Sydney's Song (34 page)

“Sing, Sydney,” urged Ashleigh.

“Nope. You guys are too good. I won't humiliate myself with my off-key singing.”

The boys were enjoying their pre-uni vacation. Gilang, a happy, unassuming boy with dark-chocolate eyes wanted to study biotechnology. His parents said it would help him to make friends quickly if he had something to share. Since his hobby was music, they suggested it. Thus the fun-filled US mansion.

“Pete said my country's gross national income per capita was way less than three bucks a day,” Gilang confided to me. “He sorta opened my eyes to giving something back after my studies.”

“Sounds very Pete, huh?” Lance joined in.

“That's him,” I shook my head, my mind somewhere in the happy past.

Lance tilted his head to look at me, a gesture so much like Pete's.

On the Red Line train to MGH he said, “Sydney, Pete would've liked it if you hang out with us. He often joined us too.” Then he leaned back, closed his eyes, and fell promptly asleep. It amazed me no end how he could wake up when he was supposed to. So far we had never missed a stop.

Throughout the summer Lance regularly took me to their “band practice” while Pete was napping. Once, Gilang gifted himself with tattoos on his left arm for his 18th birthday present. But his dad, who disapproved of tattoos, unexpectedly showed up and hauled Gilang to the hospital. His dad ordered all the tattoos to be surgically removed. When it healed after his dad's departure back home, Gilang promptly had the same arm inked again. It costed him $600 for the first designs. The following week he added $600 worth of colours.The week after $600 worth more details. All in one forearm.

Several of these friends had girls they dated.

“Tell me Sydney,” Miguel, a Hispanic-lover-in-the-making who preferred romantic dates to sport, and who talked really a lot, approached me one Friday afternoon. “Where should I take my date?What sort of first outing do you girls prefer?”

“Just ask her what she likes. If you don't like it, be prepared to suggest your preference.”

“Hey Sydney,” Derek, a Matt-Damon-wannabe, struck a posture in front of me, sleeves tightly rolled up to show off impressive gym-honed biceps. He was always very conscious about muscle building.“Do you think my date will like my new shirt?”

“
Me
? Advising you? I'm hopeless about fashion! I pretty much think it's your personality that counts. She won't ditch you if you're very interesting,” I told him. Derek made a mock crestfallen expression that made me laugh. “Nice biceps, though.”

“Honestly?” he dropped to the big chair in front of me, hands clasped, elbows on knees. “Where'd you want to go when a guy asks you out? What do you like? In other words, how did Pete impress you? Apart from his pretty face?”

Shy Sean came near us. He was very tall, but because of his very youthful face people did not normally realise this until he loomed before you. He sat down next to me, hazel eyes showing interest in our chat.

“But Pete doesn't have to do anything,” I replied. “He just has to exist. Breathe. I like that best. Him. Just—being there, courteously unobtrusive. A constant presence. Never pushy. Being polite is free, you know. Yeah, I like a guy being himself, never pretending to be what he's not. You can do that.”

“So I can be a schlub from gym?” Derek asked.

“Only if you shower first. Common sense, man. Personal hygiene is big. And… I believe I do notice people's toenails.”

They all burst out laughing.

“Choose me, choose me,” smiley Ashleigh came over with his guitar. “I don't give a damn how I look but I'll keep you entertained.” The black kid with the golden tonsils, he proceeded to sing Blink 182's “
She left me roses by the stairs
…”

That very evening my phone rang when I was in Pete's sick room.

It was Derek.

“Don't have your dinner tonight,” he ordered. “We're taking you to eat out.”

“We?”

“The band. You have a date with all of us. You should learn something about Boston's famous jaunts.”

“Oh? Where are we going?”

“Back Bay. Not too far from your place. There's this billiards-and-bowling alley with great food.”

“Billiards and bowling? But I'm exhausted already.”

“You won't be. Not when you hear the music.”

“But why'd you want to go out with me?”

“'Cause your voice is
hot
, even when you don't know how to sing.”

“Whaat?”

He laughed out loud. “Just pulling your leg. Okay Sydney, 'cause you're fun to hang out with. And, ‘cause we like your accent!”

When I looked up, Pete's Mom was eyeing me wrathfully and my heart lurched. My spirit plummeted. Alright, alright, ‘fess up. She had the power to rob me of any light.

Pete's Mom revelled in staying bitter. She loved her arrogance and did her best to be unpleasant. And she was successful.

“Sydney?” Derek prompted.

Time to do something about my bruised spirit.

“Good-o,” I deliberately chose the Australian expression. “I'll give it a go.”

“Super! We'll pick you up.”

Pete's Mom threw me another of her hostile looks when the boys arrived. I supposed that was okay, since she even glared at Lance, her own son. They greeted me happily and noisily (“We've all cleaned our toenails, Sydney!”), kissing my cheeks with loud smacks, but lost all their vocabulary when greeting Pete's Mom. Typical teens, my parents would say.

“Save me from your Mom, darling,” I whispered into Pete's neck.“Get better.”

We had Boston's famous seafood, which tasted so good after continuous hospital fare.

“Glad you like it!” Ashleigh shouted when I ate with gusto. The friends had been drumming and belting out songs following the loud music in this very noisy restaurant, with onlookers throwing indulgent smiles at them.

“Pity legal drinking age here is 21!” Miguel shouted.

“A relief no one's pressuring me into drinking!” I shouted back.

“But I wish I were 18 living Down Under!” Derek, beside me, commented wistfully.
Well
… I wasn't about to mention Dad's abandoned cellar. I told him about our exorbitant food and drink prices instead, and asked him to come when loaded.

