The Long Distance Playlist

by Tara Eglington

  ‘I’m all in, Issy,’ I say.

  ‘My heart’s all in,’ Is replies, sounding choked up. ‘My head’s just scared.’

  She’s thinking of her parents. Of how things don’t always end in happily ever after.

  We’re both quiet.

  ‘I need to go to bed,’ Issy says. ‘Can we talk tomorrow?’

  ‘’Course we can.’ She’s exhausted, physically and emotionally. Tonight isn’t the time to push her for an answer.

  I don’t want to push her anyway. Both of us have to be all in – head and heart, no hesitation – for this to work.

  ‘I love you, Tay,’ she says.

  ‘I love you too.’

  Isolde

  Saturday 31 August

  As soon as he hangs up, I want to call him back straightaway.

  I want to say, I want to be with you, because I do. But I keep remembering the guilt I felt out in my studio in the weeks leading up to Vi’s wedding. How I could only give so much of myself to my own sister.

  I want to give Tay everything, but I know I’m not going to be able to. I can give him all I can around ballet – following the thing I know is my calling – but deep down, is he going to be happy with that?

  Am I? After all, it’s going to be the same on his side, with snowboarding commitments.

  Can we both live with giving parts, not all?

  I want us to be each other’s champions – unconditionally cheering each other on as we chase our dreams in different places. Come together whenever and however we can, excited and even more in love.

  I know I’d rather have those snippets of time with him, than every day with someone else. But I’m also scared of the inevitable – where loneliness, or jealousy, or frustration gets the better of one of us and we have a fight. We’re both hotheads when we argue. We say stupid things and get riled up, and I’m stubborn, and he is too.

  I’m scared not just of the idea of a breakup, or the pain of having my heart broken, but the risk that we might lose our friendship too.

  SEPTEMBER

  Taylor

  Sunday 1 September

  I’m trying not to feel scared, even though when I wake up, that conversation with Natalia, the one where she ended things over the phone, is thumping in my ears.

  It’s an old bruise, and it still hurts when my mind presses down on it. The hurt isn’t losing Natalia, of course. It’s the memory of the rejection. The fear that the same thing is going to happen to me again.

  My head knows it’s a good thing that Isolde’s thinking everything over carefully. It’s the smart thing to do.

  Natalia had given me a quick answer, the one I was desperate to hear. And look how that worked out.

  Isolde

  Sunday 1 September

  Mum, Vi and I spent most of today clearing out one of the spare rooms. Putting dress-up outfits – princess and pirate costumes that Vi and I used to play pretend in – in boxes for charity, and sorting through old books and belongings, trying to work out what we want to keep. After all, once the house is sold, and Mum and Dad have downsized to their own apartments, there will be a lot less space for things.

  Late in the afternoon, we find Mum’s ancient folders, the ones with the press clippings of Atoms from Galaxies.

  ‘Fangirl much?’ Vi says as she flicks through poster after poster of the band. She unfolds one and groans. ‘The hair!’

  ‘The bandanas are worse,’ I say, shaking my head. I take a photo of the poster to send to Tay later. He’ll totally give his dad grief about that outfit.

  Vi unfolds another poster. Tobi and Jose have their shirts off in this one.

  ‘So that’s what you saw in Tobi, hey, Mum?’ Vi lets out a wolf-whistle before she and I start spluttering with laughter. ‘Not bad.’

  Mum’s shaking her head at us, but she’s laughing too. ‘I’ll have to post these to Tobi.’

  She hands us a box to put the posters and clippings in. Vi and I keep giggling over nineties style, as Mum starts to sift through a stack of photos, all taken back in the band days.

  Vi’s phone chimes. ‘The girls are here,’ she says, getting up.

  She’s off to dinner with some high school besties tonight. While Vi and Mum head downstairs to greet Vi’s friends, I finish packing up the clippings, and then I start looking through the photos Mum’s left on the floor.

