SANCTUARY OF MINE

by PRATT, S.

  Looking out at the sea of faces, I see a current of mixed emotions. Sympathy, empathy, sadness and grief – but none of it touches me. Everything I feel overrides what they need from me and my speech. I wanted to write something epic. I needed to write something that would touch everybody enough to know just how special my dad was. But none of it seemed enough, no words doing him justice. All I can do is speak from my heart.

  ‘Chris Deeks was my father. He was a patriot, a fighter, a lover – the kind of person so many of us aspire to be, but rarely any of us even come close to living our lives with such conviction of what is right and wrong. He was dependable and I loved him for that. Even when he was on deployment, he always found a way to be there for me when I needed him. I can see by how many of you turned up today to farewell my father that he must have touched you in the same way as well. He was a selfless man who would have given a stranger the shirt of his back or the last dollar from his pocket. My father loved life and didn’t waste a second of it. I think now that he has left this life so early, that perhaps he was trying to cram as much as he could in before his time was up. I won’t pretend that I’m not angry or devastated by his loss, but I hope that I can be half the person he was and live my life in a way that would make him proud. My dad may not get to see the end of the legacy he left here on earth, but I hope that one day, when I see him in the next life, I’ll get to tell him all about it. There is one thing that brings me comfort at a time like this, and that is there was never anything left unsaid between us. He knew how much I loved him, and I he. I hope that each of you get to say goodbye to my dad today in a way that allows you to let him go and move on to live a life that brings you happiness.’

  My bottom lip trembles, my voice wavering as I choke out that last word. Happiness. Doesn’t seem like an emotion I can relate to right now. I feel like every time I get close to it, it gets ripped right out from underneath me like a rug. There is no way I can continue, so I leave the stand and resume my spot next to Tyler and my family as a few other family members offer words about the kind of man my dad was to the bodies that fill the pews.

  After the service, I’m utterly numb. You could have hit me with a bus and I wouldn’t have felt it. Totally poor taste of joke, even for me, but it still doesn’t bring a smile to my lips. While the world goes on around me, I sit on a chair in the corner of my mum’s house unaffected. They eat, they drink and do what people do at a wake. To me, it seems pointless. The most important guest is missing.

  Tyler hovers, offering food, drink. I refuse all of it. Eventually he leaves with all the rest of the guests, promising to visit me at mine and Levi’s apartment after his football game on Friday. To be honest, I don’t even know if I will be there. As the light of day fades behind the curtained window, I realise that nothing has changed. The emptiness I feel will never go away and it has nothing to do with eating. I thought after saying goodbye today I might be able to move on, let go of some of the pain that threatens to consume me. No such luck. The vastness of grief rolls right over me and sucks me in. And do you know what? I surrender to it.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Mackenzie

  Digestion is a funny thing, and I’m not talking about food either. As time sets in, my mind wanders back to that night and I realise something. It’s my fault. My dad is dead because of me. I was the one. I was the one who threw the ball. It left my fingertips and went wide, right on to the street where a bus sucked him up and spat him out. So how do you live with yourself when you feel like you are a murderer? How do carry on when you’ve just killed the one person who means the most to you? I’ll tell you what I do. I punish myself. I starve myself. I torture myself, mentally and physically.

  There is not a thing I can do about it either. If even a miniscule amount of happiness, pleasure, or good feeling of any sort starts to creep into my soul, I crush it quick smart, reminding myself that bad people like me don’t deserve happiness.

  I don’t return to mine and Levi’s apartment. Friday night comes and goes, but I’m still left alone in my cocoon of decay. I’m sure they’ve called. Bloody hell, the phone was ringing off the hook until I yanked the cord out of the wall in anger. My mobile phone has stayed off, too. There is not a person on this earth who I think deserves to be affected with the misery that bleeds from me. I’m sure even looking at me will have them riddled with my disease of wickedness.

  In some part of my brain, I know I should be back doing normal things like going to work and university, but my apathy doesn’t allow me to care enough to even call and explain my absence. Maybe someone already has? Maybe work already fired me and I’m completely oblivious to the fact? Who knows and who effing cares, Mack. Thinking of the moniker Tyler uses for me makes me think of him. I know staying away from him is selfish, but I can’t help the destructive path I’m on.

  I find meals on my bedside table, but I have no idea how they get there. Between my spaced out daydreaming of what life was like as a kid with my dad, to my self-loathing lectures, I don’t remember seeing either my mum or Jim for days. Not a morsel is touched, though. Soon the ants come crawling for it. I watch in fascination as they walk sideways along the wall, take their fill and then make the trip back. My stomach rumbles, the acid having nothing to burn but the lining of my insides. All my good work in healing myself and my body is going by the wayside, but I don’t care, not even a little bit.

