The Carousel of Life

First published in the Jan/Feb 2016 issue of Mindfood magazine.

Naturally, he graduated high school with grades in the top 5% of his year. He chose to study a double degree in business and commerce at one of the state’s leading universities, satisfying the expectations of his teachers and parents. When offered the opportunity to study honours at the end of three years, he didn’t hesitate to accept. And he was happy, wasn’t he?

He sighed, staring at the long list of numbers in front of him. Glancing at his phone, he wasn’t surprised to see it was approaching 3am. Final semester exams commenced in four days, and he was feeling the pressure; he had even taken the season off football. As much as he loved the sport, he simply didn’t have time for the training sessions, or the game days that turned into nights when the club morphed into a social meeting point every Saturday evening.

It was hard though. He itched to play, to feel the adrenaline pumping, to test his strength against the bigger players. He missed both the elation of a win and the devastation of a loss. Only in sport had he ever experienced those extremities of emotions. Without it he felt like he was stuck in some dull middle, with exciting things happening on either side, but not quite reaching him.

He realised he had been staring blankly at the page of numbers for several minutes. Deciding to call it a night, he left a mark at where he was up to in his textbook, and went to bed.

When the time came to start applying for jobs, he applied only at the large accounting firms in the city. That was where the real money was. After several interviews he was successful, and began his career as a graduate accountant on the thirty-eighth floor of a skyscraper in the heart of the CBD. And he was happy, wasn’t he?

He was going to be late, dammit. This was the fourth night in a row he had stayed back, trying to get ahead on his work, impress the bosses. Tonight was different, however; it was Chelsea’s birthday, and she would not be impressed at his late arrival to dinner. He had hardly seen her during the week, arriving home so exhausted he could barely muster the energy to cook himself some sort of dinner, tidy up and do some exercises before heading to bed, allowing himself enough rest to do it all again the next day. He felt like he was trapped in this cycle, on a carousel that went round and round and round in an endless circle, where he didn’t remember getting on and saw no way to get off.

Checking his phone, he saw three waiting messages. The most recent: Where r u?

Sighing, he snapped his laptop shut and hurried to the elevator.

He met Chelsea at university ­– his first serious relationship. They dated for four years before he proposed, rose petals scattered and candle flames flickering. She said yes of course, and they married a year later, a day full of joy. And he was happy, wasn’t he?

The road they followed meandered its way between the bases of the Rocky Mountains. A three-week escape to the States was exactly the break they needed, he thought. Spend some quality time together, away from the stresses of work and paying the mortgage.

It was almost three hours into the drive now and Chelsea had barely spoken. She just stared out the window, the initial exclamations at the scenery soon dwindling. How could they have nothing left to say to each other? Already, after only a few years? He shook his head, and drove on in a silence so profound it made the mountains seem loud.

They had decided — well, Chelsea had decided — they wanted a child by the time she was thirty. The ever-dutiful husband, he got her pregnant at twenty-eight to be safe. Their beautiful miracle arrived at 5.15am, in the middle of January and a heat wave. It was a girl. Mia. And he was happy, wasn’t he?

Rays of light played across the water in a symphony of orange and golden hues. The sun was just setting, and the world was bathed in warm light. Pollen from a nearby plant drifted towards him on the breeze and tickled his nose, as he patiently waited for Mia to finish feeding the ducks.

Stifling a yawn, he tiredly thought of spending another night in Mia’s single bed, cradling her until she slept. He and Chelsea had been taking turns sleeping with her for the last several months as Mia was going through this ‘phase’, as Chelsea referred to it. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had slept in a bed with his wife.

Mia came running up to him, hands held open in front of her to show all the bread had gone. Her gold curls shone bright in the sun, like her mother’s, and in spite of his weariness he smiled.

There was an opening higher up in the company, and he was offered the position before others as a reward for his years of hard work and loyalty. With the promotion he would be able to send Mia to a private school, perhaps take an extra holiday, when he could get the time off of course. Chelsea and he celebrated that night with a glass of wine and a new certainty for the future.

He sank into bed and gratefully allowed his body to relax, to finally let go and release the day’s tension. Chelsea was already asleep; she had long ago stopped waiting for him to come to bed. Mia was also used to her dad arriving home late. She was focused on her studies and it didn’t seem to bother her. He wished he could spend more time with his daughter during the week but it was too hard; the new role was more demanding than he thought. He often drifted off to sleep with numbers floating around in his head, criss-crossing and clashing until they merged into his dreams. It was still only the first few weeks though. Things would get better. They had to.

His company organised an afternoon tea for his last day as a working citizen. The weather was pleasant and it was held in the courtyard. Amongst the aromas of pastries and gardenias he told his co-workers how Chelsea and he planned to travel the country and take up golf. And he was happy, wasn’t he?

The humidity weighed down on him like a sack of stones. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and took a sip of iced tea. Chelsea was still sleeping, with the windows open and fan spinning on its highest speed. She was tired from their boat trip out to the Reef yesterday. The day, though enjoyable, had been a long one, and they weren’t used to this heat. He was looking forward to leaving soon and heading back down south, stopping at various wineries and B&Bs on the way home.

But then what? It would be good to see the grandchild again, he knew, to be home and settled. Then should he plan another trip? Chelsea would probably need a good break before the next one. Join a club perhaps? Lawn bowls was popular amongst his peers, though he had personally never cared for it. He needed something to fulfil him, to keep him busy. He would talk to Chelsea about it when she woke up, though he wondered if she would understand. He dabbed his forehead again, and resigned himself to sipping his tea on the deck as the day wore on.

It was a chilly autumn night. Winter was drawing near, and the trees in the street had almost lost their leaves. It was a night of stillness; it was the night he passed away in his sleep. They investigated, and concluded it was from natural causes. He simply stopped breathing.

And he died happy… didn’t he?

He woke with a start. The room was cold, that was his first thought. Cold and dark, the only light coming from the one in the hallway. Chelsea was beside him, though he noticed he couldn’t hear her usually loud breathing. The ceiling, strangely, seemed to be getting darker, as a dense black fog slowly crept in from the edge of his vision.

That was when he realised he couldn’t breathe.

Oh god. This is it.

Eighty years slipped by in a breath.