  It’s always a shock to see her that young. To remember that once upon a time, she wasn’t Mum – she was just Louise. The girl in the photos with the long dark hair, lying on the floor of the band’s apartment, surrounded by pieces of paper, scrawling down lyrics as Tobi came up with them. Tobi isn’t looking at the camera in most of the shots – instead, his head is bent in concentration over the guitar, his floppy nineties- style hair hiding his eyes.

  In one of the photos, Mum’s head is right next to his and she has a lyric sheet in her hands. She’s completely focused on the paper, her brow crinkled with concentration, and you can see there’s a question on her lips. But Tobi’s not looking at the paper at all – he’s looking at her profile, and he’s wearing this half-smile like someone’s told him a wonderful secret. The fingers of his right hand are in her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear, for eternity.

  I put the photo back down as Mum comes into the room.

  ‘I’ve been doing some thinking,’ Mum says as she sits back down next to me on the carpet. ‘How would you feel if we went to Melbourne together – rented an apartment near school – instead of you boarding?’

  ‘What about your job?’ I say, confused. Her company doesn’t have a Melbourne office, and I know she’s not able to work remotely – that was why I’d never been allowed to audition when I was younger.

  ‘I can find another job,’ Mum says. ‘I’d like to be there to support you with what you’re doing, honey. Plus, it would be nice for us to try out a new city together. Make new memories.’

  I think of Sydney – how so many of the beaches, cafés and roads, not just in Mosman but all over the North Shore and the city itself, have imprints of our family all over them, like footprints left in wet cement.

  Melbourne doesn’t have that.

  ‘I like that idea,’ I say to Mum as I hug her.

  I’m still processing so many emotions around Mum and Dad’s separation. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to feel okay about what’s happened – or if I ever will, entirely. Maybe I’ll never stop missing my family – the four of us together – and wishing things could have stayed that way.

  I know it’s not easy for Mum either. We’re both trying to transition from our old lives into something new. So I’m glad I’ll have her with me in Melbourne. Being together helps make what we’re going through a little less scary.

  ‘Mum,’ I say as she pauses, looking down at the photo on the top of the pile, the one where Tobi’s touching her hair. ‘Why did you and Tobi break up?’

  I’ve never asked her the question – not properly. Whenever the split would come up in conversation, Mum or Tobi would usually say, ‘Oh, we were just silly kids back then.’

  She pauses for a second, before she looks up from the photo. ‘I got scared, I guess. When Tobi and I got engaged, I thought that meant he’d stop touring so much. Things were different back then, compared to how they are now – we didn’t have mobile phones or email. It wasn’t instant communication. He had to call me from payphones and send letters, and that was . . . it was really hard when you love someone that much.’

  I nod, thinking of the conversation Taylor and I had last night.

  ‘Tobi had assumed that I’d come on tour with him, especially as the band was becoming really popular overseas. But I wanted to finish my degree. I didn’t want to be the girl hanging around backstage all the time. I’d done quite a bit of that over the years. It’s not easy. So, a couple of weeks after the engagement, when I found out Tobi and the band had agreed to do a three-month European tour, I got really scared. Scared that he didn’t love me enough. That if he
really wanted to be with me, he would choose me, not the band. I basically . . . convinced myself it was never going to work. We had a huge fight on the phone, and at the end of the call, I told Tobi we were over,’ Mum says. ‘I pretended I was fine afterwards – I kept going to uni, graduated with top marks – but I’d broken my own heart, of course.’

  Mum and I are both quiet for a minute.

  ‘Anyway, that was a long time ago,’ Mum says, standing up. ‘And Tobi and I stayed friends. That’s the important part in the end.’

  I nod.

  As Mum carries a box of clippings out of the room, I look down again at the photo of her and Tobi, sitting on the floor of his flat all those years ago. Her dark hair, just like mine, and his smile, the same as Taylor’s.

  Isolde

  Monday 2 September

  I sent two things this morning.

