You were supposed to turn 56 today.
But you didn't.
Regardless, happy birthday to you, my friend.
You missed this birthday by around ten months, stupid arse. I'm still a bit mad at you, not that I've ever been able to stay angry at you. You can't help that you died. You were one of the few people I'd let gently mansplain to me. I'm not sure if you saw my eyes rolling, and you were never too condescending, but you did mansplain... I think you know that.
I'm not speaking ill of the dead. It was part of your charm, along with your dodgy dance moves, and floppy, curly hair that went against every corporate dress policy, your band t-shirts, your love of life and your more melancholy and thoughtful moments. Everybody has some give and take. You were definitely lots of give.
You're not here to wish a happy birthday to. Your spirit has mostly moved on from Darwin. I know this. That first trip up after you passed, you came to visit. You came and sat by my bed on the night I got in. Don't try to deny it. I felt you there. We had a chat. You left after we said goodbye. I remember telling you that it's okay to feel freaky about this - we felt strange about it too. It was good to feel you there - I'm sure it took you a bit work out how to move on from this plane to the next, especially as you weren't expecting it. (I wanted to tell you of another friend who passed recently - she was ready to go, and at her funeral, we felt nothing - she was up with the angels already. I doubt you'll meet her. Different sections of the plane/heaven/the next world, whatever you want to call it.)
If you're reading this, just know you're never too far from my thoughts, particularly when I'm in Darwin, or at a gig. I see you out of the corner of my eye in the mosh pit, beer in hand, dancing badly, head to the heavens, eyes closed, taking in the music.
I pass the poke bowl place, the Malaysian cafe, places where we had lunch. Our love of char kway teow - I loved that we had similar taste in food, and gin.
You're still a big part in many of favourite Darwin memories. Driving down the Stuart Highway with This Must Be The Place front and centre on your playlist. Sitting on your balcony watching the distant thunderstorms. Going to the First Nations gig at Bustard Town. You introduced me to the Deckchair Cinema, the Stonehouse, 1995 for coffee (though I still prefer The Meeting Place - anywhere but Dukes).
I miss your humour and generosity. I miss your cheeky smile. I miss bitching with you - as we could be bitches together.
I just miss you.
WH Auden said, "Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic".
With you, the thunder got way too close.
I'm sure you're happy where you are, wherever that may be. We never talked about what happens next, like this. Though you were a lapsed Catholic, what did you see happening? Or are you still roaming around Darwin, preparing your Darwin Festival tickets, going to Bass in the Grass, fronting up for your Wednesday night tennis game with your mate and preparing a gin, cheese and wine night with friends.
Yet, since that time, when you came for a chat, I've not felt you like that again. It's more a waft of you. A chuckle as I think about ordering Malaysian, a line of a song, the sight of a dodgy band shirt. The fizz of tonic as it tumbles over ice into a cold gin, the sweat on the glass, apparent in the wet season, and the condensation running down the sides.
Just know, on this, your day, you're very missed.
So very missed, and very loved.
Happy heavenly birthday, mate.
No comments:
Post a Comment