Why does she have to be so drop-dead-gorgeous?
I slide under the dashboard and pray that Abdul won’t look my way.
The couple head for his van parked further down the street. As I watch him smile into her eyes, I firmly resolve to never, ever fall in love again.
‘Love is a leech, a bloodsucking vampire
Whose sole aim is to turn you into a babbling idiot
with sightless eyes, deaf ears, and helpless limbs.
All the way home, I barely hear a word Dad says. In the end he gets really annoyed. ‘What’s up? Thought you were dying to get your P’s?’
‘Sorry,’ I mutter. ‘My leg aches too much to concentrate.’
Soon as I get inside, I make another attempt to phone Emma. But when the answering machine clicks in, I quickly hang up. I now know that what Leila told me is the absolute truth. Abdul’s marriage has been arranged and bringing me home was his way of protesting. It was just our mutual bad luck that he met Emma in the supermarket. I suppose that in Emma’s usual way she came on so strong that he couldn’t resist taking her up on it. Then I suppose that I also gave out enough positive vibes for him to use me too. Though all this is hardly self-complimentary, deep down I know it is the truth. If I can only get Emma to listen, perhaps, perhaps she’ll be prepared to forgive me.
I phone Leila and tell her what happened. Leila doesn’t sound surprised. Instead she’s openly sorrier for Abdul than for the women he deceived. ‘Told you what it was all about,’ she says. ‘And since we last spoke I’ve heard the family were so insistent on this marriage, Abdul’s dad threatens to disown him if he doesn’t go through with it. He really means it.’
‘I’m sure he does,’ I murmur recalling Mr Malouf’s negative attitude.
‘Also,’ Leila continues. ‘Seems this Fatima Khouri is a bit of a drama queen…’ My ears prick up, ‘Tried to OD because Abdul was rejecting her. So of course he had no choice but to go through with it or have her death on his conscience.’
‘Poor Abdul,’ I find myself saying.
‘I agree. Sometimes it’s really interesting to know what’s happening at the other end.’ Her sigh echoes over the line, ‘I mean it’s so easy for us kids to get hooked into doing the right thing by our families. But then someone’s sure to end up a victim. In this case I reckon it’s Abdul... maybe both Abdul and Fatima, if the marriage doesn’t work out.’
Deep down, I can only agree.
Abdul must have glimpsed me too, because the very next morning he phones. When this happens I’m still half asleep. ‘Uh…Dessi? Abdul here…’
My heart does a gallop and nearly stops. ‘Yes,’ I say cautiously. I slowly sit up and wait to hear what he has to say.
‘Er… just rang to see if you’re okay. How’s your ankle?’
I manage to pull myself together. How am I meant to respond? ‘I’m fine,’ I say doing my best to sound normal. ‘My ankle… well it’s heaps better. I don’t use crutches anymore.’
‘That’s good…’ His voice fades.
I think quickly. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Look… I’m real sorry I haven’t been in touch… Been busy… you know how it is… Work and stuff…’ he breaks off. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve time for a coffee?’
I don’t answer right off. How will I feel seeing him face to face? I think I can manage it, only not where Graham or Hannah might walk in on me. This is something I have to do alone. ‘Fine,’ I say at last. ‘But not here.’
‘Is Lygon Street okay…um… how about the University Café?’
‘Right. I’ll be in there at three.’
Using my walking stick, I catch two trams to the cafe in Carlton. There I order a latte from a tired looking waiter and ten minutes early, watch passers-by head down the street. Not that I take any notice of them. I’m too busy trying to decide what I’m going to say to Abdul.
I’m so into my thoughts, when he does turn up, I almost don’t recognise him. He slides into the opposite chair. We stare wordlessly at each other. Somehow to my less infatuated gaze, he seems shorter, thinner, his skin sallower. There are zits on his chin, and shadows under his eyes. A short haircut removes any angelic semblance he might once have had.
