Calm to Chaos

by Garth Wade

‘But he’s your dad,’ Zarni said.

  ‘Well, yes, I know that. But I was raised by my mum. I hardly know this guy compared to her.’

  ‘Hmm, maybe. But you are his blood.’

  ‘Yes, thanks, well I know that too, obviously. It doesn’t mean I’m going to be an arsehole like he is though does it?’

  ‘I just don’t want to ever be treated like Paula. I feel so sorry for her. She’s so smart and lovely.’

  ‘She is great. But, I can’t apologise for Michael. It’s his behaviour, not mine, he’s not the same person I am. I can just be embarrassed.’

  They heard a heavy thud outside their room, but they both assumed it was someone going to bed who had perhaps had one red wine too many and both quickly dismissed it.

  ‘Do you think we’ll live in a house like this? On a farm? Farmer boy?’ Zarni’s mood changed quite quickly.

  Syd chuckled. ‘Well we won’t know for a little while yet honey. You gotta get through uni still and I’ve gotta work out what farmin’ I wanna do!’ Syd’s accent was a standing joke between them about the country folk he loved. Syd touched her face and said in his normal voice, ‘I know that I want you though. And that I won’t ever treat you like my father treats his wife.’

  Suddenly, they heard Paula’s loud panicked voice from outside their room. ‘Get up, get up! Michael! Do something!’

  Syd sprang out of bed, threw on a pair of boxer shorts and opened the tall bedroom door to the long wide central hallway. At one end, between the front door and the front room, lay Vincent. He looked so flat it was as though his body had sunk into the floor, with one arm extended and the other pushed up hard against the door to his room. He wasn’t moving.

  Paula was on her knees beside him holding his face, her eyes wide and appalled.

  Michael stood in the doorway of the bedroom opposite, hyperventilating.

  Paula was also hyperventilating.

  Everyone seemed to be hyperventilating.

  Except Vincent.

  Sydney rushed to Paula and Vincent then said, ‘What happened? What did he do?’

  ‘I just heard a noise, and when I came out he was on the ground here,’ Paula said, stroking her father’s face desperately. ‘Wake up, Dad, wake up,’ she said before turning back to her husband, ‘Michael! Do something!’

  Michael was frozen.

  ‘Okay, okay, hold on, just hold on,’ Syd said as he took a deep breath. He gently guided Paula to one side as he knelt by the old man’s chest. ‘We have to check response … so, there’s no response,’ he said as if ticking off a mental checklist. ‘Now check C for circulation.’ Paula had one hand each side of Vincent’s face and had pressed her forehead to his. Syd brushed one of her hands away and replaced it with his own, digging deeply and clumsily to find a carotid pulse.

  ‘No pulse,’ Syd said. ‘I’m going to do CPR now, Paula. I want you to look into his mouth and see if you can see anything in his airway.’

  Syd positioned himself with his shoulders directly over the middle of Vincent’s chest, straightened both arms, joined both flat hands, and then forced as much energy as he could through to Vincent’s heart to push blood around his body and to his brain. Vincent was a burly man, with a sturdy chest, and it required all of Syd’s strength to do effective CPR.

  Paula fumbled at Vincent’s mouth, attempting to open it and look inside, but failed dismally. Zarni, hurriedly dressed in her pyjamas, suddenly appeared beside Paula. ‘We just learnt our first aid. I know what to do,’ she said. Paula moved out of the doorway and stood behind Zarni as she confidently opened Vincent’s mouth, saw nothing obstructing his airway, and told Syd to stop compressions. She then took a deep hurried breath, placed her mouth over Vincent’s, and blew hard into him. His chest rose up and then quickly deflated.

  ‘Okay, airway is clear, compressions again,’ she said.

  Syd continued.

  ‘Paula, is there a phone in there in Vincent’s room?’

  ‘Yes, right here,’ Paula answered from behind the action.

  ‘Call the ambulance now.’

  ‘It’s almost eighty kilometres away. In town.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter; we need them to come to us as soon as possible.’

  They heard the beeping buttons of the phone as Paula tapped in 000.

  ‘Michael,’ said Zarni. ‘Michael!’ she yelled. It was as though he had turned to stone.

