Chapter 20: Forty Years Later

It was my birthday.        

Tired and covered in mud, I slowly made my way up the stairs to my apartment.  My knees ached at the physical exertion – yet another annoying reminder that I was no longer the spritely 25 year old I had once been.  In one hand, a long mud covered shovel, in the other, a dirty pillowcase slung across my shoulder.

Reaching the top of the stairs, I placed my thumb on the scanner.  The front door slid open silently, and I walked into the living room to see Mitch sat in front of the television.  Our new apartment was indeed a modern marvel, filled with stainless steel accoutrements and transparent aluminium windows.  We’d just moved in – no easy task for a couple of old bastards – and Mitch had insisted upon a celebration to mark the occasion.  We had never lived together in our youth, but now, as I approached my 65^th birthday, I found him an unlikely housemate.  Despite his cantankerous disposition, it was good to be living with my best friend.

“What took you so long?” he asked, irritated, his stringy white hair dangling over his spectacles.

“You try digging a grave with a holographic heart!” I replied, still breathless from my ascent.

“Did you find him?” he asked, glaring at me from the sofa.

Dumping the shovel and pillowcase on the floor, I leaned against the wall and wiped the sweat from my brow.

“Most of him” I replied, my chest heaving.

“What do you mean most of him?”

I motioned towards the dirty pillowcase by my feet.  It sat, lopsided by the front door, its gruesome contents secured within.

“Well come on – let’s see him!”

Mustering up what little energy I had left, I picked up the pillowcase and emptied its contents onto the coffee table in the middle of the room sending a cloud of fine brown dirt into the air. 

“You’re getting cranky in your old age”

“Shut up.  I’ve always been cranky and you know it!”

With a groan, Mitch hoisted himself up from his chair and slowly shuffled towards the table to examine the pile of dirty human bones I had brought home.

“That’s all of him?”  Mitch asked as he regarded the meagre pile on the table.

“It was the best I could do!” I shouted, irritated after having spent my afternoon at a cemetery. 

I leaned down and began examining the bones.  Obtaining them had been no easy task for a man of my age.  I’d never dug a grave before and was still fearful I had been photographed by one of the federal drones.

“Right scapula…mandible…intercostal rib…”

“What’s this?”  Mitch held up a large, long bone with two bulbous ends.

“That’s a femur.  One of his legs”

Mitch held the bone in his hands, inspecting it closely.

“Poor Owen – we never did get to say a proper goodbye”

“I know, but I warned him” I sighed “Turning tricks is a dangerous business – he was bound to get into trouble sooner or later”

Owen had been gone some thirty nine years – stabbed in a laneway not long after our group had dissolved.  It had been an undignified end for him, and a wound that had never truly really healed.  Standing over his broken remains, the two of us shared a moment of silence for our fallen comrade.  An air of mournful silence hung between us.  Mitch cleared his throat.

“Well - better go get the girls”

Mitch slowly disappeared into the next room as I slowly lowered myself onto the sofa, grateful to finally be off my feet.  Owen’s dirty bones stared at me from the tabletop, a pitiful memorial to years gone by.  I never wanted to remember him like this, but Mitch was insistent that we get the gang back together.

“Hey fucker…”  I whispered quietly as I remembered the first time we met.

“Here they are!” came Mitch’s voice as he emerged from the next room, carefully carrying two golden urns.  Brushing aside a patch of dirt, he carefully placed them both on the table next to each other.

“They’re looking good today – gave them a polish just this morning” Mitch stated proudly as he admired his work.

The two vessels, both gleaming, bore carefully engraved inscriptions – ‘Avery’ and ‘Brandy’.  These shining containers filled with ash were all that remained of Mitch’s two wives.

As Mitch sat down next to me, I took a moment to regard our grim gathering.

“Looks like we’re finally back together – it only took four decades”

“And just in time for a smoke” Mitch reached into his pocket and revealed two joints, carefully rolled.  He placed one in his mouth, lit it and handed me the other. 

“Lighter?”  I asked as Mitch began puffing away.  He leaned over and handed me the laser.  He was always stealing mine.

I leaned back in my chair, relishing the familiar head rush, far more intense than I remembered it.  Since its legalisation in 2032, weed had become a highly sought after commodity.  Mitch had sold his entire collection of Magic the Gathering cards in order to procure a measly two joints.

“Fuck - I just remembered something!” I reached for my briefcase that sat beside my chair.  I pulled out a small transparent sheet of clear plastic and handed it to Mitch.

