Sydney's Song (29 page)

“She
is
kind. This is uni life, but. You're not that naïve, are you?But perhaps you are. That's what I like best about you, Sydney.Adoringly innocent. But surely you can understand a guy's needs?”

“Trevor… We're really different! For me, my love has to be what I am to him. I expect the same kind of unwavering, undying loyalty that I give him. Meaning, it'd be demeaning if my guy had a backup.As you
do.
Trust me, you'll be happier to stick with your own kind.”

“Now you're being self righteous again. Do you know how offensive that is? We're intellectually equal.”

“I don't intend to offend you. But I
can't
connect with you. My Pete is more than my intellectual equal. He's capable of a mental relationship as well as a physical and emotional one. He's thoughtful.Considerate. He treats our friendship as an art. He invests time, attention, and creative effort into it. I'm very much in love with him and we're indispensable to each other. We're perfect soul mates.”

“But he's now incapable of all that!” he spat. “He has become a witless vegetable! It would've been better for him if he'd just died.”

And somehow my hand flew to his cheek.

“Ow f(
bleep
)!” he yelled, “B(
bleep
)!”

“How dare you say Pete would be better off dead! Or to even think it.” I was aghast that somebody wanted Pete dead, and horrified that for the first time I had just hit somebody.

“Sheesh! You prefer a vegetable when you can do better?” he snarled in derision. “You going to chase a dying man? Give me a break!”

Gosh. How I wanted to howl.

“Get out!” I said, cross and shaken. “Don't you dare speak to me again.”

He looked contemptuously at me, one hand cradling his cheek. I looked back in defiance.

“One last chance,” he offered with stiff jaw. I blinked. Still trying for me? After swearing at me? How thick!

“I don't need another boyfriend.” A shallow and conceited one at that. What I needed was to convince my parents to let me go to the US—and fund it.

“You'll be sorry,” he warned, unrepentant. “You'll have to fend off the boys on your own from now on! They've let you be because of me, d'you know that? Now they'll all descend on you like vultures, asking to touch you and crawl all over you.”

“Only if I let them,” I retorted, chin up… while inwardly I cringed.

“They'll get angry when you reject them ‘cause boys have their pride too! They'll refuse to stay your friends ‘cause there are so many obliging chicks out there at uni.”

“They're welcome to their own fun.” Then I would know who my real friends were.

“And I'm very good at what I do and I'll be famous. When I make my millions, babes will jump me from everywhere. And with that kind of money, who needs to be tied to one woman anyway? I'll have as many chicks as I want.”

“Tell that to your mother, will you.” I looked to the backyard and called Li'l Shiht. “Trevor… you may want to be chosen for what you are as a person instead of your millions. But I wish you the best in your career.”

“Well, good riddance!”

I opened the door and let a very offended Trevor pass.

I was at the McMahons Point penthouse late the next day in a state of fear and hope, my pride and arrogance fully discarded.

“First of all, assuming the worst,” I offered calmly, so terrified of floundering. “In case he never recovered. You ask how I'd get him to marry me, get our Immigration's approval, and support him. You ask about missing fun and sex and kids and cheating on him. Well, the answer to all that is zilch. You're bluffing. If he couldn't even recognise me, of course there'd be none of that. Easy. But I don't want the worst to happen.

“Please give me one year. I'll face whatever happens then when we cross that bridge. But I need to go to him now. I don't want to live my life with regrets. I don't want—somewhere in the future—to look back wishing I had done things differently. I don't want should've-could've-didn't.

“Pete has given me the happiness and emotional fulfilment I've been constantly seeking. And he's given me a purpose in life with our plan to someday dedicate our life to helping others. When I was a hideous anorexic—I scared even myself—Pete cared for me. He's told me that he loves me no matter what. He told me that I'll always be number one to him. He told me that he will love me until he dies.So why can't I do the same for him? Why should I abandon him just because he's insensible and doesn't know what I'm doing? Pete doesn't deserve that. He's a very fine man and he's very important to me. I wouldn't be able to live with myself or forgive myself should I walk away now. I'd hate myself.

“But I'm also reasonable, realistic and practical. I set goals for myself that are modest enough for me to actually achieve. So I ask you to give Pete this one year—instead of forever as I wish it to be—because I want to be responsible for my debt. I'll pay you back every single dollar I borrow with my future earnings. I'm very conscientious in fulfilling my obligations. I promise to complete my studies and get a respectable career. Only then, if still needed, will I become Pete's carer again.

“
Please
. Help me.”

My pleas worked and so I organised my trip to the US as soon as possible.

The flight to New York felt endless.

A single mother with a hyperactive three-year old sat next to me.The boy refused to wear the seatbelt when the plane took off. He knew how to unbuckle himself and escaped, passing in front of my knees, laughing merrily down the aisle.

“He's too quick,” the mother fretted. “I can't control him.”

“Don't worry,” consoled the single man sitting on her other side.“Close your eyes, and pretend that he's not your son.”

The mother proceeded to do just that and embarked on a mile-high fling. She found this single man—at least, single above the clouds—irresistibly charming. And for most of the flight they engaged in lots of slobbery kissing and touching. Eww!

Kate's ex, Brent, an extremely good looking black man who was now an instructor at an American dance academy, joined me on the flight from New York to Boston because my parents had asked him to make sure I was safe.

“It's only a three-hour drive to Boston,” he explained when we waited for the call to our flight. “But you must be exhausted after your long trip.”

