Walter waited in the back corner
of the cafe. Although the constant staring and whispering from relative
strangers had subsided, it was still simpler for him not to invite more
attention by sitting out in the open.
It had been 6 months now since the
Towers had crumbled and it was becoming easier to deal with the sadness that
period brought him. He felt for those who died for him. And those who died for
William Unston. He thought about Lucy a lot. Every day he remembered her in her
brightest light. He had forgotten her imperfections, her missteps and
ultimately her betrayal. She was the Lucy Blues he always wanted. The one girl
he would always remember and she was gone.
The bell attached to the door of
the cafe sung out and a man leaning heavily on a walking stick slowly entered.
Nothing brought more sadness and guilt to Walter than the sight of Stevie. The
man who sacrificed so much just for Walter’s wellbeing was left crippled and
broken. Walter had spent the majority of those first three months waiting in
the hospital for Stevie to wake up. He paid for all the medical expenses
including the physiotherapy and the carers. He even spent a month caring for
Stevie out of the hospital but it was agonising work.
The man had lost his hope in the
world. He had learnt to walk again not through positive reinforcement and
support, instead through embracing his anger to the world. More than once he
had blamed Walter for everything that happened; asked him what it was all for.
What good has come of it?
He would apologise afterwards, but
he was right. What had Walter achieved? Why was he here?
Walter stood and smiled, shaking
Stevie’s hand. Stevie looked warm and welcoming as he rested his walking stick
beside the table. “Walter, what did I tell you about giving me that look?”
“Sorry,” Walter said, smiling.
“How have you been?”
“Holding up. Every day is another
day.” Stevie slowly lowered himself down to his seat. Walter made to support
him but Stevie waved him away.”Yourself?”
“I’m OK.” Walter stated.
“You could never play poker,
Walter,” Stevie said.
Walter smiled awkwardly, he felt
awkward about it. “How’s your...” he trailed.
“Physio is going well. Not so
painful like it was before.”
“Any chance you will be able
to...you know, walk without...” Walter felt like a moron but he had nothing
else to say.
“You mean without the stick? Can’t
say, but it is the goal.” The waitress, Meagan came over and Stevie ordered a coffee.
“Can you make sure it is organic. Same with the milk.”
“Of course. We try make sure all
our food is EE safe.”
“Ah but you can never be sure can
you?” Phil seemed to have snuck up from out of nowhere – he was less
recognisable without his dreadlocks and tattered clothing. He pulled up a chair
and sat between Walter and Stevie. “I’ll grab a water and a best endeavours
vegan salad.”
“No worries.” Meagan, said.
“Anything else for you, Walt?”
“No I’ll be fine, thanks.” Walter
replied vacantly. Meagan nodded and left with a courteous smile.
“Boys,” Phil said with a grin.
“Did anyone notice the waitress wants to bone the fuck out of Walter?” Stevie
smirked and Walter dismissed the comment. “Nothing? Maybe I’m just imagining
it. Who wants to sit outside? Some depressing shit being here with so much Sun
shining.”
“Prefer to keep a low profile,”
Walter mumbled.
“Low profile? Come on, Walt, you
can’t let them control you like that. They want to say hi you just say hi back
and tell them about your latest book until they get bored.”
Walter appreciated the humour even
if he couldn’t quite laugh at it. “Sometimes it’s not just ‘Hi’.”
“What else do they say? ‘Fuck me,
Walty, fuck me’ like the waitress over there?” Phil gestured aimlessly over his
shoulder. “I mean sure she isn’t ‘A number 1’, but she has that glasses thing
going for her; how many girls you banged with glasses? One too few, I say.”
Lucy had glasses. Walter wanted to
say it like it proved a point but he knew Phil was just trying to disarm his
negativity. He knew it and he was unconsciously defending it. Defending his
sadness like it needed a champion. It was a sickening feeling. “It’s not that.
It’s...” he hated his indecision, his inability to show some assertiveness.
“It’s not all ‘Hi’s’ and smiles, I
think Walter is trying to say.” Stevie interjected.
“You mean the haters?” Phil asked,
apparently only to himself as he went on to answer, “Dude, I’ve always told you
to just come out and tell it like it is. I know back with Channel 8 you were
screwed pretty bad, but there are different channels to communicate. Let me get
you some screen time where you can be comfortable.”
Walter shook his head. “I don’t
want to go back to that world.” It was Walter’s determination to conduct a
media blackout. He had refused to give any statements or comments ever since
the Towers fell. The media didn’t take kindly to his position and quickly spun
a negative appraisal of the events and his involvement, but it allowed him to
shut the gates on his errors and cap off his guilt at the current level. “I’m
not fit to solve anyone’s problems – not til I solve my own.”
“I’m not telling you to get up and
preach about happiness; I’m telling you as a friend. You need to extol all that
shit you got brooding away up there.”
Walter sighed. Maybe Phil was
right, but he didn’t want him to be. Even if he went on TV and told his story
he would probably crack under the pressure. He would stir up the world again,
like a snow globe being shaken after all the snow had settled. They would remember
how badly he let them down and he would lose six months of attempted anonymity.
