I’ve lost a friend. Not just any friend but one of those
handful of people you meet in your life with whom you connect on a level so
special that they are a part of you.
I met Chris when I worked at the Royal Academy of
Engineering in London. He was a
tough, cynical Londoner who would later tell me that he thought I was far too
bubbly in the mornings for his liking. We
soon warmed up to each other and it wasn’t long before I was secretly trying to
fight off other colleagues so I could sit next to him at Tuesday night trivia.
He was unlike anyone I had ever met before, so free to do whatever society
looked down upon, he just didn’t really seem to give a shit. I liked the way he
wrapped his man scarf around his neck in the middle of winter, how the English
accent rolled off his tongue, how he straightened me out when I was delusional,
saw me through to the very end and beyond as my relationship fell apart, but
mostly, the way he could drop the ‘C’ word into any conversation making it sound
so acceptable that even the Queen wouldn’t bat an eyelid.
He fell in love and moved to Australia
around the same time that my visa ran out and I was left with no choice but to
give Sydney another try. I last saw him when I was in Melbourne for
work. We carried out our own private crawl through the bars and pubs, ending
the night sitting on a grassy median strip, surrounded by cars and watching the
pandemonium that developed as some drunk moron passed out face down on the pavement.
I remember us laughing at the poor bugger as Chris rolled a cigarette.
It’s hard to comprehend how a 30 year old could feel that
life isn’t worth living anymore. Sure, it’s
sometimes tiresome and often monotonous but most of us, I believe, have some
level of faith that there is always something better lurking around the corner.
I received a text from him in the middle of the night last week, saying that
his relationship ended and he was going back to London
on a whim but he adored me as a friend. Thinking
that he was already on the plane it took me a day to reply. I told him he was a
very special friend to me too and that now I would really have to
get my act together to visit London
again. My last words ‘I will miss you’, were probably too late.
I somehow liken this to a holiday. You go to a resort, meet
some cool people and you thank your lucky stars that they were there at the
same time to share a few too many cocktails by the pool, bask in the sunlight
and laugh about the imbeciles. Then you wake up one day, and they have decided
to check out early. “Noooo” you cry, “there is still another 40 years left on
our package!” They have left you a note but there is no forwarding address. How
and when will you see them again? Weren’t they having a great time? How could
they leave without discussing this decision first? How will anyone else ever
fill the void?
Everyone you meet along the way is a little piece of your
puzzle. Some are more significant than others, without them, the final
masterpiece doesn’t really make much sense to anyone but you.
Treacle, I guess I will have to see you at the next stop.
Please save me a sun lounge, review the day trips and most importantly, make
sure the bartender has enough gin and tonic to last us an eternity.
Alice Face xx
Beautiful
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