by PJ Vye
The dream came quickly.
La’ei was there, he was in the school yard, trying to break in through a window into the school office where she was. She laughed at him as be wedged himself between the bars on the window. He squeezed through and reached for her, but as he got closer another set of bars appeared. Then another. The further away she got, the more she laughed at him.
A knock on the roller door rattled loudly and made him jump awake and La’ei was gone.
‘Mat, are you there?” Came Sunny’s voice from the other side. “I want to talk to you.”
Mataio lay still, breathing quietly. He didn’t want to see her right now. He’d have to be friendly and kind and he felt neither. Nothing even close. He rolled onto his side and ignored her.
She knocked again, the rattling door echoed through the room, reminding him of a caged zoo animal. “Mat, I know you’re in there,” she said. “You’ve been here two days and not come to see Ipo once. What’s going on?” Her voice tilted at the end like she regretted asking. With more force she said, “Just call in before you go, okay? I’ll wait.”
He heard the clatter of the staircase, her door open and close and her feet cross the room upstairs. A moment later he heard her violin, a wrenchingly sad tune he’d heard before, usually before the crying started.
What had she meant by ‘I’ll wait?’ Was she going somewhere? Mataio sat upright on his mattress and did a mental note of the days. Had it been two weeks already? He’d been so caught up in his aunt and cousin he’d not been keeping track. He pulled himself out of the sleeping bag, ignoring the cold and checked the three-year old calendar stuck to one of the large concrete stumps that held up the ceiling. It had pictures of bikini clad, pale skinned women—a remnant of the previous tenant—and the edges had started to curl. He’d re-written the days of the week on it to align with the current year, and it did the job. He ignored the pictures of women. After nineteen years, it barely mattered.
He checked the date he’d circled but couldn’t decide what today was. Saturday or Sunday? How long had he been back here? Only overnight wasn’t it? He decided it must be Saturday which gave him two days before the two weeks were up. She said she’d wait. Wait for what? To kill herself?
He didn’t want to know. He wanted to stay in bed, in the dark, and ignore the world a bit longer. Go to sleep and wake up when it was all over.
Rule Number 10. Community Service.
He listened to the music as it filtered through the ceiling, a solitary musical line that spoke a million words.
Rule Number 10. Fiti.
He pulled on some pants and a t-shirt and headed out and up the stairs to her door.
She flung it open before he’d even knocked. “Noisy staircase,” she answered. “I just wanted to ask about the guy from the other day down at the furniture factory. Did they save his arm?”
Really? I dragged my arse out of bed for this? “Yeah, he’s doing fine,” his voice cracked, and he cleared it. Sometimes after not speaking for two days, his vocal folds forgot how to work. “He spent twenty hours in surgery but they’re hopeful he’ll get full use of his hand again.” She moved behind him and closed the door. Clearly, she wanted him to stay. He let out a slow, resigned breath.
“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” She asked, indicating a bowl of chips, a packet of unopened Tim Tams, Twisties, a half-eaten pizza, a chocolate bar and a packet of Froot Loops.
“Nah I’m good, thanks,” he said, even though he couldn’t quite remember when he ate last.
There must have been something in his tone and she looked at him suddenly. “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. No wonder she’s fat. But you have to agree, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of point taking care of myself. Not when this body only has to get me through the next few days. Why shouldn’t I eat what I want?”
Actually, he hadn’t been thinking that at all. He’d been wondering why the contents of all the cupboards and drawers in the room had been emptied. Folders, documents and paper lined the floor, the table and everything in between, like she’d been studying for an exam, or searching for a lost TV remote.
Instead, he asked, “Two days to live and the best you can do is Froot Loops? You like this stuff?” He smelled the open packet and screwed up his nose.
“Anyone who tells you they don’t, are lying,” she said, and wrestled for the package.
Mataio held firm and read the label, “You know they add sugar and salt, the two most addictive substances, so you crave their product. They want you to be addicted. These companies don’t care about anything but making money. And the quickest way to make money is to get someone addicted to something they can’t give up.”