I told him about his daughter Frances who was only twelve but already a better cook than me, just like her mum; and a better dancer than me, just like her dad. Brent's very dark eyes shone with love and pride.

“She holidays here every second summer,” he said with longing.“But it's never enough.”

He suggested that I learn massage for a bed-ridden patient as it would benefit Pete. Right away I liked him. He was extraordinarily charismatic, and the kind of person I could relate to from the first meeting. We chatted left and right that the time flew so fast. I wondered how he and Kate drifted apart. Work commitment? He must have had to follow his employer touring the world, while she had to chase other singers as a music journalist. And sure enough, eventually he asked,

“How's Kate?”

With those few words he put a whole world of love, pain, and regrets in his voice and in his eyes.

“Kate?” I repeated.

He shrugged and smiled in embarrassment.

“Girl,” he said. “People have a crush all the time. When years and years have passed, you gotta know which of those was your true love, ‘cause remembering, sometimes you wish you'd never been born.”

“Ouch.”

“She's very special,” he said defensively, his forlorn smile heartbreaking. My heart went out to him. There and then I promised myself that I would never look back someday, haunted by the loss of a precious someone.

“She's terrific,” I touched his arm. “She's great. She's lovely. I love Kate very much.”

In Boston he took me to a studio at a suburb called Beacon Hill. It was an old part of downtown Boston similar to Sydney's The Rocks, with narrow colonial streets, brick
sidewalks
, and old buildings that shouted history. The apartment Brent had found for me was in a beautiful building, sparkling clean, tastefully furnished, with a modern kitchenette. It looked so stylish that I was sure it was going to be very expensive. If I had had any previous knowledge of Boston, I would have chosen a cheaper place to live.

“Ettoré specified the location to be near the hospital,” Brent explained. “When I found this, he said, take it.”

I phoned Ettoré in frantic protest, “How am I ever going to pay this back? It's an expensive studio!”

“Your Mum will roast me if you get mugged. So put up with it. It's only a studio anyway. Not a posh penthouse.”

“Not posh? It's far from dilapidated! How am I going to pay for it?”

“So aim high. Grow up to be successful. We've found you this place so you can easily commute to the hospital. Knowing your penchant for walking, we selected a place with a humongous park nearby. It's also close to shops and hip restaurants. Stay safe for your Mum, or she'll have my neck.”

“Ettoré, I'm not paying for more than the medium price of a Boston studio. I'll find out how much that is. And that's the amount I'll pay you back.”

“Smart girl. Deal. Keep well. And keep us informed.”

Next Brent took me to MGH.

To the shell of my beloved.

To Pete in his Secret Land

Hello Gorgeous. In whatever world you may be, you'd better come back. For a couple of months now we've been together in your hometown. Every day I hold your beloved face in my hands and looking into your clear eyes I tell you a million things. They say you aren't in there Pete. But I feel you. Though you don't respond physically, your presence is as strong as ever.

So why on earth did you come back only once?

You greeted me the first time we were reunited.

“Pete,” I had called. You were sitting up with your right arm and leg secured to the bed to prevent you from making sudden movements, but you swivelled your head to face me and something flickered in your eyes. Everybody else gasped aloud. I rushed towards you. “Darling.”

But just like that your eyes became blank. The flare of recognition was gone.

I called and called you, panicking. You didn't respond. You didn't know what was going on.

“That was very good already.” Someone wearing a ‘Nurse Wilmot' name-tag tapped my arm gently, “He's never done that before.”

“Brief. But it was something,” commented a Dr Rushworth, the neurosurgeon who'd expressed pessimism about your recovery.
“He's never shown the slightest response to anyone before. Can you visit again?”

“I'll stay all day,” I agreed. “Every day.”

I was overjoyed at seeing you again. Anguished at seeing you so.

With fear and uncertainty I hugged you. How your warmth and familiar scent soothed my frayed nerves at once. I loved feeling you reassuringly solid. Your steady heartbeat soothed me to calmness. It felt like relief… Like the serenity that came when watering my backyard garden after a very hectic day. I savoured the wonderful peace of holding you again in my arms gratefully. I so didn't regret coming all the way here to be with you.

Gradually I became aware of an unsmiling, well-dressed woman sitting on the other side of the bed. She was slender and beautiful, had your colouring, a narrow face, and high cheekbones.
Immediately I recognised her as your Mom from the pictures.

“Hi,” I nodded to her, my chin on your shoulder. “I'm Sydney.”

She didn't respond at all. Her cold, cold eyes shot me with potent dislike before turning away.

Aw Pete, how it hurt!

Dearest, even though you've been out of the coma since mid-April, you're still living-in-a-secret-land. You've regained consciousness, but not awareness. Your eyes are open but you don't know me. You don't respond to stimulation. Because you don't seem to know what's been happening, I'm typing things for you here on my lap-top—a last-minute gift from Ettoré.

The morning after my arrival, a Sister Fleming greeted me kindly.
She was motherly, had golden hair and golden eyes, and I was to find out later that she also had a golden heart.

“Came all the way from Australia, did you?” she shook her head in wonder. “He's had his wash. All yours now, sweetie. We haven't shaved him. Wanna do that?”

“Um—how do you shave a man?”

“Not rocket science. Just be creative. He can't protest any which way, even if you nick him.”

“Oh.”

“There'll be breakfast. He was on a high-protein drip until recently. Now he's able to take food, as long as he can just swallow without chewing. And for yourself, do you know here you can pre-order all your meals to be taken with the patient?”