I Am the Messenger

I think awhile before speaking. "An excuse."

Ritchie says nothing because he knows I'm right.

We drink on and the river rushes by.

It's been a good hour now.

Ritchie stands up and walks into the river. The water rises above his knees. He says, "This is what our lives are, Ed." He's picked up on the idea of things rushing past us. "I'm twenty years old, and"--the Hendrix-Pryor tattoo winks at me under the moonlight--"look at me--there isn't a thing I want to do."

It's impeccable how brutal the truth can be at times. You can only admire it.

Usually, we walk around constantly believing ourselves. "I'm okay," we say. "I'm all right." But sometimes the truth arrives on you, and you can't get it off. That's when you realize that sometimes it isn't even an answer--it's a question. Even now, I wonder how much of my life is convinced.

I get to my feet and join Ritchie in the river.

We both stand there, knee-deep in water, and the truth has well and truly pulled our pants down.

The river rushes by.

"Ed?" Ritchie says later. We're still standing in the water. "There's only one thing I want."

"What's that, Ritchie?"

His answer is simple.

"To want."

Ritchie bypasses the pub and the betting shop the next day and actually starts looking for a job. As for me, I've also thought a lot about what was said last night at the river.

I'm driving people around the city, being told what to do and where to go. I watch the people. I speak with them. The weather's nice today. The weather's always something.

Am I whingeing?

Complaining?

No.

This is what I chose to do.

But is it what you want? I ask.

For a few kilometers, I lie that, yes, it is. I try to convince myself that this is exactly what I want my life to be, but I know it isn't. I know that driving a cab and renting a fibro shack can't be the final answer of my life. It can't be.

I feel like I just sat down at some point and said, "Right, this is Ed Kennedy."

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Somewhere along the line, I feel like somehow I introduced myself.

To myself.

And here I am.

"Hey, is this the right way?" my plump, suited customer questions from the backseat.

I look in the mirror and say, "I don't know."

The next few days are quiet. We play cards one night and I realize I need to get started on Marv. With Ritchie on his way, Marv is next in line.