There was a moment’s silence as
Walter decidedly remained quiet to avoid the discussion. Phil leaned back, “So
I guess we’re staying inside then.”
Stevie spoke, changing the subject
for Walter, “So you see much of Forest and The Strays?”
“Yeah we keep in touch, though
most of them claim I sold out. It’s hard to get past the image thing. Sad
really.”
Stevie nodded.
“Funny that these kids criticise
the world for being so judgemental and then you cut your dreads and you’re
suddenly a suit.”
“Would you think the same 12
months ago?”
“Yeah...yeah I probably would.”
Phil leaned in again. Walter prepared for another tirade about faceless
string-pullers. He did his best not to roll his eyes. “That’s the thing though,
I want to educate and inspire change amongst people who may not have sought the
truth, but I find this constant drag from the people who I thought were already
on my side. Like this EE Safe movement, it should be all over the news, but we
are struggling to even keep up discussion on the blogs. People just don’t seem
to care. I mean how many people must be addicted and they still deny it?”
Stevie shifted a little. Walter
knew Stevie was still addicted to the liquid. It was the biggest source of
guilt from the fallout of those treacherous few months. Stevie had nothing but
good intentions when he entered the Towers to rescue Walter and his reward was
spinal damage and an irreversible addiction to Walter’s state of happiness.
Phil knew - he had used Stevie early on the raise awareness of the issue - but
Stevie hid the addiction from Phil. Walter could not gauge if it was out of
shame or pride but either way he understood. He understood people’s worries in
a way he had never been able to before.
Phil continued. “You know they
don’t even deny it anymore, Citadel, they say they include EE in their
products. I mean they might as well since we lobbied hard enough just to get
them to register it as an additive substance. But I’m saying people hear this
and still don’t care.”
Stevie pushed out his chair, “I’m
going to have a smoke.” He struggled to his feet and headed outside.
Phil turned his focus back to
Walter. “They say in small enough doses it isn’t addictive or harmful but we
got a ton of cases with people hooked to dependency. Doctors are refusing to
prescribe it even though the Citadel Pharmaceuticals have it featured in every
second medical journal published, promoting how wonderful it is. It’s fucked
up.”
Meagan brought the food the food
over. “You look hungry, Walt, how about I do you a sandwich?” Walter shook his
head politely. “Avocado with chilli egg mayonnaise – my specialty; if you don’t
like it I’ll have to quit right here and sit down and finish it for you. What
do you say?”
“No really, I-”
“He says yes, and for both our
sakes I hope it tastes not nearly as good as it sounds and you’ll be forced to
sit with us for the rest of the afternoon.”
Meagan smiled warmly at Phil, but
she kept looking at Walter. Walter nodded, “OK, you’re right I am a bit
hungry.”
“Great!” Meagan spun on her heel
and headed out the back.
“Great!” Phil said, zeroing in on
Walter. “Dude, if you don’t fuck that tonight it better be because you’ve got
some 4 date minimum or some shit because I’m gonna wack off to the image of her
sitting on your cock for the whole of next week - get me a photo and I’ll make
it a month.”
Walter laughed, going red. He had
suspected Meagan was smiling a little often but maybe he needed Phil to spell
it out for him.
“Well?!”
“Well she does seem to smile a
lot. But she is a waitress. She ought to smile.”
“Not like that they don’t. She
smiles to me. She smiles for you. She’s trying to make you smile.
I’m getting a hard on just thinking about this.”
Walter laughed. Phil could be too
much sometimes but he was always entertaining. “I don’t know how they let you
on TV.”
“I know, right? But the people
love me, and the execs can deal with a dick joke every now and then. Just don’t
say a pussy joke.”
“So they have managed to change
you. First the hair; now you can’t talk about your favourite thing in the whole
world.”
“You’re mistaken, Walt. Firstly, I
do love the vag and its many interpretations of the classic triangle, but my
favourite thing in the world always has and always will be my cock. Secondly, I
only cleaned up because the only girls willing to bone me were ones that
smelled worse than me.” Phil dug into his salad. “Plus,” he said with half a
grin and a full mouth, “they were so hairy I could have been fucking a rhombus
for all I knew.”
Walter snorted with laughter. A flash
of humour struck him and a grin crossed his face.
“What? Say it, Walt, don’t hold
out on me.”
Walter shook his head but he
decided to take a risk, “I was just thinking you could have turned her round
and gotten a clean circle.”
“Oh!” Phil stood up in excitement.
“Walter, you dirty boy, I’m gonna tell-” he leaned in closer with a whisper,
“I’m gonna tell your sexy waitress you want to fuck her brown from downtown.”
Walter grinned. Phil sat down
shaking his head.
“Tell me, Walt, you gone and
started writing like I told you to?”
Walter sighed a little. “I’ve been
thinking about it but I don’t really know what I should do. I don’t want to
preach like I got something to say.”
“It’s not about preaching though.
You don’t understand, nobody reads
the shit on the net. I had to get shot just to get a look in with BullCit. I’m
telling you to put up some false name – you could put Walter Wallace anyway
because there are about 1000 blogs pretending to be you – and just tell a
story. Your story, my story, fuck even Sam and Lucy’s story – I’m sorry to
bring her up but you find your own meaning and you will get this shit off your
chest.”
