I would like to tell you about my friend Ed. Ed was a teenager when I met him. I was also a teenager. We used to debate each other at school and frequent the same house parties, where we would drink goon from a Hills hoist (classy) and have intense conversations at three in the morning.
After school Ed moved to South Africa on exchange. I think he was only there for six months but he had the time of his life. He came back more tanned, confident and happier.
After I had known Ed for a couple of years, I dated his best friend, Joe. This lasted about five minutes. I was eighteen and confused. Joe was exciting and spontaneous and battling a host of mental health issues, including alcoholism and bipolar disorder. He broke up with me over text message with the words "I'm sorry darl, I'm not ready for a relationship at the mo." He was actually almost definitely right. Ed was more mentally stable than Joe and they had been friends for years.
One evening Ed had too much to drink and decided to drive to the service station to get some cigarettes. The service station was at the end of his street. He was pulled over on the two-minute drive, breathalysed, and had his licence confiscated. Some people thought that this meant he had a problem with alcohol, and he conceded that they might be right - although really he was just a nineteen-year-old boy. Most nineteen-year-old boys in Australia have what would be termed a "problem" with alcohol if it wasn't that everyone else of their age was doing it too.
Once, we drove with some friends to my parents' place, miles out of the city. It was quite a road trip. I drove; we giggled and chatted in the car as the windows fogged up against the winter air. My parents were out of town. We watched Four Rooms and Memento and went to sleep on the living room floor in front of the TV. We talked about our greatest regrets. I said that mine was disappointing my father. Ed lied about his. We talked about our greatest loves and our passions and plans for the future in the way that you do when you're eighteen and anything seems possible.
Joe moved away and Ed was finally able to emerge from his shadow. He played sport and moved into college; started working harder at uni and got a lovely girlfriend. I saw him around a lot, sometimes he came into my work and said hi, and we always said, "We should catch up for coffee." Soon, he was voted president of his college. Everyone said that he organised the best parties, but I never went.
One night in August one of the colleges held a ball. Everyone got really drunk. Ed got especially drunk and decided to walk home. He walked along the university oval at night. Maybe there was a rock, or maybe the ground was not quite level, or maybe he was just too slaughtered to walk straight. He fell and hit his head. He was dead within twelve minutes. He was twenty one, I think.
At his funeral Joe sang something by Coldplay. His father broke down. His brother said, "When I woke up this morning I was an only child", and began to cry, because it made me think of what life might be like without my brother. I sat in the back row with all my friends. He was the first of my contemporaries to have died. I wished we'd had that coffee.
After school Ed moved to South Africa on exchange. I think he was only there for six months but he had the time of his life. He came back more tanned, confident and happier.
After I had known Ed for a couple of years, I dated his best friend, Joe. This lasted about five minutes. I was eighteen and confused. Joe was exciting and spontaneous and battling a host of mental health issues, including alcoholism and bipolar disorder. He broke up with me over text message with the words "I'm sorry darl, I'm not ready for a relationship at the mo." He was actually almost definitely right. Ed was more mentally stable than Joe and they had been friends for years.
One evening Ed had too much to drink and decided to drive to the service station to get some cigarettes. The service station was at the end of his street. He was pulled over on the two-minute drive, breathalysed, and had his licence confiscated. Some people thought that this meant he had a problem with alcohol, and he conceded that they might be right - although really he was just a nineteen-year-old boy. Most nineteen-year-old boys in Australia have what would be termed a "problem" with alcohol if it wasn't that everyone else of their age was doing it too.
Once, we drove with some friends to my parents' place, miles out of the city. It was quite a road trip. I drove; we giggled and chatted in the car as the windows fogged up against the winter air. My parents were out of town. We watched Four Rooms and Memento and went to sleep on the living room floor in front of the TV. We talked about our greatest regrets. I said that mine was disappointing my father. Ed lied about his. We talked about our greatest loves and our passions and plans for the future in the way that you do when you're eighteen and anything seems possible.
Joe moved away and Ed was finally able to emerge from his shadow. He played sport and moved into college; started working harder at uni and got a lovely girlfriend. I saw him around a lot, sometimes he came into my work and said hi, and we always said, "We should catch up for coffee." Soon, he was voted president of his college. Everyone said that he organised the best parties, but I never went.
One night in August one of the colleges held a ball. Everyone got really drunk. Ed got especially drunk and decided to walk home. He walked along the university oval at night. Maybe there was a rock, or maybe the ground was not quite level, or maybe he was just too slaughtered to walk straight. He fell and hit his head. He was dead within twelve minutes. He was twenty one, I think.
At his funeral Joe sang something by Coldplay. His father broke down. His brother said, "When I woke up this morning I was an only child", and began to cry, because it made me think of what life might be like without my brother. I sat in the back row with all my friends. He was the first of my contemporaries to have died. I wished we'd had that coffee.
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