Chapter 16: Human Garbage

It started with simple need – a need for a job. 

Both Mitch and I were engaged in a search for employment, but for very different reasons.  With surprisingly few job prospects, my planned unemployment had lasted longer than expected, and after two months of sitting on my arse, money was starting to run low.  Underneath the sweltering January sun, I reluctantly donned my impeccable formal ensemble and hit the pavement looking for work.  With rent payments looming ominously close, the stakes were no less than my apartment and the independence it offered.  Frightened by the thought of impending eviction or having to co-habitate with housemates, I grew desperate.  My mission was clear – I would accept any job – anything – short of prostitution.

Mitch on the other hand had had his welfare payments temporarily suspended following the latest in a long line of conflicts with his job agency.  Tired of him storming into their offices with accusations of incompetence and government malfeasance they had punished him accordingly.  Now, with a steady girlfriend, Mitch felt that he needed money in order to keep her, and so his job hunting began too.

While the rest of the group contemplated the situation with Owen and Nikki, Mitch and I began our quest in earnest.  After yet another interview in the city, I serendipitously ran into him while he was waiting for Avery to finish work.  We roamed the streets for a bit as I complained about the interview I had just done.

”Yup.  Don’t think I’ll be holding my breath for a call back” I said, annoyed at having been forced to wear a three piece suit on a hot day. 

My interview had not gone well, and I had begun to suspect that employers could smell desperation through my cheap cologne.  As we casually ambled down Bourke Street, a large man blocked our path, waving crumpled flyers in our faces and talking excitedly.  Mitch engaged the man immediately while I stood beck, regarding him.  Sweating profusely, he was dressed in a black unironed shirt two sizes two small, its buttons stretched to capacity housing his sizeable pot belly.  His dark hair was glued down by powerful hair gel, giving him an oddly slimy appearance.  Yet he exuded an unusual swagger, a strange confidence that I found bizarre for someone handing out flyers for a living. 

“I’m Blade” he said, now addressing me.  I shook his clammy hand. 

Eliciting donations for some charity, Blade enquired as to the nature of our civic visit.  Intrigued to hear that we were both jobseekers, he quickly suggested we apply for his role.  The work was easy, and took place outdoors.  Still bothered by the heat, I politely declined.

“Jeez – can’t a man walk down the street without being offered a job?” I added wryly.

Mitch however, seemed genuinely interested, and left his details with Blade who promised to bring them to the attention of his supervisor.  Thinking nothing of our casual encounter, we left Blade to his work and wiled away the afternoon talking shit and drinking smoothies.

As it happened, Blade was true to his word- a week or so later Mitch began work for a streetwalking charity, bothering commuters and tourists as they passed through the city streets.  It was an opportunity that forced him out of his comfort zone – the very nature of the role itself hinged upon him being able to initiate a conversation with a total stranger. 

With stringent ‘sales’ targets put in place to ensure continued employment, Mitch found himself staring face to face with his social anxiety every day.  Working in pairs, these so-called charity workers would set up shop at a street corner, rain, hail or shine and attempt to meet their daily quota.  Imagine Mitch’s surprise when he was paired up with none other than Blade himself.  Over the next few weeks their enforced partnership would test the very limits of Mitch’s patience and good nature.

Almost simultaneously, I found myself a job working for a telecommunications company.  It was a pretty straightforward gig - answering phones and attending to other administrative nonsense.  Emotionally uninvested in my new venture, I was under no pretences that I had only taken this job in response to my dwindling bank balance.  In an unhappy coincidence, I started work on my birthday – a day when Melbourne experienced freak thunderstorms and intense flash flooding usually unheard of in the middle of summer.  As I reported for work under blackened skies, we began our first day by touring the office. 

My heart sank as I laid eyes on the filthy desks, drab stained walls and the ashen faced inmates who occupied this seemingly forgotten corporate space.  Accompanied by a slew of new starters, I navigated my way through the depressing office whose furnishings looked as if they were in a permanent state of decay.  I felt a hand tightly clasp around my arm.  My head spun around quickly to see a small man in his forties, hunched over his desk.  His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles beneath them.

“Get out – get out of here while you still can!!” he whispered urgently as his eyes anxiously darted around the room, fearful of being watched. 

I wrestled my arm away from the crazy man and joined the rest of the group just in time to hear a bloodcurdling scream.  It came from the nearby ‘employee lounge’ – a small closet like space housing an ailing coffee machine and a pile of black garbage bags.

“What have you done!?!” screamed a small Indian lady, as she stumbled out of the room clutching her hands in agony. 

Blood poured out of a large gash in her right hand, spraying the walls and carpet beneath her.

“Fuck of, ya silly bitch!” came the angry voice of a moustachioed man holding the pair of blood covered scissors he had stabbed her with. 

The woman continued screaming, tears now streaming down her face.  I glanced around the office to see co-workers nonplussed by the bloody occurrence - just as dead eyed as before.  No one rushed to get the first aid kit, or even looked up from their desks.  Evidently this type of incident was commonplace.  Later I learned that the poor woman was stabbed with scissors following a violent altercation over a white styrofoam cup.  As our group was quickly ushered away from the screaming, I caught sight of the grey Melbourne sky and wondered if this was the worst birthday ever.

Elsewhere, Mitch’s new job was yielding mixed results.  He soon found it easy to meet his established sales targets and drew confidence from being forced to talk to strangers all day.  Finishing his work early on one occasion, his absconded with two handsome Irishmen and spent the afternoon smoking weed on the beach.  His co-worker, Blade was another matter.  As the days wore on, his true colours began to show themselves, and a thoroughly reprehensible individual was revealed.

