Eight Things to Do Before You Die, Chapter Three

3 – Chris – Failure1

I guess a lot of people would call me a failure, but I tried to look on the bright side. Sure, my life isn't the rosey picture that our parents paint for us when we're young, but it has its moments, y'know?2

Take my job for example. Yeah, I know that a lot of people might look at me and think 'Wow, that guy must be a loser to work in a supermarket at his age' but they're not seeing the full picture. I'll admit that it's not where I pictured myself when I graduated high school and got accepted into Law, but that's life, isn't it? It throws you a few surprises and you just roll with them.3

I did take it pretty hard when I flunked out of University and my parents cut me off. And maybe I did drink way too much in those first few weeks of being unemployed and having my dream taken from me. Maybe I did do a few things I regretted, but I'm stronger for it.4

“Do you have Fly-Buys at all?” I don't know how many times a day I had to ask that. I've found that it's best to just tune out when it comes to my line of work. Better that then let the nagging old ladies and rude drunks get to you.5

The old guy ignores me, which isn't unusual either. I found that since I started working in retail I've become less than a blip on the radar. Sometimes I think that the beeping of the scanner is my heart monitor, but it's moving far too fast for that.6

I'd been barely alive since I'd taken the job.7

The old man shuffles away with his groceries and a... let's say robust.... a robust woman steps in front of me with a false grin and too much make-up on.8

“How are you today?”9

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I shouldered open the door to my flat and used my spare hand to flick on the lights. Dropping the bag of groceries on the couch I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. It was a nightly ritual for me, a few beers while watching dull television and zoning out until it was time to go to bed and start all over again. I won't lie and say the existence isn't just a little bit depressing. It seems that every week is exactly the same as the week before it and the only real excitement I get is heading down to the local pub on a Saturday night for karaoke and football.11

Cracking open the Tooheys New I sank into the couch, flick on the television, and open the pack of corn chips I'd brought home. This routine might not be glamorous or exciting, but it kept me sane.12

I was midway through watching a repeat of The Simpsons when I noticed the flashing red light out the corner of my eye. Sometimes I liked to pretend that things were more exciting or dangerous than I were. On that particular night I'd pretended that it wasn't just my answering machine, but a bomb that had been rigged up by terrorists. My ingenious cure of cancer had angered people in high places and I was no longer safe to leave on the streets.13

Maybe I'm a little bit crazy, but I calmly placed my beer down on the small table beside the couch and dropped to my hands and knees on the floor. Crawling across the faded green carpet I'd have looked insane to anybody who looked in, hell, maybe I was just a little bit insane. Regardless, I crept across to the kitchen bench on my hands and knees and pressed my back against the cool wood of it as if I expected to find armed men on the other side of it. I took a few shuddering, overly dramatic breaths before leaping to my feet and rolling into the kitchen. Of course, there was nobody there. There was no bomb or terrorists, nor was there any unexpected excitement waiting for me.14

Just the flash of the answering machine's little alert light and the number one. When had I become so unpopular that an entire day out amounted to just one missed call? There was a time when my college room had been full at all times and I'd struggled to find time to study amidst the parties and the sex. That was what had got me here, I guess, but where had it all gone? Losing my dream of becoming a lawyer had been bad enough, but losing the cause of my failure was just as hard on me. Where had all of my friends gone?15

I dwelled on that for a moment before hitting the button to play the message. I made a mental wager with myself – if it was my mother or a telemarketer, I'd kill myself.16

“Ah, hi,” a nervous female voice, “This is Tara Berry, I'm calling for Chris Alberts”.17

I'd done an almost comical double take at that point, turning back from foraging in the fridge for something resembling food. Tara Berry had been my high school crush, the cutest girl I'd ever seen at that point in my life. Some insane part of me conjured up some dramatic set of circumstances that had lead to her calling me. She was on the run from the mafia, maybe, or she'd been contacted by the terrorists whose bomb had failed to kill me and was going to do the job herself. How devious – using the former love of my life to kill me.18

“I realise that this is a little out of the blue, but this is about Nathan”.19

Now that was a blast from the past. Nathan Berry, Little Nate, had been one of my best mates. In our final year of high school we'd gotten together and we'd put on this two man show that had everyone laughing their asses off. I remember how fucking ecstatic Nathan had been once we'd come off stage. I always got a real buzz out of performing and the accolades it got me, but it was Nathan's first ever bit of performance. He'd been taking Ancient History when I was doing drama, but he had a real flair for it, y'know? The kid might have been meek and a little underconfident around most people but he knew how to make you feel something. I only performed with him that once, but he was just a natural. He just had this innocent charm that people loved in the piece we'd written.20

“You know, Nathan's almost cool” I'd heard someone say as we'd been making our way back to our seats to watch the rest of the school's talent night. I don't know if Nathan heard it, but that had pissed me off so much. Nathan had always been cool, it was just that people were too shallow or stupid to see it. Even when people had adopted me as class clown and unofficial year mascot, I'd never forgotten about Nathan. Certain other pricks who I won't mention had drifted off to become 'popular', but I always stuck by my real friends. The friends you make when you're down are the best you'll ever make. They've seen you at rock bottom and they love you all the more for it. 21

“I'm sorry to have to leave a message saying this,” Tara continued, “But I thought you might like to know. Nathan and you seemed to stay in touch better than most. But Nathan's sick. If you've got some spare time, I'm sure he'd love to see you”.22

The click of the phone ended the rather one-sided conversation and left me feeling like a bit of an asshole. Here I was wishing for some drama in my life and it's served up to be on a platter. But an old friend being sick wasn't something I could imagine so explosive, earth-shattering ending to. There was no dramatic kiss at the end of this little story, I feared.23

After listening to the message twice more I'd settled back into my seat and tried to get interested in an episode of Blue Heelers, but it was harder than usual. What kind of 'sick' did Tara mean? How was she, anyway? Was she still as bubbly and cute as she had been when I'd last seen her?24

I realised almost immediately how shallow and uncaring I must have been – wondering about a stupid highschool crush when I'd just heard that one of my best friends was sick. We'd still have been friends if it hadn't been for University. He'd been in line to take over his parents' book shop and I'd wanted to go to a prestigious Sydney University. We'd kept in touch, diligently sending emails and making phone calls, but eventually those things just don't cut it anymore. Men weren't meant to sustain friendships without the staples of bonding. Without beer to drink, girls to ogle, and sports to watch we were just two guys writing letters and trying to hold on to a bunch of out-dated high school jokes.25

I sighed and quickly downed the remainder of the now warm beer. It was 9.15pm and I didn't have to be at work until midday tomorrow. I guessed I had time to catch a taxi across town and see how Nathan was. 'Sick' obviously meant soemthing worse than a cold, and maybe I could cheer him up a little bit. If there was one thing I was still good at, it was cracking a joke and getting somebody to smile.26