EVERYBODY’S GOT A BILLY - FREE STORY 2

Julia and Raj – The Memento

Yeah, he changed my life. Ten years together will do that.

I was a seventeen-year-old with not a lot going on in my life and he was a twenty-three-year-old, fresh off the boat from India, on the hunt for a wife.

I know. It sounds horrible and maybe I’m being horrible, still bitter, even after all this time. But I shouldn’t be because I know he loved me. How can you stay with someone for that long without there being some love, some something …

How do I describe him? Well … I will begin with myself and then the comparison may be clearer. I am tall, for a woman; even as a young girl, I was taller than most girls my age. I am quite fair, being Australian, with bright-green eyes and dark wavy hair. I would say I was attractive; my friends called me beautiful, even though I never saw that. Raj was short, a few inches shorter than me, stocky, dark-skinned and dark eyes, but those eyes could mesmerise. I still get butterflies when I think about them, they were hypnotic …

Yep. I think that’s the right word. I was hypnotised by him.

Of course, I was also an impressionable young girl, who sneaked out on a Saturday night to party at nightclubs, one of which we met at. I first noticed his smile. That smile, that just drew me in, just made me want to be around him and when he talked to me, I felt like I was the only person in the world, not woman, but person. He had that way about him with everyone, I realised, but there was no denying the attraction the moment we lay eyes on each other. I don’t think there was a need for coy flirtations or useless banter, we just came together and knew straight off the bat that we were going to be spending the whole evening together. We kissed that night, I gave him my number, as you did in the nineties, and when my friend Doris dragged me home, I wondered whether I would hear from him again.

He called the next morning and asked if I’d like to spend the Sunday in the Botanical Gardens. I did, and from that day on, it was assumed we were together, a couple. It was never stated officially; I mean, he didn’t specifically ask me to be his girl, but I was. We spent every waking moment together, from the minute I got home from school, where I was completing Year Twelve, and he got home from university. He was on a study visa and so he was quite alone, finding company in a few mates from uni, who didn’t really share his interests, except to go clubbing on a Saturday night. He missed his family, a million miles away in India, a close-knit bunch, that he saved money to call at least once a week and he wrote letters, endless letters to them.

At seventeen, I was living with my mother and had never introduced a boy to my family, but I brought Raj home very soon after and my mother welcomed him into our home, seeing in him what I did, a caring boy who was already falling for her daughter. They got along so well that at times I thought my mother loved him more than she did me! She saw what he did for me. From a fairly shy teenager, he brought me out of my shell, made me laugh, and as someone who had lived six years more than I had, took on the role of a sort of carer. He looked after me, looked out for me, made me feel loved, accepted, and as high school drew to a close, I knew he was my future. We had a similar outlook on life, similar values, as different as our cultures were, but he introduced me to Indian food, delicious flavours, and taught me how to cook exotic curries and tasty sweets. I, still a kid, really, didn’t have too much to offer, except all the love I had in me.

I got along with his friends well, as he did with mine. It was a love story that I couldn’t believe I had found even before I hit adulthood. We lived quite a long distance from each other and it was hard to see each other every day as we would have liked to, but we travelled by train or bus, as he didn’t have a car and I didn’t have a licence yet. When he could finally afford one, he taught me to drive, his extreme patience getting me through the frustrating lessons, but by the time we both had cars, we had already moved in together. I was eighteen by then and my mother gave us her blessing.

It was tough at first. I had begun working and he had a part-time job, so money was tight. But that didn’t matter to us. In our little one-bedroom flat that sat atop five storeys of other identical flats, we spent time cooking and eating and watching TV from a black-and-white box that had been donated by a family friend. We welcomed guests, not caring what they thought of our tiny abode, for none of it mattered.

We were in love.

****

Six years of bliss. That’s how I saw it; at least, that’s how I remember it.

And then it wasn’t. I will say, at this point, that perhaps the beginning of the end was my fault. All my fault. I was a twenty-three-year-old now, working at a bank, going out after work with colleagues, being invited out every weekend. Raj had completed his degree and was working in a coffee shop. Unfortunately, things were different then, even as recently as the nineties. No one wanted to hire a dark-skinned man as an engineer, even though he scored brilliantly in his degree. He was patient, the trait that kept him lighthearted, positive, hopeful. But I could see it grated on him, being passed up because of the colour of his skin. It helped when he was granted residency, because of my relationship with him; he felt like he was gaining ground on not being a second-class citizen and I was glad I could do something for him to make him feel better about his state of affairs.

By this time I was in a world of my own, being less excited to come home to Raj, who had the same stories of hope every day; how he was going to try to apply for different jobs while he regaled me with stories from the café in the city. It became boring. My new life, my new friends, similar in age to me, were becoming more interesting and when Raj showed disinterest in going out on a Saturday evening, I went without him.

I know, I know. Completely asking for trouble but I felt a bit trapped. Seeing my friends with tales of their weekends out, their evening coffees, the freedom they had that I felt I didn’t made me resentful towards Raj and I found myself being irritated when the workday was done and I didn’t anticipate the evenings with him as I used to.

I strayed.

I had gone to a club, the same club we had met just six years before, and I kissed another guy. I don’t even remember what he looked like or what his name was for that matter. I went home with a sense of guilt but also a sense of freedom. Something that was mine, that I didn’t want to share with him. It was exhilarating, new, fun. And the next weekend, I accepted the invitation from my friends and went out again. And again, I picked up some random guy.