Grossly overweight and perpetually covered in a sweaty sheen, Blade revelled in his overeating, hastily scoffing down all manner of pastries and donuts in the early hours of the morning, often leaving those around him nauseated.  His patchy, black facial hair often housed crumbs and other morsels of food and he made a habit of wiping his hands on his shirt rather than a napkin.  While Mitch found his personal habits disgusting, it was his personality that eventually aroused a deep abiding hatred.

For starters, Blade was sickeningly misogynistic, often referring to women as ‘things’ – a commodity to be bought and sold.  Employing all manner of offensive names, he frequently described them as ‘whores’, ‘sluts’ and ‘bitches’.  While feeling somehow entitled to female affection, he displayed an intense dislike of all women.  He openly admitted to using the services of prostitutes, bragging to Mitch about his regular visits and often referring to sex workers as nothing more than ‘human garbage’.

Initially Mitch was stunned by his remarks, regaling the group with tales of days spent with this detestable little man.  Mitch was forgiving, reasoning that Blade’s life outside work must have been a lonely one.  Being so disagreeable, it was indeed likely Blade was unable to get laid without money changing hands.  But his remarks continued, and the stress of spending time with Blade gradually began to wear Mitch down.

An advocate of slavery, and openly racist, Blade possessed a warped sense of his own self-importance.  In his mind, he was a wealthy aristocrat, bestowed with untold wealth, status and harem full of submissive bitches eager to gargle his privates. This attitude made him unbearable company, and soon, his interactions with Mitch were fraught with conflict.

This bizarre self-delusion stood in stark contrast to his outward appearance.  Often dishevelled, he was once accosted on the street by a homeless man who advised him to ‘smarten up’ if he hoped to achieve success.  Unfortunately, the irony was lost on Blade who still regarded himself God’s gift to womankind.

As bills continued to fill my mailbox, I gritted my teeth and accepted that I would have to keep my terrible job for at least some time, and so I endured the grim workspace, mentally willing myself to leave my body in a vain attempt to accelerate time.  After a soul draining day at work, and in dire need of consoling, I arranged to meet Mitch and Avery for a coffee.  Standing on the street outside Avery’s office, we shared a brief but unpleasant encounter with Blade who had arrived with Mitch, uninvited.  He proudly showed off his new belt buckle – a jewel encrusted dollar sign that sat oddly beneath his belly.  As soon as he appeared, Avery recoiled in revulsion as he leered at her, sweating and panting at the sight of her low cut blouse.

                

Blade’s presence had turned Mitch’s job into an ordeal.  Unable to cope with the never ending negativity he spewed, he angrily advised Blade that he would meet him in the morning when he arrived at work, but refused to spend the rest of the day with him.  Blade complied, but smiled arrogantly at his little victory - perversely pleased that he had managed to get under Mitch’s skin.

                

Still doggedly trying to climb out of the financial hole I had dug, I obediently reported to work each day.  I made myself a silent promise that I would get myself out of this job in under a month.  Indeed I lasted far longer than the twenty five new employees I had started with.  After the second week, only ten of us remained – after the third week – even fewer.

“Nooo!!!” came a scream from a nearby desk one morning, startling my pre-coffee mind to attention.  Another week – another employee breakdown. 

“No more – I can’t take this place anymore!  No!  No!!” the poor woman exclaimed, her voice cracking.

I watched silently as the tearful lady hastily collected her belongings and quickly made for the elevator, never to be seen again.

With my spirits low, I hit the weed hard, now smoking every night after work simply to make myself forget what a fine mess I had made of my life.  Had I made the wrong move quitting my previous job?  It would have been a bleak time had it not been for Jason 10.  So named for the rating out of ten I had assigned him, Jason 10 emerged from the online dating profile that I had long thought dormant.  Disgustingly handsome, our first date provided me with a wonderful distraction from my problems. 

Thankful for the diversion, I planned the perfect date, selecting a dimly lit hipster restaurant followed by a ride on the ferris wheel.  I’ve often been told that my taste in men is unconventional.  I prefer scruffy, nerdy types to the muscular ideal.  Jason 10 certainly delivered in spades.  Bespectacled and pasty, he shared a passion for writing and science fiction.  My heart skipped a beat when he mentioned Battlestar Galactica.  Our first date went off without a hitch – no mean feat considering how nervous I was.  Despite his nerdish leanings, Jason 10 was out of my league with striking blue eyes and chiselled features.  Sitting across a romantic table, I wondered what the hell he was doing with me.

Evidently, I had made a good enough impression and Jason 10 readily accepted an invitation to my place for spaghetti and hot sex.  While our dinner grew cold, the two of us excitedly thrashed about my apartment, forcefully tearing off each other’s clothes, slamming into walls, shelves and furniture as we rolled around the carpet with gay abandon.  To my surprise, Jason 10 liked it rough, and I was only too happy to oblige, happily pounding him into the following week like a horny jackhammer.  While I was glad my gym workouts were finally paying off, for a moment I thought I was going to kill him!

By the time we were done, my usually pristine apartment looked like a war zone with clothes, shoes and action figures all littering the floor.  Still in silent awe of his handsomeness and my good fortune, we both settled in to watch Star Trek II The Wrath Of Khan and ate cold spaghetti.  Exhausted, Jason 10 fell asleep on my leg, drooling and snoring loudly.  It was an amazing night – and without a doubt - the best sex of my life.

Meanwhile, Mitch and Blade’s relationship had deteriorated further.  Weary of Blade’s constant stream of offensive and racist remarks, Mitch was could no longer stand to be in the same room as him.  He had been quite patient, choosing to take the high road and ignore most of what he said.  Now no longer meeting their daily targets, the both of them were given an ultimatum from their supervisor – they had one more week to achieve their targets or they would be summarily dismissed.

Though still technically a team, the two went their separate ways, aware their jobs were on the line should this final week prove unsuccessful.  Though anxious about the pressure suddenly put upon him, Mitch made a valiant effort, trying to retain a positive approach now that he no longer had to deal with Blade so much. 

