The Same Deep Water

by Swallow, Lisa

“Oh. Helping?”

  “Yes. Immensely.” I pause. “You?”

  “Psychiatrist.”

  “All the psychs,” I say with a weak smile.

  Guy digs his hand into his black jacket pockets. “We always meet in the strangest of places.”

  “Right.” I rub my cheek, unsure what happens next. A voice inside urges me to run, but a different voice whispers to stay and talk. “Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “Showing me the way to travel.”

  A muscle twitches in Guy’s cheek. “It was a fun journey with you. I’m glad you carried on and didn’t fall off the path.”

  I laugh. “You love your metaphors, don’t you?”

  “Life is one big metaphor.” He grins. “How’s the bucket list?”

  I stiffen. “Fine. How’s yours?”

  “I tore the list up, Phe,” he says softly. “So, thank you.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You showed me a new direction.”

  How can an ordinary moment hold so much? We’re in public, in reality, but all I feel is the rope tightening around us again. I battle against reaching out to Guy; annoyed I want his touch too. Look at us. We would never have worked.

  “You mean you’ve changed your mind about your lack of future?” I ask.

  “I’ve decided to follow your example and not run from what the future holds.” He sighs. “I’m accepting that I have this... illness and not that I am this.”

  “And working through the issues with your past?”

  “Are you?”

  I laugh. “What a weird conversation and strange place to have it.”

  Guy takes my elbow, the way he did at the masquerade ball and guides me to a seating area. Two upholstered armchairs and a low round table are situated near the window at the front of the hospital. His touch triggers the past, sweeping away the last few weeks. When he sits, I join him. Guy leans forward, elbows on his knees, cupping his chin in both hands.

  “I am very sorry about what I did,” he says. “About the lies.”

  I’m caught in the swell again, Guy’s presence the real reason I’ve stayed away. He is more than his illness, as I’m more than mine. But this strange sensation that seeing him again has reconnected me with a missing piece of my soul is washed away by the doubt I could ever trust him again.

  “I would say it’s fine, but it’s not, Guy. But thank you for apologising.”

  “I tried to talk to you and explain, but you wouldn’t answer my calls.”

  I sit on my hands. “I couldn’t. I didn’t know you. You weren’t the man I loved.”

  The rain pelts the outside world; cool air blasts my back as the nearby glass entrance doors slide open. I keep my eyes fixed on the window, convincing myself the blurring is the rain and not my eyes.

  “I understand.” His voice is loaded with sincerity and sorrow. “I missed you,” he says, the words barely audible. “I regret not telling you the truth every minute of every day since you walked away.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me at the beginning?”

  “I thought you’d run. You had your own mental health issues. I didn’t think you’d want a relationship with a man who has his own.”

  “Wrong, I didn’t want a relationship with a man who lied to me. When I think about what you hid and what you planned to do, I feel sick.” I look into his deep-water eyes. “What hurts the most is you couldn’t ask me for help.”

  “I did the wrong thing. I stopped taking my meds because I felt better around you. I thought I could be well and then I’d deserve you.”

  “I would’ve accepted you. Everything about you, apart from the plan to end your life.”

  “I think I’d already changed my mind about that,” he says with a small smile. “A few weeks with you and the plans began to unravel. Until the voices came back to remind me.”

  “And now?”

  “The voices ruined everything and then they left. I should never have stopped the meds.” The low round table between us is a barrier against the possibility of physical contact. Am I relieved or unhappy about that? What would I do if he reached out? “But I don’t know if I’ll be Noah again, even if he isn’t the bad guy anymore.”

  “I prefer when you’re just some guy. I like him.”

  Guy laughs, eyes lighting up. “Guy was happier, until I fucked up.” His phone beeps and he pulls it from his jacket. He glances at the text. “Crap. Sorry. I have to go.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  He stands. “You need a ride somewhere? I can drop you on the way.”