“I found something in the newspaper today – thought you might like to see it”

Mitch raised an eyebrow and took the newspaper, activating it with his thumb print.  The plastic sheet immediately came to life, its clear surface suddenly populated with the day’s news headlines.  Clumsily tapping his fingers, Mitch scrolled through the headlines.

“I hate these new things – they scare me” he grumbled as he regarded the new technology.

“I know you do – just check out 34C” I said, now halfway through my joint.

Mitch scrolled to the appropriate page and read out the headline.

“Man dies after eating twenty seven donuts”

“No not that!  Below it”

Mitch scrolled down to reveal a photo of a middle aged woman in handcuffs being escorted into a police station.  She looked haggard, her white hair hanging like rope over her shoulders.  Mitch looked puzzled.

“It’s Amber!”

Mitch looked closer, now reading the caption underneath the photo.

“It is too!” he exclaimed, suddenly surprised.

Amber had been arrested for assaulting a woman with an umbrella outside a local supermarket. 

“How bout that?  I hope they throw the book at her!” Mitch scowled as he zoomed in on Amber fully attired in fluorescent prison jumpsuit.

Poor Amber, it looked as if her life had taken a turn for the worse.  Though we hadn’t seen either her or Jesse since their trip to China all those years back, modern technology had allowed us to keep tabs on them.

Now living in Bangalore, Jesse had divorced Amber and joined a ‘happiness cult’.  There he lived in a high walled compound with many beautiful women who combed his hair and fathered dozens of his children.

“I love the internet” I said as Mitch handed the plastic newspaper back to me “Lets you look up everyone”

“Oh yeah” Mitch raised a white eyebrow “What about Blade?”

“Dead”

“Nikki?”

“She’s dead too – killed by a bear!”

“Ha!  Serves the bitch right!”

“Our whole group dude – we’re the last ones!”

It was true.  We were the last ones – at least the last ones living above ground.

“You ever think about those days?  You, me, the girls and your old apartment?” Mitch asked as he reclined in his chair.

“All the time dude”

“Do you think you’ve lead a good life?”

“I’m not sure if it’s for me to say.  I can’t complain.  Got married a couple of times.  Made some money.  Lost some money.  Fathered a clone child”.

“Oh yeah, I meant to ask you – how is young Derek these days?

“How the hell should I know?”

 “He really does look a lot like you”

“He’s my clone. He looks exactly like me!”

And just like that the two of us were twenty five again, carefree and relatively innocent.  Staying up well into the night smoking weed, watching cartoons and talking shit.  We had, quite literally, out lasted everyone else.  It was true that there appeared to be fewer days before us than there were behind us, but we didn’t care.  We were going to do this one way or another - him and I - every year on my birthday.

Until there were no more birthdays at all.

THE END

Chapter 19: Stumbling Towards The Finish Line

I had no idea.  No idea how different the world could be.  Over the past few weeks, everything seemed to change, but nothing actually did.  Only my body - slowly – a piece at a time.  Repairing itself.  I had finally stopped smoking weed.  Not a temporary intermission, rather a permanent change made intentionally and designed to increase my happiness.

It worked.

Suddenly I felt better – in no specific way – I simply felt better.  All the time.  The sun seemed warmer, colours seemed brighter and the fog that clouded my brain seemed to fade disperse.  For the first time in a long time it felt nice just being alive.

Deciding to set aside my customary arrogance, I elected to listen to the eminent Charles Chaudhry and take the medications that he had prescribed.  Anti-depressants.  He told me that they would alter my brain chemistry to make me feel better.  I had no idea how they worked, but I figured it couldn’t be much worse than four consecutive years of marijuana.  Finding that my body had grown weak and chicken-like, I started going to the gym.  It was almost a physical metaphor for the changes that I was undergoing.  The pursuit of fitness became a platform upon which goal setting could occur.

Meanwhile, I was seeing less and less of Mitch and Avery.  I couldn’t have imagined the pressure they were under - Avery especially.  Ever the capable matriarch, she was managing the day to day chores of the Heidelberg House while tending to Mitch who was sinking into his own dark depression.  It was deep and it was profound and it had been building for many years.

Selfishly (or so I thought at the time), I maintained a laser-like focus on myself.  I had to.  Every day was a struggle to keep my mind off weed.  I would try my hardest to avoid going down dark mental pathways as I continued to write the motivational numbers on the back of my hand.

