Like Water Like Sea, page 21
‘Can I ask you something?’ I said.
He stopped and pushed the laptop back.
‘If you have to ask, I’m worried,’ he said.
‘I’ve learnt.’
‘Okay,’ he answered. He was looking past me, into the hallway.
‘Two questions, really,’ I said.
‘Okay,’ he replied. His voice was flat.
‘Johari is dead for so long. Do you ever feel it to be surreal? Because she is longer dead than she was alive?’
Melvin dropped his head backwards while he exhaled slowly. He stared at the ceiling.
‘I know what you mean. I’m so different now. Would she even like me? Would we be friends?’ He asked me back.
‘You two? You would always be in each other’s lives. I’m sure of it.’ I had jumped in because it was what I believed. If Melvin and Johari were not friends, the world would have to stop spinning. There were universal truths that could not be changed.
‘You know, the reason I think so is because you were more doing friends than talking.’
‘What do you mean,’ he asked.
‘You did stuff. You showed up for each other. You were by each other’s side. You didn’t talk everything through. Like your physical presence was the talking.’
‘But we hadn’t done that for a while,’ he said.
‘Yes you did! Just not the same way you do it when you are fourteen and there is absolutely nothing else going on in your life. As soon as one needed the other, you turned up.’
He had to think about it and he finally faced me, waiting for what else I had to say.
‘What I wanted to ask… do you think she would have not done it if she…’ I was looking for the words now. ’...if she understood… I mean knew… how much Mum really knows about life? If she could have seen that in the end Mum still gave us all we needed?’
Melvin pulled himself up on the couch and sat next to me.
‘I don’t know what makes someone take their own life. I think it is about how much you can bear in the moment. I think it was hard for you. And for her, living with your Mum. It wasn’t easy when she saw her being sectioned. The times she was away.’
‘I know.’
It hurt to admit that. It wouldn’t have changed. The experiences were hard and she had been scared of her own hard life.
‘You know she felt sorry for Mum.’
‘She did?’ Melvin asked.
‘Yes. She said to me that Mum had to take medication for the rest of her life and she will still end up drawing attention to herself, annoying people.’
‘As you said, we didn’t always speak with that many words.’
‘She hated Mum’s manic episodes. And I think she hated thinking that she could be like her, that people could look at her the same way.’
We both got lost in our thoughts.
‘Was that all you wanted to ask? I’m not finished talking about her, I’m just wondering.’
This one required courage. I wanted to make good and be truthful. I was grown. Almost forty. Johari hadn’t reached that milestone. I didn’t feel like I was tripping behind her like I had ten years earlier. I was the only one of us two still making this journey.
‘Also Mum has levelled out. Getting older helped her. The mania can’t sustain itself in the same ways anymore.’
‘Yes, she mentioned something similar to me a while back,’ he replied.
‘I did want to know.’
‘What?’
‘Even ten years ago I wanted to know. I was mean but I also wanted to know.’
‘What Nia?’ Melvin looked alarmed now.
‘Do you feel it? Having lost your twin at birth? Do you feel like a piece of you is missing?’
‘Do you feel like a piece of you is missing because of Johari?’
‘Yes and no. Yes, absolutely, and no, because I don’t know who she would be now. I can’t imagine it.’
Melvin got up and walked to the window. He put his head on the glass and traced a pattern with his finger.
‘I do feel something is missing. That I should have been part of something different and here I am stumbling along trying to find my way when what I am looking for died in my mother’s womb.’
‘How did your mother take it?’
‘She is still depressed. She just doesn’t admit it. She was great, attentive, present, stable in all the ways you didn’t always have with SuSu. But I felt there was a part that I could not reach, and never will. And I feel guilty. I am the one who is here, my twin sister is not. She must have been the better version. If someone doesn’t live to fuck up they become a saint. How do you live in the shadow of a saint? Guilty that if you hadn’t been so eager to survive she might have?’