His time elapsed; Mitch arrived at the office, bravely fronting his supervisor on Friday evening – his quota unmet.  Blade entered the meeting room shortly after, somewhat sheepish and revealed that he too had failed to accomplish his task.  Side by side they stood before the boss as she apologetically delivered the inevitable bad news – the both of them were fired.  Filing away her papers, she left the room, leaving Blade and Mitch to what would be their final explosive confrontation.

                

“Oh well” said Blade, smirking at their shared misfortune. 

The loss of a job was of no consequence to him – he would make his millions elsewhere.  Mitch however, was less forgiving.  Forced to deal with Blade’s odious nature for weeks, his saintly patience had finally eroded.  Still stinging from being fired, he turned to leave the room, determined to maintain his dignity in the face of defeat - but Blade had one parting shot.  That was the moment he crossed the line – finally uttering the unforgiveable – words which Mitch could not possibly ignore, and that sent his blood boiling. 

Blade insulted Avery.

His exact words – which do not bear repeating – were obscene, degrading and steeped in the loathsome misogyny we had all come to expect from him. 

Biding his time through an awkwardly silent elevator ride out of the office, Mitch waited until he and Blade were clear of the premises before hurling his backpack to the floor.  Stunned, Blade’s spun around to see Mitch rushing towards him, his eyes overflowing with rage.  Blade stepped back at the sight of this raging bull, but found himself cornered up against a wall.

“What the fuck did you say about my girlfriend cunt?!!” he seethed, mere inches from Blade’s quivering lip.

Rarely (if ever) a man of physical confrontation, Mitch’s sudden outburst had caught Blade by unaware.  He was no longer Mitch’s co-worker – with no obligation to behave in a civil manner, he was now unencumbered and ready for a confrontation that had been brewing for some time.

“Apologise!!!” spat Mitch, as he grabbed a handful of Blade’s shirt front with one hand and bunched it up in his fist.

“But…what…now just wait a…” still reeling from the sudden attack, Blade began babbling incoherently. 

“Fucking apologise!!” he screamed again.  Mitch’s heart was racing.

“…N…Never” managed Blade, now trembling at the prospect of the beating he was about to receive. 

He had clearly underestimated Mitch, thinking him a good natured door mat.  Not so now.  Standing a foot taller than Blade, and unburdened by a diet of fatty foods, Mitch could inflict significant damage if he wanted to.

Even outgunned and cornered, Blade’s arrogance did not fail him.  Mitch could see it on his face, his impish features defiant - daring him to punch him square in the face.  Mitch’s urge was irresistible – he knew it would feel amazing – a satisfying punctuation mark to their time together.  He slowly formed a fist and prepared to collect his reward.

Then – a moment of clarity – one so rare that Mitch had no choice but to take notice.  As he looked down upon the fat, quivering troll before him he finally saw Blade as he truly was.  Lonely.  Pathetic.  Unloved. 

Taking a deep breath, Mitch released his grip and calmly collected his fallen backpack. 

“Y’know, you’re not fucking worth it – go to hell you piece of shit”

Still wide eyed and sweaty, Blade stood frozen as he watched Mitch leave.  It was just as well – had Mitch succumbed to his primal urges, Blade would have likely scuttled off to the nearest police station like a child running to go tell teacher.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Mitch turned to take one last look at Blade, still crumpled in the corner.  He stood proud, shoulders back and eyes resolute.  With his index finger pointed sharply, he issued a final warning.

“If I ever see you again, I’ll fucking kill you”.

Chapter 15: The Nightmare Begins: The Story Of Nikki

It was mid-afternoon, and Owen and I had just emerged from near comatose sleep to a scorching December day.  Leaving Mitch and Avery to their slumber, we quietly exited the lesbian house.  The hot sun shone through the dirty windscreen as Owen and I drove to the train station.  It was only a short distance, but I was quite tired and disoriented after an intense night of pot smoking.  We were on the way to retrieve the fabled Nikki – Owen’s new girlfriend. 

Much talked about in the preceding weeks, yet still unseen, her tumultuous entry into Owen’s life seemed a mixed blessing.  During their brief association, they had already broken up once, sending poor Owen into an emotional nosedive (SEE: “The Day of Pancakes”).  Finding safe harbour in the lesbian house, and still jobless, Owen’s sombre state was still foremost on our minds.  Mitch, Avery and I had hoped that a relationship (or at least, some sex) would promptly turn the tide for our bearded friend.

Owen had asked me pick up Nikki and then deposit them both back at the house.  As we approached the station, my sense of anticipation was tempered by the fear of making a poor first impression.  If this girl ended up sticking around, there was no doubt in my mind that she would be made a fully-fledged member of our group.  This meeting, however fleeting, was significant – and I hadn’t event brushed my teeth.

“There she is” said Owen, pointing to a figure standing on the street. 

I pulled over to the side of the road, where a skinny girl with faded green hair stood waiting.  She looked mighty angry. Brushing aside the random assortment of junk in the back seat, I made space for her as she opened the car door and sat down.

“This is Nikki” said Owen, his eyes beaming with the anticipation of a boy about to get laid.

Offering my most sincere smile, I turned to face her, extending my hand in friendship.

“I’ve heard lots about you” I offered clumsily, immediately stricken by her raggedy appearance and her dark, penetrating eyes.  My friendly hand hung in mid-air, unshaken as she stared into my soul with utter disdain.

“Right” she offered, her expression unwavering.

Ignoring her frosty demeanour, I withdrew my hand and began driving them both back to the lesbian house, remaining completely silent while Owen made awkward small talk about her journey from the eastern suburbs.  Her responses were brief and clipped.  Not at all like a girl ready to jump into the sack with poor old Owen.  The drive was mercifully short, and after a brief farewell, I drove home and took a much needed shower.  Though not fully conscious of it at the time, Nikki has stirred an emotion in me that I thought long since dormant – fear.

