Buried Memories
Chapter 1
Raindrops beat a tempo on the frigid glass as I sat marooned indoors, restless and uneasy. I wasn’t just bored -I knew that much- but I had no focus. I couldn’t write. Palm to forehead, I massaged another headache and downed another sizzling glass of aspirin. It had been like this for weeks. Somewhere along the line, I had lost my inspiration, and ceased to pen another word. I had stayed awake for frustrating days and now I had insomnia- it figured. In almost total awareness, I had plunged into a hopeless, ever-vigilant depression, where I was always awake and lost; attempting insensibilities whilst waiting for that blessed spark to return.
Friends had suggested countless solutions: I should get out of the house, but to go where? It was Canberra- there was nothing worth seeing here unless you liked sheep and politicians. Perhaps a road trip would help, then? Yeah, if my car wasn’t a sardine can, maybe… I could find solace in nothing. Eventually, anyone who might have taken an interest in me gave up. My friends all learned to leave me alone, or perhaps they just grew rightfully tired of my insolence. Either way, I had cut myself off.
My world grew emptier by the day. Even my job couldn’t save me from being unindustrious. I held a menial position with a telecommunications giant. Essentially I did nothing there except take my leave of a day for Starbucks, from whence I could survey the winter cityscape through a caffeine mist, more alone with my thoughts than ever.
I had become a zombie; just another heartless player in the rat race. I went to work each day for cash- simple money to tide me over while I waited for my agent to push through another novel deal- a proposition for a book I could not write. I couldn't sleep at all by then, let alone recall the last thought or daydream I had had beyond my office. I was a dried-up husk, a shadow in a three-dimensional world.
And sometimes, between the third and fourth double-espresso of a mid-afternoon, I would wonder what went wrong. I had had it all- a brilliant career, a loving girlfriend, my friends and a healthy social life, my own humble castle, a relentless flow of ideas, each one a page-turning winner… And somehow, laughing along the road of my success, I never saw that I was setting myself up to fail. I had no next step, no ideas or inspiration left.
Next, I lost my job. I don’t know how I didn’t see it coming. I had been so blind. I didn’t know what to think, or what to do. Something deeper had been troubling me for a long time.
I swallowed the last of my aspirin, and shuddered at the bitter aftertaste.
“Tom…”
“Hmmm… What?” I turned around. Natalie stood slouched in the doorway, hugging a dressing gown for warmth. She looked delicate in its generous folds; fragile, demure and weary. Her frown was something between disapproval and concern.
“It’s 2am. Are you just going to stay up all night drinking aspirin again? Honestly, you can’t keep doing this.”
“I can’t sleep,” I muttered simply. Talking was an effort, and it made my headache worse.
The light from the next room stung my eyes. “You could have warned me…”
She sighed. It was a pretty sigh, albeit exasperated. “Why don’t you just go back, then?”
“Huh?”
“Back home, if that’s what’s keeping you awake at night.”
The weight of those words hit me like a rock. For the past six years I had lived in denial of the fact that I'd even had a childhood, and yet, I had told no-one. There was no way Natalie could possbily know.
“What do you mean?” I demanded, then added hastily, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I’m just… very tired.”
“It’s okay, Tom. You talk about it in your sleep, you know. In what little sleep you get, I mean.”
She dimmed the light, and I felt a fluffy shoulder nestle into my back, her white arms around my neck. For some reason, all the hairs there stood on end, and I flinched against her touch. Go back to my hometown? What did that have to do with anything?
I must have murmered something then, because, "Is something wrong?" She asked.
“It’s nothing,” I muttered. “I just don’t want to."
She leaned in closer, trying to hold me reassuringly. "What happened there? You never talk about it."
I shook my head. "No. Go back to bed; I don’t want to keep you up again.”
There was a rustle as she rose, and a light hand on my shoulder. “Are you coming?”
I closed my eyes, just briefly. I was tired, very tired. The grain of the tabletop seemed to swim in front of me. “Sure.”
I made to get up, grappling with the edge of the doorway as my legs fumbled my weight. What had I said that she would suggest I go back to Queanbeyan? I had left it so long ago; I didn’t even have any ties there anymore. My parents were dead, my friends had all moved out. There would be new roads, new suburbs, and new people. I didn’t know anybody or anything, and no-one knew me. There probably wasn’t even a single trace of my existence there, unless… The house was still out there.
But no, she couldn’t know. Natalie couldn’t know about that.
