The Vintage and the Gleaning (23 page)

I mean, he was just one of the guys we used to hang around with, but he was different from the rest of them. He was quiet and shy and I was never interested in Julian, none of us were. He was sort of a joke to us, because he was different. I mean, it wasn't like that with the other guys. I liked them. I even went out with a few of them, but it was never all that serious. They just sort of came and went. I can't even remember most of them now. But Julian was always there, always around, hanging around me, but I never took any notice of him except when I got sick of it, of him being around all the time. When we all went out he was always there, even when I was with some other guy, he'd always be somewhere, close by, never saying anything but just standing somewhere, near me, watching me, and everyone knew it, about Julian having this thing for me, and I was horrible to him, really horrible. And I can't believe I could ever have treated anyone like that, but I did and I think I did it because I could, because I knew that he was in love with me, this sweet guy, this genuinely nice guy. Just because I could and that's the worst thing about it.

And all this just went on for years, for what seemed like years. Julian used to ring me at the boarding house and most of the time, when he rang, I just treated him the same way, the same as when we all went out, him and his friends, me and my friends. Either I wouldn't come to the phone at all or when I did I was a complete bitch to him, same as always. But there were other times, and I think it was mostly because I was bored, just bored, or because I didn't have anything better to do, those times I would actually talk to him, I mean, it was me who did all the talking, telling him all my problems, or what I thought were my problems, back then. And I remember sometimes he'd ring and I'd be in tears, usually over some guy I liked, some guy who'd treated me badly, and I'd tell him all about it, let it all pour out. So he sort of became my shoulder to cry on and I suppose in a way I eventually became fond of him, just because he was always there, and he was, he was always there for me.

The thing is, back then I took Julian for granted, just like I took everything for granted, I suppose. But now, well there are so few people out there like him, like Julian, people who will actually listen to you, care about you, be there for you. And I suppose it's because I've learnt about people now, because they scare me, people scare me now. Everyone's out for themselves and they don't care about you, and they don't care if they hurt you or use you, as long as they get what they want, and it seems like everybody's struggling against each other all the time, everyone fighting for themselves, just looking out for themselves. And it terrifies me, because I'm not like that, I mean there's just no fight left in me anymore. I couldn't even fight for myself, even if my life depended on it, I just couldn't. But everyone else, it's like they'll do anything to get what they want and nobody thinks it's wrong, being like that, it's just the way it is, how the world works. And I always think that if I were left to fend for myself, I mean I just couldn't, I'd be destroyed. And I wouldn't even do anything to stop it. I hate to think about it, because I think, well, one day that might actually happen.

And it's only now that I know it's people like Julian who you should value in your life, make an effort to hang on to. It's just that I never thought about Julian as someone important in my life back then. I mean I never really ever thought about him at all. He was just there and I took him for granted, as though he'd always be there, or someone like him, someone who'd listen to me and care about me, really, genuinely care about me, and well, that shows how much I knew, doesn't it? I mean, here I am without anyone and I suppose that's why it's only now, nearly twenty years later, it's only now that I've started thinking about Julian and I think about him all the time and it's ridiculous, because that boy, that boy from twenty years ago, well he doesn't exist anymore. But sometimes I feel like he does, like somehow he's still around, still there, somewhere, like I could go and find him and he'd be the same and things would be like they were, except I would be different this time, this time I'd value him, as a friend, and I'd stay friends with him and I would. This time I really would.

And of course it's absurd even talking about it, even thinking about it, because it's impossible, because that time has passed, it was so long ago. It's just how I start thinking when my mind wanders. Not that I'm saying I was attracted to him or that I wish I'd gone out with him back then, or ended up with him now, or anything like that. I wouldn't even have thought of it. I mean, I know I didn't, because it was the opposite, at the time. It just never, ever would have happened. But the thing is, I know I wouldn't act any differently, even if I had my time over, and that's the shame of it all.