Owen too was making changes.  Almost simultaneously to me, he had looked about at the landscape of his life and decided to make some changes.  He’d met a new girl – one that was much different to Nikki – and she was instrumental in his healing.  Little by little, he began spending less time at the Heidelberg House, and as a consequence, we spent a lot more time together wondering what people did with themselves while sober.  As I attempted to repair the damage that I had done to my life, Owen was there to encourage me – he was my champion and advocate.

Within a matter of months, Mitch became inaccessible – protected from the world by Avery who answered his calls and text messages.  At the time, I hated it, and I resented her, but I clearly didn’t have all the facts.  Still living there, Owen would provide me with half remembered accounts of what was happening at the Heidelberg House.  It was as if a dark cloud had descended over its residents, each one succumbing to unemployment, alcoholism, drug abuse and depression.  Part of me felt guilty for abandoning them, but I knew that weed was still a part of their lives, and I needed to avoid such temptations (at least for the time being).  Weeks would pass where I wouldn’t see or hear from Mitch or Avery.  Then months.

Their absence only compounded the pain I felt each day – I had lost my friends.  What was worse was their implication that I had betrayed them – that I had somehow “defected” as I attempted to fix my life.  My apartment, once filled with activity, now remained silent, empty.

Life went on.

By this time, I was lucky enough to be engaged in regular employment – an endeavour which not only provided income, but used up a considerable amount time in which I could be tempted to revert to my depressed state.  Eventually, I made some new friends, but it simply wasn’t the same.  Something was missing.  Not a day went by when I didn’t think about calling Mitch and Avery, if only to hear their voices.

It was as if all of the players of the last four years of my life decided to part ways or embark on new adventures.  Everyone went their separate ways.  Jesse and Amber returned from their trip and elected not to make contact with anyone from the group at all.  We were all hurt, but hardly surprised.  I’ll always remember being in the throes of depression and instead of compassion, or even sympathy – receiving judgement.  Philip had finally met a girl who made him happy.  Just an unusual as he, she was small and pixie-like with an affinity for baking delicious pastries and chocolates.  Craig had moved home to Queensland months earlier where he remained.  We e-mailed back and forth a few times, but my guilt at how I had mismanaged the end of our friendship got the better of me and we eventually lost touch.  Isobel married a bodybuilder and moved interstate, Denise re-attached herself to Amber upon her return and poor Zach, unfortunately, just kept on drinking.

It was the end of everything, and everything else.

ONE YEAR LATER

“Here we are man, on the very last page”

Mitch and I sat reminiscing in the ruins of my apartment.  We were surrounded by boxes filled with my possessions, ready for removalists.  The furniture, now mostly disassembled, sat stacked neatly in piles around the room.  It was time.  I was finally moving out.

“This could be one of the last times we hang out here” Mitch offered, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“No dude”, I replied, “This really is the last time.  The very last time.”

I couldn’t believe the words that had just fallen from my lips.  Couldn’t believe I had finally said them aloud.  My apartment had meant so much to me, it had sustained me, and in a way it was the only thing that hadn’t let me down.  Sure, there had been some bad times (quite a few in fact), but that place had kept me alive.

Mitch seemed just as emotional as I was about moving.  The walls seemed to echo with all our forgotten conversations.  This chapter of my life was ending, and another one waiting just around the corner.

In the many months since we had last spoken, Mitch and Avery had bought some land out in the country.  Brandy (having broken up with Cooper) would be joining them, and together they would live like colonial pioneers.  Or hippies.

After months of silence and simmering resentment, Avery and I were on tentative speaking terms.  I knew that our friendship had been irreparably damaged and it filled me with sadness and regret.  I was never really angry with her.  I just missed my friends, I missed being part of a group and I had missed Mitch.

But soon enough, the moment came – Mitch had to go.  We had stayed up talking well into the night, touring my tiny apartment.  Remembering all the many places we had passed out or fallen asleep.  Remembering the time we projectile vomited off my balcony.

We had lost as much as we had gained, and done so much growing together.

Amongst the half assembled furniture, I remember wishing that the night would last forever, but just as soon as it had begun, it was over.  Tomorrow was moving day – the last day.

As Mitch’s ride pulled up to the curb, I wrapped my arms around him like I always did, not knowing when I would see him next.  It was high time I went to bed.  Tomorrow was bound to be a big day.  Heading back inside, I locked the front door, silently regarded my apartment one last time, and quietly turned out the light.

Chapter 18: The Beast Before Me

Frantically flinging open the door, I reached into the darkened closet.  Extracting a camouflage jacket and a pair of black fingerless weight lifting gloves, I quickly put them on.  Buttoning up the jacket, I ducked into the bathroom to inspect my reflection.