Everything I see hints at intense unhappiness. As my gaze rests on him I feel those old heady emotions start up and then slowly, slowly begin to subside. Suddenly it’s hard to believe that this rather ordinary guy was once so important that I was prepared to sacrifice my best friend, my whole life, for him.
Abdul breaks the silence by pointing to my empty cup. ‘Like another?’
I shake my head.
‘How are you? How’s your ankle?’ he asks as if we haven’t been through this already. ‘Sorry I’ve been too busy to call…’
But I’m sick of his lies. ‘Abdul, I’d like to clear things up between us. I know you’ve got a fiancée, I know all about her. I know that’s why you haven’t been in touch.’
He just stares. ‘You do?’ His voice rises. ‘Uh… how come…’
‘Look,’ I say tiredly. ‘I know you’ve been using me to protest against an arranged marriage.’
He turns to watch a group settle at another table. Then still refusing to meet my gaze, he says, ‘I know it sounds like that… I know it looks like I’m a first class shit. But it wasn’t what I’d intended, you have to believe me.’ I have to strain to hear him over the roar of passing traffic. ‘I really like Emma, really wanted to keep her as a friend. But I like you more…well… I guess I love you... am still in love with you... and I’m missing you like mad.’
He looks up and those liquid eyes show such unhappiness, my heart turns over.
Before I can respond, he says, ‘It’s just that my folks had this marriage all tied up, have had forever. If I’d reneged there would’ve been hell to pay. I can’t do it to them, not after everything they’ve been through. You see, their friends, the community, would’ve held them responsible and the disgrace would have killed them. I should never have involved you in my mess… It’s all my fault… I’m so sorry…’
To my astonishment tears roll down his cheeks and he quickly wipes them away.
Suddenly I feel immensely sorry for him, sorry for Abdul. Leila was right. His life has been all mapped out. I know that if it was my choice, that in his place I would have defied my parents, defied my religion, given up everything for him. Instead I feel sad for what I now perceive as his weakness, his inability to stand up against his community. I murmur something trite, tell him that I certainly understand and wish him all the luck in the world. Then, because I’m curious, ‘Tell me about your fiancée. What’s she like?’
There’s a slight pause. ‘Fatima… she’s called Fatima Khouri and she’s studying second year law at Monash. My folks and hers are kind of related, like they come from the same town and they’ve known each for generations. In the past the families have even done business together.’
‘So…’ I can’t help the ironic tone. ‘It was a done deal long before you met Emma and I came along.’
I can tell from his closed expression that he doesn’t want to, or more to the point, doesn’t know how to answer this. But at least he’s loyal enough not to mention any pressure Fatima might have put on him.
As we stand up to leave, his parting words are, ‘I’ll never forget you Dessi, never. I just want to apologise and tell you how sorry I am things turned out this way. I just wish things were different…’ and he reaches over to hug me.
For a long moment we cling to each with the memory of what was, and what could have been, and I feel that old electricity between us start up before he takes off down the street. All this took under half an hour. But for me those few minutes are some of the most important I’ll ever have to live through.
I watch him thread his way through the crowd before he turns and gives me a quick wave. Then he’s out of my life. Forever. From my perspective, I still view him as weak, as a coward. But given the freedom I enjoy, given his situation would
I have acted any differently?
Soon as I get home I go into the bathroom where I stare at my reflection. Is it my imagination or is my face older, more mature, than when I left home this morning?
Using land-line I try contacting Emma once again. Julie answers on the second ring. To my surprise she says, ‘...really pleased you called. No, don’t give up. This no-talking has gone on long enough. I’ll go fetch her.’
A long silence that seems to go on forever.
My heart skips a beat when someone picks up the phone.
‘Dessi, I’m sorry.’ Julie sounds tired. ‘She still won’t speak to you.’
‘What do I do now?’
‘Dear, I really can’t say. You know what’s she’s like. Why don‘t you come here? Beard her on her own turf?’
‘What if she slams the door in my face?’
Julie sounds heartily sick of the whole affair. ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’
Good advice. Only I don’t feel brave enough to try it. At least, not yet.