  At a point when my hunger is at its greatest and I feel weak from lack of food, I feel my resolve crumbling. Despite my grief, I’m starving. Dragging myself from the safety of my bed, I stick an ear to the door to listen for any sounds of movement in the house. I realise I don’t even know what day it is. There is nothing at all coming back to me, so I assume everyone must be at work. Slowly, I turn the door handle, letting the fresh air of the house to creep in to blend with the horrid stench that lingers in my room. With soundless footsteps I walk down the stairs. The last one creaks mercilessly, making me stop in my tracks with an ear out to any movement in the rest of the house. Not a sound reaches me, so I continue into the kitchen. I open the pantry and spot a packet of Nice biscuits. They’re unopened, so I tear it open, dropping a few in the process. There is only a slight hesitation before I shove one in my mouth and start chewing.

  They’re dry, especially since I haven’t had anything to drink since yesterday. The sugar on top immediately sets off my taste buds and I quickly follow the first biscuit with a chaser. Before I know it, I have scoffed half the packet. My mouth is so dry I can barely swallow the chewed up contents. Dropping the packet on the shelf, I dash to the refrigerator like a woman possessed and crack open the milk carton lid, sculling as much of the contents as I can stomach. While I gulp the liquid, it dribbles down the sides of my face making me feel like a glutton. And that is just what I am – a glutton for punishment. Realising I have, in a way, just made myself happy when I am supposed to be on a self-hating mission, I am suddenly consumed by guilt. But that’s not the only reaction my body is having.

  The sudden influx of food to stomach is being rejected. Too much, too soon, idiot. My gut churns and heat rushes to my cheeks. I know what’s coming. Been there, done that. As quick as I can, I hurry to the downstairs toilet and fling back the lid. The milk has barely had time to settle in my stomach so that it’s still cold when it comes up. Retching into the toilet makes me feel a little better physically, but I am utterly disgusted with myself. I promised Tyler. I promised I wouldn’t do this anymore.

  Sobbing uncontrollably, I hurry up the stairs and slam my bedroom door with such force my window shakes in its frame. I dive under the covers, needing my sanctuary more than ever. I stay like this until I am still, worn out from every single emotion that seems to want to consume me. Eventually I fall asleep, only waking when I hear raised voices downstairs. Shouts can be heard, before footsteps thump their way up the stairs to the landing. Someone heavy strides down the hallway, into the bathroom I think, but can’t be certain.

  My heart is be
ating a hundred miles a minute, making me feel a little panicky and breathless. I sit up, pulling my covers to my chest, straining to hear what is going on in the house. I’m distractedly aware that my unwashed lank hair is clinging to my face like a mad woman and my breath still smells like vomit. The footsteps are coming back, but the shouting has stopped for the minute. I’m erect and alert when my bedroom door bursts open, slamming against the drywall behind it. I’m sure I look like a wild-eyed possum who has just being sprung raiding the fruit orchid, but there is no hiding my surprise at the six foot three figure who has just decided to come and crash my pity party.

  Tyler Redding looks madder than a hippo with a hernia, which is a bit of a pain in the arse when his sights are set firmly on me.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Tyler

  I’m fucked up. I can’t sleep and my head’s not in the game. Twice coach has had to pull me up on the fact that I’m just not giving the team my all, but it’s all I can handle right now. This feeling of disjointedness comes from not having had any physical or emotional contact with Mack since her dad died. The loneliness in my heart is wearing me down and I can’t seem to focus on any one thing for long.

  My thoughts keep drifting back to that night, replaying the events over and over again until I think I don’t know what really happened anymore. They say it was an accident, which is all well and dandy, but it doesn’t stop the incessant chatter in my fucking head that keeps telling me it’s my fault he died. It was my game, my childish antics, my fault. It weighs heavily on my mind; does Mackenzie blame me too? Maybe that is why she’s been avoiding me. Maybe, just maybe, she never wants to see me again. I swallow hard. That thought doesn’t sit well with me either. If she can’t forgive me then there’s no hope for any kind of future with her. I know it was an accident, but that doesn’t count for shit when she’s lost her dad.

  She never returned to her apartment. I went, but she wasn’t there. Too much time has passed and now I’m starting to think that if I don’t do something, she may drift away for good. But I can’t let that happen. Too much has passed between us to just let her slip through my fingers. I need her, I want her, and she’s woven herself so intricately into my heart that without her I’m finding it hard to breathe. Over the last couple of weeks I’ve started to wonder if I’m having panic attacks, or if it is just a physical reaction I’m having from not knowing if we are okay – if she’s okay.

  Every bit of my body is jumping, which probably has something to do with the fact I’ve consumed far too much coffee today as I pace back and forth in the living room of my house. Indecision has me restless, but I know I need to come to some conclusion about what I need to do. Something tells me I’m going to have a fight on my hands if I push Mack to see me, but hell, I’m willing to do it. Her self-imposed retreat from society has me worried and I can only imagine the depths of despair she has sunk to. I wonder absently if she’s returned to her apartment and decide there is only one way to find out. I’m heading over there.

  The drive isn’t far. Adrenalin is pumping through my veins, with confrontation clearly motivation for allowing myself to get so worked up. No matter what anyone says, I’m not leaving until I see Mackenzie for myself. And get some answers. And hold her. And tell her that I love her, and that I’m sorry – sorry for everything.