  The downpour continues, a vertical sheet of water from the sky with no sign of a break. Ten minutes to the bus, ten minutes from the bus to my house. In the rain.

  But can I go with Guy and resist asking to see him again? I stand too, almost knocking into Guy and he steadies my arm. The ocean scent reaches over to me, pulling up memories of his skin against mine.

  Guy zips up his black canvas jacket. “Okay?”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  We step into the arched entrance, the wind blowing the water toward us and I shiver in my thin jacket. Guy’s presence sends a mix of emotions, releasing ones I don’t want.

  I can’t go with him.

  “I think I’ll take the bus,” I say.

  He steps to one side. “Right. You sure?”

  “Probably best.”

  “Probably.”

  I shiver as the wind pushes against my thin coat. “Are you still going to England next month?”

  “Are you?”

  “I don’t think so.” I’ve considered this over and over, changed my mind numerous times. Some days the idea of continuing my journey appeals, others I’m constrained by the Phe lurking beneath – the one filled with anxiety and doubt. Could I travel so far alone?

  Guy nods and chews on his lip. “Going was on my bucket list. The one that doesn’t exist anymore, remember? So I can’t.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t think.”

  We exchange more awkward smiles, and Guy digs his hands into his jacket pockets again. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Phe.”

  “Yes, we can hang out in the psych ward together.”

  “I don’t think things will come to that again, will they?”

  I don’t know. Will they? “Bye, Guy. Noah.”

  Why am I fighting tears? When I walked away last time, I didn’t feel the wrench I do now. The pain in Guy’s eyes from that day is replaced by hope; hope dimming as I look away again.

  “Guy. For you, I’m Guy.”

  Terrified the emotions will deluge me along with the rain, I step out onto the tarmac to cross the road, eyes blurring. A car screeches to a halt in front of me. At the same time, Guy yanks me by the arm and onto the pavement.

  “I thought you said you’d lost your death wish?” he asks.

  “Funny.”

  The rain flattens my hair, dripping down my nose and Guy blinks raindrops from his long lashes. “How’s your bucket list going?”

  “I went surfing. I’m having lessons.”

  “Wow. That’s awesome, Phe. Well done.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “You got me halfway there.”

  “I did.” Guy extends a hand and wipes rain from my cheek, his cold fingers resting on my skin as he looks at me. “I’m always happy to help with your list even though I’ve ditched mine.”

  “I’m amazed at how much I’ve done in just a few months.”

  He grins. “Write another. Bigger challenges. Overseas.”

  I pace from one foot to the other as the water splashes across my feet; we can’t talk about lists. “I should go.”

  “Of course.”

  I don’t want to walk away; no longer aware of anything but the possibility of reaching out to the man whose presence reminds me he stopped me sinking under.

  “Number five,” he whispers.

  I don’t have a chance to reply before Guy’s mouth meets my lips, a raindrop from his nose touching mine a
t the same time. His lips are cool and familiar, the softness becoming firm as I press mine on his in return.

  I pull away before the kiss deepens. We stand, fingers on each other’s cheeks, and my heart aches because I can’t do what we both want. He’s connected to a part of myself I’m cutting away: naïve, scared, and confused. But then he’s also responsible for pulling the new Phe away from her. His face shines in the rain, the radiance in his smile not matched by the sad understanding in his eyes.

  “Life’s never like the movies, is it?” he asks and shakes water from his jacket.

  “No.”

  A car splashes through the water nearby and a woman climbs out, onto the pavement next to us. The curious look she gives pushes back in my awareness that I’m in the rain outside a hospital with a man I never wanted to see again. A man whose kiss reunited me with a part of myself that he’ll never give back.

  “Keep your head above the water, Ophelia,” he whispers and brushes his lips against my mouth, scruff scraping my cheek.

  Something has filled my throat with cotton wool, absorbing the words. I have this moment to ask Guy to stay, to go somewhere and talk, but I can’t speak.