‘That guilt, right? It’s the worst.’
I got up and walked towards him. I put my head on the other side of the window.
‘I was wrong, ten years ago. But I did want to know. Deep down I think I know this kind of guilt.’
I lifted my head again. ‘It’s bloody cold on this damn window.’
He was amused. ‘I wanted to show my emotions.’
‘You could dance.’
And we burst out laughing. Melvin stepped closer and hugged me. ‘How to live in the shadows? Of a person, of a tragedy, of circumstances that don’t entirely make sense?’
‘Any answers,’ I muffled into his jumper.
‘You dance. Tension and release.’
I boxed him. ‘Come on, I mean it.’
‘Me too,’ he replied. ‘Seriously, you go all in, and then you let go.’
12.
The Swimmer
Crystal stayed. I wanted her to. It was nice having her around. She tried to be a domestic goddess for the duration of her stay and I tried to be appreciative of all her creations. The recipes she followed on YouTube, the table decorations, the homemade room scents in the living room, even the bath bombs she made with things bought online. Rahul kept calling. I only picked up the first couple of times and said, ‘No news, I’m afraid.’ The next time I saw his name on the phone display, I rejected the call and messaged him instead. This is between you. You need to leave me out of it. It was another way of saying I had made my choice. I was going to take sides. He should have known that. I wanted to say much more, things like how dare he reach out to me to help him, but despite having no respect for him I wasn’t going to kick him while he was hurting.
Four weeks after starting to sleep on my couch Crystal resigned from her position with Project Guardian.
‘I need a fresh start. I can’t tell you exactly what but it feels good. Everything feels really right.’
I nodded and smiled, tucking into the vegan millet cakes with carrot and spinach that she was trying out that day. Seeing someone transform in front of your eyes, not knowing how they would come out and whether you would still recognise them was a privilege. What would stick? Who would this new version of Crystal be? What recipes would I be eating a year from now? When I spoke to Dom, he asked me whether I was scared I wouldn’t like the new Crystal. It had me burst out in laughter.
‘I’m not sure it’s about liking.’ In a more serious tone I continued, ‘It’s more allowing, don’t you think? Crystal is having a do-over. Who am I to throw my fear into the mix?’
Dom was impressed. ‘Very wise words,’ he said.
He had started calling me after the party in the new flat which we now called The Ultimatum. The last gathering before the breakdown. When the illusion of the happy couple and being friends with both without complications was still intact. The time things could have gone either way: driving off into the sunset, also known as disappearing into the domestic bliss Rahul and Crystal seemed to have conjured with their flat, or the other version, which was the one that life had thrown at them, the dissolution of that image. Henceforth there were sides to take, decisions to make, parties that required delicate handling of invitations lest they’d be even more awkward than at The Ultimatum. Although of course it was a little easier than that. Most friends followed back in line where they had always been, either Rahul’s or Crystal’s corner. The first time we spoke, Dom apologised. He said he woke up with a headache and not because of any drinking but because he had dreamt of Rahul. He didn’t understand it. He asked me what it was with Crystal, Rahul and me. I answered it wasn’t anything but Rahul wanted to make it something. He wanted some significance that wasn’t there. I forgave Dom, I couldn’t even see what there was to forgive. He had watched something he didn’t understand and wasn’t part of.
I didn’t think I had great insight, not in the way he implied. I enjoyed my friend. Maybe I had learned from Mum, from the week of cracking open while she quietly encouraged me. What greater gift than allowing someone to fall apart, completely and on their own terms. Sometimes you just stayed, or let them stay. You didn’t project your own ideas onto them but you enjoyed the fact that you were seeing them. Even if what you saw was difficult, uncomfortable, not to your taste. That was the love.
It took six weeks for Crystal to go out to more than just the local grocery stores. She arranged to have her things moved from Rahul’s to her aunt’s. They had talked and Rahul decided he was not going to keep the flat. It was too expensive by himself but really it was the debris he could not carry, the aftertaste of their shattered hopes. He had found somewhere he could move in straight away. Their conversations were short, Crystal kept it that way.