  ‘Dad! Wake the fuck up!’ said Sydney in a tone Zarni couldn’t contest. Michael shook his head as though he’d been woken from a nap, but he moved slowly and uncertainly.

  ‘Michael,’ Zarni said again, ‘you and Syd are going to have to alternate. These compressions are going to keep Vincent alive, but it’s going to be very tiring, so you need to swap, okay?’

  ‘I’ve never done this be—’ Michael’s docile words were cut off by Syd.

  ‘Here, watch me do it. Just copy me exactly.’

  For the next forty-five minutes, the four of them worked together with one simple goal: to keep Vincent alive.

  The ambulance finally arrived, to the relief of them all. After five minutes of questions and sorting out machines, one of the paramedics told the team that Vincent was gone, but that they had done a great job to try for as long as they did.

  Vincent was eighty-eight years old. He had never taken a sick day in his life. Sure, the occasional cough or runny nose, but that would never deter him from living his salt-of-the-earth life and tending to whatever needed to be done on the farm.

  And now, he was dead.

  Paula crumbled.

  Michael froze, then left quickly to wander and chain-smoke.

  Syd and Zarni looked at each other as their eyes filled with tears.

  Sydney hasn’t spoken to Michael since Vincent’s funeral.

  Zarni broke up with Syd shortly after they arrived back in New South Wales. But watching her manage Vincent’s demise sowed a seed deep in Syd’s mind, one that remained dormant for years.

  Life is too short

  08:45 hrs – Sydney

  Syd had returned to his car and ignored the two missed calls from Amber and another one from a private number. He sat behind the steering wheel staring at the edge of the knee-high concrete wall, barely visible in front of the bumper. He sat in a trance-like state while a smartly dressed woman delivered her ginger cat in a carry-cage to the vet. He saw her but didn’t really notice her. His eyes stung sharply, his mind raced but he felt numb. He switched the air conditioning to full and felt the sweat dry on his face. He shook his head as a wakeup call before putting the car into reverse.

  Within an instant, he thought about Danielle and her sadness. He imagined her wanting to escape and thought that the care he had shown her made no real difference to her life. He didn’t know Danielle’s story, but remembered her desperation as she said, ‘I’m just a normal person.’ He wondered what had happened to her to make her feel she needed to justify herself. He knew he had judged her, not only her appearance but also her living standards, considering them to be unacceptable and disgusting. He reminded himself that he didn’t know her story. What had happened to her. Why she lived that way. Who she had in her life before she became so desperately lonely. He knew, behind every crazy circumstance, there was a reason, an excuse, and sometimes that excuse could lead to a purpose, which some people need to keep on going. Syd thought that Danielle unfortunately lacked this purpose, which might have been the reason why she was in the condition she was in. Syd understood that Danielle felt so alone and scared of dying that way; he felt sadder just thinking there was nothing he could do to help any more. Aside from the damage that was already done to Danielle, from which she might never recover, the only person who could help her any further was herself.

  Only she could help herself. Well, could have helped herself.

  In his mind, an image of her face mixed with a photo Syd had taken while ballooning in Cappadocia.

  The sun’s rays formed six strong points in the bluest sky above
a blanket of fluffy white clouds. A long, jagged mountain range poked through and pointed towards a single hot-air balloon. Syd loved this picture, this memory, which still brought him solace. It took him away to such a beautiful place.

  When he saw the brilliant blue sky, he wanted to escape, to jump, and to travel with his love, Amber. He relaxed as he breathed in the crisp, fresh air. He remembered Audrey’s smiling, wrinkled face and the complete love he had witnessed between her and Ted. He imagined what they had gone through together over the last sixty years. He tried to imagine their lives together, what they were like alone, what they were like before they even knew each other. What had made them the people they were? Syd thought of how different life would have been when Ted and Audrey were his age, but got a little lost, seeing as he didn’t really know what the dating practices had been back in those days. He settled with the thought of them both picnicking near the Sydney Harbour Bridge, like in the picture Ted presented to him. They looked happy. How did they meet? And, why did they choose to spend their lives together? Maybe they learnt to love each other. Maybe they didn’t always have the level of respect they have now. Syd wondered deeply if maybe Amber and he could be the same.