“That’s more like it” I muttered proudly, satisfied with my vaguely militant appearance.

But this wasn’t the time to procrastinate – there was work to be done - difficult, bloody work.  Now starting to sweat, I rushed about my apartment, hastily collecting my car keys, wallet and phone.  There was just one last thing I needed.  Racing into the kitchen, I flung open the cutlery drawer and took out the blackened steak knife I had prepared months earlier.  I would soon need it for fighting.

“Who were you going to fight?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked who you were going to fight?”

The office of Doctor Charles Chaudhry unfolded before me, sterile, cold and utilitarian like the plastic chair on which I sat recounting my bizarre tale.  Doctor Chaudhry, seated opposite me, leaned forward waiting for my response.

“Reptilians.  Reptilian Humanoids” I replied matter of factly.

“Oh, of course, please continue”

Still frantically moving about my apartment, my thoughts began to grow panicked.  What if I had forgotten something?  I silently reviewed my mental checklist.

“Ah-ha!” I exclaimed as I returned to the kitchen carrying a brilliant idea. 

I gathered up all of the plastic containers I could find, stacking them on the kitchen counter in a neat pile.

“These’ll work perfectly” I thought, admiring the cleverness of my plan.

“What were you going to use the containers for?” Doctor Chaudhry asked, his brow now furrowed in confusion.

“Blood”.

“Your blood?”

“Yup.  You see, fighting reptilians is dangerous business.  There was a pretty good chance I’d be killed.  I was going to fill the containers with blood then store them in the freezer to provide genetic material for clones to be made later on”

“Clones?  Of yourself?”  Chaudhry’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Just think of it – hundreds of my clones – fighting reptilians for centuries.  If you think about it, it’s the perfect plan, or at least…it seemed that way at the time”

The doctor stared at me, his face surprisingly free from judgement.  In that moment, I was suddenly self-aware.  Spoken aloud, I realised what I had just told the doctor about the previous night.  It must have sounded insane, yet he seemed curiously nonplussed.

“Well it doesn’t look like you cut yourself” he said as he scanned my wrists for signs of damage.

“No”.

“What stopped you?”

I took a breath, and then hesitated.  What action would he take once I explained what II had seen?  Visions of being dragged away to a padded cell played out in my imagination.

“It’s pretty crazy, I mean really crazy”

Chaudhry sighed and sat back in his chair folding his arms.

“You just told me that you spent the night smoking marijuana, then for some reason, got dressed up like a paratrooper to fight aliens in your street”.

Touche.  He had a point, and besides, I had come this far.

I reached into my pocket and took out my knife.  Even darkened with black marker, its razor sharp edge gleamed as it caught the light.  Using the blade, I would cut into my arm and fill the plastic containers with the ensuring blood splatter.  It was going to be painful. I rolled up my sleeve, located a vein and steeled myself for the blood loss.

“This is gonna get messy” I thought as I took a deep breath and pressed the knife against my bare arm.

Then, a low rumbling.  I froze, knife still in hand.  My head spun around just in time to see the bricks of my kitchen wall disappearing before my eyes.  Not crumbling and tumbling to the floor, merely vanishing, one by one revealing a darkened void behind it.  Stunned, I dropped the knife, sending it sliding across the floor.  As more bricks began to vanish, I cautiously peered into the dark space beyond them.  Two yellow eyes stared back at me, snake like and burning with primitive fury.  A face - eyes, mouth, lips, but somehow perverted, its features twisted and grotesque.  In place of skin, the face was covered in a greenish brown coating like the scales of a serpent or a fish.

I staggered back in terror as I beheld the beast before me.  Like a giant lizard, it leered at me, emitting a low hissing sound indicating attack was imminent.  Upset that I had uncovered its hiding place, the creature looked as if it were about to leap out from his tiny manhole and violently tear my limbs from my torso.  Face to face with this angry demon, and in spite of my panic, I knew what I had found, or rather, what had found me.  A six foot tall reptilian humanoid.  Hiding in the wall of my apartment.  Hiding in my home.  Looking me in the eye this very moment. 

I can say quite confidently and unashamedly, that it was the most afraid I had ever been.  With a head full of esoteric lore, I knew what it would do to me.  My thoughts turned to accounts of reptilians inflicting brutal attacks on humans, blood drinking, camouflage and coma inducing rape.  Clutching my chest, I realised that I had stopped breathing.  My heart started racing, so I ran into the living room, screaming and half crazed - unsure of what to do next.  My hands shaking, I reached for my phone but only sent it skidding across the carpet.  With the dreadful hiss of the reptilian now growing louder, I dove for the phone, fumbling in my panic to call the only person who would believe me.  Several agonising seconds later, Mitch’s familiar voice appeared on the other end of the phone.

