I surprised myself with the quiver in my lip and the thumping of my chest when it came time to say goodbye. Desmond seemed distracted; Rowie warm but unfazed. I walked down the corridor, past faces I had lied to only minutes before, still busily oblivious to what has just occurred. “When are you coming back?” I responded, “My leave runs out in August but still not sure”, with the casual smile of someone who says goodbye expecting to say hello again soon. I thought, bemusedly and sadly, so this is what it feels like to leave secretly, without saying goodbye. I wish I could and I believe that they, in a different place, would wish too.
As I sat in the foyer feeding Karsten, gathering my belongings and my thoughts, I lingered a little longer than necessary just to catch a glimpse of faces, for sentimental reasons. I caught sight of Michael, the registration clerk, walking off to Court to file documents. I called out “Michael!” I had probably the longest personal conversation with him in my four years in litigation. Our past relationship has been limited to, “Can you please file this before the registry closes? ... It’s urgent... oh wait, I just noticed a mistake, can you hang on?” I found out today he arrived in Australia ten years ago, got this one-week contract through an agency and ended up staying on account of a massive case. I felt pathetic. I felt like the lonesome soul about to jump in front of a train and the last conversation he has is with the poor unsuspecting station attendant. And for once, the roles were reversed. He was in a rush, and I had all the time in the world.
I walked down King Street. I toyed with the idea of buying something from that ridiculously overpriced gift shop as a souvenir. Past that little lane where Kirby has picked me up countless times. It is funny how the MLC tower, by all counts and certainly, in my mind, the best location in town, had first been unknown to me (as a student), then intimidating to me (as a wannabe), then inviting to me (as a clerk), then wearisome to me (after KLC), then amusing to me (as others clamour to be here), at times repulsive to me (at 2:00am in the morning), at times my respite (en route to the domain for my lunchtime walks). I owned these steps, I belonged to them, and they to me; I was entitled to them, they felt natural to me. But I have to relinquish them now. No longer can I say, “This is my part of town” or from some trendy bar “I work just up the road”.
The Simon and Garfunkel song “Overs” play in my head. It’s over before it’s over, but the overing is not over. And then the end came so suddenly. I hadn’t even planned to do it today. I fool myself with the thought that they're acting cool to cover their disappointment. More soberly, I’m relieved I can move on. I made this decision years ago, but in some ways I am not yet ready to end it. I had never got my one day to pray over it, cry over it, gloat over it, wash my hands of it, talk about it, make peace with it. But the time is right. I had left it just long enough. As it were, I am creeping out just before the crack of dawn to savour alone the sweetness and forget the sadness of, in a way, my first love. It will always be my first job, with all its titillating hopes and youthful regrets. A job well done. Goodbye.
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