Changes

Coral returned to Melbourne from Princeton in July 1981. Her art scholarship and a degree from The States were completed.

"Hi, bestie," she greeted in a surprise phone call, "Have I got news?"

Even jet-lagged, she launched her breezy self.

"You're back!"

Elation and excitement filled me at the same time. I anticipated her returning home without knowing the exact date.

"Oh, yes, and I will talk your ear off soon. But right now, we are all going to a wedding. The invites are in the post. I got the advance call?"

"We?"

"Yes, you, me and Ruby, how cute!"

"When?" I grilled, unhappy.

"Oh, a couple of months — plenty of time for you and me to find a partner."

After she twittered, "We should catch up - coffee! I'll make time. I'll tell you more about the art galleries in The States. Meanwhile, I will be super busy starting my new gallery job."

Coral's call did get me off the couch. I needed a partner at a wedding. The card duly arrived in the mail.

Luke & partner are cordially invited to….

I started passing my male résumé around. Not flashing myself, I flagged interest in the opposite sex. I smiled awkwardly at the new girl in my design workplace. I initiated a conversation in the photocopy room—where else?

We exchanged phone numbers, we had a dinner date. She made regular eye contact. I didn't take the conversation anywhere with the petite girl whose subtle bronze eyeshadow complimented her wavy brown hair. As the evening wore on, she sensed my closed-off emotions. After dinner, we stood outside the restaurant, awaiting separate taxis. She proffered her cheek politely. I brushed it lightly, the poorest of pecks.

I didn't say anything.

Neither did she, except, 'goodnight' as she slid into her taxi.

We did the 'at work' smile the next day. Beyond a dry office smile, I understood my exit from her little black book.

My ego insisted I find a partner for the upcoming wedding because I instinctively knew a guy would accompany Ruby. I believed not as a partner or date but as a body to bed. A sour streak stained me! Downhearted thoughts dominated me.

I invested in routine. I volunteered for firm overtime to fill the endless hours I spent alone. Alone, conscious of being entirely on my own and everyone around me, I felt defined as 'the single guy'.

When unoccupied by work, I read. I selected the longest of novels—Proust, In Search of Lost Time.

I joined his sojourn through his complex relationship with Albertine. In the text, passion alters perceptions, yet memory holds the truth. My genitals were not enamoured with Proust. They nagged me to end the sexual pause in my life.

I hit my emotional rock bottom. I felt a sense of inconsolable loss. I understood the heartbreak coursing through famous literature. Incomprehension filled my mind.

Worse, I closed myself off and adopted a flinty edge in the world. My attitude to everything developed a cynical edge. I believed I was not worth anyone's time. If a soul can corrode, mine had, as I kept remembering sealed lips. I wanted every memory of Ruby buried deep where they could never scar me.

Late one night, I read the famous words of Proust;

Mademoiselle Albertine is gone.

Gone. Without a doubt, gone is the saddest word in English.

Jenny had gone.

Ruby was gone.

I tried another date. Desperate to avoid attending the wedding alone. The girl was a female courier who regularly delivered parcels to the architect's office. She was always cheerful in her blue company polo and matching cap, which tucked away her hair. I took the plunge and asked her out. She smiled wide, and we quickly exchanged phone numbers on scraps of office paper lying on my blueprint crowded desk—a bout of human optimism between many dark days.

The date venue was a disco. My mind, pants package or both, recalled dancing as a successful tactic leading to sex. This hope vanished. I failed to match her pep on the dance floor. I watched her straight, dark brown hair dyed with subtle golden blonde highlights—only once close enough to gather its sweet vanilla smell, which blinkered my mind to Ruby!

My flickering enthusiasm for the dance floor died. Another young woman detected my absent emotional pulse. We parted at the venue. Her blue eyes, after that, whilst always professional, were vacant when delivering courier packages.

I reached the point where it was time to be gentler with myself. I recalled Coral drew when she needed calm. Josh fished or tinkered with engines whenever the pressure of the world hit him. Ruby found a boy to kiss when she needed personal relief. As a teenager, I wrote in a journal.

So as a love-lost adult, I found an old, scrappy, sorry notebook. I tried therapeutic writing. My words flowed fast because I believed memory would lose what I wished to recall of Ruby. I stashed the notebook alongside my most treasured personal items in a shoebox that contained postcards and a letter from Jenny.

The wedding loomed a week away, the first week of spring '81.

Still, no one to take, I mulled, attending as a wallflower. Part of a group of single guys at a wedding, leaning against the bricks, pretending to be occupied by the drink in our hand.

My bestie rescued me, though it was beyond late when I got her phone call, and it woke me!

"I'm sorry we haven't caught up," Coral started, "My job is the true twenty-four-seven."

"I understand," I supported, "Evenings and weekends in a gallery must be hectic."

"Yes, but I love it," her voice generated upbeat, "Anyway, I have time off for the wedding."

She paused and popped, unsure, "Who are you going with?"

I wondered if she knew about Ruby and me.

"Myself," a drawn-out response.