“Dude, they’re in my fucking wall!!”  I gasped.

“So what happened next?” Doctor Chaudhry still seemed unfazed by my extraordinary tale.

I scratched my head as I tried to recall.

“I guess I talked with Mitch for a bit.  He managed to calm me down, though I’m not sure how”.

I explained to the Doctor how I had left my apartment, still struggling to catch my breath.  Mitch had encouraged me to go to a place of safety, and so, I sat by the roadside for what felt like an hour.  Eventually gathering enough courage to re-enter my home, I carefully examined the wall in my kitchen, running my hands up and down the smooth, unbroken surface. 

“And was there a reptilian in your kitchen wall?”

“Nope.  Not a scale in sight”.

My bizarre tale concluded, Doctor Chaudhry simply stared at me, great empathy in his eyes, and considered his next question.  I must have looked quite a sight – clothes dishevelled and eyes bloodshot.  It wasn’t every day a young man entered his office complaining of aliens in the wall.

“Can you tell me why you smoke marijuana?” he asked, his tone carefully measured.

It was such a simple question, one which I had never bothered to ask myself.

“I dunno.  I spose it just sorta happened.  Terrible things kept happening – life stuff, ordinary stuff.  Bills, my job, getting dumped.  I just needed a break from it all.  Before I knew it, I was smoking every night”

“Well, what you have just described to me today sounds like marijuana psychosis”

“Physchosis?!  That sounds so cool!”

“Trust me, it’s really not”

Chaudhry reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a sheet of paper and placed it in front of me.

“I want you to fill out this questionnaire; it’ll only take you a minute”

Grabbing a pen, I rapidly began answering the questions on the sheet.  Though fairly straightforward, their tone was decidedly grim.  How often do you think about death?  Do you often feel worthless and alone?  Do you use drugs or alcohol to cope with stressful situations?  I answered them all honestly.  Doctor Chaudhry took a quick look at my responses, and after a few seconds, offered his diagnosis.

This may come as a surprise, but you are suffering from depression”.

Depression.  There it was – a word imbued with so much power.  A word that finally described my persistent dis-ease with the world.  It landed in the room with a thud, like a stone thrown into a pond sending shockwaves through my brain.

“That’s a horrible thing to say – why would you say that to me?  Take it back!”  I demanded.

“I’m serious, and so should you be.  Just look at the pattern of your life over the last couple of years.  Look at how you’ve been feeling and behaving”.

Dammit.  Chaudhry was right - it all made sense.  Events of the last few years had conspired to make me this way, the cumulative effect of so many set back and losses.  It was why I smoked so much weed.  It was the reason people like Jesse and Amber simply didn’t understand.  It explained why I could uncover a conspiracy at a church picnic.  Something was wrong with me, and it had been, unacknowledged, for a long time.  I had depression.  I was depressed.  The condition carried such heavy connotation, yet the admission felt liberating, like a weighted vest removed, or a long held secret finally uncovered.

My consultation over, Doctor Chaudhry sent me home with a box of anti-depressants and a firm handshake.  He also made me promise that I would steer clear of the weed. I thanked him emphatically for not putting me in a straightjacket and made an appointment to visit him the following week.

I strode through the sliding doors of the medical clinic and onto the street a transformed man.  I had never imagined such an unfortunate diagnosis could bring such elation.  No longer simply a miserable cunt, I finally had an answer and tangible steps I could take to make myself feel better.  Excited, relived and a little scared, I breathed deeply, took out my phone and called the first person I wanted to share my news with.

“Avery I have depression!” I blurted out as soon as her voice appeared on the line.

A couple of hours later, Avery and I sat across a table at the convent, separated only by herbal tea.  She had evidently dropped whatever she was doing to be with me in my moment of revelation.  Against the leafy green surrounds, Avery offered reassurance and calmly answered the four thousand questions my mind had formulated since leaving the doctor’s office.

“Does it mean that I’m a bad person?” I asked earnestly as I thumbed the handle of my teacup.

“No of course not!”

“Will I have depression forever?”

“Maybe – that depends on you”

The excitement of my diagnosis was dampened by my awareness of the social stigma depression carried.  It was something that was not talked about, conveniently ignored by a society too afraid to grapple with the complications of mental illness.  For a young man, it was all but an admission of weakness.  I wondered what people would think of me, and I confided in Avery that I was scared of telling the other members of the group.

