‘It was before a gig, years ago for my first ever album, I was on an overseas tour and my manager at the time wanted to see an art show, we were talking about it on the street, as we were walking past the gallery. I showed Ross the dates and told him that we would already be out of town before opening night, when a lady and a man were fighting out the front, the lady invited us in,’ he said, I pulled away from his hold, looking back at the painting, then matting his gaze, his eyes wet with sorrow, his bottom lip trembled staring back at me.
‘The man was angry, but the lady was so nice, so polite and of course Ross jumped on the offer. She gave us a private tour of her show, we got talking about life, art, music, she was so lovely, she had so many beautiful stories. She, she spoke about her daughter,’ he gulped down again, pursing his lips shut as he grabbed hold of my hands holding them tight. ‘She said that she too was an artist, she just hadn’t owned that part of herself completely yet, but she knew she would. It’s so weird, I remember everything about her, I just I couldn’t remember her name, and I couldn’t understand her signature at the bottom of the painting. After we finished the tour of the gallery, she handed me a painting that was sitting in the corner on the floor, she said the man she was standing with, the two of them where fighting about it all night because it didn’t fit in the show. She told me to take it, to look at it, when I feel a little lost, or if I do want to get lost inside a dream.’ He gulped, my head spin, and my hands couldn’t stop shaking inside his tight hold. ‘I’m so sorry Emma, it was a really wild time, we were in a different city every day, for months, I never heard about, well, what happened the next day. I had no idea that, that was your mum… that really what she gifted me, belongs to you,’ he said.
I felt sick, but I knew he was telling the truth, it was mum, everything she said, and did, that was her.
He pulled me into his chest, holding me on the floor of his cinema room for what felt like hours until the tears finally stopped, and I had the energy to speak. ‘You know I never got one of her pieces, there were a few half-completed pieces at home, but it was just corners of large canvas, all her pieces sold that night. I got nothing but profit and no memories, alone, with a few extra dollars in my account. That made art feel even worthless. But this painting, this piece, it was my all-time favourite, where have you been hiding it? I can’t believe it’s here, she gifted it to you,’ I said slowly in between each tight short breath.
‘It’s always been in this room, James really liked it too,’ he said.
‘Did it help you? Did it do what she hoped it would?’ I asked, my voice still trembled.
‘I don’t think it was the painting specifically, but that moment was one of the most impactful moments of my life, meeting another artist who wanted to speak about dreams, passions, and growth, for nothing but the pure love of it, not for the numbers or the business. It was also the most generous act I’ve ever received especially from a stranger. Coming to think of it, I can see a lot of her in you,’ he said.
I shook my head, pulling away from his embrace the lump that filled my throat, rose higher. ‘I, I, I’m sorry this is just a lot right now, I, I don’t know how to feel,’ I said. His eyes welled.
‘Can you take me home?’ I said
‘Yes, of course, but do you really want this right now? We can talk about it Emma, we can talk about her, about everything you’re feeling, it’s a really weird situation I know. But I’m here,’ he said, bunching his left hand across my face, tucking my hair behind my ear.
I reached out to him, pulling his hand gently away. ‘I know, but right now, I just want to be alone. Please take me home,’ I said.
The car ride back home was almost silent.
‘Emma I …’ he said, reaching his hand out to my knee. I placed my hand on top of his intertwining my fingers, but I cut off his words.
‘Please Luc, I just can’t talk about this right now, I can’t I’m sorry I just I need some time to process this,’ I said, keeping hold of his hand but my whole body felt sick, and each corner we turned made me want to vomit. I just wanted to be alone, I wanted to fall to pieces, I wanted to tuck myself under the doona and not remerge until days later, until I had left every little piece of emotion in between tear filled sheets. I didn’t want him to see me like that. My mind ran back to the message I saw from Caine, I waited for him to tell me about the tour, but after I cut him off not a single word more was spoken. He pulled up at my house, jumping out of the car at the same time as me. He thanked me for the weekend and wrapped his arms around me, kissing my neck and then my lips. I squeezed him tight, holding him in silence. I turned away, walking towards the apartment gates. I didn’t turn around but I could feel his eyes watching me. I opened the gate and closed it behind me, keeping my head down. My mind flashed back to not so many months before, turning my back on him in the very same driveway, stronger, unhinged, strutting, head held high,the rest is history.My own words repeated through my mind over again as I soaked my cheeks with tears, hidden behind the guard of the gate.
Chapter 17 — Him
I lay on my bed, frozen. I think it had been almost a week since I had produced some actual work. I was a mess. My mind was a lonely worm hall, and I had fallen deep, unsure how I was going to get out. I had been here many times before, but not lately, not in a long time. I felt like I had just taken ten steps backwards. If there was a light at the end of the tunnel, I felt completely unsure which direction I was going to go in to find it.
I was lost, what a fucking surprise. I was lost somewhere between overthinking and anxiety, suffering, and joy, my dreams and, her. The unknown of the present moment and the future steps to see the fucking light. What I did know was I had to act. Decide for once in my life, to make a decision for me and follow through with it.
I lay on my bed for what must have been a full day, ruminating in my thoughts. Trying to think about myself, my life, what I wanted. I journaled nonsense. How do we ever truly know what we want? I paced up and down my own hallway many times, unable to open the door, to look at the painting, the crazy coincidence. Emma hadn’t answered my calls or text all week, but I knew she was headed on a girls’ trip weekend away, and hopefully it was exactly what she needed.
