Peter was my boyfriend. A week ago, I had to break up with him. I was so confused, I needed time to think. Every time we are together, his love for me is overwhelming. I finally managed to tell him all my doubts but that I still needed him as my most precious friend.
A winter’s gale blunders up from Botany Bay as I start my car. The rain is horrendous. It’s ten at night and Peter lives an hour’s drive across Sydney. My mind loops. I am thinking about him walking home, crying, after our phone call earlier tonight. The moon is washed out and hidden by clouds. Street lights glow dimly, hazed by the downpour. What a night for driving! He always walks to a public phone so we can talk in privacy. What a night for walking!
Oncoming lights flash in my eyes. One of Peter’s gifts, an origami butterfly, is taped to the dashboard. In the darkness, it’s a monochrome shadow. As each car passes, colours flash, then disappear: Blue wings, yellow body. Peter is in my mind, his voice wavering over trivial words.
My windscreen wipers wrestle with water, obscuring the road. My mind also wrestles. “What’s wrong?”, I ask him, and my mind plays back his reply: “Nothing unexpected. I miss you. I’ll be OK. It’s raining, I better go.”
Any self-respecting medical student would be studying for the term exams. Or else I should be tucked in bed, trying desperately to catch up on sleep. Yet, here I am, crossing Sydney Harbour Bridge, a third of the way there. My last words to Peter still rebound in my head as I hear him crying: “Don’t do anything stupid. I am coming.”
I wish I had replaced these old wipers, they barely divert the deluge. I wish I could think of anything else, but I can only think of him. Will he be OK? What can I do to make him better? Morbidity takes over. Am I too late, have I lost him? So I drive through puddles that splash back at skies that are crying. Just like me, just like Peter. I am coming. I am almost there.
turbulence presides
internal and external
love surprises all
2 January 2024
Empty Chairs 