  When I pull up to the apartment block, I can see the lights on in the windows above the fish and chips’ shop, so I know that someone is home. Heading towards the stairs, my path is suddenly blocked by a biker looking type with old tattoos that have aged so much the ink looks like it’s running down his skin. I move to step around him, but he shadow-steps to block me again. If this guy’s looking for a fight, he’s picked the wrong day and the wrong guy to antagonize. Today, I bloody well think I could kick his arse and his friends too. They’re not interested, though, instead sitting quietly at a table out the front of the takeaway store, paying no attention to us whatsoever.

  ‘Problem?’ I snap.

  ‘Nah man, I was just wondering – you’re Tyler Redding, right?’ He seems a little embarrassed, which has me confused no end.

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply warily, already scrunching my knuckles together in a closed fist, ready to punch this guy’s nose in at the first sign of trouble.

  ‘Oh good, ‘cause you look a little different in person. I saw your debut game with the Bunnies this year, great game by the way. Anyway, I’m rambling now, but I was just wondering if I could have your autograph, mate?’ He’s extending a piece of paper and a pen towards me. Well, there’s a curveball I wasn’t expecting.

  ‘Ah, sure.’

  ‘Much appreciated, Tyler.’ I quickly scrawl a signature and hand him back the pen and paper. He looks it over and smiles widely, his fat cheeks lifting the sides of his grey scraggly beard.

  ‘No worries.’ I leave my first ever fan to his friends and head upstairs while the going is good.

  I bang loudly on the door, distinctly aware of the television on in the background. When nobody answers, I bang even louder. Waiting on the balcony is not great for staying invisible. I’m starting to gain attention from all the foot traffic passing by on the street. I’m starting to get mad that I’m being blown off by friends and my girlfriend while I’m left hanging outside. There is a split-second I contemplate kicking the damn door in, but just as I raise my foot to do so, the front door quickly swings open, a whoosh of air dancing about my head from the force of it. Levi looks startled standing there in nothing but a towel and dripping wet hair. I can’t help but notice his six-pack, but purely because he was such a chubby teen. I’m no homosexual, but I can’t help but notice there is absolutely no sign of the comfort eater in front of me now.

  ‘Jesus, Tyler! What the hell are you doing man? You just about broke the door down.’

  ‘Well I wouldn’t have had to if you’d just opened the damn door,’ I snarl, pushing past him and letting myself in.

  ‘I was in the shower. I didn’t even hear you until just now!’ I’m not listening to a word he says, instead scouring each room in turn, checking to see if Mack is in there. It’s not a big place, so when I’m satisfied that she’s not here, I turn on Levi, my rage simmering just below the surface. My un-expelled adrenalin is threatening to take over me, my limbs starting to shake just a little from unspent energy.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She’s not here.’

  ‘I can see that. So where is she?’

  ‘I’m not the enemy here, Tyler. Her parents have asked we give her space, so we’re trying to do that.’

  ‘Like hell. All they’re doing is allowing her to wallow in her misery. That’s not going to do her any good and you know it.’

  ‘Maybe, but I’m trying to respect their wishes.’

  ‘Bullshit. You just don’t have the balls to go over there and pull her out of it.’ I see my insult has clearly cut Levi to the core. It was wrong of me to insult him so much, especially when we all know he loves her like family. The muscles in his jaw start to tick, his supressed anger bubbling just a little. Now I’m the arsehole.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. I had no right to say that, I’m just … frustrated! It’s fucking killing me that we’re being shut out and I can’t take it anymore. I need to see her, man, and I don’t think she should be left alone right now. I don’t give a shit what her parents say, there is no way this is good for her.’

  ‘I agree completely.’

  ‘So what are we going to do about it?’

  ‘We’re going to go and save her from herself.’

  ‘Right. I’ll drive,’ I say, leaving Levi to hurry and get some clothes on.

  ****

  By the time we reach Mack’s parents’ place, the sun has dipped behind all the houses, leaving the street looking lonely and desolate. I swing the car into the driveway and barely have the handbrake on before leaping out of the car. Levi is hot on my heels, eager to see his friend too. I ring the doorbell until it is answered by her mother. She loo
ks tired and worn down, like life has handed her too many stresses which has prematurely aged her. There was a pretty girl there once, but those features faded long ago. She’s not entirely surprised to see us.

  ‘Hello Tyler … Levi.’

  ‘Is Mackenzie home?’ There are no pleasantries from me. I’m way too anxious to be civil. Until I see Mack, I can’t function as a normal, polite person. There is hesitation that hoods her eyes.

  ‘She is, but I think she needs time to grieve. She was very close to her father, as you both know.’

  ‘You’re not helping her by letting her wallow. She’s done enough of that. I’m going up to see her,’ I say, pushing my way past her.

  ‘Tyler,’ she gasps, shocked that I’m rude enough to force my way into her own home.

  ‘No! This is enough! She needs help – friends! She needs to know that we are here to help her get through this!’ Levi quietly follows me up the stairs while I continue to rant. Her mother watches on, unable to do anything about our intrusion. She knows I mean business.