CHASING LIFE (26 page)

‘You burn me
, and call it a favour? Keep your favours to yourself. I had so much hope. I thought that I had found something worth clinging to.’

‘
I’m not a coat-hanger for your life,’ Erin retorted. ‘Learn to live with yourself, and you won’t need to cling to anyone. I can’t talk to you in this state,’ she said, turning to the door, ‘but I hope one day you realise that you’re responsible for what happens to you.’ Erin was walking out, and she was trying to make him understand her actions. He knew she was trying to make him be more reasonable, but he wouldn’t have it.

‘That’s not an easy task when shit like this gets thrown in my face
,’ he said petulantly, throwing himself down on the rumpled mattress.

‘Keep feeling sorry for yourself
, and you’ll always be a victim.’ Erin said sadly as she opened the door.

‘I hope you miss your flight!’ Dave yelled. It was the only thing he could think of saying.
He knew he looked and sounded like a pathetic child, but he couldn’t stop himself.

‘Goodbye, Dave. I really do hope you find happiness on your own one day.’
Erin looked back at him, dark streaks of make-up running down her cheeks. And she walked out the door.

There was no anger on her face at that last moment. She only looked hurt by his words and sorry for him
. She was gone, fading away with each click of her heels. Everything Dave planned to do with her had just evaporated. The new life he was going to have had disintegrated in a matter of minutes. He sat on the edge of the bed with his head buried in his hands. His dream had been crushed. Erin was not the person he wanted her to be.

Chapter 29

Weeks
had gone by since Erin left the apartment, and in that time Dave had nothing but depression and loneliness to keep him company. At least he had that certainty in his life; the other was a bottle of scotch. He hadn’t shaved or washed, and he hardly slept except when he passed out in bed drunk. Occasionally he went out to get food, but it was mostly his need to get alcohol and cigarettes that drove him from his apartment at late hours. He’d abandoned the exercise routine, and his dirty laundry sat in a pile.

The curtains remained drawn
, and the BBC channel ran without stopping. Constant messages and calls to Erin’s number did not help his mental state. No answer ever came back. If she just gave me a minute, he thought, if she’d only listen to what I have to say. He was sure that he could convince her to stay if she listened. They were perfect for each other—he’d make her see that. He refused to accept that she had left him; the smell of her shampoo still lingered on the pillows.

             
The lease on his apartment was paid for a little longer, but Dave was running out of money. When his parents called, he managed to fool them somehow, making them believe that he was having a good time and that there was nothing to worry about. Mike was catching on—Dave could tell he sensed there was something wrong. He also knew when Dave was drunk; he could spot him straight away. But Dave kept the conversations short and didn’t give him a chance to interrogate him.

Even the building superintendent, not having seen Dave take out his rubbish at the usual time, knocked on his door a couple of times to check on him. Dave would peer through
the curtain, force a crooked smile, give him a friendly wave and quickly draw the curtain back. There was no word at all from Amy. They’d argued many times before, but they’d always made up. This time, though, it was different. Their feud cut deep.

Dave reached a new low point since Julia’s death, losing all hope of happiness and abandoning the struggle. He couldn’t tell how many days had passed in this state, and he didn’t care. He’d always found a way out of his personal darkness before. But the motivation to change himself had left him. Sitting alone on his couch and staring at the TV with dead eyes, he stopped bothering to pick up the phone. In a few days, he’d probably have people knocking at his door to evict him. Eventually his money would be gone, his phone would die, and he’d be cut off from the world. That prospect should have shaken him to the core, but he had no energy left to worry. Alcohol was the only thing that numbed his pain.

             
‘I tried, Julia. I really tried,’ he kept repeating. The shame of his failure to get his life in order added to his pain. From his wallet he took out her letter, which he must have read a thousand times by now and knew by heart. His reaction was always the same: he’d cry to the point of exhaustion and fall asleep in a drunken stupor. In a way, he was looking forward to the end. He’d realised that Julia was the only one for him, that he’d lived for her and that life was not worth living without her.

A pile of empty bottles
lay strewn on the floor. He picked up a few within his arm’s reach and tried to tip out the last drops. It wasn’t enough to wet his lips. He looked toward the door, rubbed his face and contemplated venturing out. The effort required would be demanding, but sobering up would be worse. He could only think of one place he could buy alcohol that late at night—the
supermarché
where the homeless congregated. Maybe I could join them, he thought, I certainly qualify. Slowly he peeled himself off the couch and closed his eyes to allow the head-spin to subside. His joints and muscles ached. He felt as though a twenty-kilo dumbbell hung around his neck. A pocket of air made its way out of his gut, and he burped out a vile acidic smell.