‘I need my space now, Nia. So many things are clearer. Things weren’t good for a long time. Not in the way I pretended they were.’
I didn’t agree outright. There was a phase that kicked in after a break-up, where it all made sense. Everything before became funnelled into the logical and unmovable truth that was separation.
As if there had been an undertow, suction even, and there had never been the slightest bit of opportunity for it to end up differently. I couldn’t agree with Crystal. I thought she wouldn’t have left if not for Rahul wanting a particular kind of outward expression of their relationship. I was still surprised that that was the reason she was suddenly so allergic to him.
The evening Crystal moved her last things out of their flat, I met up with Be. They had texted a couple of times but a family emergency had called them away to Leeds. Finally I was sitting across from them, in a quiet restaurant that served only five dishes. I was too nervous to eat and ordered a salad. Be tucked into a vegetable kebab that came in a size suitable for a small family.
‘How’s your flat? Everything in its right place?’ I teased. ‘I imagine all the excess thrown off a cliff, or responsibly donated slash recycled?’
I had wanted to go to theirs. Of course I couldn’t just ask, ‘Let’s arrange at your flat, shall we?’
Be wanted to meet after work and suggested the small place. It reminded me of Crystal. How their friendship had developed when meeting during or just after work.
‘You know, most of it is actually gone,’ Be said. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
Be laughed. ‘I decided to go minimalist. The things I want are mostly hidden away. For instance my books. You can’t see them anymore. I made a shelf that is hidden. It looks like a painted wood covering for the wall. Most of my things are stored away like this now. It’s as clean and sparse as I could manage to keep it.’
‘Wow, that’s a surprise,’ I replied.
It made my cheeks burn. ‘In general, I mean. I don’t know you enough… Is this something you aspire to? Being minimalist?’ I continued.
Be went on to speak about how they were fed up with stuff. All the items that took up space or time. They wanted a clean canvas every day. I felt we’d had part of that conversation the last time we saw each other. I wanted to know how they filled their imagination, their life. How did they decide what to bring in, what to leave out? I was too shy to ask and listened with my face in my hand as if I was totally absorbed by their words. They were talking about their family in Leeds. Their grandfather who’d had a fall and whom they were staying with for a couple of weeks to help around the house. I drifted off watching them. It was warm between us. They liked me, that much was clear. But what kind of liking was it? How was I going to find out? I didn’t think I could muster the courage to say anything, or even try anything. Their hands fanned out when they spoke. Mapping the scene in the air. The way their grandfather had fallen twice more when they were there. Once dangerously close to the stairs. I could almost see the top step Be was describing. How the carpet was threadbare and without grip. How easy it was to slip. How they had run up from the kitchen from where they had heard him shout. Be’s hand moved again and my eyes followed.
When the grandfather was back on steady ground, in their telling, I asked whether they had heard about the break-up yet. Crystal and Rahul. They had.
‘She is at yours, Crystal said,’ they continued.
‘Only because she wants to be. And I like it. She has a more permanent place at her aunt’s.’
‘Okay,’ they responded.
‘You should come for dinner some time. I’m not sure how long Crystal is planning to stay but I’ll ask her. She is in a trying out lots of new recipes phase. To my own benefit, I have to confess.’
Be laughed. ‘Sounds like a plan. Do you want to check with her and suggest some dates?’
It had felt like the best way to get us into a private space. Now I wasn’t sure what I had achieved. It sounded like we were going to end this dinner soon and then I’d be meeting Be with Crystal, who had known them for much longer.
‘Perhaps we can also do our walk? In nature? My Mum gets a lot out of it,’ I continued.
‘Do you go with her?’ Be asked.
Be was looking around with their arm in the air already, waiting to signal to the server.