  The first was a letter. The National Ballet School enrolment form – with a tick in the box next to: I formally accept my place.

  The second was a playlist, emailed to Taylor.

  From: IsoldeByrne@hotmail.com

  To: taylor_hellemann@gmail.com

  Sent: Monday 2 September, 7:39am

  Subject: Playlist

  The other night, you told me you were all in.

  I am too.

  This playlist says it all, Tay . . .

  Long Distance

  Something Just Like This The Chainsmokers & Coldplay

  Youth Troye Sivan

  I Like Me Better Lauv

  Under the Lights CLNGR

  Dive Deep Andrew Belle

  Undertow (Alternate Version) Panama

  No Ocean EXES & Jome

  A Place We Knew Dean Lewis

  Meet Me There Harrison Storm

  Adore Dean Lewis

  Miles Apart Nick Wilson

  Wonderwall Ryan Adams

  Taylor

  Tuesday 10 September

  Today, in my session, Claire handed me an ‘identify your feelings in the past year’ worksheet. There were about forty ‘feelings’ boxes. I was supposed to draw a circle around the ones that I’d experienced in the last twelve months.

  I drew a circle around the entire table because that’s the truth. In 365 days, I’ve felt anxious. Angry. Insecure. Embarrassed. Sad. Scared. But I’ve also felt happy. Hopeful. Exhilarated. Proud. Loved. Euphoria’s even swung by a few times to say hello, which was the last thing I was expecting this time last year.

  I know the point of the worksheet was to reflect on where I’m at these days. More specifically, where I’m at in terms of my ‘adjustment’ to the amputation.

  I don’t think you can ever say you’re completely ‘adjusted’ to something or not. It’s not finite like that.

  My life changed the night of the accident. That’s a reality. I lost my leg. I almost lost my life too. And two years on from that experience, I know I’m striding two lines – the before and the after – and there are a lot of different emotions in the middle.

  I have days where I miss my leg. Where I still feel massive grief over losing a part of my body. Where I’m in pain from a blister on my stump, or have horribly tight hip flexors, or lower back pain, the kind of issues you get now and then from using a prosthesis – and I feel angry because it seems unfair that I have to deal with things that the average person has no clue about.

  I still have days where I’m self-conscious. Where I’m pissed off about the people who take one look at me and dub me ‘other’. Where I can feel myself raging against their assumptions about who I am and what I’m capable of.

  I’m nervous about certain things that I’m still yet to tackle from Claire’s Gradual Exposure list.

  Even though Issy’s seen me without my prosthesis on, there are other things she hasn’t seen. My stump, bare of any sock. The scars there and the redness. The way that part of me is slim, not muscular like the rest of my body. I’m scared of her seeing it. Touching it. Feeling that kind of vulnerability with someone.

  Step fifteen.

  And then I remember the way she’d looked at me that morning at the gear shop up at Cardrona, when my prosthesis had been on the floor. The way she’d always looked at me. Like I was Taylor, still Taylor, always Taylor, to her.

  I keep that in my mind when I think about the steps I haven’t reached yet.

  I have brilliant days too. Days where I realise I live in the most beautiful place I know, with a mum and dad who are the bomb. I have a best friend who makes me laugh till my stomach stitches up, and a girlfriend whom I love so much it hurts sometimes, who looks at me like I’m everything she ever wanted.

  Most often lately, there are the days I wake up and sit on the edge of my bed and put on my prosthesis. I walk out the door, get in my car and meet Liam down at the gym. We do kettlebell swings and floor presses. Barbell deadlifts and box jumps. All the exercises boarders need to do for strength and stability, agility and speed.

  I love that every week, I can lift more weight than the one before. Do more reps of the box jumps. Jog for longer on the treadmill. It’s all stuff that was out of my comfort zone not long ago.

  And then later in the morning, Liam and I head up to Cardrona, and I do the thing I love the most.

