Being Anti-Social

by Leigh K. Cunningham

  Bubbly drinks and conversation went on around me, and I felt truly alone in the world although this did not disturb me as I thought it should. I pictured myself in a tin shack on the beach up north, sitting all day long without thinking, just gazing out over the Great Barrier Reef. I would know every cadence, every shimmer, and every changing shade of blue or green. I would pick mangoes, mulberries and bananas, and catch my own seafood to cook over an open fire. I would not have to talk to anyone except when I had to have my head shaved once a month or to buy a replacement singlet or shorts. Few words would ever be necessary.

  “Mace? Mace?” I heard in the distant reality. It was smarmy Rudy ingratiating himself once more. “Merlot?” he said, offering me a full wine glass to replace an emptied flute. Intuitive, I thought, for he knew I did not need the euphoria of champagne when a melancholic merlot was in order.

  “What do you think of the news?” he asked plonking himself down on the sofa beside me.

  “What news?”

  He shook his head. “The baby news? Jake and Amber? And Kimba.”

  “What do I think?” I said with a sigh gazing with contemplation at the ceiling. “I think…life was much better a year ago. Everything is changing so fast I feel dizzy.” I sighed again. “I don’t like change.” I sculled all the way to the bottom of the glass, and Rudy filled it again without hesitation.

  “My mother died,” I said.

  “I know, Mace. I’m sorry. I really liked your mother.”

  “She liked you too,” I whispered, and I spotted Amber in the distance with a smile, almost victorious in nature. I responded with a self-righteous look of indignation.

  “So, this guy you’re dating…sounds like it’s getting serious.”

  “He’s twenty-eight,” I said.

  Rudy shook his head, confused. “What does that mean? So is it serious or not?”

  “I think my brain is bleeding,” I said, rubbing my eyes, which smeared mascara, eyeliner and beige eye shadow across my face.

  Rudy smiled. “You look like a Ninja turtle,” he said, pushing strands of wayward auburn hair behind my ears. He left his palm on my cheek for what seemed like an eternity, and there was comfort in the touch of that manicured hand.

  I am not sure how much merlot or time passed then as the next moment I recalled, I was in a taxi with Rudy and we were on our way to my townhouse. I sobered a little when he kissed me, not passionately, but gently with compassion then wrapped his arms around my shoulders to draw me in to rest against his chest. I wanted to cry and so I did.

  Rudy carried me from the taxi to my courtyard then set me down while he unlocked the front door with one arm still wrapped around my waist for support. And I was still crying, quietly, like a frightened child trying not to make a sound.

  I woke the next morning still in my pale ivory organdie gown having crushed the sunburst pleating into a mild crease. And Rudy was wrapped around me, dressed solely in his underwear, and laying atop the doona cover in spite of the cold autumn morning.

  I cried in silence as I remembered my dream. Dad had injured his hand. It had to be amputated the doctors were telling us. “You can’t take his hand,” we argued. “He does a lot of woodwork and without his hand he would deteriorate and die.” Dad has never done woodwork, and would not know which end of a chisel to use, and when we were children, mother used to say, “Your father is useless around the house”. It was said though with much love for she was content that her garage was orderly and pristine and not wall-to-wall with tools, saw benches and wood shavings. Symbolically, the amputated hand, it would seem, was mother, and so it was true, that without it, the hand that is mother, dad would deteriorate and die.

  Chapter Forty-four

  AFTER Amber’s wedding, I made it back to Akilles for my dramatic new look. He ran his hands aggressively through my red tresses, and inspected every section of it as if he was looking for treasure under a rock, without success. It was all done with an audible flair that drew unwanted attention my way, but that was Akilles, and while I appreciated how much he loathed his clients (I would feel the same way), I wished he would do it silently.

  I wanted it short, really short, but not shaved as yet because those plans—to move to a beach shack in North Queensland to eat prawns and mangoes—were in abeyance, because of Rudy, but this could change when he sees my new hair since he has always liked the longish red swirls. Zach was in favor of my proposed short hair, but he was no longer on the scene, because of Rudy. And it was because of Rudy, that I came to realize what was missing with Zach, and it was not just the missing decade of life experiences; it was the sensation of wholeness you get when you wake up with the right arms wrapped around you. With Zach, there was no wholeness—they were just arms, and sometimes their heaviness suffocated me. As it turned out, I could forgive Rudy the conman because without absolution, there can only be persecution, of life, my life.