“So?” Sunny shrugged.
“So,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”
She blinked, like she expected a different response. “Really?”
“You know, in the seventies, when they discovered that nicotine was the addictive ingredient in cigarettes, you know what they did? They added more nicotine. Not less. More. Sold even more cigarettes.”
Sunny snatched the cereal and a few circles fell on the floor. Ipo leapt to his feet and vacuumed them without chewing.
“So, I’m addicted to food,” she conceded. “I’m a success story. They should put me on one of their ads.”
Mataio nodded. “Does it make you happy?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes to eat it.”
“And then how do you feel?”
“Shut-up. I didn’t ask you here to help me feel shit about myself. I can do without you, thank you very much. So, unless you have some magic solution for food addiction, I suggest you get out of my way and leave me alone with my miserable life and addictive food.”
Mataio considered her a moment. “What if I did?” He asked, then registering the look on her face, regretted it.
“What if you what?” her voice raised another notch. She picked up the Froot Loops and started pushing them into her mouth by the handful.
Mataio knew he shouldn’t have come. He should have stayed in bed, alone with his misery. Instead he’d come and spread his own personal misery around like Vegemite. Thick, black and bitter. Truth was he’d be eating that food right alongside her now, given a choice. He resented her freedom to decide for herself. Resented her freedom to be depressed. Resented her freedom to follow no-one’s rules but her own. “Never mind.”
“Go on. Just say it then.”
He didn’t have time for this. He needed sleep, he needed serum and he needed to save his cousin from himself. Now, he had to save her too. “You can’t see your way through this crisis you’re having because the toxins are messing with your brain chemistry.”
Her eyes opened wide and for a microsecond he saw how vulnerable she really was. He knew there was much more to depression than food toxins, and he knew he shouldn’t have said it, but his filter had dried up with lack of sleep and the stress and she seemed to press the ‘react-before-thought’ button in him. The exact same way La’ei used to.
Sunny rallied. “Prove it,” she said.
“Why don’t you try eating nothing but unprocessed foods for a week, see if you feel better. You might not even want to kill yourself anymore.”
“Where’s the fun in that,” she said, through green particles of Froot Loops and a layer of sarcasm.
Mataio took a long breath in and asked, “Have you always been the kind of person who looks for the easy way out?”
“Always,” she sneered.
“You could just leave him, you know. Your life would be a whole lot better, just by leaving.”
Sunny’s left eye twitched and Ipo sensed her mood and stood beside her, his head on her leg in a show of solidarity. She leaned down to scratch him under the neck, and when she eventually spoke, her voice was low and measured, but directed to Mataio. “You know nothing about me, Mat. You know nothing about my mental state and you know nothing about my rel
ationship with Judd.”
Mataio checked his watch. Still plenty of time to wait for the drying stage, but he wished there wasn’t. “What about your father? How’s he going to feel when he hears you’ve killed yourself.”
Sunny dropped the cereal on the table and took a step towards him. Even without shoes she nearly matched him in height, and she didn’t look ready to back down. “It’s not his life. It’s not your life. It’s mine. And none of you get a say in it.”
Mataio stood his ground. “He just helped create it. Nurture it. Feed and educate it. What a waste of resource.”
Sunny pushed Mataio on the chest. “Hey. Can you take your shitty attitude out of my apartment? I didn’t ask you for an opinion. I didn’t ask to be saved. Take your dog and leave me alone. I’m very busy eating a lifetime’s worth of Froot Loops before I die.”
Mataio moved towards the door. He knew he’d hurt her, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He wanted to grab her arms and shake some sense into her crazy head. Instead he said, “You know what, do whatever you want. Eat, die, live. It’s all up to you. It’s nothing to do with me.”
She spun around to block his path and the dog jumped to his feet and followed her. “You think it’s that easy? You think I haven’t attempted every diet known to man, and then a few I made up of my own?”