  I board. I carve down slopes, flirting with the line between speed and safety. I do it again and again and again. And every so often, I find myself in a moment where it all connects. Where my body and mind go into a space where everything feels easy, and each move flows naturally onto the next. Time evaporates, and it’s just me and the mountain.

  It’s the greatest high of all.

  Days like this, I know I want to keep pushing the limits of what my body can do. What I thought I could do once. What I think I can do now.

  I want to keep surprising myself.

  After all, that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?

  Isolde

  Friday 13 September

  I know people are going to think we’re naive. Two teenagers thinking we can take on distance like this and win.

  I know two things:

  1) We’ve succeeded before as friends.

  2) I don’t want to make a choice out of fear and look back forever, wondering ‘what if?’. Like with the audition, if I don’t try, I’ll never know where I might wind up.

  I gave my copy of The Red Shoes to St Vinnies the other day.

  The thing I’ve learned this year is that I dance better when ballet isn’t the only thing in my life. When my art has its rightful place in amongst the other things I love too – my family, my friendships, my relationships. When ballet is a part, not a whole, then dancing becomes a celebration of life.

  That doesn’t mean I’m not dedicated. It means I have balance.

  I love Taylor. And I love dance too.

  I’m not going to accept that I only get one or the other.

  I want to fight for more.

  Taylor

  Friday 13 September

  Tomorrow I’m competing for the first time in over two years. I don’t know what’s going to happen. How I’m going to go this weekend up against the other riders. Where I’m going to place in Snowboard Cross, which is a completely new discipline for me.

  But I’m excited to stand up at the gates again. Hear the buzz of the start signal and throw down on the course. Feel the exhilaration of pitting myself against the run and hear the screams from the crowd ringing in my ears as I fly by them. And as I cross the finish line, I know I’m going to see Mum and Dad, Finn, and Issy too, behind the rope, cheering for me.

  All of that is certain. The rest – the result, the placing – I don’t know.

  I don’t know what’s going to happen with Is and me either. I want us to last. But maybe we won’t. Maybe we’ll burn out in a wreck of fiery heartbreak. Or wind up just friends again, like my dad and her mum.

  The future is unwritten.

  I don’t believe in ‘reasons’ for things that happen to you.

  All I know is there are no guarantees. Anyth
ing could change at any moment.

  The way I want to live is to grab on tight to the people that I love and things I love doing. I want to squeeze every bit of joy out of every moment that I have with them.

  What will come will come. It’s how you live in the meantime that counts.

  As of right now, Issy’s plane is somewhere over the Tasman, making its way here to Queenstown, and every single molecule of me is buzzing with anticipation.

  Right now, I love her and she loves me and the rest is unknown.

  I can live with that.

  Acknowledgements

  The initial spark of inspiration for this book began in 1999(!), when I was fifteen years old. It feels rather surreal, and very special, twenty years on, to finally be sharing this story with readers.

  My first thank you must go to Lisa Berryman, my publisher from HarperCollins Australia. Lisa, I feel very lucky to have had you by my side during my publishing journey – from signing my very first book in 2011, to the release of this one, my fourth! Thank you for your enthusiasm for this story, right from its initial pitch in 2016. Thank you for recognising the heart of it, and for helping me to carve away the excess to find that sharper, stronger story. Thank you for all your kindness, encouragement, guidance and wisdom, and for championing my work, always. You are wonderful.

  Alexandra Nahlous – this was our first experience of working together. Lisa had told me how amazing you were, and of course, she was right! Thank you for the sensitive, thoughtful and intuitive edit of this novel. I was honestly blown away by your careful and beautiful approach, and how you intrinsically recognised the story I wanted to write. Thank you for making my writing, and this book, better.

  Kate Burnitt – thank you for the care you always take with my work, to ensure it is in the best shape it can possibly be. Your exceptional eye never fails to pick up on the finer details, and I’m immensely grateful to have such a talented senior editor looking after my books! I look forward to working with you again in the future.