That night my dreams are more vivid than usual. In one dream we have finally reconciled and we’re hugging each other as if our embrace will never end.
But in my last dream just before I wake, Abdul is saying over and over again ‘Dessi, my love, my one and only love, it should have been you… it should have been you… it should have been you…’
A few weeks later Graham drives me to Monash University to enrol. I choose my subjects very carefully. History and English. Instead of Psychology, which I’d always intended to take, I write Philosophy. Surely all those great thinkers might have some answer for my previous dilemmas and present unhappiness. As I wander through buildings filled with students, cafes, shops, I know a mix of excitement and dread. What if no one talks to me? What if I find it too hard to manage such a vast campus on a weak ankle?
To my relief, everyone is sympathetic to a student who uses a walking stick and limps. Back home, I get started on some of my textbooks but some of the material is too complicated for me to manage alone. Instead, I start to notice that the world has moved on. For the first time since the accident, I read newspapers, and get Dad to drive me to the library where I take out more books, watch the news, plug into the net, join dinner-table discussions.
Now that I’ve met Abdul, my passion evaporates as quickly as it came. I recognise that what I felt for him was infatuation with little basis in reality. More like payback for being stuck at home while the others were in Surfers having fun. And of course, a great deal of sexual curiosity. Though Abdul used me for his own needs, I can’t help feeling sorry for him. Can I believe that he really fell in love with me? Thinking back to our meeting in Carlton, I think he did. But how awful to know in advance that your whole life has been mapped out by others. How dreadful to know that if you don’t follow the family rules that you’ll be totally rejected, and that not only you but your entire family will suffer. It would take a braver person than Abdul to overcome those odds. So in the end I just feel sorry for him. If Abdul was thinking of more people than himself, isn’t his stance just another form of courage? I wish I knew. These days there’s only a hole in my heart waiting for someone else to fill. Whenever I feel too depressed and lonely, Leila reminds me that this will surely happen.
But the gap Emma has left can never be filled. Though Leila is a wonderful caring friend, she hasn’t known me since we were babies. Barely a day goes past without me missing my old best friend. Sometimes I wonder if my feelings of loss aren’t similar to coping with an unexpected death. In some ways, hasn’t my closest friend died? Other times, as I recall all those silly intimate things I used to confide to Emma, I feel my cheeks redden. What if Emma is talking about me to someone else? What if they’re laughing at me?
One day when there’s nothing much else to do, I browse through Great-aunt Lilbet’s scrap books. She wrote:
Why do I love you?
Why do you love me?
Because we are the very best of friends.
Thank you for everything
Those two certainly knew what friendship is all about. Maybe these scrapbooks are telling me something important. To the aunts, being friends was everything. For me, my friendship with Emma is fundamental to my wellbeing. And if that’s the case, I’d best make a last effort to retrieve it.
Something else occurs to me. Now that I’ve actually talked to Jon, realised what a bad time he went through after that accident, other things fall into place. Didn’t Abdul say, ‘Chaos Theory explains that life is a series of seemingly unrelated incidents that lead on from each other.’
While I was never interested in Jon, he was really keen. So when I refused to go out with him again, he was very upset. That’s why he was so busy watching me in his rear vision mirror rather than keeping his gaze on the road. So if I’d explained to him how I really felt, remained a friend, helped him get over it instead of just shoving him away, that accident might never have happened. In a way, doesn’t this make me equally responsible?
These thoughts turn things around in my head. If what happens is ultimately a person’s own responsibility, then the break-up between me and Emma belongs to both of us. Didn’t we depend on the longevity of our friendship to sustain it? Surely a longterm relationship must be worked on, much like watering a seedling, for the friendship to grow and flower.
Musing on this, I also admit to myself that otherwise I’m okay. My family love me. I have a place in my university of choice. My ankle is healing nicely. I have other close friends. Next summer I can look forward to travelling to Europe with Nanna Pearl. Even Jeremy has managed to stay out of trouble due to help from his sister who, for several weeks, answered every phone call. Thankfully, I now know that a guy can be as personable as Abdul and not necessarily be Mr Right. All in all I’ve emerged from illness and heartbreak to some kind of self-knowledge.
