The Pause (23 page)

‘I felt this huge sense of relief: he'd heard me for the first time in our relationship, and maybe I didn't loathe him after all. Then he put his arms
around me and hugged me and said that it was all just my hormones talking and that once I'd had the baby, I would dismiss all thoughts about becoming a doctor and be content to raise our babies. I just turned and looked at him and he gave me this daft grin. I knew that I had to get away from him. I had to escape. And so I ran. I ran out onto the road but a taxi …' She stops. Enough said.

I squeeze her hand. ‘I'm so sorry, Lisa.'

‘You know the first thing I thought about when they told me that I was paraplegic?'

I shake my head.

‘I thought that you and I would never get to go motorcycling through Europe after all.'

For one of the few times since my breakdown, I'm stuck for words.

Lisa obviously sees that I'm struggling with this. ‘I hope Mum hurries back with lunch,' she says, changing the subject. ‘I'm starving.'

When Susanne arrives back, Lisa has two bites of her Quarter Pounder and announces that she's full. That she's had enough. I don't know if she's talking about lunch or life.

I stayed for two months. We talked, we read, we discussed rehabilitation and what she could still do. I took on the role that I was always supposed to. I became Lisa's best friend and anchor. Between us we bought her a kick-arse, all-terrain wheelchair. My school gave me leave without pay on compassionate grounds and although my accommodation in Hong Kong was free (technically I stayed in Lisa's old bedroom at Susanne's while Lisa was in hospital, though in reality I hardly left her side in case Gary turned up unannounced), I was still paying half the rent on the North Sydney apartment that Kim and I had taken out a long lease on and eventually
things became tight. I had to return to Sydney and go back to work.

Although we stayed in touch by email and text, I had to give Lisa time to grieve her disability: to deny, to be angry, to bargain, to be depressed, to accept, and to divorce that a-hole she had mistakenly attached herself to. I was with her all the way. And while all that was going on in the background, I was busy finishing my master's thesis and writing my first book – about depression and creativity – so that no English department at any high school in the world would knock me back if they had a position vacant. Because for the first time in my life I had a plan.

Almost a year to the day since I visited Lisa in hospital, Susanne buzzes me up to their modified apartment in North Point.

Susanne hugs me at the door, having clearly forgiven me for messing things up.

I kick off my shoes in the vestibule. ‘How is she?'

‘She's in a good place. Got a high distinction on her last essay.' Lisa has followed her dreams and is studying to become a doctor.

‘Lisa,' calls Susanne. ‘You have a visitor.'

Eventually Lisa comes rolling into the lounge room. Her face lights up like a Christmas tree when she sees me, which sends my heart into bongo-drum mode. ‘Declan. What are you doing
here? You never said you were coming for a visit.'

I hug Lisa and kiss her forehead. ‘That's because I'm not here for a visit. I live here now.'

Lisa's eyes widen to the size of frisbees. ‘What?'

‘Just down the road in Causeway Bay. You're looking at the new Head of English at Bayside International School.'

‘You're kidding.'

‘I start on Monday.'

‘How did you manage …?'

‘Sent my résumé to every school in Hong Kong. I would have been happy just to teach. I would have been happy just to clean. Instead, I'm running the show.'

‘Bayside International? That's my old school.'

‘I know. Remember how I stalked you outside the gates all those years ago?'

Susanne looks at us and smiles. ‘I'll just go and, er, put the kettle on for tea or something.' Susanne discreetly disappears leaving the two of us alone.

I opt not to beat around the bush. ‘I know you've ditched the douche but … are you … are you seeing anyone?'

Lisa stares at me but she's definitely at the final stage of grief. She's accepted her lot. ‘Seriously, Declan? Who would want to be lumbered with me? What have I got to offer anyone?'

‘You're still the same you. Still the same girl I saw all those years ago on the station.' The first girl to make me crazy. And the last.

‘It's not the years, Declan. It's the miles.'

