© Gary Fortington
He stepped from the revolving door and onto the top step of his office building
and then it hit him......fuck it was cold! Why would anyone in their right mind
spend August in Melbourne? Never mind, he would be gone in two weeks, off to
Lemnos. The Greek Islands were his favourite holiday spot and he would be
there soon, at least after this next work assignment. An opportunity had arisen,
a great opportunity that would see him promoted to the position of partner in
his prestigious law firm, but only if he could succeed in closing the deal over the
next week.
As he stepped onto the pavement, warmed by thoughts of a sun drenched Greek
island holiday and a lucrative partnership in the business, he deftly brought the
collar of his new Burberry trench coat to his ears. In an instant he had flicked
it up and returned his hands to the warmth of his fleecy lined pockets. The
weather was bitter and brought him back to reality with a jolt. Frenzied rain
and sleet lashed city workers who were desperately trying to make the comfort
of their cars or the protection of the nearest railway station. The wind howled
and swirled through the streets like some sort of banshee. Papers, plastic bags
and other airborne garbage clung to power poles as if trying to resist the fury
of this storm. Despite the weather he could still feel smug about his rare good
fortune, thirty-five years of age, married with an attractive wife and two
beautiful children, a successful lawyer with a partnership in the offering. It
doesn’t get much better than that! Still he had worked hard, many late nights
and deals. Deals that he had done in both his business and private life, deals
done and compromises made to ensure his rapid rise to the top of his
profession. Yes, life was good!
Busy checking his Pierre Cardin timepiece he barely noticed the homeless man,
that is, until he was right on top of him. The poor bastard with all his worldly
possessions beside him tied up in a ragged parcel. Suddenly he was on his knees,
the victim of a plastic bottle, blown into his path by the wind and causing him to
slip and then trip over the beggar’s swag. “For fuck sake” he exclaimed, “why
don’t you keep off the fucking street? Go find somewhere to hide where decent
people don’t have to look at you. Look at what you and your worthless shit have
done to my suit!” He spat the words in the beggar’s general direction but then
spun around to find himself looking directly into the grimy face of the owner of
the “worthless shit”. He was expecting at least some response, a mumbled curse
or a clenched fist but he got none of that. Instead the object of his anger and
contempt simply smiled sadly back at him with eyes that seemed to penetrate
the deepest crevices of his inner being. Apart from his ragged clothes, dirty
appearance and shoulder length grey dreadlocks, the beggar was roughly the
same age as the lawyer and he could not help but feel a strange sense of kinship
with this piece of “failed humanity”. Still, he had places to go and picking
himself up he mumbled an apology and tossed the man his loose change then
hurried off down the street, head down against the driving wind and rain.
The warmth completely surrounded him like a cocoon and was such a change
from the bitter cold of that Melbourne street. He just wanted to lay there
forever and indulge himself in the luxury. It was finally the noise that roused
him, he suddenly realised that he had not just woken from a long sleep on some
sun-drenched beach in Lemnos? But where was he? Where was his family? As
he squinted through blood–shot eyes he could make out the blurred shapes of
people in white uniforms moving about with purpose and intent. They were
talking to one another, banging and clattering equipment as they went about
their daily routine. Then it struck him, it was a hospital........why was he in a
fucking hospital?
He remembered nothing at all about the accident; he had not seen the car that
struck him! In an instant his world had had been turned upside down. Suddenly it
was nine months later and, despite the odds, he had survived and miraculously
regained consciousness. He was alive but the cost had been horrific and the
world had moved on during the time he was in a coma. His important assignment
had to be completed so it was reassigned to a more junior member of the firm.
His wife had dutifully remained by his bedside for months but had finally
succumbed to the pressure and stress of waiting and worrying and moved
interstate, back to her family. Without an income the bank had called in the
mortgage and their comfortable house in leafy Camberwell now belonged to the
bank. The phone calls and messages from concerned friends and workmates had
stopped long ago and he was painfully aware of how alone he was, his world had
collapsed. In a coma for nine long months, it was to be yet another three months
before he was well enough to be discharged from hospital. Long sessions of
physiotherapy would help but the process would leave him exhausted. Despite
his best efforts at a full recovery the brain damage sustained in the accident
stubbornly remained. And the headaches became a constant companion.
The day of his release from hospital was, ironically, the anniversary of the
accident. It suddenly occurred him that he had nowhere to go, no one that
cared for him and no money with which to support himself. So, carrying all that
he owned, he returned to the city, the only place where he really felt
comfortable. Maybe he could get his old job back. He rode the train to the city
and, with difficulty, climbed the stairs from the underground station to the
surface. As soon as he stepped from the shelter of the subway entrance he was
immediately hit by the cruel torment of yet another Melbourne winter. His
words of a year ago echoed in his brain. “Fuck it was cold! Why anyone in their
right mind would spend August in Melbourne was beyond him.” As soon as the
light started to fail and the grey afternoon turned into an inky evening, he
panicked. He quickly made his way to the office but no one seemed too
interested in him at the old firm. Sure they were happy to see him on his feet
again but they were far too busy with other important matters to talk for long.
With a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach he made his excuses and
hurriedly left. What would he do? He had very little money for food and
certainly not enough for a decent motel so he made the toughest decision of his
life; he had no option but to sleep rough. Not that he wanted to sleep out mind
you, but just for tonight. Tomorrow he would look for work and get himself back
on his feet. Little did he realise that tough decisions would become a part of his
everyday life from here on in, decisions and choices that had to be made simply
to survive.
There was no point in getting back on a train to nowhere, so he collected a few
scraps of cardboard from the alley behind his old office block and looked for
the nearest doorway that would give him some protection from the weather. His
inspection revealed quite a deeply recessed doorway, deep enough to escape the
wind and driving rain, and not directly under the harsh glare of the streetlights.
He cursed to himself, there was already someone huddled up in there but they
would just have to share, he was in no mood to be stuffed around. He made his
way to the doorway with his few possessions and found himself alongside
another miserable creature, just like him. It took some time and jostling to get
comfortable, his new neighbour not happy to be awoken from a deep sleep. He
was expecting at least some angry response, a mumbled curse or a clenched fist
but he got none of that.
He seemed to recall the grimy face and the long grey dreadlocks. The eyes were
fixed on him, steady and unblinking. “Do I know you?” he demanded.
No answer, the object of his anger and contempt simply smiled sadly back at
him with eyes that seemed to penetrate the deepest crevices of his inner being.
