Sad not sad

Wilco hates that he loves the way he thinks.

He thinks about summer in winter and autumn in spring. He thinks the most beautiful saying to describe ‘longing’ is ‘I miss you more than the sun misses the moon at night.’ He thinks about the weather. He thinks his past made him the man he is today. Late at night, he thinks about rephrasing sentences, and once his head hits the pillow, he thinks about what spread to have on his toast the next morning. Sometimes he thinks good thoughts and sometimes he thinks bad thoughts. Like a puppet, his thoughts are uncontrollable. A greater force sails the ship of Wilco’s mind, deciding what thoughts to think and where he thinks them. He thinks in the car, at work, on his bed, on a date, at the beach, at the shops and the airport. He thinks about everything he doesn’t want to think about all the time.

Many would say he is an overthinker, and Wilco would agree. This is not to say overthinking is inherently bad. In fact, it’s far from it. Wilco's just yet to realise.

‘If you see tremendous beauty or tremendous pain where other people see little or nothing at all you are confronted with big feelings.’ – Rick Rubin

Wilco’s inherent capacity for overthinking has gifted him with an almost magical ability, allowing him to notice the beauty hidden within the mundane. Unfortunately, for Wilco, overthinking has proved to be just as much a curse as a gift. Wilco is a walking, talking anxiety disorder, contemplating each decision he faces and catastrophising the worst possible outcomes.

~

He walked to the end of the pier and gazed at the lights glistening on the other side. It was beautiful, but as much as he tried, Wilco couldn’t appreciate it. He stood there silently staring into the light until his eyes began to sting and his thoughts started to disappear.

Wilco has spent his entire life feeling ashamed, but he’s never understood why. He knows that his feelings are irrational, but he can’t help the way he feels. So, for now, Wilco will continue to feel this heavy burden on his shoulders, he’ll continue to daydream, and he’ll continue to stare into his bathroom mirror, watching his eyes swell as tears run down his trembling face.

Chapter One – Childhood Memories

Wilco spent nine months of the previous year travelling the world, which was unexpected for anyone who knew him. Wilco could hardly muster up the confidence to order his lunch from the canteen lady, so when he told his mates that he was planning a trip to Europe, they simply didn’t believe him. Plus, Wilco had never left the country. For the first seventeen years of Wilco's life, travel consisted of boozy camping trips and David Attenborough’s Planet Earth. Watching his friends react to the news made Wilco question his ambition.

Wilco realised he'd become too comfortable with his living situation. He wanted perspective, and he knew the best way to acquire it was not through literature but through experience. So, he put together an itinerary detailing a confrontation-filled journey. But he didn't just want to learn a new way of living, he wanted to find somewhere he felt he belonged.

Hometown gossip made him nauseous and too much certainty gave him panic attacks. He wanted to step away from the hometown hierarchy. He needed to break free, but if he wanted to succeed, he had to begin thinking new thoughts.

~

Don’t get Wilco’s perspective confused with one of a spoilt brat. Wilco was grateful, how could he not be? He had won the birthplace lottery and spent his childhood bathing in nature. Each morning, he would breathe in fresh air as he walked the family dog under the tall pine trees surrounding his home. He and his best mate Lenny, who he shared bubble baths with as a toddler, spent most afternoons lazing at the beach. They often arrived an hour or so before sunset. To swim, they had to carefully walk down a rugged cliff face, re-climbing it afterwards to reach the carpark that overlooked the ocean. Lenny would reverse his beaten but much-loved Toyota Hilux so close to the cliff's edge that when they sat on the ute’s tray, they felt as if their legs were floating over a great abyss.

As the sun disappeared, they talked about work, relationships, women, sex and music. Other than the typical things pubescent teenagers discuss, what made this relationship so special was the fact these two had nothing alike. Lenny loved the Australian Football League and would pray his team would win before bounce-down. Wilco, on the other hand, could barely tell the difference between a Sherrin and a soccer ball. Nevertheless, whenever the topic arose in conversation, Wilco would edge Lenny on, allowing Lenny to take out the frustration he had for his team on his ears. He could always rely on Lenny for a chat, and he always knew when something was wrong.

They worked the same job, which made their differing personality traits more obvious. Each morning Wilco woke at five, giving him two hours to shower, write or read whatever book he was consuming. He never ate though; he preferred to eat his breakfast on smoko – he couldn’t stomach a meal that early in the morning.

Lenny usually arrived at Wilco’s at quarter-to-seven, but you could hear his rusty Hilux trudging up Wilco’s long gravel driveway for at least five minutes before he arrived. It was always so silent in the morning, so even the quietest of sounds seemed loud. They were shovelling dirt by seven.