“Fuck other people”

Avery wasn’t having any of my rhetoric and assured me that Mitch and Owen would understand and wouldn’t treat me any differently.  She explained that depression was merely an illness, and the medication I had been prescribed was no different to a plaster cast for a broken leg.

“I think I’m gonna have to stop smoking weed – at least for a while” I admitted fearfully.

“I know you are”

Avery’s knowing eyes revealed wisdom earned through the pain of travelling the same path I was about to embark upon.  Depression and anxiety had regularly intruded upon her, yet she had endured, emerging intelligent and compassionate.  Leaning forward, she placed her hand on mine offering a silent promise of support.  She knew that my journey ahead would be challenging – she knew that my life was about to change.

            

I arrived home and found the black marker I had used to blacken my blade.  I wondered if the last three years had been a dream, some kind of drug addled detour from ‘real life’.  And what of the conspiracies and sinister plots that filled my thoughts?  The secret cabal of investors running the world, the underground bases, reptilian leaders, debt slavery and the true holographic nature of all reality.  Had I experienced justified paranoia, or simply retreated into a realm of pseudo-scientific nonsense?

In the bathroom, I gazed at my reflection in the mirror and wondered if all my time wasted amounted to wasted time.  What had I been doing?  Over the last few years I had watched friends, family and co-workers make sweeping changes to their lives.  Babies had been born, houses purchased and money had earned.  Jesse and Amber even pissed off and went to China!  I remembered the longing, the yearning for something new that had been stirring in me for some time.  Though it would be difficult, deep down, I knew what I had to do.

            Staring at my silent apartment, I wondered how ordinary people spent their time.  Non-stoners.  What did they do all day?  An endless void of free time spread out before me begging to be filled with marijuana smoke.  But I couldn’t, lest the aliens in the wall returned prompting another lengthy freak out.  I needed to stay away from weed, and thirty days simply wouldn’t cut it.  I went to the cupboard where the plastic bong resided and carefully wrapped it in a tea towel.  Employing the hammer from my tool box, and without a moment’s hesitation, I smashed the bong into a thousand tiny pieces.

I would go one hundred days without weed.  The number seemed gargantuan, but filled me with the energy of new purpose and direction.  I uncapped the black marker and wrote a number of the back of my hand.

One.

I had no idea what would happen next, but I was only ninety nine days away from a whole new life.

Chapter 17: Nothing Lasts Forever

Jason 10 was gone.

I thought I had caught a break, thought something good had finally happened, but just as soon as he had arrived, he was gone leaving a deep, empty chasm in my chest.  We had talked at length about what each of us has wanted, sitting on a park bench for what felt like forever.  He had brought so much light into my existence and I wanted him to stick around – wanted him to be my boyfriend, properly and completely. 

Jason 10 did not concur.  In truth, I’m not sure that even he himself knew what he wanted.  In retrospect, I’m sure my pot smoking habit and stoner friends did nothing to increase my standing as a potential partner.  Wrongly, I thought he could have fixed all of that – his presence could have changed me for the better, but it simply wasn’t to be.  In a matter of weeks, my hopes had been raised and dashed expertly – a recurring pattern of my life that I was becoming accustomed to.

With one last kiss, Jason 10 disappeared into his motorcycle helmet and sped out of my life for good, leaving me dumbfounded, standing by the side of the road contemplating yet another romantic failure.  I stood there, frozen staring at my shoes, an enormity of emotions overwhelming me, washing over me like waves.  I had lost another one. 

Straightening my shirt, I composed myself and began a slow march back to my parked car.  I knew exactly what I had to do.  Inside my apartment, I sealed myself inside my bathroom and slumped down against the back of the door like a broken toy.  Loading my pipe, I smoked as much weed as I could, alone, in silence. 

I smoked until I could barely stand.  I wished I’d never met Jason 10 – wished the universe hadn’t gifted me something good only to take it away so quickly.  If there was a God, he was laughing at me, punishing me for thinking myself entitled to a happy relationship.  So I decided to be miserable, and smoked some more weed. 

I smoked until the sun came up. 

I smoked until my head hurt. 

I smoked until I forgot.

***

Avery’s new home was filled with light.  As the matriarch of the residence she had had borne the lion’s share of the domestic duties and transformed her new house in just a couple of weeks.  Gone were the car parts and bottle caps that had littered the floor upon our initial inspection.  Bright and confident, the new space symbolised new beginnings.  Avery soon filled the walls and fridges with drawings and photos of all of us – a tiny gesture that reminded us we were family.