I want to tell her that she's as beautiful as ever, but I have to play it cautiously. I've gone over this scenario countless times in my head. I've only got one shot at this. I have to get it right.

‘Will you come out with me tonight? Dinner and a movie? We've never actually done that in all the time we've known each other. Bombay Bicycle Club aside, we've never really been on a proper date. We've just had a few stolen moments.'

She knows I'm not asking her out as a friend. She's knows I want more.

She shakes her head, which stabs me in the heart.

‘Sorry, Declan. I can't.'

‘Why not?'

‘I can't. Okay? I just can't. Can we leave it at that?'

I'm about to get up and go. Admit defeat. But Lisa is worth fighting for. ‘I moved to Hong Kong just to be close to you. I think I deserve to know why.'

Lisa takes a deep breath and composes herself. ‘I can't be with someone who is only with me for pity. I can't be responsible for ruining your life.'

Lisa turns away from me and looks out the window. This isn't how I planned it.

‘Ruining my life?' I say. ‘Look at me, Lisa.'

She half-pivots her wheelchair so that she can face me. And despite the inappropriateness of the analogy, I suddenly feel my resolve forming in my back, sprouting vertebrae as it grows, generating a backbone in the very place where my spine ought to be.

‘Now you listen to me, Lisa Leong. I'm going home. I am going to have a shower, get changed and make a few phone calls. And I will be back here at seven o'clock to pick you up, and we are going to the best restaurant in Hong Kong. That only gives you four hours to get ready. So you'd better get a move on.' Hey. I kind of like this spine thing. ‘Because I'm not taking “no” for an answer.'

Lisa tries to be hard, to be stubborn, but she can't hide the sparkle in her eyes. ‘Okay,' she whispers. ‘But it'll only end in tears.'

‘Only if you run over the maître d's foot.'

Lisa bursts out laughing. And I mean she seriously laughs. I suspect she hasn't laughed like this in years. Certainly not with that douche she was married to anyway.

‘Tell me one thing,' she says when she's composed herself. ‘Do you just want to be with me for the handicapped parking?'

That's my Lisa. I knew she was in there somewhere. ‘Well, that's certainly a contributing factor, I won't lie. Especially when we do this.'

‘Do what?'

I quickly remove my iPad from my backpack and open the image I loaded before I left home.

‘What is it?'

‘It's called a trike motorbike.'

‘You bought it?'

‘Hired it. For the summer holidays. Six weeks travelling through Europe.' I tilt the screen so that she can see it better. ‘Although your seat is behind me, see how it's actually a little higher? That's so you can bang on my helmet when I get us lost in Rome. And trust me, I
will
get us lost in Rome.'

‘You really hired it?'

‘We pick it up in Paris on day two of the school holidays.'

Lisa tries to keep her emotions in check but a single tear gives her away.

‘I'm not here to be your knight in shining armour, Lisa. I'm here because you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I let you go once and I'm not going to make the same mistake again.' I kiss her forehead.

I grab my shoes from the vestibule and leave. When I'm halfway down the elevator I hear Susanne's excited screaming erupt above me.

By the time I step out of the apartment complex into the chill February air, I'm the happiest I've been in my entire life. The world stretches out before me in all its wonder, all its possibilities. Nothing is written.

I draw my overcoat tightly about me and head off towards the MTR station.

Although it's fallen out of favour, there is a branch of philosophy called the Eternal Return that starts with the origins of the universe and is sort of linked to Newton's third law: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

