Pink Floyd’s “Breathe” comes on the speakers and I hunch over, groaning into my Speights ale. No matter where I go, I can’t escape this fucking band.
He pats me on the back. “But at least this fellow, Nick the Dick, is out of the picture.”
“Yeah but it doesn’t change anything,” I mumble.
Tibald and I are sitting in the Dux Live bar in Christchurch, the one place we’ve been able to meet up. Schnell and Michael are off at some fancy nightclub and Gemma and Amber are off doing their own girly thing. I needed a break from all the tension and was more than happy when they agreed to split for the night.
“Change is relative,” Tibald says. “Use your balls and act on it.”
I roll my eyes. “Tell me, Tibald, are you always spewing advice to people or do you ever get a taste of your own medicine?”
When his features go stony and grave, I feel like I’ve said the wrong thing.
“I did love someone,” he said, his voice flinty. “I was engaged to her. But she left me for my brother.”
I grimace. “Oh, dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
He exhales sharply out of his nose, then shakes his head and smiles. “It’s all right. It was a few years ago. It got me in the best shape of my life, so I can’t regret everything. Everything that happens, I believe, leads us where we need to be.” He finishes his beer and starts toying with the Speights coaster. “I know that sounds cheesy but whatever. It’s my belief and so it’s true.” He fixes his eye on me. “What do you believe, Joshua?”
It’s weird to hear my name like that. It reminds me of my mom. It reminds me that I haven’t talked to her since I left home. I could be a better son, that’s what I believe. A better brother, too. I could be better, full stop.
“I believe,” I say slowly, “that everyone you meet leaves an imprint on you. By the end of your life, that imprint has shaped who you are and what life you’ve lived. So, I guess it’s kind of the same thing.”
“We’re getting awfully deep for a couple of blokes, don’t you think?” he asks with a smile.
“Blokes? You’re really turning into a Kiwi now.”
“So are you, bro. It suits you, makes you sound less like a dumb Canadian.” He places the empty bottle of beer on the table and spins it around. “Look, I figure I’m only a few years older than you and it’s not my place to tell you how to live your life or even prepare for it. But I will say this . . . if you find that person who makes you feel like everything going forward is worth living, hold on to her.”
“Is that what you had?” I ask.
“Yes. It was. And I don’t regret a moment of it, because in the end it was mine and she could never take what I felt away from me. I could turn to anger, and I did, but I had to admit to myself that I loved her because she was worth loving, no matter what happened.”
“And your brother?”
He shrugs. “Brothers are brothers. It’s blood. But it doesn’t mean anything beyond that. Just because I’m bound to him, forged by our parents, doesn’t mean I owe him anything more than a polite smile at family gatherings. My brother is dead to me and I’m sure I’m dead to him, otherwise he never would have slept with her. But that’s the difference that people don’t get about family. They think it’s their right to take them for granted when it’s not. I didn’t choose him, or my parents, and they didn’t choose me. Choice, in the end, is freedom and freedom is everything in life.”
I’m a bit shocked at Tibald’s revelation. From what I knew about him before, he was the fun-loving jokester. But there’s a serious side to him that I didn’t know about. He had been good at hiding it, especially around Schnell and Michael, but around me now, it’s a different story.
I have to wonder about Gemma. What was she hiding from me, Amber, Nick, everyone around her? What she said to me on Key Summit still rang through my ears. That night she was afraid and open and spilling her confessions to me. I took them in like water for a dying man. She was broken and bruised and aching for something she didn’t know.
I had my theories. Selfishly, egotistically, I hoped I could be the one to cure her ache, to make her feel fulfilled. But maybe it would take more than that; maybe she was harboring lost dreams. I saw it a lot, when I used to work at the restaurant. I would take my breaks and eat my hot fudge brownies out on the dining floor and watch the people around me. There were so many of them, young and old, alone and sad, eating to fill the void, being out in the open just to get the comfort of a polite server. It broke my heart, time and time again, to see these lost and lonely people. They seemed to have no one, and if they had someone, they seemed to have nothing to keep their days going. No passion, no dreams. Just a life in the wake of what could have been, discarded attempts at trying to live better.