The Heidelberg House, so named for its locality, soon became the central hub of the group’s activity with an unspoken open door policy that guaranteed a warm welcome.  With three bedrooms, a kitchen, living room and front yard veranda, it was a far cry from my small apartment.  Excited to have his first ‘live in girlfriend’, the place soon became Mitch’s defacto home too, with Owen following soon after.  After facing homelessness and the ravages of Nikki, he was glad to have a place to hang his hat.

Still enduring my nightmare job, the Heidelberg House became the bar where everyone knew my name.  I was always welcomed, any day of the week, glad to avail myself of having all my friends in one place.  Several times a week, I would enter through the unlocked back door to find Mitch hunched over a board game and Owen secreted away in his musky man cave.  Avery, ever the eccentric, could often be found lying spread eagle in the back yard stealing a slice of silent contemplation.

Needless to say, the house quickly became the new venue for our weed smoking, with Avery heartily partaking, leaving my apartment unoccupied and blissfully tidy.  Our sessions grew longer and more intense as we began using a bong.  A staple of stoners worldwide, the bong changed everything.  So far we had used joints or smoked pipes.  The bong represented full blown drug paraphernalia with its clear plastic mouth guard and filthy bubbling water.  Delivering a hit not unlike a small aircraft, the bong was a powerful new toy that sent our collective drug use into overdrive.

“Mid-weeker!”  Mitch would shout excitedly upon my arrival at the house on a Tuesday night. 

My stupid job had required me to work weekends, leaving Tuesday and Wednesday as my days off.  Relishing the rebellion of getting stoned in the middle of the week, we smoked on the balcony, yelling at passers-by and periodically fighting over the hammock Avery had installed.

On weekends our group swelled, readily including Jesse and Amber, Avery’s friends Brandy and Cooper and the other resident of the house, Zach.

Occupying the third bedroom, Zach was tall and scruffy with looks that fell somewhere between goofy and handsome.  His laconic nature concealed a subversive sense of humour and a sharp intellect.  A student of agriculture, I admired Zach, but soon became confused by his unpredictable behaviour.  One moment pensive, the next ecstatic, he was given to fits of emotion that left us all confused and unable to establish an easy rapport.  While the group gathered on the veranda, he spent his time alone, ensconced in his room watching arthouse films.  Following a few bizarre encounters with him, I discreetly enquired after his health.  Avery informed me of his silent sickness - Zach was an alcoholic.

I suppose it was no surprise – the Heidelberg House had in fact become a vessel for the mentally ill.  Whether formally diagnosed or not, all of us struggled with our personal demons and used weed to mask the pain.  Owen had emerged from his relationship with Nikki a changed man, now sullen and defeated.  For weeks he moped about the house, unsure of how to embark upon the next stage of his life. 

Though outwardly gregarious, Avery still experienced intense depression and anxiety.  Working full time, she seemed to take on the day to day responsibilities of running the house, not to mention three fully grown men who required counselling and comfort.  Once more, Avery’s open and casual approach to mental health proved an invaluable trait as she patiently cared for Mitch, Owen and even me.  She always encouraged us to talk about our feelings; no easy task for a bunch of thick headed manly men, and never failed to provide rational and reasoned advice.  I had come to trust her implicitly.

Losing Jason 10 had been a body blow, and in the weeks after I had become a truly miserable fuck, only taking pleasure in getting stoned.  Excluding all other friends, I spent time with the group because they were the only ones that could understand what I was feeling.  It wasn’t ordinary pain; it was different, more intense and inside my head.  My whole body ached with desperation as every waking thought catalogued the many failures of my life, played out in my mind’s eye like some terrible movie on a loop.  Mitch, Avery and Owen were the only ones who could console me – the only ones whose thoughts and emotions were as fucked up as mine.

A schism in the group was formed out of Amber’s desire to do something other than sit around getting stoned.  In all fairness, she had a valid point.  After a few months, the Heidelberg House had become a reliable crutch, a routine that none of us were eager to break.  Amber, supposedly a social butterfly, took it upon herself to organise a night out for the group.  It started off well enough, all of us gathered round a large wooden table at a city bar with a nautical theme.  After a few hours, the pub closed early and, caught unaware, Amber was left without a backup plan.

“Where to next?” I asked Amber, fully expecting her to guide us to another trendy establishment.