After their music practices I went on a few more outings with them. We had scrumptious lobsters at the Legal Sea Foods on the waterfront, and very close from there was the New England Aquarium—a gorgeous facility similar to our Manly Aquarium with its tall five-storey central aquarium tank filled with sharks and sea turtles, moray eels and plenty of other large fish. Of course, it had yet to beat Sydney Aquarium's Great Barrier Reef with its
real
Nemo's world.

The boys sang everywhere. They sang by the river and in the car during Boston's ugly traffic jam. Their light mood was contagious.Carefree and full of high energy, they made me laugh. For a while their joy revived me and eased my worries.

But nothing—nothing!—could make my love get better.

Pete's condition remained the same when September rolled in.Lance's gang were about to start uni. They had admission to Harvard, MIT and Boston University, with cheerful Lance going for Biomedical Forensic Sciences. His Mom, of course, lamented the fact that he was not good enough for NEC. Tough. He didn't even want to study music.

Back home, the Sydney Olympics were about to start. One afternoon I watched the frenzy of preparation for the Opening Ceremony on TV while massaging Pete. Once I had a picture of me taken at the 1300500 office, holding one of the Olympic torches.Seeing it now with its design of boomerang and Opera House made me homesick. Poignant longings clawed at my heart.

Inhaling the lovely citrus scent of the massage oil, I continued massaging Pete. I was now an experienced masseuse, specifically for long-term bed-ridden patients. And how these months had changed me… I now did with love the things I had been squeamish about at the start.

I washed the massage oil away and applied lotion. All the while Pete's face was very calm, but his stare was blank. He didn't know me. He did not know what was going on.

“Do not despair of God's grace,” I chanted to myself as I put on his clean hospital shirt, expertly wrangling his arm's cast through.

“Do not despair of God's grace,” I repeated like a mantra, standing by his hospital window. The view wasn't much here. The picturesque riverbank was blocked by the tops of other buildings.

I took stock of my situation, Pete's stagnant condition, and the hospital's efforts.

Recently Dr McGlynn, the orthopaedic surgeon, had opened Pete's casts, taken more X-rays, and decided to put new casts on to allow more time for more healing.

“His bones should completely heal,” he explained. “But he will need to go through extensive physiotherapy to recoup the complete use of his arm and leg. That can only be done if he can follow the instructions. Meaning, he needs to be able to understand his physiotherapist.” He looked at me with compassion, his kind eyes complementing the unspoken words.

My beloved would have to understand, and respond, before he could learn to walk again.

“The same applies to his brain,” the doctor continued. “New scientific research shows that the health and function of a patient's brain can be improved with the right mental workout. But he needs to have the capability to follow these workouts.”

Oh God, when would Pete come back?

His family loved him but he would remain a burden in their lives.

And because Pete was a patient you couldn't chat with, the hospital staff could not view him as a person. They did not know his dreams, his ideas and interests. His feelings and wishes. His ambitions and anxieties. They did not know his rich life stories. They had no idea how lovely he was as a person or what he could give others. (I had Bread's “
If
” playing in my head,
“If a picture paints a thousand words, then why can't I paint you? The words will never show, the you I've come to know…”
) To them he was an endless chore. No more.

I dreaded the inevitable end of my one year. The day when I would have to pack up and really leave. (“
If a man could be two places at
one time I'd be with you…”
) It was unavoidable. Creeping slowly but surely.

There was no way I could go back on my words regarding the one-year-only promise. Just wasn't me. I had to meet their terms and keep my end of the agreement or my heart would twist with heavy guilt. No begging for prolonged help. I must complete my studies first before consigning the rest of my life to caring for Pete.

Anxiety crept up on me, getting a grip on my heart and mind. How, just how, would I ever have the strength to leave Pete alone in his present condition? In helplessness I prayed, “I have no one else to ask, Lord, please, oh please return my love to normal-land.”

Patience. My love would recover.
Keep your trust in God even after the last ray of hope has departed…
I hugged myself, standing there by the hospital window, silent tears running unchecked.

“Sydney,” asked Pete from behind me in a very clear voice.

“What's your weight today?”

I whirled around.

“What's your weight today?”

Pete, his hair so long now, was looking at me intently. After his wash, I had left him sitting at a slight recline on his bed. He had been awake, but as usual oblivious to his surroundings. But now—now his eyes were wide and clear. Very, very alert.

“Honey, you're crying,” he said. “What's wrong?”

Honey
. I
knew
that tone! That word.

And he opened his left arm. Actually he must have tried to open both his arms, because now he looked at his plastered right arm with a puzzled expression. He turned to me again.

“Come here,” he motioned with his left arm once more.“Sweetheart. Are you okay?”

I flew to him. My heart in my throat, with trembling fingers I touched his face. Frowning, he looked back at me with full attention and concern.

“Pete,” my tears were unstoppable as I hugged him. “Darling…”

He wrapped me to his chest with one arm, “Honey, what's wrong?”

Honey
. My memory rushed back to the past. There was something about Pete's voice that was very calming. The way he said the word“honey”, I could sense that he really meant it. That it wasn't just a term. When he said it, I felt I was very dear to him.

“How come you're crying? And you've lost weight again. What's bothering you? Love?” Surpassing all expectation, there was nothing wrong or unusual about his speech whatsoever.

Overwhelmed, I wailed out loud.

“Had an accident, did I? Where are we? Is this Hornsby Hospital?Or St. Leonard's North Shore?”

Running footsteps were rushing in. I looked up. Pete was highly alert. His clear eyes the colour of Dorrigo's freshest grass in spring checked the newcomers curiously. His left arm tightened around me, as if trying to protect me from these intruders.