  That revelation in the arms of Rudy while dressed in a crushed bridal gown with makeup smeared across my face and white pillow case, prompted me to read mother’s letter for the second time. For months, it had remained buried in a place I never ventured—inside a Crock-pot in the kitchen cupboard. Mother had written:

  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.

  Mother had asked a lot with her dying wishes and I felt the pressure of failure once more for realistically, what could I possibly achieve now that I was not able to achieve then when she was alive?

  I am not an alcoholic like Aunty Jan although I wish I had known her since we shared a common circumstance, having lost our truest loves, and I certainly understand that she wanted to be left alone, and her love of the bottle.

  I do not know how I might connect with Shannon as mother has asked. We have nothing in common, unlike me and Aunty Jan, and I do not like her let alone love her as a sister might. But mother wants me to try and so I will, as soon as I work out how.

  At least mother’s third request seemed possible in part—she liked Rudy, and so did I in all honesty, but it was much too early to talk of settling down and most definitely too early to consider marriage; I do not need or want to be married, and cannot see
this ever changing. The past week though, since Amber’s wedding, had been very comfortable with Rudy spending every night with me at the townhouse. We watched football (although he does not support the Tigers) and movies, listened to music, ordered take-out and drank merlot.

  Rudy was pleased that I had developed an interest in football, even though it was a source of conflict, and denigration too since his team, the Hawks (Hawthorn), were excelling while my Tigers languished. Still, it was better than it had been with me and Zach following the same team.

  Rudy loved my new hair even though it was nothing like the style I had cut from a magazine, which Akilles had thrown on the floor before proceeding to do exactly what he wanted. My hair was no longer red, but blonde, and short, very, very short. Even I had a problem recognizing the image in the mirror, but I felt renewed, transcended even.

  I found much to admire and respect in Zach since our third break-up. He wanted to remain friends, and was not at all bitter that I had batted him about like a shuttlecock for several months. I sent him a picture of my new hair. He liked it a lot and said precisely what a good friend would say—that I looked ten years younger, which may well be true because that is how I felt as if my hair had been the baggage that had weighed me down.

  Rudy and I signed up for Spanish lessons. I was happy to begin again at level one because I would be the star performer in the class given everything I already knew, like how to count to twenty.

  I settled back into work in the southern corner with Thomas, and shelved plans for a new career, especially one in real estate. I did not like change. I did not want to meet new people, and did not want to have to explain my contact policies (emails only, no phone calls) to new people.

  Rachel was abuzz with wedding plans and I am proud to say, she has abandoned many rituals on my advice and designed a unique ceremony; there would be no bridesmaids or groomsmen, no wedding cake or bridal waltz. The reception instead would be a party albeit a stylish one with progressive tables for guests and lots of music and dancing. She had inspired me to return to my writing, and Rudy had come up with ways to make the task much less onerous and daunting for a first-timer. I had not considered how useful his journalistic experience might be to me.

  Erin was preparing for the launch of her first book, which was just weeks away, and we were planning a huge celebration for her afterwards. We bought her an engraved silver ice bucket, not just for the champagne, but for Erin to soak her hand in after the signings. That would be our group photo. We were all excited, not just for Erin, but for ourselves being able to claim a successful author as a dear friend. And she would be successful, there was no doubt, for we had all read the final draft of No Stone Unturned and it was truly an excellent read although a little obscene in parts, which would probably guarantee its success.

  Thomas had left his wife, or perhaps it was the other way around, when she discovered he would never father her children. In all the time I have known Thomas and occupied the southern corner with him, I have never seen him so buoyed, at least, not since he pushed the project director, fully clothed, into the pool at the last retreat.

  Jason and Stephanie were planning a simple, quiet wedding in the backyard at home with dad and mother’s ashes. Jason is so happy now and it’s obvious—his face has completely changed, around his eyes mainly maybe because his smile lines are always active.