I look back on it now and yes, it was a terrible thing to do, and there are no excuses, but I made them anyway. I was young when I met Raj and he was the only life I knew and as much as I loved him, I was curious. I wanted to know what else there was in the world. What was I missing out on? I hated myself, of course, despised my actions, knew better, and when he slept next to me at night, I stayed awake, staring at his peaceful face, contentment written all over it, and hated myself all over again.

The best of me finally materialised and I told him. There were no words from him and I don’t want to describe the expression on his face but I knew it was over for us. I moved out of our flat, to a place that was closer to where I worked, and for the next two weeks, I cried myself raw. I knew what I had done. At the time, I regretted it, loathed myself for hurting him, but more selfishly, I was sad that I’d lost him. I knew he was the one for me and I had ruined something that could have been so wonderful.

You would think that’s the end of this story. Unfortunately, and fortunately, it’s not. It would have been simpler if it was. I would have mended my broken heart, he would have done the same.  When Raj came over to return something, I think it was a CD or something as insignificant, we knew it was not done. We were in each other’s arms, crying, kissing, and we ended up in bed and he left. And then every night, when he came over with one excuse or another, we did the same. He even came to see my mother, who had fallen ill, with me, and I found out later, he visited with her quite often.

For the next year, we were together almost every day. We didn’t move back in together but we spent most nights and weekends together and I hoped that in time, it would all fall into place.

What I didn’t expect was to fall pregnant. When I told him about it, his lips pursed. He wasn’t so sure about it, didn’t look terribly happy, but I knew I wanted this baby, with or without him. He stayed around, helped with cooking, massaged my ankles, cooked me special meals, some of which I fibbed were pregnancy cravings. I know he wasn’t fooled but he wanted me to be comfortable, happy. We talked about the baby, what he or she would look like, how we would bring it up, where we would bring it up, but there was no sense of excitement from him, as much as I tried to make it seem like a new adventure lay ahead, that the next phase of our life was about to begin. By the end of the pregnancy, his visits declined. At this point I was dealing with my mother’s illness and as such, I spent a lot of time at her house and I barely noticed he was not around very much.

When my son, Joshua, was born, Raj was not there and it made me angry but trying to push a nine-pound baby out of me was a distraction. I wasn’t alone; my sister was there with me and I was just happy that someone was around, as my mother had passed away just a couple of weeks earlier.

Raj visited me at the hospital, bringing flowers and chocolates and a huge balloon and when I was released, he took me back to my place, cooked and helped with Joshua, always making sure we were comfortable and had what we needed.

But we were drifting as a couple. I didn’t see it then, because I was so wrapped up in being a new mother, as I should have been, but I see it now. At that time, I just resented him not being around as much as I wanted him to be, to be a full-time father, to be of help to me. He told me he was working extra shifts to help with things financially, but I couldn’t see anything extra coming my way. As contradictory as it sounds, I also didn’t mind him not being around all the time. I wanted more time alone with my little boy and for the next two years, I had tunnel vision, not seeing anything apart from my son, watching him learn to crawl, walk, run, documenting everything for posterity.

One day I realised that it had been about a week without a visit or a phone call from Raj and when I tried to call him, there was no answer, so I decided to go over to his place to see if he was okay. The door was opened by one of his flatmates, who quite casually told me that Raj had gone to India to be married.

Married!

I couldn’t quite register it for a while. I remember driving home, a numbness in my brain, and a hollering kid in the backseat of my car. Then, of course, for the next few days and weeks and months, I went through the range of emotions that go along with such a betrayal. Not one word had he said to me. I tried to remember the last time I saw him, if he’d mentioned anything, hinted even, but no, I guess I wasn’t looking for anything, so I didn’t see anything. I didn’t notice him leave my life.

****

And what happened to Raj, I hear you ask. He was my Billy, my forever love. It turns out the woman he married was his Billy, his forever love, the one he left behind to seek a better future in another country.

Was Raj my forever guy then? Was he the one that got away? I don’t think so.  Or maybe. But he was my life when he was in it. Only until recently, I thought about him every single day. After all, the little boy growing up in front of me was the spitting image of his father. And for some reason, I had not given up hope of us all being a happy family; better late than never, right?

That hope ended when my then eighteen-year-old son decided to seek him out. I encouraged him to do so, helping locate him, knowing he was living somewhere in Melbourne. He did and when my son knocked on his door and was told by Raj’s wife that Raj wasn’t home, Joshua left his number and hoped there would be some contact.

Now, six years later, there’s been none. The message is loud and clear. He didn’t want any part of my son’s life. How it affected Joshua, I don’t fully know, but it was the point at which I began to hate him. And I knew it was over. Totally, completely over. I took off my rose-coloured glasses in defeat. I knew I would not see his smile again, his eyes light up at the sight of me, his loving words whispered in my ear. It was done.

Raj has found happiness; at least sometimes, I hope he is happy. He was a perfect partner to me for a long time, but he was never a father to my son. I think the worst part of it all was that I felt like a pawn. Someone he used to get his residency so he could bring his forever love into the country and raise his own family here.

And me? At forty-six years old, I finally found my love, quite soon after I went through the grief of Raj’s absolute absence. Paul is his name, and there is a love born of togetherness, a give and take. I adore him and he makes my heart full.

But will I forget the man who first had my heart? I cannot. I see the same eyes, the same smile every time I look into the face of my boy, the memento left by a man who I once loved.