As I sped away from Owen and his scary woman, I spared a thought for Mitch and Avery.  Still sound asleep, and blissfully unaware, they were bound to receive quite a shock when they awoke.

***

To my surprise, a few weeks later, Nikki was still around.  She and Owen had become mainstays of the lesbian house, and their presence soon provoked an undercurrent of resentment in its other residents.  The two of them spent entire days sealed inside Owen’s room, emerging only to consume vast quantities of food and leaving dirty dishes, cups, glasses and half eaten meals in their wake.  Perturbed by the gargantuan amount of housework now required of them and hoping to get him out of the house, Mitch and Avery often encouraged Owen to begin searching for new employment.  Though delivered delicately, such suggestions fell upon deaf ears.  Owen seemed bewitched by this woman, and any conversation with him now revolved around Nikki and her wants and needs.

I was enjoying my planned unemployment and revelling in the generous amount of time I was able to spend with my friends, now unencumbered by my nine to five.  I had started visiting Mitch and Avery on weeknights, only to find that Owen and Nikki had appropriated the living room for themselves.  One such night I arrived to find Avery and Mitch hiding in their bedroom.  They quickly ushered me in, closing the door behind me for a modicum of privacy. 

In hushed, fearful whispers they revealed how unhappy they were with Nikki in the house and with how much disrespect her and Owen treated it.  They had been allowed to stay as a courtesy, and were in fact guests of guests in a home that did not belong to them.  I was elated that I could finally break my silence.  I had been holding my tongue for weeks, beholden to a code of honour which demanded that I pay due deference and respect to the girlfriend of one of my closest friends. 

I dreaded each encounter with Nikki.  Mitch appeared to avoid her entirely, sensing her malevolence immediately.  Conversations with her were laboured and rushed.  We appeared to have zero common ground, and she often gave offence to unexpected remarks and ideas.  On many occasions she insulted me to my face, often in the presence of Owen who smiled absent mindedly, enthralled by her green haired vagina.

I felt betrayed - the stringent ‘bros before hos’ contingent clearly outlined the required protocol for exactly this type of situation.  I would never have allowed one of my boyfriends to speak to Owen so rudely, and at the very least, expected Nikki to maintain the pretence of politeness.  Hurt that Owen wasn’t adhering to the universally accepted man codes, I could sense him slipping further away from us all, and wondered whether his love-struck stupor was any better than the despair he had left behind.

Worse still, Avery and Mitch advised me that Nikki was suspected of stealing money that had been left out in the open by our lesbian benefactors.  Provided in good faith, and intended for groceries, it had gone missing during one of her many visits.  Casual enquiries were made, but all of us were far too afraid of Nikki to confront her directly.

Perpetually attired in torn or soiled clothing, Nikki possessed a dark energy and an air of intimidation.  Friendly greetings and jovial remarks were met with her trademark threatening gaze accompanied by a stony faced silence.  She rarely smiled or laughed, and when she did, it was ungodly, like a witches cackle after an incantation, murderous and sinister.  It was rapidly becoming obvious that Owen had brought a maniac into our midst and there was nothing we could do.

***

With our New Year’s Eve trip into the city aborted due to intense rain and wind, the group decided to celebrate together at the lesbian house.  It had, after all, become a weekly port of call for all of us and we appreciated its warm and welcoming décor.  As I admired a patch of lovingly cultivated mint, Nikki arrived, dashing my cheerful disposition with her sharp tongue and thousand yard stare.  Jesse and Amber paid a brief visit, though stayed less than thirty minutes before Amber’s delicate sensibilities were offended and they departed for their own (undoubtedly superior) celebration. 

No sooner had their car disappeared from view, the weed was brought out.  A healthy stack of green and brown buds stored in an environmentally sustainable coffee cup which I had gifted to Owen.  The long and difficult year had but a few hours remaining, and I was determined to enjoy myself, or failing that, drink and smoke as much as I could before falling down.  I deftly avoided Nikki and Owen for most of the night.  It was a habit that I had recently taken up.  Keen to avoid her customary barbs, I wiled away the hours with Mitch and Avery, alternating between weed and some fancy looking vodka from the liquor cabinet that I had sought permission to consume.

The midnight countdown came and went, and both couples exchanged customary New Year’s kisses as I looked on secretly envious and frustrated.  Mitch and Avery disappeared into their bedroom for their first shag of the year, leaving me stranded with Owen and Nikki as an eerie silence blanketed the house.  Out on the balcony, I began smoking the last of our supply, listening to the raucous sounds of other parties in the neighbourhood.  Fearful of all drugs except alcohol, Nikki disapproved and didn’t hesitate to make her feelings known.  By this point Owen simply agreed with or defended everything she said.  I ignored them both and finished off my joint, wondering what she had done to my friend.

Their company had become unbearable, and increasingly unhappy, I decided to go home.  I foolishly wondered out loud if I would be able to successfully drive my car home in my current state while avoiding the inevitable police patrols.

Nikki suddenly glared at me with hatred as her eyes welled.  She burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably as Owen and I looked on flabbergasted.  What had I done?!  What had I said?!

Consoling her, Owen tried desperately to ascertain the reason for her sudden outburst.  It was not the first time this had happened.  Her vitriolic rants were often punctuated by such fits, including one such incident at my apartment where she cried on my balcony for a full hour while Owen and I looked on in disbelief.  I sheepishly apologised for my infraction – whether real or imagined – but to no avail.  She would not even speak a single word to me.  After more than half an hour of sobbing, she finally outlined a vague tale about her father being killed by a drunk driver.  Apparently my comment about getting behind the wheel had set her off.

I struggled to maintain my composure.  In that moment, I hated her so much.

“I have no respect for you anymore and I think you’re nothing” she said, offering a chilling tear stained death glare.