I was still yet to reply to Caine’s email, I was avoiding his calls. I was swayed in different directions every day. I wanted Emma. I wanted to be on stage, hearing the crowd roar, but I also wanted to get lost somewhere where no one knew me with her by my side.
What I did know was I was chaotic, I was noisy, my mind was overactive and moments of internal silence came few and far between. I knew I needed to run, run so far outside of my comfort zone it scared me, explore places — as me, not as my name or career. Maybe then I could calm the silence, maybe then I would know what it would feel like to live outside the pressure. The pressure from myself, the pressure from my managers, the pressure to keep making money, music, more, more, more… the pressure to be different, to make every foot move in rhythm on the dancefloor. I wanted my art to mean something again through the pure enjoyment of creation. My own personal happiness. Not being lost amongst a world screaming for their own thoughts outside of being told what we should do, what we should like, what we should buy, and how we should look. I wanted to know what joy meant for me beyond the expectations of others, outside social media, and being inundated with marketing ploys. I had always wanted another American tour, and it was standing right in front of me, ready for me to take. But I was frozen still.
I stretched my body out on my bed, throwing my hands over my head and pulling my legs down over the edge. I took a deep breath and shook my head when my thoughts started to creep back towards Emma. I turned my head to the left, looking at the empty side of the bed, remembering her peaceful face, her morning eyes, and her sleepy smile that lay in that exact space the weekend before. God, she was beautiful. Daydreaming about her bought a smile to my face.
Emma was my escape. I think maybe I’d fallen in love with my escape. But I don’t think I should put my needed escapism into a person. That wasn’t fair. Especially to her, not again. I had done it once before. She deserved better than that. But I loved her, I wanted her.
Emma really was magic. Something about her really did give me energy. Energy I didn’t understand. I craved her. She seemed complete, there was no chaos around her. Her vibration was high but calm. The waves of her aura crashed perfectly. She was at peace with who she was. She was happy. Being around her was beautiful, calm, happiness. My mind was almost empty, yet still creative. When I was with her, all the chaos turned into nothingness. Until I met Emma, I didn’t know that you could create from a space of joy, not just suffering. She was perfect for me. She was stable. She made me feel so fucking good.
‘Aaaarrrggghhhh!’ I rolled over on my bed, screaming into my pillow. Frustrated as hell by my own confusion. My mind spiralled deeper. Did she even want me? After how we had left, the picture, I hope to God she believed me, I had no idea one of my most treasured moments and possessions really belonged to her.
What have you done with your life, Luc? What have you done purely for yourself? I’d spent my life in search of validation from others, even the very thing I had loved to pieces — my music. I had created it with the intention of other people loving it. My favourite work was everything I never released.
I rolled back over, my body lying heavy on the bed. I felt as though all my current thoughts and feelings, spinning like a tornado throughout my body had been bubbling up underneath my surface for so long and this week, it was leaking out all over my house. Through my depressed slumped body, moaning and groaning, the sickness that created a headache and empty pit in my stomach couldn’t hold back my indecisiveness any more. I couldn’t create a face to the outside world. I couldn’t hold it back any more, I couldn’t. With Emma, I was me, I was honest, I was open. I couldn’t put on a face in any part of my life any more. I had to learn how to embody that feeling, my being within myself, and not just with her. Maybe I was just missing her? Maybe she was what I needed. I so badly wanted the distraction, wanted to be taken out of my confusing internal ramblings. I wanted to pick up the phone and call her. But she was with her girls.
I was so confused. Feeling exactly the same, as I did the very first day I met her. Many years later, she was blooming. She had moved, changed, she was on her path and her own direction. I wanted to jump on it with her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t jump on someone else’s path, hoping that it would be enough to make me happy. That’s exactly what I had spent doing for too many years in my life previously. She had moved in leaps and bounds. I had stayed in the exact same place.
I shook my head again and sat up on my own bed. I had to be taken out of my overthinking mind. I finally chucked on my sneakers that were sitting beside my bed, grabbed my journal and a pen and walked down the hallway, letting myself out the front door. I don’t know if I had been outside for days, my eyes squinted from the brightness of what was a dark and dreary day. I walked up the front stairs of my house and wandered down the street. It was lightly spitting, and the clouds looked as though they were getting darker. I didn’t know where I was walking too, I just needed to get out. Into nature, breathe fresh air. I started to slow my mind with every step I took, slowing my breath. Inhaling counting, one, two, exhaling one, two. The roads around my house were quiet, there wasn’t a car in sight. I just kept walking all the way down my street as the rain started to come down heavier and heavier, running down my face. My hair was covered by a beanie, my jeans were wet.
I liked the feeling, I needed to feel something. The rain started to get heavier. I loved it when it rained around my house. The lush hills of the hinterland looked like a rainforest, it felt so soothing to me. I reached the creek, which was usually filled with turtles about seven hundred meters from my house, the road turned into a bridge over it. I ran down into the bushland beside the creek, hoping to find some cover from the rain underneath the bridge. Underneath the bridge was a large tree stump, sitting in between the join of cement from the road to the edge of the creek. I took a seat to take refuge from the rain. I sat still, keeping my breath slow, inhale for one, two, exhale for one, two. I hoped a moment in nature would help give some clarity to the thoughts that left an untidy mess in my mind.
All of life’s questions were screaming inside my head and the only way to answer them was to escape… escape from life… chase the uncomfortable. Sit with myself in the silence. Wet but sheltered, surrounded by the rising creek and heavy rain. I had absolutely no idea what the time was, maybe late afternoon, three or four p.m. was my guess. Time didn’t seem to matter to me this week. It was lost amongst everything else to me.
