Being Anti-Social

by Leigh K. Cunningham

  Right from the start when you were just a baby, we could see your fiercely independent streak. As soon as you could hold a spoon, you would not let me feed you no matter how difficult it was to feed yourself or how long it would take. When you were learning anything, you would squeal if anyone tried to help you, whether it was building blocks or making sand castles - you had to do it all on your own. It did worry me for a while because you always wanted to play by yourself, but your father always said you would be fine, and he was right.

  You never wanted any attention from me and so after a while, I gave up trying because Lauren came along and she demanded time and attention. I was hurt that you did not seem to need me and I was a little jealous of your father and his relationship with you. Whenever he came into a room, you would light up and you would follow him around the backyard looking at plants. That was a beautiful sight, watching you pottering around after him, and funny too. He would pick caterpillars from the shrubs and you would pick them up out of his bucket and put them back on the leaves. One time, as I was watching from the kitchen window, I saw you eat one.

  You have always appreciated complete honesty so I will not lie to you – I was so disappointed and saddened when you and Ben divorced. I found it hard to understand what happened. We loved Ben – he was such a good man and so good for you. You had a perfect life together, which made it so hard to see it end much too early and for the wrong reason. As much as I could not understand why it all happened as it did, we were very, very worried about you. It seemed to us that you would never recover from losing him, and for years now, I have worried about your drinking and that you might drink yourself into an early death like your Aunty Jan. I know you thought that I was judging you, but I only wanted you to see that there were other ways to cope without the alcohol. Naturally, I would have been happier if you did not drink at all. I have seen what it can do to a person – it destroys lives.

  We never talked about my sister, May and what happened to her. She was an alcoholic and for similar reasons. May lost her husband in the war and never got over it. She turned to alcohol, lived alone and had nothing in her life. I tried to help her in the beginning, but after a while I was glad not to be around her anymore. I had a family to care for and while she was drinking, I did not want her around my children. I hope you might understand now why I did not want to see you drinking, especially because you were still mourning Ben all those years later. Please do not mourn for me when I am gone because I will be with my Lord and watching over you, protecting you.

  I have always hoped you would marry again, settle down and be happy like you were with Ben. I did like that young man, Rudy – he was charming and he seemed to treat you very well. I am sorry I did not get to meet Zach – I hope that he is good to you.

  I am glad that we had so much more time together these past few months. I appreciate that you came to stay with dad and I. You will never know how much that meant to me and even though you did not say as much, I knew you cared. I knew you loved me as much as I love you.

  If there is anything else I might wish for, it is that you and Shannon might one day find a way to have a more loving relationship. You could not be more different, I appreciate that, but I hope you might find some way to connect as sisters. I do not expect you would ever be the best of friends, but I pray that you might one day have a more positive relationship. Please try, for me.

  Mace, you are unique and beautiful and I have always admired your independence and your spirit. I am very, very proud of you. I love you my dear, dear daughter.

  Love always,

  Mum

  Chapter Forty-two

  “Death must be so beautiful – to lie in the soft brown earth with the grasses waving above one’s head and listen to silence, to have no yesterday and no tomorrow, to forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.” [Oscar Wilde]

  THREE months had passed since we scattered mother’s ashes around our backyard so she would be present at every gathering. Dad could also believe she was with him when he wandered the garden as he did now all day long.

  I had not lived for a minute of the past three months. I was angry and sad and remorseful, but mostly angry for it made no sense for a God who supposedly loves us all to take away a family’s lifeline. I went to work. I drank merlot, and welcomed the end of daylight savings for I could not wait for every day to close early in darkness; the long hours of sunlight made me miserable.

  I knew I would miss mother, but could never have imagined how deeply the blade of death would slice into my being. It was not supposed to be as crushing as it was after Ben died; nothing could hurt that much, I thought. I was wrong.

  Lauren had moved back with Patrick to resume their married life and for emotional support, so dad was all alone for the first time since he was a young man of nineteen, half a century ago. It was heart-wrenching to watch his suffering for nothing could ease it and he would die this way—sad and alone. And so I did not like going home. Being there was painful because of the memories that lived in every room, because our house still smelled like mother, and because dad was broken and I could not fix him. He had never had to run a household before, and clearly, he had no idea how as our family home had morphed into a jumble sale after the masses had been through. Mealtime was not a problem as mother’s loyal friends still dropped by several times a day with food to die for, but most of it was not eaten. I wished I could move back home to care for him, but I could not bear to watch the suffering every day without spiraling with him into that deep dark chasm. I am familiar with that place; not everyone finds a way out.

  Shannon still called in every morning after dropping her kids off at school as she had done for all of her adult life. It was not however a good thing for she was an emotional wreck on the verge of clinical depression and she could easily take dad down with her. David and Gabby had arranged counseling with a trusted colleague for Shannon and dad, but dad would not go for that is not what men his age do. Shannon wanted someone to take away her pain as soon as possible, but after three months, there had been no progress—it was as if mother had just died. Toddy was proving to be an angel of a man, stepping in to take control of their household and the children to give Shannon time to grieve. Lauren had Patrick, Jason had Stephanie, and David had Gabby and Oscar. Dad had no one. I had no one, but that was my choice.