Her sobbing subsided, Owen escorted her inside.

Despite her bizarre reaction, Nikki was correct – I was far too inebriated to drive, but I desperately wanted to be somewhere else – anywhere else.  Our celebrations long since over, and my friends fast asleep, there was nothing left for me in the lesbian house except a bottle of expensive vodka and the company of a madwoman.  As Owen tended to his girlfriend, I quietly gathered my belongings and casually walked out the front door into the night.  Abandoning my parked car, I resolved to walk home, I didn’t care how long it took, but I needed to get away. 

I never celebrated New Year’s Eve again.

***

Weeks passed, and the situation with Nikki grew worse and worse.  Mitch, Avery and I had no recourse, and Owen seemed oblivious to Nikki’s anti-social behaviour and our blatant dislike of her.  Practically bursting with restraint, we all tried to maintain our difficult silence, unwilling to reveal our true feelings for fear of wounding our friend.  Jesse and Amber both seemed genuinely frightened of her, Amber especially, whose encounters with Nikki bordered out outright hostility.

            

In spite of this, the two of them seemed inseparable.  Moments alone with Owen were few and far between, and on occasion he revealed to me that Nikki’s mercurial nature and frequent emotional outbursts were putting a strain on their relationship.  At the time, it was difficult to empathise with him. 

Forgiving Owen’s new persona, I was adamant that I had to find a way to smooth relations with him and his crazy woman.  I invited them over to my apartment for a typical night of TV, food and weed.  Owen and I adopted our customary stances in the bathroom as we smoked with the door closed, leaving Nikki alone in the kitchen.  In a stunningly generous turn, she had informed us that she was going to cook for us, and busied herself in my tiny kitchenette making chips with a bag of potatoes she had found unused in my fridge.  Satisfied that she would leave Owen and I alone for a spell, I perched upon the rim of my bathtub and got busy smoking my pipe.  It was the first time I had been alone with Owen for weeks, and I relished the moment, secretly longing for the friend I had had pre-Nikki.  The bathroom door burst open violently, startling us both.  Slowly emerging from a cloud of pot smoke stood Nikki - a glistening knife in one hand, and a half peeled potato in the other.

“What the fuck is this?!” she screamed, hurling the half peeled potato at my head.  I ducked as the potato bounced off my bathroom mirror and landed on the floor creating a sticky mess of wet potato skin.

Turning on her heel, she was gone – back to the kitchen to continue cooking as though nothing untoward had happened.  Owen’s jaw dropped, as I stared blankly at the potato by my feet, shocked and astonished at what had just transpired.

“What just happened?” I asked cautiously, wondering what I had done to warrant a potato throwing.

Owen simply smiled and took another drag on his cigarette.

“Dude I got no idea”.

We ate our chips in silence watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force, fearful that any word in Nikki’s direction would trigger another food related assault.  After a short while, she excused herself to go to the bathroom.  Both of us quite stoned, neither Owen nor I noticed how long she had been gone – more than an hour when we finally alighted the sofa to search for her.

            

A modest abode, my apartment mainly consisted of two rooms – there really wasn’t any place that she could go.  Not finding her in my bathroom or bedroom, Owen and I stood perplexed at where she could have gotten to.  The tiny window in my bathroom was far too small for her to have traversed, yet she was nowhere to be seen.  As Owen looked under my bed, I slid open my wardrobe door to reveal Nikki, curled up in a ball amongst my clothes, trembling and giggling manically.

            

She gave no explanation for her behaviour, acting as though hiding in a wardrobe was completely normal.  I reluctantly let them both stay the night, but not before Nikki casually reminded me that she could kill me while I slept.  As Owen and Nikki constructed a makeshift bed out of sleeping bags and cushions on my living room floor, I sealed myself in my bedroom by dragging a side table over to block the door.  I lay awake, staring at the roof, trying to make sense of the night’s strange events and terrified of the unpredictable and incomprehensible woman in the next room.

Early in 2010, the lesbians returned to reclaim their home, rendering Owen once again homeless.  Mitch hastily embarked upon a cleaning frenzy before they arrived, attempting to undo some of the chaos that Owen and Nikki had wrought.  Sheets were soiled, objects moved about and the pantry left practically bare.  With one remaining nerve, and less than a day to spare, Mitch accomplished his task alone while Avery was at work. 

Still joined at the hip, Owen and Nikki took turns sleeping on all our couches as we gritted our teeth and tolerated their obnoxious behaviour.  It placed us all in an awkward position.  Despite the recent changes to his personality, we all trusted Owen implicitly, though none of us were eager to cohabitate with Nikki.  I had come to regret each instance in which I had welcomed her into my home, feeling as though I had unwittingly admitted something dangerous.  The only houseguest to threaten my life so far, her very presence was unnerving. I always watched her closely, never knowing if she would try to steal something or burst into tears. 

A brief stint at Jesse and Amber’s house came to an abrupt end after they severely overstayed their welcome, prompting a rare show of force from Jesse who insisted that they leave.  A further conflict erupted when Nikki lit Amber’s special incense without permission and then placed it by an open window, allowing the scent to pointlessly waft outside.  I regularly began making excuses or claimed that I was out visiting my parents, fearful that they both would come calling, seeking a place to stay.  For reasons unknown, Owen had given Nikki my phone number, and she had begun sending me threatening text messages followed by a request for accommodation.  On more than one occasion, they both appeared on my doorstep unannounced.  Standing right before me, I simply could not refuse them. 

Out for dinner one night, Mitch, Avery and I sat in my parked car – the three of us nervously ignoring their phone calls and feeling guilty for it too.  They had become quite an imposition on us all, and we simply wished for some time to ourselves.