The universe started with the big bang (action) and will continue expanding until it runs out of energy after which it will start to collapse back in on itself with time running in reverse, finally ending with the big crunch (reaction) until we're back at the singularity. Then the big bang will occur again, as will the big crunch, over and over and over again ad infinitum, with time running in a circle. Some philosophers believe we will live
(and have already lived) these exact same lives countless times over (which could well explain deja vu), while others maintain that there may be subtle variations. For instance, the next time around, Adolf Hitler might be born with a full complement of testicles so that he might not feel the need to overcompensate and therefore won't even bother with the whole formation of the Third Reich nonsense and instead he and his water colours might just piss off back to Austria. Orville and Wilbur Wright might develop an interest in basket weaving as opposed to aviation and we might all end up boating and busing everywhere. The Second Amendment to the United States Constitution may be written so that someone's right to carry on existing supersedes someone else's right to bear arms. Gandhi might invest in a bulletproof vest. Lee Harvey Oswald might stop for a snack on the way to the Texas School Book Depository and end up with hiccups. The paparazzi might realise that they are a bunch of pointless pricks and not chase Princess Diana into that Parisian tunnel. Harold Holt might decide that swimming in an area that is well known for its rips, sharks and Chinese (or Russian) submarine activity is a breathtakingly bad idea. Kim Jong-un might look at himself in the mirror and come to the conclusion that he is a bit of a human turd who
ought to start contemplating feeding his people rather than trying to blow stuff up. Someone in the Taliban might actually grow a functioning brainstem and conclude that access to education and power shouldn't be limited to penis possession. Every racist in the world might come to a sudden epiphany and realise that perceived superiority based on skin pigmentation or geographic location is pretty much the dumbest thing ever. And same for sexism. Next time around, female politicians might be allowed to get on with the business of running their countries and be praised or criticised based on their policies and intellect rather than on whether or not their pants suits make their posteriors look slightly larger than they actually are.

And, next time, I might pause.

Or maybe this whole thing has been a figment of my imagination. Maybe my mind, in an attempt to protect itself from self-annihilation, has not only played out a hypothetical, road-not-travelled future in which I paused, but also played out what might have happened if I hadn't.

Maybe there's still time.

The train is almost here now. I have to make it quick. I can't hesitate. I stand up and run, but for a moment I do hesitate. Just for a moment. And it's enough. Because it's here I feel my life split in two. Part of me carried it through, but the part of me that wanted to live, the part that knew that at some point the agony would stop, was stronger. Just. And although I have to stop the pain, this is not the way. So I pause.

I slump to the ground and curl up in a ball. I feel that if I can make myself as small as possible, the pain won't be as intense. It won't find me. I'm wrong, of course, because my nerve endings are still rupturing, but at least now they're not being
splattered beneath the train's wheels, though a strange sense of deja vu will not leave me.

Various arms scoop me up and half-drag, half-carry me over to a bench. Someone wants to give me water; someone else wants to give me air. No one seems to know what's wrong with me. They think I've had a seizure, that I've fainted, that I've OD'd, that I'm drunk. An ambulance has been called as have the police. A blanket appears from somewhere as if my problem is temperature related. A young woman in a business suit gently squeezes my shoulder while someone else strokes the back of my hand. A tradie in a bright orange shirt is kneeling down beside me as if asking for my hand in marriage. He might as well be because I can't hear or understand a word he's saying. He pats me gently on the head with a hand the size and texture of a baseball mitt. I look at the elderly lady who is stroking my hand. She smiles at me in that grandmotherly way that transcends generational, cultural and racial divides.

‘Thank you,' I say to her. To all of them. I slowly get to my feet with the tradie lending a firm hand.

‘I think you should wait for the ambulance,' says the tradie.

‘You've had a close call,' says the young woman.

I've seen the future. The futures. And I know which I prefer.

‘I'm okay,' I say to my guardian angels.

‘You need help,' says the young woman.

‘I know,' I say as the tradie hands me my backpack. ‘I'll talk to my mum. She'll know what to do.'

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I take it out and see that I have a text. And although I don't know the number, deja vu tells me that it's Lisa's aunt's phone.

The elderly lady stands up and takes my hand as I slip the phone in my pocket. ‘You must live, young man. There are people who need you. People who love you.'

I look at her and smile. ‘I'm okay,' I say. ‘I had a bad moment but I'm going to be okay now.'

I hitch on my backpack and, a little lighter in my step, head off towards the stairs.