“Yeah, you may be right. I don’t
really have much to do anymore. Sometimes I wish I could go back to CitaRail
and clean the bathrooms again.”
Walter thought Phil would scoff
like he always did with Citadel, but he nodded, understanding. “Well I mean you
gotta do what you gotta do. Obviously I would say get off the Citadel payroll,
there’s plenty of other shit to scrape in this world. But just give it some
thought with the writing. I won’t lie, I hope you build up to the point where
you want to talk so I can push my own agenda, but I also just want you to start
enjoying life like you used to.”
Walter nodded. He admired Phil’s
ability to talk. It was no surprise he had built the following he had. Walter
had to admit that the one positive to come from the whole situation was Phil –
he was an advocate for a lot of important change and a relentless campaigner.
Walter resented him sometimes when he preached but he was proud.
“Dude, let’s go outside.” Phil
said, standing up. “What’s your girl’s name?”
“Meagan?” Walter replied, unsure.
“Meagan,” Phil called, looking for
her over the counter, “Can we get some beers outside? Cheers.”
Walter stood and followed and they
found Stevie outside, sitting in the Sun with a cigarette in his hand and three
more stubbed out in his ashtray. They joined him and Meagan brought out three
bottles.
“Cheers,” Walter said, his voice
escaping much louder than he thought.
“Cheers,” Meagan said with a nod
and a surprised look. She went back inside. In his embarrassment Walter was
keen to misinterpret her smile as her laughing at him, but he thought better of
it and kept his hopes high.
Phil cracked up as soon as she was
out of earshot, Stevie smiled too and raised his bottle. Phil and Walter did
likewise. “It’s been a pretty shit year; we lost some pretty close friends; but
we made some pretty good ones too.”
“Here, here,” Phil saluted and the
clashed their bottles and drank.
The afternoon was spent drinking
to the setting Sun. Walter was surprised that most people who passed by didn’t
give a shit who he was – he also found that the more he drank the less wrapped
up he became in what he said.
“Do you guys ever find yourselves
bogged down?” he asked. “I just feel no motivation anymore, like everything
needs a reason and nobody can be trusted.”
“You’re becoming one of us.”
Stevie said. “You kind of get used to it after a while, but you also never do.”
“That is the motivation,” Phil
said in his best impression of himself, “To find the motivation to keep going.”
They talked about Stevie’s chances
at getting back into the frontline of the police force and his plans to use his
psychology background to help traumatised officers. Phil explained his ambition
to overturn the media landscape, but he admitted that it was sucking the life
out of him, he sometimes wished he could be the freeloading stoner of
yesteryear.
They relived some of the crazy moments,
Phil and Stevie recounting some unbelievable run-ins with Citadel agents.
They paid tribute to those they
lost. Mark Tanenworth, Whisky, The Holdsworths, the giant and Boss Citadel.
Lucy.
They even remembered Sam Tank – or
Bill Unston – who, in all his evil, still managed to honour the “message stick”
legacy of Phil’s blog BullCit by passing on the password after he had called
for a mass protest that resulted in thusands of deaths. The website had been
updated by over 100 posts all by different people and was regarded as a
highlight of internet culture, a living breathing insight into human diversity.
But as Walter walked home in the
twilight before 7pm what remembered most was just laughing and enjoying quality
time with his friends. He had given them
both a hug as they left and even managed a sneaky hug off Meagan after Phil
insisted.
He walked home with his mind
buzzing, but with the sensation slowly fading. He had to accept wholeheartedly
that he was a changed man forever. He could never articulate his happiness when
it existed, and since the day the Towers fell he had spent countless hours
trying to find it again. Was he looking for something that could not be found? Maybe
Sam had truly broken him but maybe that was for the best. If they ran the
machine again he would not win. He would feel sad not just for himself but also
for whoever took his throne. It was not an enviable position.
He took a turn at the end of the
street, extending his trip home. He had given up the old stud apartment and
moved into a fancy place in the fancy part of town but he was amazed that he
found no extra enjoyment from being in his new home compared to his old one.
Though if he moved back to the stud he imagined he would find it rather
unbearable. How silly all this was. Maybe that could be what he should write
about in his first blog. Just try it - don’t even tell Phil – just try it and
see what happens.
He walked home thinking of the
different ways he could present his article and by the time he got home he
rushed over to his computer and tried to squeeze it all out. He found it tough
to articulate the ideas and he took to scribbling on a piece of paper.
After 30 minutes he had a fairly
legible chunk of words. He was proud. He saw the article up on the website and
generating unprecedented interest. He imagined five other ideas which would all
go the same way. After a month he would have a fanbase, unaware they were
reading the work of Walter Wallace. He might even get offered a chance to write
on BullCit one day. Maybe he could-
He snapped out of his dream. It
had surfaced and enveloped him before he could have known better. He looked
back at his page and smiled. It was still just a chunk of words and he was
still just Walter Wallace, once the happiest man in the world.
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