Nikki represented a dilemma – Owen was our friend – how could we sit idly by and do nothing while he remained homeless?  Nikki had a home of her own out in the eastern suburbs, but it was apparently a no go zone for Owen – Nikki still lived with her ex-boyfriend with whom she had a young child.  We often suggested that Owen stay with his parents in Ballarat, but of course that meant separation from Nikki. 

Then came the day that none of us had prepared for – one night at Jesse and Amber’s house, they proudly announced their engagement.

Confused and fearful, we all offered our half-hearted congratulations; Mitch and I exchanged concerned glances, knowing that our discussion on this development would have to wait until the car ride home.  That night, no one dared question either one of them on the wisdom of their decision – both unemployed and engaged after mere months dating - the air was thick with our unspoken objections.  We had all become aware of how much they argued, often behind closed doors but so loudly that anyone could hear.  Yet they seemed quite pleased with themselves, even getting matching finger piercings in place of wedding rings to commemorate the occasion.

Almost immediately, Nikki began planning an impending engagement party, volunteering Jesse and Amber’s house as the venue.  The colour green (Jesse’s favourite) was to be the theme of the evening, with decorations and plastic rings in accordance.  The night would coincide with Jesse’s birthday and he graciously agreed to share the festivities with her.  Attired in my only green t-shirt, I arrived with Mitch and greeted the happy couple in the kitchen as we prepared drinks.  Within minutes, Nikki had insulted several people, including some of Amber’s friends, so I left the room, preferring to sit outside with the rest of the party.  Nikki’s presence and the subsequent brainwashing of Owen allowed Mitch, Avery and I to cement our friendship.  Their unspoken awareness of my discomfort gave me safety and someone to complain to.  I decided that the only way to get through this wretched event was to stay clear of Nikki entirely.  My plan was largely successful, that is until I ran headlong into her in the hallway leading to the kitchen.  Silently, she glared at me for a moment, before flinging her arms around me and bursting into tears.  Frozen in terror, I remained perfectly still as her salty tears soaked through my stupid green shirt.

It was around about this time that Nikki had forged a bond with Denise.  Beautiful, yet impressionable and insecure about her physical appearance, Denise often sought mentorship in the wrong places.  She had long been under the auspices of Amber who seemed to delight in a timid sidekick to indoctrinate with the warped concepts of “female empowerment” she had gleaned from daytime television.  In Nikki, Denise saw a forceful woman, who despite a heaping helping of insanity, seemed firmly in control of her own destiny.  Her allure was powerful, and Denise and Nikki quickly began spending time together and having lengthy online chats.

One night, Amber summoned me to an emergency crisis meeting.  She had corralled the entire group into her living room (minus Owen and Nikki, of course) for a keynote address.  First on the agenda – what was “to be done” about them.  Like the rest of us, Amber was frightened and disturbed by her and deeply worried that she would corrupt impressionable Denise.  We all had a chance to air our many grievances openly and I regaled the group with the tale of the infamous potato throwing incident at my apartment – now commonly referred to as “Potatogate”.

Despite deliberations long into the night, the group was deadlocked.  Everyone except Amber agreed that it was unethical to engineer a break up for Owen and Nikki, though we all admitted we were tempted by the prospect.  Fierce debate ensued.  The very nature of our gathering revealed to us a sobering truth – we were meeting in secret and flirting with hatching a plot to destabilise Owen’s relationship.  At the close of our heated discussion, I drove Mitch and Avery home.  Mitch and I continued our discourse, while Avery sat in the back seat, slowly shaking her head in silent disapproval of the night’s proceedings.

As it happened, no intervention from us was required – Owen and Nikki already appeared locked onto a course of mutually assured destruction.  With their engagement piercings both now horribly infected, we watched the increasing intensity and frequency of their volatile disagreements.  A cataclysmic break up loomed on the horizon, and it was only a matter of time.

***

Fed up with his vagrant status, Owen finally accepted an invitation from Mitch and his uncle who kindly invited him to stay at their house in Glenroy.  Nikki – not invited – returned to her actual house in the eastern suburbs and to her young son whom she had neglected for some time.  Separated from Nikki for the first time, Owen sunk into a deep depression, occupying Mitch’s living room for hours at a stretch.  Once more, I was pleased to be able to interact with Owen free from Nikki’s oppressive presence, but he seemed distant and withdrawn.  Unwilling to bathe or contribute to any housework, he became a burden on Mitch who laundered his clothes and cooked his meals.  All of us tried to encourage Owen to go and look for work but he seemed uninterested, pining away for his fiancée now located several suburbs away.  Mitch and Avery responded with characteristic charity, even buying him appropriate clothes for a job interview that he had been coaxed into attending.

Despite a saintly reserve of patience from Mitch and his uncle, Owen ultimately outstayed his welcome after three weeks.  His slothful presence in the house had become untenable, and he agreed to move on.  For a few weeks, reliable information on Owen’s whereabouts became difficult to obtain.  Now both working in the city, Mitch and I ran into him on the street serendipitously.  Attired in suit and tie, he informed us that he had hit the pavement and was frantically looking for work.  Nikki, now no longer living with her baby daddy, was firmly ensconced in an expensive city hotel suite at the expense of Owen’s credit card.  Now apparently a lady of leisure, she spent her days ordering room service and pedicures.  Their constant arguments now unbearable, Owen was under immense stress and would often wander the streets aimlessly in an attempt to avoid going home to Nikki.

Then one day – a message from Nikki.  Sent via text message to Mitch and Avery, it informed us all that Owen was “not who he appeared to be” and that he was “lying to his friends”.  The message ended on a foreboding note – “Beware”.  Baffled by the ominous text, we soon ascertained that that the unthinkable had happened.  Owen and Nikki had finally broken up.  None of us would have admitted it, but it was news we had all been waiting for with baited breath.  Nikki’s text message was no doubt a parting shot at Owen and one last attempt to sew dissent among his friends.