"Oh, we can't have that!"

Coral's shrillness added, "I haven't had time to ask anyone either; you must come with me."

Nothing condescending in her tone.

My ego lost the burden of attending a wedding solo. So relieved, I gulped and failed to reply.

"Luke, Luke, are you okay?"

Concern in her voice.

Should I confess about Ruby?

I hedged, "No, I'm fine; I wondered, what will you wear."

"Oh, you haven't changed. You will have to wait and see."

We talked about family, work and art endlessly. It ticked past one o'clock when I climbed into bed.

I tossed and turned.

Who would Ruby bring?

The wedding day arrived. It included everything that makes a wedding successful for the bride and groom—a classic service in a Romanesque church. The floral arrangements sprouted copious, a string quartet played, and the pair shared traditional vows.

Ruby occupied the wooden row in front of Coral and me at the church service. Her new long hairstyle was none of my business. My eyes made it my focus as they roved over her light chocolate waves nestled to her shoulders. Her dark navy dress aired chic. I appreciated the costly cut of the material as she turned to acknowledge a tap on the shoulder by Coral.

"Sweetie," complimented Coral, "Love the dress and great hairstyle."

Ruby bobbed briefly in my direction. She gave the golden girl a prolonged smile.

She said, "Yes, honey. Your dress is ace; is it Vogue? I bet it cost a pretty penny. It suits you. Catch you at the reception."

Ruby turned because the music indicated the arrival of the bridal party. I ignored the bride coming down the aisle. I studied the back of the guy next to Ruby. No disparagement intended; he was a guy my height and a similar build. An alike hired grey suit. Did we share the same barber? We sported a lookalike wave hairstyle.

Coral and I were not seated near Ruby and her partner at the surf club reception. I tried adopting the view of Ruby as a woman in the room, only unavailable to me. Food, speeches, toasts and dancing followed as the afternoon became the evening.

Coral and I danced, and I proved a reasonably attentive partner. In part, the dancing helped because it stopped me eyeing Ruby jive until my bestie relented to peer pressure and left me to gossip amongst several persistent former college friends.

My wedding dinner shoulder to lean on was suddenly withdrawn, at least temporarily. I sidled to a shadowed wall, friendless, as Coral played the social butterfly to perfection.

Don't watch Ruby. 

I watched her dance close to her guy. I tensed as I considered exactly what he would get from her later tonight.

Or sooner.

Plodding heavy steps, I went to the washrooms—my excuse to stop following Ruby twirl across the dance floor. After I came out of the gents, Ruby entered the narrow corridor to the venue's toilets. We couldn't avoid each other. My mouth dried.

I delivered the civil; "Hi."

Ruby returned the generic, "What did you think of the wedding?"

Her mouth opened too wide — a forced smile. Her teeth (I noticed unintended), while straight, were uneven.

The detail we add and add as our composite of another being. Milk chocolate hair. Sea blue eyes. Her teeth. Jodhpurs. A high school ponytail. The wildfire minx who played chess. My pixie, my Paris love.

"They make a lovely couple," I responded.

I wasn't trying to prolong the conversation.

"Yes, a nice cake. Catch you another time."

I watched Ruby enter the ladies in her dark, long navy dress. Her brunette locks swayed about her shoulders. I tried to control my thoughts about Ruby as I searched vainly to locate Coral.

We had spoken like the most casual of acquaintances. Yet, we knew the other's private, intimate life. We hid our former closeness under public faces.

I scanned the surf club hall, but I couldn't see Coral. My anxiety rose as my eyes rechecked the bar, the dance floor and the tables.

No one engages a timid guy at a wedding. 

My back pressed to the wall as Ruby returned to dancing.

Carefree Ruby. 

I tried to detach myself as I observed her. She percolated outgoing and attractive, though clothed and closed, to me.

I provoked myself: Did I want to have it off with her for old times' sake? Where, in the dunes? 

I realised, No. Strange, I wished to assist her cook.

The dance music blasted up-tempo. My eyes followed Ruby across the dance floor. I struggled yet made an effort to respect her choices. My mind resisted mentally undressing her on the surf club dance floor.

I wrung my hands, confused.

What of our consensual past? 

Memory taunted me—a street curb. 

I tried detachment.

Ruby changed.

I stayed safe, the physical change, her longish hair.

I had grown a moustache. 

My mind held an ill-tempered, internal dialogue.

The real changes? 

I stopped my superficial nonsense.

I faced the crux; it's in our minds where Ruby and I have changed. 

Irrevocable change —?

Too thorny inside my soul, instead, I followed her jaunty movement.

Ruby dances well. She keeps a guy's eyes focused on her.

I stared a tad long at her swaying booty. She boogied and jived. Ruby reeled in my mind.

She weaved, skeining the present and Paris. From the city of love, my mind sculpted her.

As static as a statue, but what a figure, my sexy Venus de Milo.

I still couldn't see Coral anywhere.

I urged myself to break Ruby's physical spell.

If I couldn't see her, I wouldn't think about her.