Prologue
‘Excuse me... Ma’am?’
The voice was muffled, and the words did not register to Valerie as any language she spoke.
‘Sorry, excuse me. Could I-?’
There it was again. She just couldn’t make sense of it.
Involuntarily, her eyes opened just a sliver to assess the nature of the voice. Sunlight pierced her retinas. Through groggy, sleep-filled vision, Valerie Evans became aware all at once of a clammy heat in her chest, a sandy dryness in her mouth and at least three amused faces looking over at her.
The airplane cabin was bright in wake of sunrise. Passengers were getting up to queue for the bathrooms and stretch their legs, and the air hostesses calmly wheeled breakfast carts down the aisles through the standing population.
Valerie had not been sleeping long. In fact, she had sat up, awake and exhausted, nearly the entire flight. As the sun had peeked over the horizon, her neighbour had got up and squeezed past to get to the toilet before the rest of economy class could have the same idea. In the time it took for him to use the facilities, take a brisk walk up and down the cabin and allow a hostess to overtake him with what would be an underwhelming in-flight meal, Valerie had lost consciousness.
And, typically, in the least dignified way possible. Her head had drooped forward into her neck, jaw hanging slightly ajar, both arms fell outside the boundaries of her assigned seat and one foot had relaxed outward into the aisle, just so that a stewardess had to gently kick it to one side so that her beverage cart could pass.
Her neighbor had returned, and was awkwardly trying to reach his seat without disturbing her too much. Economy class, though, was a sardine tin overflowing with almost-too-narrow seats, questionable volumes of carry-on stuffed in every crevice, small children littering the tiny spaces between rows, and an hours-long circulation of the same air everyone had exhaled shortly after boarding to add to the already suffocating ambiance. He was shuffling hopelessly between her knees and her stowed tray table. The amblings were as polite as possible, but intrusive.
‘Good morning passengers of flight GL-738, this is your captain speaking,’ crackled the in-flight PA system, ‘in about half an hour we will begin our descent to....’ The intermittent squeals of a restless toddler three rows in front drowned out any useful information. ‘...local time is 6:24am....cabin staff will now...thank you for flying with...’
Even if Valerie had heard the whole thing, it wouldn’t have mattered. She knew where she was. Home was a distant concept for 7 long years, and though she returned with little to show for her travels and a great deal more baggage than she had packed originally, it was a relief to slip comfortably back into the familiar.
Zeke and Valerie had a few things in common. First, they shared DNA, as siblings usually do. Second, they appreciated art, music, comfort food, and travel. Third, they had both spent a considerable time away from their home city, but were now returning. Here, though, is where they diverge.
Though sharing some physical features, mentally and emotionally their make-up was very different. Zeke had always felt at ease expressing himself, and had no mental inhibitions limiting him from pursuing a career he enjoyed, creative talents, widening his circle of friends or really considering any wish he had as a possibility to explore. He was rarely embarrassed, nervous or worried. In fact, the only flaw he faced socially or emotionally was his boundless nonchalance. While it did afford him the luxury of almost never being fully aware of anyone’s opinion of him, it usually prevented an active self awareness in his relationships. Of course, this was no road block to Zeke. He was completely unaware of how unaware he was.
Valerie, on the bottom end of the emotional see-saw, was a hivemind of consciousness, subconsciousness, and consciousness of the subconscious. She saw everything she did from first-, second- and third-person points of view. She monitored every thought, intention, daydream, every word chosen for every sentence she spoke, every social cue in every conversation she had ever had, every action or inaction, every consequence and every outcome and stored it all away in a poorly-lit internal library of filing cabinets spanning nearly three decades. Valerie possessed artistic talent but doubted its credibility to an audience. Valerie loved people deeply but hesitated to burden them with her presence. Valerie bore the entire weight of every inhibition and anxiety her brother did not possess, and in her head it sometimes felt as though this was all to balance out the cosmic scale that allowed Zeke the extraordinary happiness and success he enjoyed.
Zeke thought nothing of the sort; he hardly noticed his sister’s internal struggle.
In the same 24 hours that Valerie flew, sleepless and cramped, towards home, her brother strolled into an airport across the country to board his own flight.
He had arrived just in time, as ground crew were ushering travelers in through the gate. A lull at check-in sent him directly to a neatly dressed woman behind the counter.
‘Checking in?’ She had a faux smile plastered across her face, and her hair was pulled back tightly enough to keep it there.
Zeke nodded, calmly placing his luggage on the conveyor belt between them. A final boarding call sang out for his flight.
‘Ha. That’s me,’ He grinned and pointed in the direction of the disembodied voice asking him to board.
The woman continued smiling, stopping only to study her screen. ‘Hm.’ Here eyes darted back and forth between the monitor in front of her and his pass. ‘Sorry, just give me a moment.’ She was frowning now, as much as her securely gelled hair would allow.
Her heels clacked away for a second opinion.
Another call sounded, this time mentioning Zeke by name. ‘boarding call for Mr Zeke Evans to gate 23. That’s Mr Zeke Evans to gate 23.’
‘I’m trying,’ He jested to the empty check-in counter. Zeke wasn’t worried. If he missed this plane, there would be another. That may even be preferable; he had hoped to have time for a quick pint in the airport lounge.
The attendant clacked back in his direction and apologized. ‘So sorry, Mr Evans-’
‘No, it’s fine. It’s my own fault for snoozing my alarm.’
‘Oh, no, you can still board, it just looks like there was an error in the system. Someone is already checked in and boarded in your seat. There is an empty seat available in business class though, and we’d upgrade you at no extra cost- if that’s ok with you. We apologize for the mix-up.’ She was smiling again.
‘That’s... completely fine. No problem at all.’