The details of their demise remained sketchy, and Owen offered precious little information.  Still reeling from the experience and emotionally and physically drained, Owen rarely spoke of Nikki in the weeks and months that followed (occasional references to “that bitch” notwithstanding).  His engagement piercing had become red and bulbous with infection, and once removed, left him with a permanent scar – a physical manifestation of the toll this girl had taken upon him. 

Welcomed back into the fold, and eventually given a home in the Heidelberg house, he never apologised to any of us for his conduct during his time with Nikki.  Though I was overjoyed to see Owen finally find a home after so much hardship, I never trusted him in the same way again and our friendship never fully recovered.  While I was quick to point out how badly he had behaved, I was also forced to gaze upon my own unattractive behaviour – I had effectively turned away a friend in need simply because I didn’t like his girlfriend. 

To this day, Nikki’s legacy remains a powerful one – her memory still invoked from time to time, usually in the negative, she managed to divide us all and shatter the bonds of family we had thought infinitely stronger.  I have often wondered about her ultimate fate, though am more than content not knowing, and hope that she has sought treatment for what could only be characterised as some form of mental illness.

As for Owen - time and the company of friends aided his recovery and eventual ascent.  It was though he had been poisoned by her, tainted and then changed forever.  In the years that followed, he managed to exorcise her influence, and there were always times when he would speak her name in conversation.  As he would speak, I would look into his world weary eyes, and see flashes of pain and regret, and know that the spectre of Nikki would haunt him all his life.

Chapter 14: The Day Of Pancakes

The drive to Owen’s house was long and boring.  He lived in an area of North Melbourne, more industrial than residential and the streets were peppered with depressing grey coloured factories and small clusters of abandoned storefronts.  In truth, I was procrastinating.  I had promised to help Owen move house weeks ago, thinking the sentiment another empty promise, never to be fulfilled.  Yet the day had come, and I resolved to do my duty as a friend, aware that I would likely have nothing better to do with my afternoon.    

Part of my apprehension had to do with Owen’s oafish housemates with whom I was not looking forward to another encounter.  They frightened me, and I was always unable to conjure appropriate small talk.  Having little to say on the subjects of sport or misogyny, uncomfortable silence was often the best option.

                

Owen and his housemates had been evicted a few weeks earlier by a landlord evidently fed up with weekly police visits and the loud, drunken behaviour that was the house custom.  His apartment was on the third floor of a complex which housed ten or twenty such units.  According to Owen, the deciding factor in their eviction was vomit spewing fourth from the balcony, which splattered on expensive looking cars underneath. 

                

After getting lost in near identical side streets, I finally arrived.  I ascended the stairs, and approached the front door, only to find it open.  I walked inside, apprehensive, only to find the place empty – and clean.  The skeletal sofa was gone, as were the many beer (and blood) stains revealing strange, minty green carpet, previously unseen.  Owen stood by the balcony, alone, his housemates already vacated.  I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that I would not have to endure those beasts.

“Hey dude!” came my customary greeting.

The second that Owen turned to face me, I knew something was wrong.  His eyes were wide and blood shot, and his eyebrows raised in what resembled a state of perpetual shock.  He was smoking furiously, great plumes of white smoke surrounding him.  Something was wrong, I could feel it.  A sense of unease hung in the air, only heightened by the vacancy of the space.  I slowly approached, mentally steeling myself for whatever horrible bombshell Owen was about to drop.

                

He handed me his phone.  Text messages from Nikki.  Oh dear, this can’t be good.  Within moments of perusing the contents of the pixelated screen, I understood what had happened – Owen and Nikki had broken up.

                

Owen was often cagey when it came to his personal life, and Nikki was no exception.  We had heard about her for a few weeks, but never actually met the girl in person.  On occasion, Avery and I had wondered if she was even real.

                

I moved towards Owen and wrapped my arms around him in a bear hug, knowing that any words I could think of would sound hollow and forced.  I noticed his ashtray perched on a nearby window sill, and the pipe gingerly rested amidst the ashes.

“How many pipes have you smoked?” I asked gently.

“Eight or nine…I dunno.  I lost count”

                

That explained a lot.  Owen was shaken, almost in shock, a state of disbelief at what had transpired.  I began to ask the standard questions as to what happened, and when.  He replied vaguely, skipping words and pausing intermittently to drag on his cigarette.  I slowly sat down and listened patiently.

                

Nikki had provided Owen with a sort of human credential.  An affirmation that his life was normal, and that he too was desirable and worthy of love.

I quietly chastised myself for not arriving earlier, and prepared myself for the difficult day ahead.

“Where’s all your stuff?” I asked, surveying the room, expectantly searching for carefully taped boxes and bags full of clothes.  Owen motioned towards three clear plastic tubs, all sealed with lids and containing an assorted mix of books, crushed video game boxes and unwashed laundry.  They looked as though they had been packed in haste and rage.

“That’s it?” I asked.

“Yeah man, that’s all I got”

Suddenly Owen looked so small and fragile.  The entirety of his worldly possessions, contained within three meagre containers.  I wondered if the boxes contained all of his belongings, or simply the ones that he cared to retain.

He offered me a pipe; I declined, and suggested that we get going.  I was to convey him to the Lesbian House – a temporary arrangement to be sure.  Owen would only be able to stay there for a few weeks at best.  I quickly loaded the plastic containers into the boot of my car, while Owen stayed upstairs, taking his last drags.

“That’s it man, ready to go when you are” I said, arriving back upstairs. 

Owen pocketed his phone, and slowly shuffled over to lock the front door one final time.  With an unceremonious turn of a key, his life in that apartment had come to an end with an eviction and a break up.

The car trip was silent at first, the golden rays of sunlight streaming through the clouds providing a stark contrast to the day’s events.  I attempted conversation, carefully trying to extract more information. 