And now. Now he wouldn't be interested in me at all, would he? He wouldn't give me a second thought, not if he knew me now, knew what I was like now. He'd be the same to me as I was to him. Because he's probably got the perfect life now. I mean, he was smart, really smart, and he's probably got a good job now, in the city, probably married with kids, a house, the whole perfect package. And God knows what he thinks of me now, the way I treated him. I mean, he probably doesn't ever think about me at all, after all this time. I doubt it would even cross his mind, me, back then. But if he ever does think about me, he probably just remembers some horrible private school bitch. He probably hates me now, well, no, it's worse than that, I mean, he probably doesn't even care, even if he does remember me, he wouldn't care where I am or what's happened in my life or anything like that because he'd have moved on. He's moved on and I haven't. Obviously I haven't, have I?

Sometimes I imagine running into him, seeing Julian again, now, somewhere in the city probably, seeing him on the street, somewhere. And I'd be so ashamed. I'd hide. I'd run away. I couldn't bear it, him seeing me, seeing me now, seeing what I'm like now. Not that he'd probably even recognise me anyway. I mean, we were just kids. Twenty years ago. God.

But the thing is, Smithy, when I do think about that time, twenty years ago, and no matter what I say, I miss it, that time and being young, people liking me, wanting to be with me, wanting to know me, having people in my life. I do miss it, I really do and it's so painful, thinking back to those days. But I'm always thinking back. Because that time is more real to me than things are now, more real than the life I'm living. And it's not that I miss it because of friends or being popular or anything like that, it's not even because things were just better, it's not that at all. It's something else, I don't know, this feeling I had back then and, I don't know, maybe it was just being young, maybe that's all it was.

But back then it was like everything seemed so important. My life used to seem so important, as though what I did and what I was really mattered, really actually mattered, and not just to me, but to everyone, to the whole world. It felt like everyone noticed, that they noticed me and what I was doing, everything, all of it. And I had so much to say and I thought that they were important things, things that actually mattered and I thought that people were listening to me. And there was this feeling, it was like everything I said was louder, like everything I said could be heard and everything I did could be seen, like someone was always watching, watching and caring, and it felt like the whole world was listening and watching and caring. Like I actually mattered to the world.

So it wasn't who I was, or what I was, or what people thought of me, but it was something else, just this feeling, this feeling of things being important and all eyes upon me. And I remember that and I miss it, I miss it so much. Because it's like somewhere along the way everything went quiet. Everything became quieter, smaller. Like I'm smaller, less important, or, no, not important at all, not important to anyone except myself, because now I know that I'm the only one. I'm the only one who listens and watches and cares. About myself. There's no one but me.

And it was like I used to feel more. Because now I just don't feel things, not like I used to. I hardly feel anything at all anymore. And I don't just mean the good things, I mean things like feeling sad, feeling terribly, desperately sad and I remember feeling like that, but I never feel that way anymore, not even that, not anymore. And I don't know when it happened, but at some time it all stopped. I stopped feeling things. And it's not like I stopped caring, God knows I still care, but it's the feelings that have stopped and gone away and I just don't think they'll come back again, not ever. So now it's just about keeping on going, getting by, day to day, without feeling, without a reason, without a need. And no hope, no future, nobody watching or listening or caring, nobody but me, only me. And it's like I'm standing outside myself, watching and thinking, so this is my life, so this is what's become of me, and there's nothing I can do except watch, as though it isn't even me anymore, as though I'm already gone and have been gone for a long time now, and what's left is something else, something empty and just getting through it all, day by day, empty inside, nothing inside me anymore, and I don't care if I ended up on the street, I don't care what happens to me now, to what's left of me now. I just want to feel things again.