  I was thankful there was no grave to visit and this, I expect, was a part of mother’s plan—she did not want us to sit at her grave, as I did with Ben, or to maintain a tombstone or bring flowers she could not smell. It prompted me then to visit Shannon at her home in accordance with mother’s wishes. I had been there maybe ten times in twenty years, and all of those times when Ben and I were still married, because Shannon at least accepted me then, and Toddy and Ben were good friends. Even Ben and Shannon had a normal friend-like relationship.

  Despite how much I did not love or care for Shannon, I did not want to see her suffering in that way, like dad. I wanted to make her better so I could hate her again because that is how it is meant to be. She showed so little empathy for me when Ben and I divorced, and when he died, treating me as she did with much disdain. She is a Christian woman yet while I suffered, she could only remind me that I was an adulterer and deserved the consequences of my sin, and judged me more because I found solace in a bottle of merlot. But I am not my sister, and mother would be proud of me.

  My dear friend Erin was there to help with my mission and accompanied me on each visit to see Shannon. She was the bridge between our distant shores, able to talk with Shannon freely about children, schooling and the like—matters on which I was clueless—so I could ‘be’ there without having to fill the awkward silence. Being with Shannon at any time was difficult, and ironically, even more so while I was trying to be someone else to please mother, but as Oscar says, “Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.”

  I would play the role of caring sister inte
rested in Shannon and her life, and put aside what was real to me. At night, merlot would cure the pain that manifested in my shoulders so much that I could barely touch the area without wincing. Aloneness would help me grieve for mother, and for dad, and the bottle would dispense the self-pity I had earned.

  The dead live in memories, but for me, they live mostly in my dreams and mother and Ben featured often. I dreamt that Ben and I were celebrating our wedding anniversary, staying at a bizarre resort somewhere that was very dark. The bathroom was a long way from our room across a stretch of ocean, joined by a timber bridge. I was late getting ready for our dinner, which is not like me at all, and Ben was urging me to hurry or we would miss the bus to the restaurant. I was looking glamorous in a slinky barely-there black dress with my hair in an up-do—not my style at all, but as we made the trek across the bridge to the bus stop, strange medallion-like critters flew out of the ocean and attached themselves to my bare skin. Ben prised them off with a paint scraper and a layer of skin went with each one leaving me covered in large red polka dots. We missed the bus and Ben blamed me even though I was looking and feeling rather pathetic. I played around in a garden by myself while we waited for the next bus, and my dress, face and hair became so soiled and grubby the second bus driver would not let me on. Ben was not happy, and mother appeared to tell me that this is why I should not play in the garden in my good clothes. I don’t know what it all meant, except to be reminded of how often I disappointed the ones I loved. It left me wishing life was a suburb instead of a cycle, so I could rest a while in a cul-de-sac before having to move on to the next disappointment.

  Amber had re-scheduled her wedding for May, just weeks away, and this was the talk amongst our friends. I had not written my ‘anti-wedding ritual’ book, so Amber only had tradition to guide her, and I could not be bothered contributing to her plans or arguing on any point. I left this to Sophie and Erin who did not hesitate to voice their opinions on what they would and would not wear down the aisle, which differed with Amber and each other. I did feel sorry for Amber, strangely, but it was her own fault for having four bridesmaids and for adopting a consultative approach. Kimba did not care what she wore and nor did I, so long as there were no frills, lace or pink, and so long as I was not paired with Rudy in the bridal party. I would resent such a blatant overture so much so I considered calling Zach to be my date for the occasion. He had sent me an email just after Christmas while mother was alive, and we had a nice lunch together down Acland Street in St Kilda. Then after mother died, he was always available in case I needed him, which I did not, but still, it was nice that he cared enough, and I appreciated his emails and phone calls, which could make me laugh even when I did not want to. It did not seem right to laugh or to enjoy life while there was so much suffering to endure.

  In the months after mother died, I wanted to cut my hair to within an inch of its life because I was forty and I no longer saw the point in caring about what rested on my weary head. I had made an appointment with Akilles who was almost pleased to hear from me, but only because he delighted in a serious cut rather than a mere trimming of long locks. I had to postpone then because Amber did not want my proposed spiky short hair in her wedding party (except on the groom’s side it seems), but Zach thought it was a great idea. Other than Zach’s fixation with action sports, there really was a lot to like about him.

  I was starting to believe that there were sufficient reasons to rekindle our relationship. All the reasons I had for ending it, twice, seemed ridiculous now, and I regret that mother had died wishing she could have met him. I had worried about what she would have thought of his age, and dreaded Shannon’s smug commentary on a forty-year-old woman with a twenty-seven year old boy, but it no longer mattered and in hindsight, never mattered ever. And I was no longer daunted by the prospect of meeting his family—from everything Zach had said, they would be accepting of just about anyone he loved, and not at all judgmental. More importantly, while I was pondering what to do with Zach, I did not want some young fluff coming along and snatching him from my indecisive palms. As Oscar says, “There are many things we would throw away if we were not afraid that others might pick them up.” I called Amber and told her I would be taking Zach to her wedding. If nothing else, it would bring an end to any ploy to set me up with the unscrupulous Rudyard Wilkes.