46. DESSI & EMMA, Texting
I know you get my messages even if you delete them. Please don’t! I’ m so sorry about Abdul. I just fell for him, just couldn’t help myself. I know it was a shitty thing to do to my best friend. And I’ve paid for it, because he dumped me. Emma, he conned both of us. Only there were extreme circumstances, so perhaps we should try to forgive him. I can explain more if we get together. You’re still my best friend. Dessi. L
WHAT KIND OF BEST FRIEND? Emma.
Don’t be like that! We can’t let one mistake, even if a terrible one, ruin all our years of being close. Anyway, if we don’t talk, what happened will always hang between us. I really, really miss you. Besides, I’m worried… are you okay? Dessi L
Dessi, you cannot possibly imagine how much you hurt me. Course I’m okay. Emma
Yes, I DO know. But believe me, I didn’t intend to. It just happened. Would you believe Abdul had a fiancée all the time? What does that make us? Dumb? Dessi L
Are you serious? A FIANCEE? Tell me more. Emma.
Leila knows all about it. She’s Fatima Khouri and they’re having an arranged marriage, organised since they were little. His taking us out was his rebellion. When I saw Sacha at Jodie’s party he told me ALL about Surfers!!! He’s not gay, is he. Dessi. L
Think I’ll give relationships a miss and concentrate on my art. Maybe we DO need to talk. What happened between me and Sacha is NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. Emma.
What are you doing tomorrow? How about a coffee at our old place in Acland Street? Twelve o’clock. Okay? Dessi
47. EMMA, that same night
I hit the send button and sit back to think over the last few eventful months. Until these last few days I could never have imagined myself forgiving Dessi for what I viewed as ‘her total betrayal’. But learning what I just have has put me into another mind frame.
First I approach Leila for more information. At first she didn’t want to talk about Abdul. Rather she seems to think I’m treating Dessi badly.
As if! I think indignantly.
Nevertheless it doesn’t take much persuasion for me to realise that what Dessi
is writing in those emails is true. All along Abdul was contracted in a curious way to another woman, a woman from the same background as his, even if she was born here. I wonder at Abdul taking up with Skip girls? Yet having been less attached, our time together being so brief, I’m able to view him more dispassionately. But I’d lay bets that when he dumped Dessi, and this being the first time this ever happened to her, she was totally distraught. Poor Dessi.
So given these new facts, my self-questioning now focuses on our relationship, on the relationship between two best friends.
What do I expect from Dessi? Unbidden, the many times she rescued me from unpleasant situations fills my mind. I recall falling into her room, throwing up, and her cleaning up after me. I recall how compassionate she was when I confessed all the things I’d been up to, how she never told me off or acted superior. I recall the number of times Dessi consoled me when Sam or Danny were appalling. I recall how often Dessi coaxed and cajoled me out of being totally down. I recall what a wonderful friend Dessi always was…
Was….
Until Abdul came on the scene. Before that it was always me who needed hugs and support. Never Dessi. Not even after the accident. But Dessi is luckier. She’s surrounded by a warm, caring family. How different this is for me. No loving Hannah, Graham, Jeremy and Nanna Pearl. I only have Julie. And she always needs my support. So maybe I’ve always expected Dessi to be the true giver. No wonder she finally rebelled, if only in this roundabout way. No wonder she took up with Abdul.
Meeting Dad and Laura is a big negative in my life. At the same time in a curious twist, the result is positive. I’m starting to accept that some parents aren’t able to offer support in the way their children might expect. I now know that to ask anything more from Dad than what he’s already given me in the way of material objects such as money or a very smart room, is all I’ll ever get from him. A shame, really. Still…isn’t this his failing rather than mine? Nor can I expect Laura to be anything more than a rather smart businesswoman who also happens to be unpleasantly racist. That’s also a shame! If Laura had been different, we could have had an interesting adult friendship.
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