But I suppose it's the same for everyone. And I suppose it's just about getting older, just me getting older. But even so, it seems unfair, doesn't it, that it all only lasts such a short time and then it's gone, and nobody ever told me about this, about what would happen. But it hurts, Smithy. It hurts so much to think that it's all gone now. That it will never come back. That I'll never feel that way again, the way I used to feel when I was young. The things I used to feel. I mean, I know I should just get over it, but I can't. I can't get over it, I can't move on. Like I said, obviously I haven't moved on. I'm still living back then, in the past, like Brett's always saying, and it's true, and so I suppose that's the problem, my problem. But I don't want to think about how things are now. And I don't know, maybe it's not just that I never moved on, but that I never grew up. I mean I don't know whether I'm sixteen or thirty-four. It's like I have to remind myself all the time that I'm in my thirties now, that I'm an adult, but I always forget and, sometimes when I'm reminded of it, when something happens that makes me realise, it comes as a shock. I hear about people, and they've done so much in their lives, and I always think, God, they're the same age as me. But they're so different, they're adults. And I'm not. I don't feel like an adult at all, or that I've had a life. It's like I'm still waiting for life to happen. I mean, when I think about things, when I'm on my own, thinking about myself, I still think about things as though I were still sixteen, still a teenager.

I mean, I'm still obsessed with how I look, what I wear, I'll find myself sitting at home, and I'll be thinking about clothes, and I can't stop thinking about them. Sometimes it's all I can think about, when I watch TV and I look at what the women are wearing, at the fashion, and I worry about it, I mean I can worry about it all day. Because I keep thinking about what I would wear if I were going somewhere, if I were invited somewhere. In the city, somewhere like that, somewhere nice. I think, what if one of my old friends rang me up and invited me out, and I know it's not going to happen, but I can't get the idea out of my head, and I worry and I get anxious, thinking about what I would wear and how I have nothing to wear. Sometimes I can't even sleep, thinking about it. And I imagine it, I imagine what would happen if I were invited out, and I see myself walking into a room and it's like I have to look, not just fashionable, not just fit in, but it's like I have to look stunning, better than everyone else.

And I know it's never going to happen, but for some reason I act like it might, no, like it will, like it definitely will. And so I panic, it just gets caught up in my mind and I suppose I sort of go crazy in a way, something goes crazy inside me. And what happens is, and it's like I can't stop it, or I don't try to stop it, because at least I know it will make things go away, all the worrying, the obsessing over clothes. What happens is I drive into Albury and I go on these shopping sprees. And I can blow the whole month's rent, easily, in one day. And when I go in, it's always with this picture in my mind, of me walking into this room and how I have to look, the clothes I have to have. And I buy expensive things, ridiculously expensive clothes, brand names, beautiful clothes that I can't afford, but I buy them anyway. Because I have to. It's just something I have to do. So I go and blow the whole month's rent, or more, on these clothes, clothes that I never wear and I never will wear and then I take them home and I hide them. I hide them from Brett and from myself too, because it just makes me sad, the whole thing, and I don't want to be reminded of it, all those beautiful clothes that I know I'll never wear. And then I go and blame Brett for there being no money, and I accuse him of spending it all on booze and guns and Brett has no idea where it all goes, but he can always come up with the money. Brett can always come up with money if he has to.

But the thing is, these shopping sprees, the clothes and the madness, the thing is that I need it. This idea that some old friend might ring me up, invite me out. It's like I'm expecting a phone call from twenty years ago, like I'm expecting a phone call from the past and that's the thing, that's the whole point. Because I've done nothing all these years. I mean they're wasted, gone, and that's why this is so important to me, this thing I imagine, this picture in my mind of walking into a room in my new clothes. And I do know it will never happen, but no matter how well I know that, I still can't shake the thought that maybe it might, somehow. I suppose it's that I want it, that I desperately want it. I wish someone would phone me up, ask me out. I want to go out, somewhere nice, somewhere proper. And I want to wear new clothes, beautiful clothes, and I want to look stunning. Because, with these clothes, it's like I can make myself something different from what I am, make myself look like how I feel I should be and should have been, all these years. How I was always meant to be. And if I could do that, walk into a room, wearing these clothes, it would be like I was starting over. And even if it all seems insane, somehow it makes sense to me as well, because I can't do anything about my real life, not about my life today, not about my life anytime. It's not something I can change, it's not something I can do anything about. But if I could just dress up, look the part, somewhere away from all this, then it's like the last twenty years never happened.