  Oscar was expecting a little brother or sister in a matter of months, which would cause him some upheaval, I expect, because he would have to learn to share the limelight that had shone so brightly over him for a year or so.

  Kimba and Amber were preparing for their own babies and could not be happier. I had thought it would be nauseating, with three mothers-to-be in my midst, but Amber’s apparent ignorance of the process from conception to birth to a new reality, was hugely entertaining. Kimba was, as usual, unbelievably patient with her motherhood lessons although this was dimmed somewhat by incredulity at times even though she knew Amber as well as the rest of us. But we should not have expected more from Amber. Her motherhood I anticipated with great delight as it would bring years of entertainment.

  Sophie and Adam were still together apart—it was the perfect solution, designed by moi. Lucinda would never have a sibling though—Sophie was unyielding on that point, which was probably a good idea since Lucinda knew her grandmother as a mother.

  There was much going on around me—everyone it seemed had a new beginning, and it was easy to bask by osmosis in the joy of others. The only shadow over all the gladness was dad. He was slipping away from us. His heart condition had worsened and he had lost a lot of weight. He had no will to live yet everyone was trying to save him—David, Jason, Lauren, me and Shannon. But I thought we should leave him to pass through this life on his own terms. That seemed to be the least selfish way since he would never be happy without mother, and we should not expect him to suffer for longer than he had to. I understand the power of his loneliness and what it can do to a person. It while it is true, as Shannon points out, that I have at last found someone to love, it is not the same for me at forty as it is for dad at seventy after a lifetime with his only love. Dad is not going to find someone else—the thought of it would appall him. I did not want dad to die; he is everything to me, always has been, but I love him too much to watch on as the pain of his loss takes what is left of him. Do they not say that if you love someone, you should set them free? He wanted to go, and for his ashes to rest on hers in the garden they had nurtured together for more than fifty years.

  Chapter Forty-five

  MY LIFE is a river coursing its way through the landscape. At times, it slows to a mere trickle, and at other times it breaks its banks and floods green pastures. I need not apologize for the river. It is what it is. Mother said that once, about the cancer that killed her.

  I know there are changes due, and perhaps I have a problem with merlot, but the reality is my life is my life and not someone else’s. It pleases me most to spend my nights at home, snug, with a movie, merlot and chocolate, and I do not understand why others say this is unhealthy or anti-social, except to say they judge according to their own preferences.

  Rudy also likes to stay at home with movies, merlot, chocolate, and with me, and this makes us highly compatible. He is much like Ben in temperament, but I will not embark on futile comparisons for Rudy is his own man and Ben is dead. There is still a lot before us: mountains, deserts and a merry-go-round or two, but there is hope and belief that I can be with someone else, completely, forever.

  It will surprise you to learn that I now have a beagle. He is a cute little fellow and bought on impulse after an encounter with his brethren at Tullamarine airport. I have called him Beagle. Erin says this is further proof that I do not have what it takes to be a writer; it is apparently evidence of a complete lack of imagination or creativity. Kimba says the name suits him, but this is from one who has named her two babies after flowers: Poppy and Violet. Amber says I may as well have just called him Dog or Four Legs, and I will look like a git chasing after Beagle calling out his name, but why should it bother me that I might look like a git. No one knows how momentous it is that I would be chasing after a mutt with a view to catching it, to take it home. I like Beagle. Beagle is a good name, and as Oscar says, “My great mistake, the fault for which I cannot forgive myself, is that one day I may cease my obstinate pursuit of my own individuality.”

  About the author

  Leigh K Cunningham is a lawyer with a career as a senior executive for a number of public companies in her home country of Australia. She has master’s degrees in law and commerce, as well as an MBA (International Management). Leigh also has a law degree with honors.

  Her first title for adult readers, RAIN, was the winner in the literary fiction category at the 2011 National Indie Excellence Awards, and a silver medalist at the 2011 Independent Publisher Book Awards (IPPY) in the Regional Fiction: Australia and New Zealand category.

  Leigh's first two children's books, THE GL
ASS TABLE and its sequel, SHARDS are recipients of silver medals from the Mom's Choice Awards.

  www.leighkcunningham.com