  Chapter Forty-three

  THERE was a board meeting scheduled on Amber’s wedding day, and I was glad for a legitimate reason to be absent as I had lost all interest in work. I contemplated a career change, but had no idea what I might do. Zach suggested real estate, and that seemed like a viable option since there were few barriers to entry. Enthusiasm and people skills were the main criteria he said, which were problematic. Unlike Zach, I was not interested in or fascinated by the lives and properties of others. Nor would I be capable of charming owners into listing their property with me, or charming them into buying from me or spending more than they might want. My sometimes brutal matter-of-fact style might actually be put-off.

  I thought a lot about the shack on the beach up North Queensland somewhere and seriously wanted to go there, if not for dad. He was lost and might never be found again since none of us knew were to find him, metaphorically speaking that is. The sight of him wandering the garden checking on his plants was no longer heart-warming and endearing as it once used to be. Now it was heart-breaking. Mother was gone and so was dad. I was an orphan.

  I wanted to be happy for Amber on her second wedding day so I pretended again to be someone else, a happy someone. Her dark ivory two-tiered gown flowed with sunburst pleating from a strapless, gathering over her still perfect decollate despite forty years. She was stunning as expected, and Jake was bursting with pride as envy followed his bride down the aisle in fluid organdie. There was no envy from us, the bridesmaids, for we knew Amber best, and just hoped for Jake’s sake that history did not repeat itself, again.

  Sophie, Erin, Kimba and I were also in flowing, ivory organdie with the sunburst pleating, but in a paler shade of ivory to Amber’s. There were other variations that made it clear that hers was the master version and ours, mere shadows in its glory. It is a sign of a truly confident bride when you can dress your maids in a similar dress without any fear of limelight stealing. Her decision was validated—we may as well have been wearing Heshian.

  As suspected, and regardless of my threats of withdrawal from the bridal party, my partner for the occasion was the conman, Rudyard Wilkes, which was infuriating despite how dazzling he looked in a black suit with a pale ivory silk tie. As usual, he was outgoing and chatty as if there was no bad blood between us. Clearly, he did not appreciate my capacity for sustained resentment.

  In the end, I did not bring Zach to the wedding, and he was quite miffed about it although he understood—dad was my reluctant date. Extricating him from his garden was not an easy task, and in the end, I had to call for support—David, Jason, Lauren and Shannon—to get the job done. It was a kind of intervention, which was failing badly until Shannon threatened to shower and dress dad for the wedding if he did not do it for himself. He moved like a bullet train then, as would anyone. The old Shannon did re-appear from time to time as she did on Amber’s wedding day, and it was Amber’s fault entirely—Amber, God bless her unrecognizable soul, asked Shannon and her troupe to perform at the church ceremony, and this was enough to inspire a return of the Shannon we have all come to know and dislike. In one confusing regard though, it was comforting to see the irksome Shannon back in our midst as her bossy ways would surely help bring dad out of his decline.

  It was a beautiful wedding with beautiful people on a beautiful day even though it was overly cool in our sleeve-less, shoulder-less, wool-less dresses. I am pleased to say however, the wedding did not conclude traditionally with the bride and groom leaving the reception under an arch of well-wishers. Instead, we, the bridal party and spouses/partners, went back to the marital home of Jake and Amber to party on until dawn broke. Dad went home of cours
e so I sent a text to Zach to join us, with no response. I hoped he was not sulking as that would incur a massive number of demerit points. His absence forced me to resort to Plan B wherein I talked loudly and stupidly about my ‘boyfriend, Zach’, whenever Rudy was in earshot.

  “Are you still dating that twenty-two year old?” Amber asked at one point, even though she knew the status of my relationship with Zach and his correct age.

  “He’s twenty-eight now,” I said. “And yes, we are still dating after an entire year.”

  “On and off,” Amber added.

  I glared. “Any plans for a family, Jake?” I asked.

  “As a matter of act,” he said. “We do.”

  “You do know your new wife is almost forty-one,” I said. “She’s not thirty-one like she probably told you.”

  “She looks it,” he said with a smile. “And she’ll be a perfect mother.”

  “In November,” Amber added with a smirk.

  “What’s happening in November?” I asked.

  “You’re not!” Sophie screamed.

  “I am,” she replied, tilting her champagne glass as a toast to herself.

  “I have news too,” said Kimba with an adoring smile at her man Kenneth.

  “You’re pregnant, too?” Erin asked.

  Kimba nodded with big, bright, wide eyes.

  “Wow!” said Sophie. “It’s a triple celebration! This is amazing.”

  We celebrated the good news with champagne, well Kimba didn’t, but Amber thought a couple of glasses would not hurt since it was her wedding day and she was only just pregnant. I did not feel congratulatory. I was tired of happiness so I did not pretend to be happy any more that day. I did not have the energy for it or the constitution.