He
put one foot after the other and stumbled out of the apartment, not bothering to lock up. The few people that came his way on the footpath made an effort to avoid him. He staggered from side to side like a bum, dishevelled, with bloodshot eyes. The homeless people were again clustered outside the market. Dave picked up a bottle of scotch and nothing else. A security guard followed him from the moment he entered until the moment he paid and left the premises.

I’m partying tonight
, he thought as he walked down the street. His breath stank, and his mouth was full of ulcers. A small figure moved among the homeless men like a shadow and drifted in his direction. It was the little gypsy boy with the blue eyes. He stood in front of Dave and smiled, saying nothing. The boy didn’t move, or so Dave thought; he struggled to focus and his mind was muddled. The boy’s eyes were so piercing that he was captured by their gaze even in his foggy state. Dave noticed a little hand extend toward him, holding something in it. He squinted with curiosity and realised it was a folded piece of paper.

He
swayed a little awkwardly before regaining his balance, grunted, cleared his nose and finally accepted the paper. The boy walked back to his group without uttering a word. As Dave staggered away, he unfolded the paper. It was a drawing of a man. He rubbed his eyes and put it under a streetlight to get a better look. There was something beautiful about it, he realised. It was a portrait of someone who seemed familiar. Dave was startled almost into sobriety. The drawing was perfect—only an artist of incredible talent could have drawn something that detailed. It was him. The boy had drawn Dave as he’d seen him on the day he’d given the homeless men his food. It was detailed to the point that he’d drawn the creases around Dave’s eyes and that distinct smile that Julia had loved so much. The child had an amazing gift.

Warmth built up in Dave’s
chest. It wasn’t just a drawing done extremely well—it was special. In the boy’s eyes, he was a happy man with a big heart. That was the man he’d been on the day he gave them the food. His aura was captured and put on a shabby piece of paper. This was the real him; the portrait was a reminder of what he was capable of achieving. He’d given them all his food without a thought and walked away without a word. He expected nothing and wanted nothing in return. It was something he was capable of. Dave couldn’t recognise the goodness in himself, yet the boy had seen it. He’d fallen to his knees on the street, his lips trembling. He held the piece of paper with a shaky hand and stared at it. His whole body shivered until the tears began to roll out.

Dave
covered his mouth as he rocked back and forth, letting it out. Like water bursting through a dam, the darkness inside him washed out. It pushed each barrier aside, one by one, and built up such powerful momentum that nothing could stop the torrent bursting outwards. The shell he’d confined himself in broke into a thousand pieces, and he was naked before the world. The bottle in his hand fell and shattered on the pavement. He was oblivious to watchful eyes passing by. A sad and crazy man, they must have thought, but that was far from the truth. That simple drawing on a piece of paper ignited something in him that had been lost. It sobered him up to reality.

Dave’s eyes were red and
raw, and tears flowed freely down his cheeks. He got back on his feet and started walking. His chest expanded outwards, and he held his head high. He didn’t go back to the apartment—instead, he walked to the Seine. There, Dave stood on the banks of the river. He sat right at the edge. The waters ran calmly past, through the warm night. He was sobbing, looking at the drawing and smiling. How could he have had it so wrong? All this time he had it wrong. He’d placed his happiness at the mercy of the outside world. Erin was right—he no longer blamed her for walking out on him. He was responsible for himself, and only he had the power to change how he saw the world and how he felt about it.

‘The old man
was right too,’ he spoke to the picture as if he were telling a story to someone sitting as his side. ‘I’ve been chasing life.’ Instead of simply living life, he’d been relying on the world to make him happy. As if he were owed what he needed. A never-ending search for ‘that thing’ that was going to change his life nearly destroyed him. He attached to people like Julia and Erin. He relied on his friends and family to keep him sane instead of facing problems on his own. But it had always been within him; he already had what he needed. There were no more excuses to make. There was no one to blame.  

Dave sat there by the river
and swung his legs back and forth like a child. He felt pure bliss. He had no more regrets and his conscience was clear. The beauty of the world he’d glimpsed before on occasion revealed itself in its entirety. He remembered how he felt during his time of solitude—it was the same now as the time he took up his exercise routine and ran through the gardens. He could smell the flowering trees again. The lights of the city illuminated the spirit of Paris, and the Eiffel Tower stood in the distance, a permanent symbol tattooed on its soul.