“Like you say, it’s your life and I have—”
“No-one starts out with a plan to fail. But I’d fail every time. And every time I took pictures for the start of the next one, my body was bigger than the last time.”
“Diets don’t work.”
“No kidding, Eistein. But that didn’t stop me trying.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Paleo, 5:2, Atkins, Pritikin, Keto, Cabbage soup diet, 3 o’clock diet.” She took a quick breath and listed them off with her fingers, “Sit down, Stand Up diet, Alkaline Diet, Baby Food Diet, Vision Diet, Ice Diet, Water diet, All the Sugar you Can Eat—No Fat Diet.”
Mataio wondered how many of these diets Junior had tried. He had to ask, “The All the Sugar you can Eat one. How did that go?”
“Actually, that one worked for a while, but it cost me too much in dentistry.”
He didn’t laugh. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“The only diet I haven’t tried is dying. I hear there’s a 100% success rate.”
He couldn’t stop her. He didn’t even know where to start. “I gotta go.”
She shook her head slowly like she hated him. “Well, you need to take your dog with you. Your two weeks are up buddy. It’s time.”
Ipo stretched his neck up between them as if he knew he was being talked about.
Mataio looked down at the dog. He had to walk away from this. Rule Number 2. Protect the Family. Focus on that. “You know I can’t stop you, if this is what you want,” he said.
“I’m glad you agree. Did you bring your prescription pad? You owe me some high potency sleeping pills. This dog was a lot of work.” Sunny gathered Ipo’s lead, his new food and water dishes, his knitted jumper and his poop scooper, stuffed them in a shopping back and called the dog to her.
She took him outside and waited for Mataio to join her. He could see she was refusing to look at the dog, even though Ipo looked up at her with round, soppy eyes that seemed to know things had changed.
Mataio joined her on the landing. Two women in as many days, both disappointed, both unable to be saved from their torment. In nineteen years, he never allowed himself to overthink things. Living by ten strict rules could drive you nuts if you thought about them too hard. He just needed to push this from his mind, focus on his serum. That was the usual and best strategy. The problem here was, if he avoided it, Sunny might very well do as she threatened, and then he’d have her death on his conscience. He didn’t want it there or anywhere near his conscience. She was angry with him because he’d been incredibly rude—he knew it but he couldn’t stop himself and now she’d lost all patience with him. If he left her and took the dog, there’d be nothing to stop her. He felt an overpowering urge to save her. More so now than ever. To take her with him, introduce her to his aunt. Have them comfort each other somehow. Sunny could get the mothering she needed, Aunt Tulula could have the female company she’d lost. He wished it could be that simple. He knew it wasn’t.
“Fine. Give me the dog.” Mataio reached out and took the lead. Their hands touched for a moment, and the unexpected softness of her skin sent a jolt of shame through him. He had to leave her now. He couldn’t save her. He just didn’t have it in him. He’d been so focused and calm for nineteen years, letting nothing hurt him, nothing touch him. So why did everything feel like it was unravelling, just when he was so close to the end?
He had to save his cousin and convince his aunt he was holding it all together, even though he barely knew if he’d get them all through the next day or the one after that.
“Goodbye, Mat.” She said quickly and stepped back inside to shut the door.
Without thought, he pushed his foot in the door and held it open. She looked up into his face, and he watched her, hoping his regret and sorrow could somehow transfer itself through his eyes and into her head. A single drop of water fell onto his hand and it was only when her expression softened, did he realise it had fallen from his own face. He swiped it away with the back of his hand.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked simply.
Where to begin. How he wished he could just unload it all onto someone like Sunny. Tell her everything. Share his pain, like she’d shared hers. How much easier to not carry it alone. His shoulders stiffened at the thought of the consequences of that.
“I’ve gotta go,” he turned and ran down the stairs, then kept running across the front path and out onto the street. It was only after an hour of running that he realised he’d left the dog behind.