‘Not really. She has a friend… a much younger friend. They are both bipolar and support each other. Hiking, spending time in woods… that has become their sanctuary.’
I hadn’t meant to say that much. I didn’t speak about Mum with new people. What was there to say? I couldn’t explain it. Unless they knew people who had bipolar disorder themselves it became this abstract notion. Especially for those who met Mum and were taken by her. She was open, outgoing, and interested. Meeting her was always a highlight for my friends.
‘That is your mother?’ I had heard a few times. ‘You’re so lucky. Mine is not really that concerned with what my friends think or do. She’ll be nice but she wouldn’t be as engaged as yours.’
It was true. I could bring anyone home and she’d talk to them like they were old friends. I didn’t say that sometimes it was sharing too much, the conversations were too open, where the line blurred between parent and child. Once she had been at mine at the beginning of a birthday get-together I was hosting. She was supposed to leave beforehand but when the first people arrived she stayed in the kitchen while a couple of people organised food and drinks. In the middle of the commotion a new arrival introduced herself and asked her how she was. It was a polite greeting, something you did when you met a friend’s mother for the first time. Mum answered, ‘It’s shit in depression.’
It was the voice that brought all action to halt. As if it was coming from the bottom of a well, cold and dark and unreachable. My friend came to me for help.
‘Did I do anything?’ she asked.
‘No. Nothing to do with you,’ I replied.
Mum stayed for dinner and sat in her chair with slumped shoulders, her body withdrawn, while we felt terrible for being merry. She told anyone who engaged her about the way the darkness felt. It was awkward. This chafing of emotional states. How did you bring them together to exist alongside? How could I claim my own life still, not responsible for her even when she was clawing on to me for help. At the end of the evening another friend took her home.
‘That sounds great,’ Be interrupted my thoughts.
‘What? Bipolar?’
While I was lost in thoughts, Be had paid.
‘No! Shall we walk for a bit?’ they said.
I pulled out my wallet but Be waved it off.
‘You can make sure I get an invite to Crystal’s new home restaurant. You can buy the ingredients.’
We walked out and Be unlocked their bike. We decided we would walk to mine, so they knew where to come to for the dinner Crystal was going to prepare without knowing about it yet.
‘How long has she been ill? Is it like that, I mean did it change one day or was it always part of your life too? Am I making any sense?’
They were spot on and I said that much.
‘She says it changed for her during her first pregnancy. But my first years were blissful. Mum had all these ideas about parenting, she was really big on including us.’
‘Siblings?’ Be asked.
‘A sister,’ I said.
I didn’t want to say more. My body must have given it away. Be hesitated, the words already on their way out of their mouth, then left to dissipate in the air.
‘We were allowed to have a lot of opinions. Make decisions. My father wasn’t always in favour of so much freedom. He wanted clearer rules,’ I explained.
‘It changed at one point?’
‘It did. I’m only understanding some of it now.’
We had arrived at mine and I pointed to the window that was dark. Crystal must have been out or sleeping. We stood without saying anything. I wasn’t ready to keep talking about Mum. Not with Be, not right now. Be opened their arms and I leaned in. We held the embrace for a while.
‘I’ll let you know what she says,’ I said.
‘Yes, please. And I’ll text you some dates for lying under a tree?’
I laughed. ‘I would love that.’
Be cycled off and I opened the front door. Crystal wasn’t in. There was a note on the living-room table.
My aunt is in town. Having dinner with her today. Don’t wait up in case I stay over.
I had asked Mum how she thought her mental health evolved over her lifetime. She talked to me about Yameena. That trip, the one she didn’t like to talk about because it was both the beginning of our family and an ending to other things. It changed her and Dad, they never recovered the carefree way they had been with each other before. It might have not been the trip alone; it was the finding out about her pregnancy and then having to go to the airport straight after. The being pregnant while thinking about death and violence. There was no separation between them and their growing responsibility as parents and their growing responsibility after becoming witnesses in Gaza.
