have to discuss this,” Ettoré offered. “With your Dad, too.”

“Dad?” Ettoré and Dad
knew
each other?

“Of course he should know. You want to go overseas. You're in the middle of your study. You're wearing your heart on your sleeve.You aren't thinking straight. You're only 18 and you love Pete too much. There's definitely a streak of emotional fanaticism in you.What can you do? What can you do for him?”

“I can care for him.”

“There are doctors and highly trained nurses doing that already.”

“But they're only doing their duty! They don't love him.”

Ettoré took a deep breath.

“Honey, even if he gets better—which at the moment is a very big ask—he won't be the same as before. Before this accident Pete sure could string more words together than your teen friends. He was interesting and we liked him. But he's changed. He'll never be your original flame again.

“How will you cope with a disabled person who'll forever be dependent on you for pretty much everything? How are you going to finance your life? That is, if you can even do that. How will you get him to marry you when he can't even recognise you, let alone talk and go through a marriage ceremony?

“Yes Sydney, we're talking marriage here. Big-eyed, are you? You can't possibly stay in the US. What work can you do there to support yourself? Flipping burgers or waiting tables? You have to bring him down here. And how do you think you can do this if you aren't married to him? You don't even have a decent income to support his expenses. You think our Immigration will grant a burdensome foreigner entry and get free hospital and medical support like the rest of us Aussies?

“Do you understand that? A disabled person will need looking after
all day
. It's a gruelling task. How will you do that by yourself? You can't afford to be a dropout because your study is something to fall back on. Your future kids will require expenses. They won't appreciate parents who are Centrelink parasites—one on disability pension, the other an underpaid worker. Where will your self-esteem be when you depend on tax payers' handouts? So you need a good job for your family's survival. For your own dignity. For your sanity.Do you see all that?

“And what about fun? You're only 18. 18! You want to throw away your youth just like that? For an injured man? How long can you cope? How long before you cave in under the burden? And what about sex? Yes, Sydney. You won't be young and innocent for always. One day you'll grow up and you
will
need sex. Suppose he remains a vegetable. There wouldn't be any sex. There wouldn't be kids either. What then? You'd be chained to him. Would you grow to hate him? Would you cheat on him?

“And your parents love you so much! Neither of them will allow you to throw your life away just because you can't get over this enormous feeling of love. Yes he was great, before the accident. But are you prepared to accept him if it turned out to be the worst?

“So think this through. Evaluate all possible consequences. Think calmly. Take your time. If you think you could cope with all that, if you think you could come up with the solution to every single question that I've just mentioned, bring your proposal to us tomorrow. Or whenever you're ready. Explain why your parents should allow you to go to the US. Why it is the only sensible thing to do. Rationally like an adult, not emotionally. And don't give me smart-assed juvenile answers. I want you to use your brain.

“Think long term. If we lend you money to finance this trip—and give you connections to gain the necessary visa—outline how you'll pay us back. For your mother, the greatest payback will be your safety and happiness. But don't take advantage of her. An adult acts like an adult—meaning they pay their own way. They make money to support their decisions and their lifestyle. They have the dignity not to whine and beg!”

I stared at him in amazement. Ettoré, the pretty boy, saying all this?He must have thought of every possible deterrent on the flight home.I turned to Mum. She was big-eyed too. Ettoré, the pretty boy, saying all this?

“We still have jet lag,” he stood up. “So come late if you want to see us tomorrow. Ciao for now.”

“Will you be alright by yourself?” Mum asked. Her hair was untidy and she was still wearing her rumpled clothes from the plane. For once, my usually elegant mother did not bother about her appearance. “I could stay.”

“I'll be alright,” I assured her. “I have to be. For Pete.”

I waved them off with a heavy heart and returned to pacing the living room. Thinking hard and missing Pete. Missing his warm hugs and the twinkle in his eyes. Ettoré's warnings had awoken me. I could not afford to crumple or be volatile emotionally. Had to work out a plan. Somebody, help me…

“I'm here. For you.”

I whirled around, startled. Trevor! I had forgotten about him completely. He hovered near the French doors, a scowl marring his normally cheerful face. Trevor was a looker with nice cheek bones, well-proportioned nose and sculpted lips. Couldn't like his eyes, though. There was something cunning and untrustworthy there. At least that was how he came across.

“No need to chase a dying man.”

“Eavesdropping?” I asked resentfully. “He's not dying. He just needs time to recover from an accident.”

Trevor advanced towards me and touched my cheek. I stepped back. Again he advanced. I swatted at his hand, finding his persistence and his touch repulsive.

“A vegetable for life, I heard.” He stood too close, his face bending over mine, crowding my personal space. I could see the flecks of colour in his blue eyes and I could see his blond eyelashes. “Sounds like he's too much trouble to stick with. Get over him. Try your chances with me instead.”

“Whaat?” I stepped away again. “You can't be interested in me that way.”

“Yes I am. Very interested.” He looked at me up and down. “I'd love to do interesting things with you.”

Oh no. I didn't think I had done anything to give him hope or inspire unholy thoughts. He was a proficient tutor, attentive and helpful, brilliant and extremely handsome. But Trevor had an inflated ego. I had listened to him talking and at times found him in love with himself—instead of with me.

“Cut it out Trevor,” I grumbled, unamused and devoid of amorous interest. “I'm very much into an intimate one-on-one, deep, meaningful relationship. I'm very selfish that way. I won't waste time with casual—”

“You don't get it, baby. When you're mine, I'll have no need for others. Just you. Well, Monica says she wants to be invited, but if you're into one-on-one…” he shrugged, “then we won't include her.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I knitted my brows.

“Monica doesn't like men. She was only with me a few times to show me what she could do, gunning for an invitation to play when I'd have you. Actually, she's only been anticipating having sex with you.”

“Eww!”

“You aren't racist, are you? East Asians have the smoothest skin—their grownups are naturally hairless like Western babies.”

“It's not that!” I was shaking my head in horror and disbelief. We were totally on different planets here. “But I had no notion her kindness was motivated by—well, an ulterior motive.”