He thanked the woman and started over to the gate.
‘Mr Evans?’ She called from behind him. ‘Here-’ a small card between her manicured fingers, ‘-a complimentary in-flight drink. Sorry again!’ The attendant waved him off, as he strolled toward gate 23, incredulous at his luck.
As aircraft sailed overhead, David waited.
The reception area at the clinic was sparse, and all the patients waiting in it had carefully chosen seating a polite distance from one another. Urban Medical Practice was host to a variety of practitioners, and it was hard to say if the person sitting in the next row was chasing medication refills from an old family doctor, a podiatrist brave enough to investigate something long-ignored and suspicious, the dreaded poking and jabbing of an inattentive phlebotomist or, like David, a government-funded psychologist to deliver the bare minimum in self-help strategies. They all figured it was safe to be cautious.
A thirty-something woman with a swinging ponytail and wide-rimmed glasses strode out confidently from a hallway.
‘...David?’
Somehow, despite there being only six or seven people in the sprawling waiting room, another man stood to greet the woman as David went to do so. After a minute of confusion, it was established that the other David was waiting on someone to remove an infected toenail, and that the wide-eyed psychologist didn’t specialize in that kind of procedure. He happily conceded to sit back down and wait, and the first David followed the swoosh of her ponytail down a bare, carpeted corridor.
The furnishing of a therapists office generally depends on who’s paying for the decor.
David had been to a few different clinics. The first was at a youth center, about five years ago. Every wall of every room sought to welcome and soothe every conceivable minority and socioeconomic standing. There were yellow and orange beanbags everywhere. A brightly coloured painting of a lion’s head had stared down at him from behind the doctor’s chair. He found it overwhelming, like having fifteen strangers try to hug you all at once.
The second was the year after that, at a kind of holistic log cabin just outside of the city. It had the atmosphere of a commune, with a vegetable garden down the side of the building and SERENITY in big letters over the front door. The counsellors room had a woven tapestry hanging on one wall, great big couches to sit in and salt lamps, stress balls and cushions on every surface. It seemed like the kind of place that youth groups would gather, or children of dysfunctional families would go after school, but every time he went there it was completely empty, aside from himself and the counselor he saw. It was eerie.
Finally, he had found himself in the public system. He had aged out of youth centers, and the new-age therapist in baggy linen pants and sandals only seemed to put him on edge.
Government-funded clinics generously provided only what was absolutely necessary to call themselves clinics, and the people that worked there were so transient that they took little pride in the four square meters of office space allotted to them. Dr Ponytail had a few posters strewn haphazardly on one wall, encouraging Positive Thinking and Finding Your Identity. She had little furniture aside from her desk, two small armchairs and a basic side table to hold the box of tissues. The environment was sterile and impersonal, but he was too hard-up financially to mind.
‘How have things been, David?’ She adjusted her glasses to inspect him.
‘Uh, yeah... not too bad.’
‘Ok. Last time you said some family are coming to visit, and this was something that you weren’t looking forward to... how are you feeling about that?’ She only had an hour. Why waste a minute?
‘My older brother and sister, right. It’s not that I’m not looking forward to it, I haven’t seen them both in a long time. It’ll be good to see them,’ He leaned into the arm of the chair and rubbed his hand over his face absent-mindedly, accidentally signaling his dread and anxiety to the professional across from him.
‘Of course. It’s always good to see loved ones,’ she continued, coolly. ‘But relationships can be complicated, especially within the family. Are you close to either of them?’
‘Kind of. Not really. I don’t know, what do you mean “close”?’
‘Do you know each other very well? Have you had much contact with them while they’ve been away?’
He still had his hand pressed into the side of his head. ‘I mean, we spent a lot of time together as kids, for sure. But that’s childhood. I think that’s pretty standard for anyone growing up with siblings.’
‘I suppose.’
‘The three of us were always doing stuff together, playing games, a lot of imaginary kind of... play, I guess. They were always so good at coming up with those kinds of things. If we had stuffed animals, they would make up their names and personalities and dive into some story... if we had Lego, they’d invent a whole city, with houses, businesses, that kind of thing... and I just kind of…’
David gestured vaguely.
‘Tagged along?’
‘Yes. Yeah. Like I was just following them around. And now that we’re older- Valerie went overseas, met interesting people, did interesting things. Zeke, he’s got all these cool, artsy friends, a great job, taught himself everything about photography and now he sells pictures to galleries. I’m just… still here. My life has pretty much flatlined. Sometimes-‘ David offered a self-deprecating snicker, ‘-sometimes I think maybe I’m just spare parts.’
‘Spare parts?’
David laughed a little, self-consciously. ‘You know… maybe one of them needs a kidney or something. Here I am!’ His arms went up awkwardly to the air.
‘So, what you’re saying is that you are living a stagnant life, in comparison to these amazing journeys your siblings are on, and the only reason you are here is in case one of them needs you for something? Do you feel that that’s your purpose?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ David paused. ‘I don’t really think I have a purpose?’ It came as a surprise to hear himself say it. He hadn’t known he felt that way.
‘You know, you’d be surprised. Your older siblings are likely suffering through their own crises. No one’s life is perfect.’
‘Valerie, maybe. But not Zeke. Nothing goes wrong for Zeke.’
‘Don’t be so sure. Try to spend some time getting to know them both again when they get here. Talk to them. You might be surprised at what you learn.’
He shrugged.
Dr Ponytail glanced subtly at her watch. ‘Now, let’s go back to your sense of purpose. We can try some strategies to help you discover your passions and interests- I don’t doubt you have your own path to pursue, something that might take you away from fixating on the perceived successes of your siblings.’
Slumping defeatedly back into his chair, David regretted being so honest.
