Ecstasy

Chapter 58

Tyson:

  Jarrah spun the packet of cigarettes on the lunch table. We were sitting in our usual spot and the quadrangle was packed. It was a perfect autumn day, no clouds, blue skies.

Nate and Jarrah were deep in conversation, but I wasn't listening. I was playing the silent 'what if' game again. My mind running through different ways I could have handled last Sunday morning better. My palms were unconsciously tapping out a rhythm on the bird shit encrusted picnic table. My eyes were busy scanning the buildings. Watching out for a flash of golden blonde in the sunlight.

I had tried a couple of times to approach her. To try and explain. To try and get her back. Each time Mitchie or Phoebe or even Sam had either; led her in the opposite direction, before she noticed me; or pulled me away, lecturing me on how she didn't want to see me anymore.

I was starting to wonder if it was even worth it anymore. I had lost my chance. I had fucked it up for good.

"Sonny? Hello, earth to Tyson?"

"Huh?" I looked up from the table top at Nate and Jarrah. "What?"

"What's with you? You've been acting really strange all week," Jarrah spun the smokes packet again.

"Nothing." I answered too quickly, standing up.

"Where are you going?" Nate was looking up at me.

"No where. Home." I mumbled. I had to get out of here. I couldn't think properly. I walked away quickly. In a few minutes I found myself in front of my locker. I had opened it without thinking of the combination, and without thinking I had my backpack in my hand and I was ready to leave.

I slammed the locker shut and began to walk in the direction of the door, when I heard someone calling out.

"Ty! Hey Ty! Wait up."

I paused in my steps, irritated, waiting for Sam to catch up. "What?" I asked a little too aggressively.

He scratched the back of his head, "I probably shouldn't be telling you this. Actually I know Mitchie will kill me for this–"

I sighed. "Sam, what is it?"

"Mitchie's throwing Calla a goodbye party."

I frowned. "A goodbye party. For what?"

"She's moving to Brisbane. Her parents are divorcing."

"What?" Oh no. Calla.

"Just thought you should know. She's a good friend, but so are you." He paused and cleared his throat. "So, uh, the party is Saturday night at The Bowery."

Brisbane? I'll never get her back. I was silent. I couldn't speak.

"Anyway. Don't tell Mitchie I told you." He clapped me on the shoulder before walking away.

"Thanks mate." I finally spoke, but it was too late, he was gone.


***

I was sitting at the kitchen counter. Sarah was in the house again. She busied around the kitchen like a little bee, or a mother hen. Her presence was making me feel more depressed. I was so clear minded I had every memory and every emotion ready to think and feel. Nate had guessed yesterday at school what had happened. He offered a smoke after school, like the old days.

"Come on man! Remember when we'd just get high and stare at the ceiling?" He had said eagerly. I knew he didn't like this me. This depressed me. And the only remedy he knew to my depression was the drugs. I had declined. I couldn't touch a thing, not since Calla.

"Alright. What is it?"

I looked up at Sarah. She was leaning over the counter, forearms on the bench, her hands clasped together in front of her. Her hair spilled over her shoulders. It was shorter. She had gotten a hair cut.

"What is what?" I asked. Trying to lighten my voice for her. I tried a fake smile.

She quirked her head. She didn't buy it. "Something's wrong. I know it. What's wrong?"

I shook my head. My mouth clamping shut. She stepped around the bench, standing in front of me. She dropped her hands to my shoulders. "You can tell me anything. You know that right?"

I nodded, trying that fake smile again. It was Saturday, the night of Calla's goodbye party. I would have missed the start, it was already eight. I dropped my eyes, it was hard looking at her face. "Tyson?" She bent her knees, trying to see my eyes again.

"Tell me." She shook my shoulders.

"What?" I asked, a little annoyed now.

Her mouth thinned to a line and she stepped back from me. I tried my best to ignore her as she busied herself around the kitchen. I stared at the bench top, my fingers traced the grain in the fake stone laminate.

Pans clanged and Sarah cursed as she dumped the steaming potato bake tray on the bench. It was silent in the kitchen for a moment. I frowned at the counter top.

"Who is she?" Sarah's voice was soft.

I looked up at her then. She was leaning against the sink, her arms crossed in front of her.

She shrugged. "Well I can tell it's a girl. What else would make you act like this?"

"Act like how?" I asked.

"Lost. Sad."

I rose my eyebrows at her.

"It's true! You've been moping all afternoon. What happened? Tell me."

I sighed and looked back at the counter top. "I stuffed up." I couldn't believe I was telling her. "I lost her."

She dropped her arms to her sides and stepped up to the bench, opposite me.

"It was perfect, and I ruined it. It's stupid." I dismissed the conversation. Ready to stand up and walk away.

"She must have been special, hey?"

I just nodded. She stepped forward and grasped my arm across the bench.

"Go get her back then. Fight for her." She squeezed my wrist reassuringly.

"No. It's too late. It's over." My voice was hollow.

"It's never over," She shook my arm and I looked up to meet her eyes. "Go and get her back."

***

It took some more wallowing, more depressed thoughts, more moments of self hate to realise Sarah was right. I couldn't deal with this shit. I couldn't give up. Calla was the best thing to happen to me. Better than any high, any trip, and any stoned moment.

I left the kitchen and walked out the door. The Bowery was a hipster bar in the city. I'd have to take a bus. I checked my phone for the time. It was nine. The next bus wouldn't come for ten minutes. I'd get there late.

The bus came late. I was standing around for a while. The engine was vibrating when I stepped up the short steps and took a seat by the window.

What was I going to say? What could I say? What do I have left to say?

It had rained during the day. The traffic lights, green, yellow, red, sparkled in the water on the road. I got off the bus at the nearest stop to the bar. I wondered whether the doorman would have an invite list. I hoped not, because I knew my name would not be on it.

I had only been to the bar once before. I was with Sarah and her boyfriend. I was younger, less messed up. I approached the inconspicuous door. The doorman looked me over.

"Private function mate." He stepped in front of the doorway.

I thanked my stars that he wasn't holding a list. "Yeah. I'm invited."

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "Name?"

I handed over my fake I.D. He eyed it closely. "Tyson Shelley?"

I stuffed my hands in my jean pockets and blew steam into the cold air.

"One moment please." The tall guy pulled a small radio from his pocket. I suddenly panicked. He may not have been carrying a name list, but his colleagues inside surely would be.

"Look," I spoke up, "Calla invited me last minute. I promised I'd be here. I know I'm late but..."

He paused before talking into the radio. Looking back at me and Calla's spoken name.

"Just go ask her, I'm sure she'll want me inside." I was bullshitting but I knew if the bar was crowded enough he wouldn't go looking for the guest of honour to just ask if he could let me in, especially if my story was true.

He nodded and reluctantly let me pass.