Dave
opened his wallet and took Julia’s letter out. He read it one last time and smiled.

‘R
est in peace, darling,’ he whispered as he pulled the lighter from his pocket. He lit a corner of the paper and the flames quickly engulfed the tattered letter. Ashes flickered in the air and fluttered down to the waters of the Seine like snowflakes melting into nothingness. He felt as if they were Julia’s very own ashes. He’d finally let her go and given her the goodbye she deserved from a loving partner. Dave looked at the portrait the gypsy boy had given him, folded it and put it in his wallet. He’d been spending time with strangers instead of the people he loved and left behind.

A thought occurred to him
, and he looked at his watch. He started walking back to his apartment, slowly at first, but as the excitement in him grew with each step he began to jog. His legs felt wobbly, and his balance wasn’t what it was before. Hunger registered in his stomach, too. That was a good sign—he hadn’t recalled feeling hungry for days. Out of breath, he reached his apartment door, found his mobile and plugged it into the wall. He dialled Amy’s number. He looked at the clock again and calculated it would be early morning in Melbourne.

The phone
rang and rang but kept going to voicemail. He thought of leaving a message but decided against it. She wouldn’t respond if she was angry with him. He must have kept ringing for half an hour, and still no response. ‘Come on, Amy,’ he said to himself, as if trying to channel her. When the ringing suddenly stopped, he heard a voice.

‘Yes?’

‘Hi, it’s me, Dave.’

‘I know. I’ve got caller ID
,’ Amy’s tone was one of staunch indifference. He could imagine her with folded arms, eyebrows lowered, with the bridge of her nose scrunched up—the battle position, he used to call it.

‘
Amy, I was wrong,’ he blurted out. He gave her a moment to respond. He’d taken her by surprise, he could tell.

‘About what? What are you talking about?
’ her voice was gruff, but he thought he could hear something else, a note of curiosity perhaps.

‘I’m sorry for not listening to you
, I’m sorry for being a crappy friend, and I’m sorry for not being there for you when you needed me,’ he spoke in a single breath before pausing for a moment. ‘I’ve been chasing life, Amy. I’ve been running away from my problems instead of dealing with them, like you said I should. And I realise it now. I can’t expect other people to make me happy. I have to do it myself.’

‘That’s what I
’ve been trying to tell you, Dave,’ she scolded. It was a good sign. It meant she still cared.

‘I know. But I had to find that out for myself, even though I stumbled badly
along the way. I can’t keep blaming my past anymore. I’ve realised that, and I had to tell someone. Amy, I had to tell you.’ He spoke softly now. ‘Some things happen to us, and it’s not our fault. But we can let it go. I’ve let it go.’ Dave’s chest felt lighter. No matter what Amy decided about their friendship, he was happy that he’d spoken with her.

‘What about your girlfriend?’ she replied.

‘It’s over. You were right about that too. Instead of looking inside myself for answers, I’ve relied too much on other people. I don’t want our friendship to end, Amy.’

‘Come back to Melbourne, Dave. I’m pissed off wi
th you, but we’re still friends. You’re such an idiot.’

‘I will,’ he laughed. ‘I have enough money for a one-way ticket back home. I don’t know where I’ll stay, but I’m starting over.
I know exactly what I want to do with my life now. I want to open up my own accounting business, like I’d always planned to. I’m done with the smoking and the drinking. My journey is over. I don’t need to keep moving and constantly searching for a reason to feel alive.’

‘I need a roommate
,’ Amy said. ‘You can move in with me for a while.’

‘
Thanks, I just might do that. And you can be my first customer when you buy your house.’

‘Yeah, I’ll need a good accountant.
’

‘I didn’t say I was good.’

‘I wasn’t talking about you. Don’t think you’re staying for free either.’

‘What if I waive my accountant fees?’

‘You haven’t even sent me a postcard you bastard. You’re paying double.’

‘I’ll do better than that. I’ll buy a camera and
take a thousand photos for you, my darling.’

‘That’ll be the day,’
Amy chuckled. He hadn’t heard her laugh in quite a while. It brought a smile to his face and warmed his chest. He missed her. The conversation continued well into the morning hours, just like in the old days at Café Trieste.