  He sighs. “I understand what you’re saying by not saying anything. My number hasn’t changed if you want to meet up sometime. But I totally understand why this should be a hello and goodbye.”

  “Okay,” I manage to whisper.

  Guy touches my cheek one last time, brushing water from my skin. “Do you know what’s special about kissing in the rain?” Mutely, I shake my head. “Loving somebody is easy when the sun is shining, but when you’re caught in the storm, you discover who’s prepared to stand with you. I’ll be there again if you need me.”

  I’m seconds away from asking him to wait, when Guy turns away and sprints across the road to the car park. I fight against calling after him but he’s right. Life is never like the movies.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  One Month Later

  7 Learn To Surf

  I’m above the ocean, closer than the last time, and ready to fight the waves. But the water no longer controls me. I’m not frightened anymore. I paddle the surfboard through the water, striving to catch the waves that have eluded me for the last ten minutes. The exhilaration and joy of surfing is my new natural high.

  I spot one, advancing closer and hope rises, a determination to hit the wave and clear out the negative energy that’s built up this week. I’m considering moving closer to the beach, and coming here more often. The anxiety is now excitement, the fear: exhilaration.

  I pull myself onto the board, the wax beneath my feet pushing between my toes as I turn the board into the wave, and suddenly, I’m on top of the water. Nature’s energy is beneath my feet, taking me, but not pulling me down. I’m flying above the world, the way I imagined as a child; like a bird riding on the wind. Time washes away, as I escape from reality until the world is just me and the wave.

  Water sprays into my face, as I become one with what I once fought. Finally, I accept the danger of life and chase it. Weightlessness takes over as I speed up and head towards shore. The power of the wave pushes my board and I move across, up and down the face, gaining speed. All my senses belong to nature – the air rushing by, the sound of the wave breaking as water sprays around, and a seagull crying overhead.

  These days, when I swim the deep water it’s to ride above and not to be pulled beneath.

  On the shore, I stand with my board and no other thought than to paddle out again. I know I’ll keep going until my body won’t let me, then go home with muscles aching and exhausted. All I’ll want to do tomorrow is come back.

  I wave to my fellow surfers. I’ve been surfing for a couple of months now and some days I stay and chat, discussing waves and the best places to go, but not today. I’m planning to go further afield, for a weekend with a group soon. Ironic how the girl terrified of water now spends so much of her free time submerged in the world of surfing.

  Today, I see Guy, his tall figure as recognisable as the custom board he once tried to persuade me to use. I know Guy sees me too because he pauses. Since the day we met at the hospital, I’ve thought about him often. The Guy I met that day was different to the one I’d known all along, perhaps because he was the real Guy, not hiding behind exuberance as he tried vainly to keep afloat. I understand that people can become well and change; but I have so many questions unanswered – am I too fragile to risk seeing Guy again or stronger than I think?

  I haven’t spoken to Guy since the meeting last month, and now fate throws us together for a second time. There was always the chance we’d meet and although I spend time craving to share this experience with the man who taught me to let go, I can’t bring myself to forgive him for the betrayal.

  My mind travels in circles in attempts to decipher why he lied and for so long, at how unwell he was, and should I have accepted he can get better? But when somebody tells you they intend to kill themselves in the same breath as telling you he loves you, how could I? My suicidal thoughts were a blip; his was a long-standing plan. How is that easy to let go; for me or for him?

  I wait until Guy is in the water, seeking his own seconds of freedom, and leave.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The winter sun shines through the window, across my desk, and I cradle my cup of mocha as I sort through my morning work emails. Next to me, open to page 14, is a copy of this month’s magazine. Page 14 and 15 are covered by an article. My article. Not about face creams or the latest diets, but about my breakdown and recovery. No, the whole story isn’t there; twenty-one years of my life can’t be condensed into clever copy. My experience is a basis for interviewing other women my age about the pressures of adulthood, a kickback against the selfish Gen Y label.