Eighteen
SUNNY
Sunny unclipped Ipo’s lead and put his bed back next to the couch. He flopped back into it, rested his head on his paws and closed his eyes, like it had been the plan all along.
That man was unhinged. And she thought she was unstable! One minute he looked like he wanted to save her from herself, the next he wanted her to go ahead and let her do it, just to give him some peace. How do you interact with a man like that? She’d been with Judd three years. Had she forgotten how single men behave in that time, or was he just the exception?
She sat down and stared at the half eaten box and realised her appetite had gone. He’d been so rude, and she’d let him be rude to her. She deserved it, in all truth. She had no willpower when it came to anything. Her one consolation had been Judd. He accepted her for who she was. She could be her truest self around him, and he never questioned her choices. Actually, not true, he questioned her choices all the time. He just questioned them and loved her despite them.
“Am I doing the right thing, Ipo?” she asked the dog, who lifted his head momentarily until he realised it was a rhetorical question and didn’t need an answer. He sniffed and went back to his nap.
At least Judd loved her. He might fight with her and never back down from an argument and make her feel silly and useless sometimes, but he loved her. He always said he couldn’t live without her. He knew the real her and still wanted to be there. That kind of relationship was hard to find. She would never find another man who could love her as she was—a fat, aging, mediocre musician with no qualifications for any type of meaningful employment. Question was, would she rather be miserable with someone or miserable without. Or would she rather be dead?
Sunny stood, quickly enough to make the dog jump, and resumed her search of the apartment. She might be unworthy of love, as clearly depicted by the doctor’s behaviour, and she might be of no use to anybody but this dog, but she still had choices. The idea of silencing the pain with a bottle of sleeping pills lingered, but a new plan had formed over the last few days and it had given her focus.
Judd’s book of computer passwords wasn’t in the living room.
She’d covered every cupboard, every piece of furniture. It had to be in the bedroom. Somewhere she hadn’t looked yet.
As she searched through every item, unrolling socks, pulling out drawers, lifting the mattress, she considered how the plan would work if she couldn’t get access to their joint account. Judd had been looking after their finances for the last two years and gave her an allowance each month. She knew it was for the best—she liked buying technology and groceries too much. And it seemed to make Judd happy to be in charge of it. Keeping Judd happy was a full-time job. It went in her favour if he was happy. He paid all the bills and took care of her. He’d supported her financially when she’d moved to Australia, at least for a while. After a couple of months, when the music jobs didn’t eventuate, he began pressuring her to any job.
She knew he’d kept all their savings from the past two years in the joint account they’d opened together for that exact purpose. If she could get access to the account, she’d just take her half share. Leave him the rest. It wouldn’t be much—him only getting paid six weeks out of twelve, her fading royalties and her miserly wage from the masseuse. But it would be enough for her one-way flight and to keep her going while she looked for work in London. She’d arrive at Heathrow around the same time her father would arrive home from Spain. They could share a cab back to his house. She could imagine the disappointment on her father’s face. He’d liked Judd. But he didn’t really know him.
She searched through the bathroom cabinet, pulling everything out and piling a few things to the side that she’d pack. Deciding what to take and what to leave behind had been easier than she’d thought. It finally occurred to her she wouldn’t be killing herself in two days. The desire to die had faded, but the desire to live hadn’t quite fully formed yet either. Sorting through her things helped define her decision. Everything here, her clothes, her shoes, her kitchen appliances—all reminded her of this apartment, and she wanted to leave it all. Nothing had sentimental attachment to her. She’d take her violin. Maybe her guitar. The music stand she’d asked for her birthday could stay. It was cheap and flimsy and a reminder of how little he cared about her. His happiness had always been paramount. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d come home from a six-week stint on the rig and said, “What would you like to do while I’m home?” It was always what he wanted. Which was usually sex, food, booze and television. In that order. For six weeks until he returned to the rig. At first, she’d thought it was romantic, shacked up and never leaving the apartment. She knew better now.
