Photo by stephaniemiyazaki
Our courtly love had been stylised and disguised with secrecy ever since I met her at that hipster cabaret tavern somewhere between midnight and sunrise. Her consciousness had a ripple effect. Wherever she went, people would wake up and look. It wasn’t so much that she was the most beautiful, timeless, mysterious, art-work in biological form compelling people left right and centre to bend over backwards for her. She had a nature so kind and sweet I could never say anything wrong. No one could ever say anything wrong to her. She always made them feel they were saying exactly the right thing. It made me feel like I would die a trillion torturous deaths to protect her.
The problem arose when I realised was she was actually so inadvertent about my deeper feelings about her. She meandered between many men. She loved men. Men loved her. She never told anyone about me though, not even her friends. When I was sick of playing around, she thought I was just a stoner who was stuck in old-fashioned ways. I got drunk and wrote her a bunch of stupid text messages that completely ended any attraction she had for me.
I wanted to relinquish my jealousy so I formed a friendship with her. I became friend-zoned and with that, it opened up a different world. I was her souffre-douleur and would lick her troubled wounds.
So many guys would just use her for sex and never have a nice thing to say. Somehow her spirit was conflicted between a deadened self-worth and a love for life, partying and intellectual stimulation. She really liked men using her because she didn’t want commitment. Either that or she just didn’t know what she wanted.
Time came and I left the city. She always made me feel like I was a great guy—worthy of the best of the best—but I wasn’t allowed her anymore. Even if I touched her hips she would ask what I was doing. I left in search of something that would love me.
In the country I decided to give up thinking about her altogether. It was a refreshing new chapter to my life. Clean mountain air and swimming got my head thinking clearly. I no longer lamented over the former enchantress.
One day I got a message from her inviting me to her birthday party. The message was bordering way over flirtatious and had an ‘X’ at the end. I remembered those sweet lips like they were yesterday.
I hitch-hiked 2400km because I was dirt poor—without any cen’o (Centrelink) benefits—working on some avocado farm for free. My clothes and hair were a mess but I never cared about my looks.
I arrived just in time for her party and surprised everyone by my smell. I hadn’t eaten for 24 hours but I felt like I was about to tear the city a new hole. She turned red when she saw me. I thought it was because I looked shit. A smile grew on her face like there was no tomorrow and tonight was going to be the last night ever and I was the reason why she was going to have the best pre-apocalyptic evening ever.
We had a hug that lasted over 20 seconds and all her pretentious friends rolled their eyes at my hippie hair and ratty appearance. That night we finally connected beyond expectation. We dreamed and dreamed. I asked her to come up country with me and swim in crystal blue dams and waterfalls and frolic in prairies picking fallen mangoes. She said she definitely would and I was so happy we danced, spinning our way into the morning.
We woke up in bed and the drugs had worn off. My brain was foggy but I was so excited to be next to her. She still had her shoes on. I tried pulling them off and she woke up and told me not to take them off. She rolled over with her back to mine. I was just confused as I’d ever been with her.
I fell asleep again and woke up and she was gone. Her housemate told me she had gone to work.
I didn’t wait for her to come home. I went and got high instead. My mates were engineering paper planes so I got distracted with that for a few hours. That evening I called her and she wouldn’t pick up. I was so pissed off I sent her a scathing text message, asking her why she would do that to me, leading me on so heavy.
In the morning I woke up in a hammock under a Poinciana tree and checked my Facebook by habit. As I was scrolling down I couldn’t believe what I saw. She had a picture of herself at the Cairns Airport; captioned “waiting for you. X”
…
My heart lay in disarray,
Why did we meet at that cabaret?
I feel more tortured than a trillion deaths,
Her soul is the only thing I have left.
…
As I borrowed money from my parents for this once in a life-time investment to catch a plane up to Cairns, I never got even the smallest inclination anything would go wrong. I couldn’t ring her though. Her phone was off. I felt like she was being romantic and sweet and was waiting for me in person. She probably was, but now I wish I could have talked to her one last time.
…
Her name was Marie,
She fell from a tree,
She broke her spine
And she left me behind.
…
How she fell I don’t know,
She wouldn’t tell me,
No one could tell me ,
Why would my ideal girl never be mine.
Written by Angus Holliday
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