“I dunno – let’s just keep walking and see if we find something we like”

And walk we did – for almost ninety minutes, traversing the length of the entire city.  Intransigent yet paralysed with indecision, Amber stubbornly refused to accept any of my suggestions and our brilliant night out turned into an aimless metropolitan death march.

“Ummm…Dude, do you know what the fuck is happening?” asked Owen under his breath.

I shrugged my shoulders and kept walking.  The group’s restlessness had turned to rage at a night wasted at the behest of Amber’s arrogance.  As my feet grew sore I wondered if the group and Jesse and Amber were simply too different to co-exist.  Had they changed?  Had we?  Perhaps we had outgrown them, or simply fallen out of love as sometimes happens with people.

I pondered the same thoughts a few weeks later as we attended an exhibition of Amber’s artwork. A red letter day to be sure, she had rented out space at a small gallery and gathered friends and family to admire her works.  Excited by the attention, Amber weaved her way through the crowd, bestowing her guests with her beneficence.  I arrived with Owen, both of us resplendent in suit and tie. We slowly ambled about the gallery feigning interest in her numerous self-portraits.  The dubious merits of her artwork notwithstanding, Amber’s behaviour seemed odd.  As Owen and I rubbed shoulders with her extended family, she appeared cold, distant, barely speaking a word to either one of us.  When Mitch arrived without formal attire, Amber seemed embarrassed and refused to speak with him.

Personally, the only issue I had with both Jesse and Amber was that I felt I couldn’t be honest with them.  I could never tell them how difficult life was for me, or truly convey the depth of the sadness I sometimes felt.  Mitch had been my best friend since high school and I could tell him anything.  A frank and consistent dialogue on mental health had fostered trust with Owen and Avery who had thusly imprinted themselves upon my heart.  The three of them had become the most important people in my life and set a gold standard for friendship.

Though well meaning, Jesse proved utterly useless as a confidant, offering me cheery refrains of “Hang in there” and “You’ll be okay – just think positively”.  Arrogantly I wondered if my emotions were beyond Jesse’s comprehension.  Perhaps he had never experienced any real loss or despair.  He had all but married his very first girlfriend and together they lived a life that seemed cartoonish and plastic when compared with mine.  Amber was no better, with a gaping hole in place of a brain; her thoughts were only of herself.

“He just doesn’t get it” I lamented to Avery one night at the Heidelberg House. 

We talked quietly over mugs of steaming tea following a visit from Jesse.

“Some days…I just feel like I wanna die”

Avery wrapped her arms around me as I stared into my tea.

I could never be ‘real’ with Jesse, and though Amber had never personally wronged me I found her narcissism and snobbish manner difficult to digest.  Mitch and Owen felt similarly obliged to ‘perform’ when they were both around and we all began to sense a growing disapproval from Amber.  The odd remark here, a snide comment there.  Miserable stoners were a million miles removed from the emotional fakery and high society Amber aspired to.

Though he seemed to enjoy the stuff, Jesse rarely smoked weed – forbidden to do so by Amber whose sense of moral correctness prevailed.  Before long the two of them stopped visiting the house altogether.

Then one day, an announcement that caught us all by surprise – Jesse and Amber were travelling to China.  They would remain there for a year teaching English to Chinese students.

“But by the time they get back, we’ll all have new haircuts!” I protested upon hearing the news.

With work commitments preventing me from attending their farewell party I never saw Jesse and Amber again.  Their abrupt exit affected Mitch the most – hurt that Jesse would so casually abandon their friendship.  Outside of a couple of perfunctory emails from Amber, the group never heard from them again.  A year later, when Jesse and Amber were married, Mitch, Owen, Avery and I were conspicuously absent from the guest list.

The drama of Jesse and Amber’s departure now subsided; Brandy and Cooper ably filled their empty seats as we gathered for a smoke once more on the balcony.  Mitch and I stood side by side, smoking in silence.  Jesse and Amber had embarked upon a fantastic new chapter in their lives, a grand adventure.  I envied their pioneering spirit and the bravery required to make such a change.  I wondered how long I would live my life like this.  Unlucky in love, earning enough money to pay off debts and stoned - always stoned.  It had become my new normal.  I had tried quitting before, even with some success, but life’s little stresses left me desperate for the herb.

Behind me on the balcony I could hear the low bubbling sound of the bong as Brandy and Cooper set up their portable stereo, giggling loudly.  This was my life now – these good people and their weed.  All of them had become friends like no other, they liked me and made me feel like I belonged, but I knew this unhealthy life could not last forever and one day soon I would have to make a change.  I wanted something different for my life, a little bit of money perhaps and a taste of some success.  I wanted something more.