Lenny’s older brother, Raymon, took over his father's business after he died of a stroke – he lived on a diet of burgers, pizza and sticky date pudding according to Lenny. Keeping the family in the business, he hired Lenny and Wilco and made them apprentices. Lenny loved it, the early knockoffs, the Friday beers and the filthy worksite conversations. Wilco, on the other hand, couldn’t bear it. His dreams were much bigger than the bricks he laid, he just didn’t know what those dreams were.

~

Hitting the open road alone for the first time after passing your driver’s test is the first glimpse a child has at freedom, unfortunately for Wilco, that taste was short-lived, as he was caught driving under the influence at seventeen, only two months after passing his test. Terrible, but common in regional Western Australia. The consequence? A $2000 fine, six months license disqualification and a slap on the wrist from his mother.

It was a burden, but now Wilco looks back at this era fondly. If the police hadn't caught him, he never would have become so close with his grandmother, Eleanor.

Eleanor was diagnosed with lung cancer at seventy-nine. After her diagnosis, she moved in with Wilco and his mother, Ramona, living there until her death, eight months later. Eleanor had been smoking since the age of fourteen, but when she moved in with her daughter, she agreed to swap the durries for chewing tobacco. The transition was less difficult than expected, but it was too late – time caught up with her bad habit.

Wilco usually spent his weekends somewhere along Western Australia’s rugged coastline, but now, unless Lenny was free or he wanted to break the law, he simply couldn’t.

~

Wilco and Eleanor were the earliest risers they knew. So, each day until he left for Europe, instead of spending his mornings alone, Wilco spent them with Eleanor; each morning waking to a hot pot of coffee and a pre-set Scrabble Board. Eleanor was a breathing dictionary, but she never let her vocabulary hinder her chance to win. She knew the tiles just as well as she knew her children, strategically curating words to maximise double and triple word scores.

On the weekends, when Wilco wasn’t working, they played for hours. They drank endless cups of tea and ate copious amounts of biscuits. She performed best when everything was the way it should be, in her mind anyway – bright lights, hot tea, Scotch Finger biscuits and music. Leonard Cohen was her muse of inspiration. There was something about his songwriting that made her turn hopeless tyles into something that made Wilco scratch his head in astonishment.

After a few months, Wilco grew to see Eleanor more as a friend than a grandmother, so he started telling her things he’d usually only discuss with Lenny. Between sips of tea, they’d chat about women, men, drugs and alcohol, film, books and investing.

Eleanor was never afraid of death, if she was, she wouldn’t have smoked a pack a day. So, instead of holding a grudge towards her past self, she thanked her. If it weren’t for cigarettes, perhaps she would have lived longer, falling sick once Wilco had left home and missing the opportunity to develop his now well-renowned sophisticated vocabulary.

They must have played over 250 games within those eight months, but not once was Wilco victorious.

~

There’s nothing quite like a mother's cooking, but Ramona’s cooking wasn’t just good for nostalgic purposes, it was good because she knew her way around a kitchen. She received praise from anyone she fed. She did it all, curries, pasta bakes’, stews, you name it and she cooked it. Out of all the meals she cooked, the one Wilco requested most was her famous beef casserole. Her casserole required time and effort; it wasn’t a meal you could throw together in under an hour. She’d typically begin making it just as Wilco left for school, slow roasting the beef in cabernet marinate brewed with grapes picked by local vineyard hands. When Wilco returned from his post-school activity, whatever it was, Ramona would switch off the slow cooker and make a rich, buttery mashed potato.

The trick to a good mash, Ramona told Wilco, was to never over-mash. “Why do you think our family eats crunchy peanut butter?” she would say. “The rugged texture makes the blissful destination all the more satisfying.”

These days, Wilco isn’t too bad of a cook himself. Unfortunately, he works like a dog, so he eats most of his meals out of a container, but on those rare occasions, like a date or a family reunion, he loves to utilise the culinary skills he learned from his mother.

~

Wilco’s father worked offshore, often spending weeks, sometimes months out in the Atlantic. He captained a fishing boat for Australia’s largest fishing company, Austral Fisheries. His name was Dave, but his crew always referred to him in full, Davy Jones. They also named their fishing boat The Flying Dutchmen. Ramona got quite the kick out of it when Dave returned from his first swing and told Ramona about the nickname his crew had given him – from then on, Ramona referred to her husband as Davy. She was a Joker, and fortunately, Dave was too, so he always laughed alongside her.

His swings were unpredictable, which only made his time at home much more precious. He never knew when the phone would ring and his expertise would be required. On average, he would spend a few weeks home before returning to work, but every so often he would be called to sea only days after he returned. Nonetheless, despite this tremendous uncertainty, he never complained. Not only was he irreplaceable, but he knew what the job required of him, but that’s not why he worked so tirelessly.

As a child, Dave was an outcast within the Jones family. His mother, father, brother and sister were similar. They played the same sports, read the same books and listened to the same music. Dave was the oddball, or so his family thought. Therefore, despite being loved, this led him to grow up more independently than his siblings. Fortunately for Dave, he always knew what he wanted – to captain a ship. He worked hard to make his dream a reality.