  He felt at peace as he recalled the floating balloon, and wondered if Ken might now have peace. He couldn’t comprehend what Ken’s wife Heather must be feeling, and could still feel the anxiety in her embrace. He had not experienced sadness like she had last night – losing someone who had made the ultimate commitment, the lifelong vow of marriage. To have and to hold. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, sickness, health, to love and to cherish, without condition, with honour, my best friend, you will not walk alone, I will support you. I will grow old with you.

  I do.

  And to be stripped of that commitment by someone else, Syd thought, was terribly unfair. But, again he remembered, he didn’t know the full story.

  He grew even sadder at the thought of his patient’s life lessons.

  Syd knew the last fourteen hours had affected him, and was trying to be conscious of the effects to his perspective.

  His left leg began to shake and brought him back to reality. He put the car in neutral and let the clutch out.

  He tried to think of Amber with compassion and consideration. Why did she lie? What more did she want from him? Who was she? Truly? How did she expect him to forgive her and go back to the way things were?

  Each question bounced around an image of Amber. Soon, one of Sebastian emerged, with his olive skin and toothy grin, and lastly his open leg fracture.

  Syd had had enough.

  Life is too short.

  He picked up his phone, searched his contacts, dialled, and sensed a soothing contentment as he listened to the dial tone of Sonia’s number.

  Acknowledgements

  Jayne. From the beginnings of my ideas for this book, you were an optimistic driving force, and one I could not have started it without. Your ceaseless encouragement, outrageous humour and wonderful love will never be forgotten. Amongst so many other thanks I owe you; thank you for saving me and staying with me in Arequipa. I think about you often, and wish you the happiness you deserve.

  Natasha. My first reader and editor, and who initially showed me the way. I thank you for your advice, loaning me books, and for taking care of my dog so many times.

  Anna. You understood my passion for this book and your energy towards it was very much appreciated. Thank you for dancing with me. And for Western Australia.

  Bronnie. The Kiwi bibliophile adventuring around the world! Your help regarding the overuse of adjectives and producing too-longer-sentences was imperative … I hope! Thank you Bron, especially for the poem.

  Gav. To my friend and beta reader; thanks buddy, for your comprehensive report and truthful thoughts. I am seriously lucky to have a mate with so much time on his hands. And who is crazy enough to let me speak at his wedding.

  Rosie and Natasha. Two English English teachers touring Africa? Who better to help make sense of my words, delete my long sentences as well as play cards with while we bump around dirt roads that seemed never-ending in a truck that felt as though it had no suspension? Thank you ladies, for the corrections, as well as the laughs.

  Vicki. I don’t really know where to start regarding the gratitude I owe you. So I’ll simply say thank you and I love you.

  I have many people to thank for several aspects of this book. Starting at each characters creation through to the production of an actual paperback book, I am lucky to have had the opportunities throughout my life so far for these ideas to have shown themselves to me, in one way or another.

  My sincere thanks go out to the many paramedics I have worked with, particularly those of whom that work with a constructive approach, and from whom I have learned how to deal with jobs and how to help the people who actually need our assistance.

  Professionally, we all have our own stories, our own experiences, and, of course, our own tragedies. All of which is unavoidably twisted together through our personal lives.

  Sometimes we think it is all just too much, and sometimes it is.

  Just because we are branded mentally bulletproof most certainly does not make it so.

  Everybody, at some stage, needs to talk to someone.

  Don’t ignore it.

  My thanks to John and Todd, and especially the peer support paramedics who truly put their heart into helping their colleagues. You should all be proud of the work you do.

  Take care.

  About the Author

  Garth Wade was born and raised in Canberra, and attended boarding school in country New South Wales, before working for a publishing company in Sydney. He then left the city and rode a horse nearly every day while working for two large cattle and sheep stations throughout Australia. After travelling around South and Central America, his heart was set on becoming a paramedic, and in 2010, that’s what he did, and has been trying to culture the craft ever since. He has enjoyed writing since he was a boy, and now says it is almost therapy.

  calm to chaos is his first book.

  www.garthwade.com.au