How could she tell, how could I possibly have mentioned, even in a restless dream, something I had convinced myself to forget, pushing it out of my life until this very moment forced me to remember? But none of this even mattered. That wasn't a part of me anymore. It was in the past. I rubbed the back of my neck and felt the rings under my eyes... I was very tired.
Friends had suggested countless solutions: I should get out of the house, but to go where? It was Canberra- there was nothing worth seeing here unless you liked sheep and politicians. Perhaps a road trip would help, then? Yeah, if my car wasn’t a sardine can, maybe… I could find solace in nothing. Eventually, anyone who might have taken an interest in me gave up. My friends all learned to leave me alone, or perhaps they just grew rightfully tired of my insolence. Either way, I had cut myself off.
My world grew emptier by the day. Even my job couldn’t save me from being unindustrious. I held a menial position with a telecommunications giant. Essentially I did nothing there except take my leave of a day for Starbucks, from whence I could survey the winter cityscape through a caffeine mist, more alone with my thoughts than ever.
I had become a zombie; just another heartless player in the rat race. I went to work each day for cash- simple money to tide me over while I waited for my agent to push through another novel deal- a proposition for a book I could not write. I couldn't sleep at all by then, let alone recall the last thought or daydream I had had beyond my office. I was a dried-up husk, a shadow in a three-dimensional world.
And sometimes, between the third and fourth double-espresso of a mid-afternoon, I would wonder what went wrong. I had had it all- a brilliant career, a loving girlfriend, my friends and a healthy social life, my own humble castle, a relentless flow of ideas, each one a page-turning winner… And somehow, laughing along the road of my success, I never saw that I was setting myself up to fail. I had no next step, no ideas or inspiration left.
Next, I lost my job. I don’t know how I didn’t see it coming. I had been so blind. I didn’t know what to think, or what to do. Something deeper had been troubling me for a long time.
I swallowed the last of my aspirin, and shuddered at the bitter aftertaste.
“Tom…”
“Hmmm… What?” I turned around. Natalie stood slouched in the doorway, hugging a dressing gown for warmth. She looked delicate in its generous folds; fragile, demure and weary. Her frown was something between disapproval and concern.
“It’s 2am. Are you just going to stay up all night drinking aspirin again? Honestly, you can’t keep doing this.”
“I can’t sleep,” I muttered simply. Talking was an effort, and it made my headache worse.
The light from the next room stung my eyes. “You could have warned me…”
She sighed. It was a pretty sigh, albeit exasperated. “Why don’t you just go back, then?”
“Huh?”
“Back home, if that’s what’s keeping you awake at night.”
The weight of those words hit me like a rock. For the past six years I had lived in denial of the fact that I'd even had a childhood, and yet, I had told no-one. There was no way Natalie could possbily know.
“What do you mean?” I demanded, then added hastily, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I’m just… very tired.”
“It’s okay, Tom. You talk about it in your sleep, you know. In what little sleep you get, I mean.”
She dimmed the light, and I felt a fluffy shoulder nestle into my back, her white arms around my neck. For some reason, all the hairs there stood on end, and I flinched against her touch. Go back to my hometown? What did that have to do with anything?
I must have murmered something then, because, "Is something wrong?" She asked.
“It’s nothing,” I muttered. “I just don’t want to."
She leaned in closer, trying to hold me reassuringly. "What happened there? You never talk about it."
I shook my head. "No. Go back to bed; I don’t want to keep you up again.”
There was a rustle as she rose, and a light hand on my shoulder. “Are you coming?”
I closed my eyes, just briefly. I was tired, very tired. The grain of the tabletop seemed to swim in front of me. “Sure.”
I made to get up, grappling with the edge of the doorway as my legs fumbled my weight. What had I said that she would suggest I go back to Queanbeyan? I had left it so long ago; I didn’t even have any ties there anymore. My parents were dead, my friends had all moved out. There would be new roads, new suburbs, and new people. I didn’t know anybody or anything, and no-one knew me. There probably wasn’t even a single trace of my existence there, unless… The house was still out there.
But no, she couldn’t know. Natalie couldn’t know about that.
How could she tell, how could I possibly have mentioned, even in a restless dream, something I had convinced myself to forget, pushing it out of my life until this very moment forced me to remember? But none of this even mattered. That wasn't a part of me anymore. It was in the past. I rubbed the back of my neck and felt the rings under my eyes... I was very tired.