But somewhere along his journey he and Ramona crossed paths, and together they had Wilco. He wanted them to have the world, but to bring the world to his family he first had to fight the sea. Wilco and Ramona respected Dave more than themselves.

~

There was nothing inherently bad about Wilco’s youth. Wilco knew he was privileged. Privilege, however, didn’t stop his mind from churning.

Each Saturday night, Wilco and his friends spent their weekly earnings at the local football club and every Sunday they’d wake up to the piercing sun with a blistering headache. It was the highlight of the week for some, and it was for Wilco for a while too, but the more time he spent surrounded by elderly piss heads the more he realised he disagreed with their behaviour.

Above all, Wilco disliked the club manager, Mathew Trainer. Matty, as they called him, had quite the reputation. He wasn’t born into the club like most of his team. He wasn't even Australian; he first arrived in his early 20s on a tourist Visa from Finland. He’d never heard of the sport before coming to Australia, but that didn't stop him from falling in love with it. Each Saturday, Matty returned to watch the local comp, but one day after months of spectating, he mustered the confidence to sign up for the qualifying league. His talent was noticed instantly, and soon enough he was on the field berating the opposition.

Matty was the talk of the town, not for invading the game but for bringing Nordic strength to it. He won Best On Ground every week, which meant he never had to buy himself a beer – his teammates always ensured the BOG had an icy cold pint in their hand. Winning BOG so often eventually turned him into an alcoholic, and in consequence, his game began to suffer, and so did his personality. By the time he hit 30, he was known more for his piss-sinking abilities than his skills on the field.

Wilco became less interested in the sport as each year passed. Lenny was the only reason he played for as long as he did – he was the best the local comp had seen since Matty.

While Wilco was tucked deep within the back left pocket, shivering in the cold rain, Lenny was on the ball. Lenny played the centre, and rightfully so; he kicked straighter than an arrow and not one of his opponents ever matched his speed, earning him the role of team captain.

Lenny was good, but he was never good enough to make a career out of it. Wilco feared that, just as Matty did, Lenny would eventually begin to see the game as nothing more than a means to excuse the beers he’d sink afterwards.

 ~

The summer after graduation passed in a haze of drugs and alcohol, and soon enough, Wilco’s European gap year had arrived. Ramona was at home, busy caring for Eleanor, so Wilco had to find someone else to be his taxi to the airport. Lenny was the solution.

He flew out early on a Saturday morning, so rather than waking up at sparrows, they decided it would be best to head to the city the night before. Raymon let Wilco and Lenny knockoff early Friday afternoon, allowing them to reach their accommodation at a reasonable time.

Wilco jumped into the passenger seat of Lenny’s rusty Hilux, and together they drove to Wilco’s to freshen up, collect his gear and kiss his mother and grandmother goodbye – it was the last interaction Wilco and Eleanor ever had. Neither Wilco, Ramona or Eleanor liked long goodbyes, so they made it prompt, and soon enough Lenny and Wilco had hit the highway, buckled in for a three-hour drive along a dusty freeway.

On the drive, they discussed everything they usually did, women, sport, music and work. However, this was the first time they meaningfully spoke about the future.

The future excited Lenny, his plan was set in stone. Once a qualified carpenter, he and his brother would run the business his father built from the ground up together, carrying on his legacy. However, Wilco wasn’t so sure about the future. In fact, he feared it more than anything, largely because he had no idea what he wanted to do with it. He knew what he didn’t want and he knew what he wanted to see, but he struggled to figure out the career he’d dedicate an entire life to. He was far too inquisitive to make a decision that dramatic.

“If I knew what I wanted I’d be staying here and working towards achieving it,” said Wilco.

“Well, if I didn’t know what I wanted I’d have a one-way ticket to Europe,” Lenny replied with a smile strapped to his face.

They reminisced on their childhood and discussed the events of last summer – well, what they could remember of it. There was so much to say but so little time to say it, and soon with a snap of the fingers, they were pillow-talking, tucked firmly under the soft sheets of the bed made by the staff who worked at the budget hotel Wilco booked on the drive to the city. 

~

Lenny dropped Wilco off at the airport at four-thirty in the morning, arriving three-and-a-half hours before his flight was scheduled to take off – the amount of time required for Wilco to have a restful mind. Lenny tried to convince Wilco that waking that early was unnecessary and that he’d be much better off with an extra hour of sleep, but anxiety took control of Wilco’s rationale. He insisted they arrive at the airport earlier than universally recommended.

Just as Wilco did with his family, they parted ways quickly, but that’s not to say there wasn’t time for a teary hug. They reunited later that year. However, by then, they were both different people, with completely different perspectives about the world.