A true conversation with Owen required patience.  He would take his time formulating responses, and as always, ever the macho man, he tried his best to appear emotionally indestructible.  But I knew better.  We talked, as guys do, slowly and in grizzled tones.  Only a few words at a time, cautiously avoiding words like ‘hurt’ and ‘feelings’.  He still seemed dazed, and so profoundly broken.  His pain was palpable, and permeated the space between us.  The revolving door of breakups in my own chequered relationship history meant that I could relate, completely, to the soul harvesting feeling of loss that he was experiencing.

We continued driving, and the Lesbian House drew closer.  I had planned to simply drop Owen off, unloading his stuff and wishing him well for the evening.  I wasn’t sure if Mitch or Avery were home and the thought of leaving him alone in his current state unnerved me.  Over the past few months, Owen and I had begun to explore and struggle with the depths of our depression, and the resultant thoughts and behaviours it could induce.  I needed help.  I had to get a message to Mitch and Avery.  But how?  I’ve never been great at multi-tasking, especially while driving, and of course, I wanted to be discreet. 

Swerving into a service station, I lied and told Owen that I needed fuel and gambled that he wouldn’t glace at the half full petrol gauge on the dashboard.  After filling the tank, I disappeared into the service station to pay, and secretly call Mitch.  I can’t remember exactly what I said to him, but was sure he understood the urgency in my voice.

After our needless pit stop, and stop start heart to heart, we finally arrived at the Lesbian House.  Avery was at the door to greet us.  She silently wrapped her arms around Owen, her tiny arms unequal to his bulky frame.  Avery glanced my way; our eyes met, conveying a powerful telepathic message of ‘mental health crisis’.

Avery’s addition to the group had opened up a furtive dialogue on mental health.  More than any of us, she was keenly aware of the seriousness of the subject and the damage that could be done if symptoms were ignored.  She quietly ushered Owen and his containers into a bedroom at the back of the house which had been set aside for him.

I wrapped my arms around Mitch’s shoulder and began relaying the news in hushed tones. We both seemed to share the same thought – the proverbial elephant in the room that neither of us dare verbalise.

We were afraid. 

We were afraid that Owen would kill himself. 

His depression was of a different flavour to mine.  It was a demon unique to him that would wrap its neon claws around Owen so tight that he couldn’t breathe or think or even answer the phone. 

The last couple of years of his life had been replete with failures and setbacks.  Just when it seemed that things were going right for him – they would all fall apart.  The look on his face said it all – the look of a man staring into a long dark void, and seeing nothing beneath him to break his fall.

Avery emerged from the bedroom and suggested cooking a gigantic dinner feast to lighten the mood.  We instantly agreed, and all four of us piled into my untidy car.

The afternoon sun had long since disappeared, leaving only grey skies and an icy wind promising a chilly evening as we entered the crowded supermarket.  Avery handed me a small basket as we entered, and slowly began combing the aisles for vegan fare.  Someone suggested pancakes, and so the basket was filled, as each one of us tried our best to cheer up our sullen friend with various high calorie snacks.  Owen lumbered along with us, still somewhat numb, though I suspect he was still feeling the effects of the pipes he had smoked back at his empty apartment.

Back at the Lesbian House, Avery immediately took command in the kitchen, expertly unpacking our supplies, preparing pots and pans along with numerous kitchen utensils foreign to me at the time.  Owen and Mitch sat comfortably in the lounge room, sitting before the TV in silent solidarity while I wandered around the house.  This was someone’s home, evidenced by photos and artefacts carefully placed.  Evidence of two people who had made a life for themselves.  I was envious, and grateful to have been admitted entrance to their sanctum. 

As I thumbed through the CD collection on the shelf, I felt a shadow cast over me.  I looked up to see Avery, staring at me intently, spatula in hand.  Her expression conveyed a clear message – if we wanted pancakes – we had to help cook them.

With quiet authority, she assigned each of us tasks in the kitchen.  I glanced nervously at Mitch who was busily stirring a metal bowl containing flour and eggs.  At that point, I had never exhibited any great skill in the kitchen, specialising in mainly toast based cuisine.  I decided that I could be of most use by washing everyone else’s dishes and bowls.  Owen’s mood seemed to elevate as we all laughed self-consciously at our domestic shortcomings.  I think I even saw him smile.

As I stood by the sink, my hands immersed in soapy water, I felt a peaceful sense of stillness.  Here I was, in a stranger’s kitchen cooking pancakes.  I turned to see Mitch, Owen and Avery chattering away, and knew that I was happy and content, and could not wish to be in any other place in all of existence.  We had all come together for a cause, with no prior planning or prompting.  We had moved in unison, like a school of fish changing directions.  I marvelled at the simplicity of the moment, as though a truth had suddenly been crystalised before me – I needed people to survive.  Without them, I would die. 

I ate my pancakes quietly at the table, content to listen to everyone else’s conversation.  These revelations sat uncomfortably, and ground harshly against my edict of existing as a solitary man, never needing help and avoiding all emotional ties.  As much as I tried to fight it, I had made a connection, and I think I liked it.

Those pancakes, though delicious, were a symbol of friendship and defiance in the face of emotional turmoil.  All of us had been suffering somehow, yet we drew strength from each other.  At the time, it also seemed as though they had saved Owen from suicide.  All in a day’s work I guess.

We stayed up late into the night watching TV.  I must have dozed off, crushed between Owen and Mitch on a sofa clearly not designed to seat three fully grown men.  I gently removed Owen’s drooling face from my shoulder and stood up, hoping to make a quiet exit.  Avery must have heard me stirring and met me at the front door, still wrapped in her blanket. We tightly embraced with a promise to see each other the next day. I zipped up my jacket and stepped outside into the frosty winter night, closing the door behind me, catching one last glimpse of my companions, peacefully asleep on the couch, and it seemed as though, for the first time in my life, I had finally made some friends.