farewell
2003-11-13
Declan came over to say farewell today. He rocked up in his beloved white Honda, the one with the brake pads worn down so low that the whole car lets out a painful groan every time it comes to a stop. Wearing his equally beloved faded orange bucket hat, a red shirt and navy blue shorts, he strolled inside with what I knew to be a signed and framed season five Buffy cast poster that he’d purchased through eBay. After chatting to my brother for a while, he sat down next to me, unravelled the beach towel that was covering the poster, and told me that he was going to let me ‘keep’ it for him while he was away in Darwin for the next six months. And so the poster, Declan’s latest acquisition and legacy, hangs now on the wall beside my computer desk, awaiting his far-off return.
I have always been a complete sucker for endings. Somehow, every time something draws to an end, I turn into a sentimental freak. All the badness of an experience fades away and I am gripped by a nostalgic sense of how ‘special’ everything was; how I don’t want it to go away. The everyday passes into the realm of myth and legend; a new period of experience to carve in my sacred hall of remembrance. Only, this is the first time someone else has done the going away from me. Until now, I was always the one to be moving, to be chasing the next horizon on my family’s gypsy-like merry-go-round of rental house residency. Now, someone is leaving me behind, and I am standing still. Strange feeling indeed.
Stranger still is the fact that I don’t feel anything much. It doesn’t feel like anything has happened at all. Should I miss him when he’s gone? I think I will, I do, but it is not the kind of ‘missing’ feeling that I’ve had in the past. It lacks the intensity, the tearing-apart-of-insides repercussions. It’s more like a “see you next week” kind of missing. I’ll tell you what I do feel: like a great big ‘sigh’ is building up inside. A sigh of ‘what if?’ without the regrets that usually hitch a ride along with it. I sigh and I imagine a parallel universe where I had been his girlfriend and things had been uncomplicated and easily understood and sickeningly sweet. Maybe, maybe there was something I had prematurely snuffed. Maybe not. It doesn’t seem to matter anymore. It is as though his easy-going, devil-may-care attitude has transferred a part of its essence onto me. I can envision him driving off into the distance, and written on the horizon are the words: c’est la vie. And there is no blood lost between us. Nothing but the thought: whatever will be, will be.
He will coast along to Darwin, coach football in the 90% humidity, work part-time at Woolworths, and share a flat with his Christian friend Brad. I even believe he has the willpower to take his good Christian roommate up on the challenge of abstaining from alcohol for three weeks and keeping his sexual exploits down to one girl. Don’t know about the remaining five months. It should be interesting.
What meaning has this boy had in my life? In the ‘great scheme’ of my existence, where will Declan fit? He saw photographs of Owen and I, and I know he was measuring him up. Do either of these men stand on some kind of invisible scale in my subconscious mind? Is there some measuring force in my psychological cogs, assessing the compatibility, the meaning and significance? I hope not. I am through with assessment and analysis today. If there is one thing that Declan taught me, it is that sometimes, you’ve just got to ‘take things as they come’. No over-thinking; no search for ‘meaning’ and ‘significance’. Just sit back and let life unfold its magical little design. Don’t cling to things too tightly, because nothing remains constant. Be fluid, watch it go by. Enjoy. Lose control once in a while. Smile. Wear an orange hat. Have a beer. Take an adventure. Say what you mean and mean what you say. Have a game of cricket. Watch the football. Collect Spider-Man cards. Do what feels good. We’ll all be fine in the end.
Here’s to you, Declan. May you have a safe and happy adventure.