  If this resonates with one person who then looks for help, rather than find themselves hanging on the edge in a place where there isn’t a Guy with flowers waiting, I’ve succeeded.

  I re-read the article for the tenth time. Similar copy is on the website inviting comments, but the printed copy is physical. In my hand. I reach the end and the final line that chokes me each time. “Don’t wait your whole life for a Prince Charming to bring you a happy ever after, find your own.”

  Does Guy follow the magazine’s website? Has he seen himself in my words? Guy once said he checked out the website, but I could be a painful memory for him too. Erica shared my excitement and people have approached me asking if the story is true – if the man with the flowers exists. I smile and give a vague answer, adding in something about artistic licence.

  Guy. I glance at the date on my desktop. July 8th. Our planned trip to England was due to start this weekend. Last weekend, I opened a drawer and found Guy’s odd sketch, a map of the UK with landmarks artfully doodled, a dotted red line from place to place. I remembered discussions and arguments about where we would go – his desire for history and the country versus mine for the modern, and the compromises we were setting.

  This triggered the ache, the one I submerge the majority of the time. Seeing him at the beach over the weekend, even though we didn’t speak, prompted memories of our conversations

  The knifelike pain to my chest that hit the day Guy sliced me open with his lies lessens, but never stops. If I take away his deception, Guy is the one person in my life who I clicked with. When Guy reached out to the raw Ophelia, he took hold of more than just her heart. Not having to pretend around Guy meant I became the girl who drowned with her family, and lost the shell of a person who survived. Although I can never be Lia again, and never want to be Ophelia, he made it okay to be Phe.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The doors glide closed behind, shutting out the last breath of the Perth winter air. I stand at the edge of the airport terminal and drop my heavy rucksack on the floor. Rubbing my shoulder, I take a deep breath then exhale the doubt. I can do this. I moved across Australia to start a career on my own; a trip to England is nothing. Temporary. Exciting. New experiences th
at I denied myself open to me, a bucket list item ticked.

  A family pushes past, suitcases trundling loudly over the tiled floor as they wrangle two small children. The blonde-haired girl’s wide-eyed awe contrasts with her older brother’s pursed lips. I edge to one side, to avoid being bumped again. The steady stream of arrivals passes by as I remain still and scan the hall for the check-in desk.

  Locating the correct queue, I shuffle my heavy rucksack along the floor. I’m a late arrival, which is unlike me, but I watched the clock at home, as I debated whether to go ahead with this. I’ve long since taken my bucket list from the fridge, but now have the folded paper tucked into a pocket inside the rucksack.

  Unable to forget him and how close we came to reuniting, I almost called Guy to ask if he’d come too. Then I remembered the last time we saw each other, Guy told me he’d given up on his bucket list, which includes our planned trip abroad. Calling Guy and asking him to come would be unfair, pulling him backwards when he’s clearly moved on.

  The girl at the check-in desk takes my ticket and passport as if I have no right to be here, making a loud comment about how check-in was due to close in a minutes time. I smile even though my heart pounds with the fear I might miss the flight.

  I hurry through Security, up the escalator, carrying a small bag with my essentials – phone, book, passport, money. The old Phe with her anxiety over whether I’ve remembered everything resurfaces; but she has her checklist tucked into her bag next to the bucket list.

  Stragglers pass through my plane’s boarding gate, and I sink my shoulders with the relief there isn’t a plane full of people waiting for me. I glance at the screen with boarding times and frown. I’m not as late as the stupid girl on check-in made out.

  The dark-haired man on the gate has a genuine warmth; perhaps he enjoys his job more than the girl downstairs. He takes my boarding pass in manicured fingers; and when he smiles, his dimples kick in another reminder of Guy.

  “I’m not the last then?” I ask, short of breath from my panicked travels through the terminal.

  “Not at all, there’re a few behind you. I hope they leave the bar soon.” He winks at me and I smile back.