Page 2 of Night and Day
“How’re you doing?” he asked, as usual, taking the extra chair and scooting closer to Izzy’s computer screens. “Get any sleep last night?”
“Yeah, all good.” Izzy nodded, running his hands through his wildly overgrown mop of dark curls. Yes, he did have permanent bed head, but not from tossing and turning.
“Have you been outside? It’s getting warmer.”
“Yeah, I went for a walk yesterday.”
Henry gave him an examining look. “It was raining yesterday.”
“It must have been the day before, then.”
“Yes! Tuesday was nice.” Henry’s head bobbed in agreement. “I’m glad you got some sunshine. Vitamin D, mental health...” He opened his briefcase and dug out a pile of printouts. “I have the latest figures here with me so we can update the infographics.”
Izzy took a deep breath, trying to squash his frustration. Henry was a lovely guy, but he was also the one client that made him want to scream into a pillow. A true boomer, he insisted on printing everything and visiting in person to watch Izzy input numbers on the screen. An hour’s work that could have been achieved in five minutes by sending a simple email.
Izzy opened the correct video project and brought up the graphics – suicide statistics from last year. Numbers were on the rise.
“We’ll be okay,” Henry said, awkwardly patting him on the arm. “I know this is hard.”
Izzy coughed, trying to dislodge the lump that always appeared in his throat when he saw Henry. Their joint loss had brought them together and led them to suicide prevention work. ‘How fortunate that something good could come out of a tragedy,’ as Henry put it. Except he would never get over losing his daughter. His only child.
Izzy had lost a girlfriend – one he’d struggled with, not that he’d ever admit that to Henry. With the gift of hindsight, he could see how destructive their relationship had been, draining the life out of him before her tragic, abrupt death stole his future. He’d mourned, but he could never match the depth of Henry’s sorrow. Over the years, his own sadness had faded, turning into a niggling memory, like a scar that only hurt if you deliberately poked at it.
So many tears had been shed, enough for a lifetime. He’d learned his lesson and stayed away from women, away from potential heartbreak and more tears. But he no longer felt the loss, not like Henry did. Izzy had slept fine for five years, albeit in complete solitude.
“Yeah, it’s hard,” he replied dutifully, mustering a catch in his throat that was expected, and began typing numbers into the cells to update the bar graph.
He felt like an imposter. Every time Henry came around, Izzy went through the motions of pain and sorrow, sat through the heavy sighs and long silences, discussing suicide prevention. When it came to the topic, Henry was a force of nature, pulling together resources to build educational programmes and trying to craft ‘viral videos’. He’d raised funding and put together a passionate team with lived experience – partly ongoing experience - which meant he constantly worried about his staff’s mental health, along with Izzy’s. Unfortunately, the collective passion also produced strong opinions, which in turn led to much negotiating and incessant changes to the videos Izzy edited for them.
Henry cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to tell you, there’s another change. That last image of the beach has to go. Miranda pointed out that seeing a body of water can bring up suicidal ideation in those vulnerable.”
Izzy nodded, wondering what else he could use. They’d done the unfurling silver ferns from every angle. It was ironic how working on suicide prevention could make you want to die.
After the graphics were updated, Henry got up. “I’ll let you get on.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Guilt stabbed at Izzy’s chest as he angled himself away, focused on his screen.
He should have offered Henry a cup of tea, asked him to stay awhile. The old man loved to drink tea and reminisce. But today, he couldn’t take it. The sooner he got the guy out, the sooner he could put on his headphones and listen to his favourite soundtrack, clear his mind of those memories and escape into his story. An imaginary world. Nothing beat an alternate reality.
Henry hovered at the foot of the stairs, a friendly smile softening his drawn face. “How’s the film coming along? Are you going to be at the Oscars next year?”
Izzy rewarded the painful joke with a forced laugh, as he stretched his arms behind his head. “The computer crapped out, and I have to order some new gear.”
“Oh, really? But, it’s working? You can still edit our videos?” Henry pointed at the screen.
Bless his cotton socks. Izzy nodded. “Yeah, the iMac is fine. It’s just that rendering 3D environments takes a lot of processing power.”
“Of course. Of course. Well, I hope you get it sorted. The world needs to see some uplifting stories right now.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He’d told Henry little about his film project, only that the story dealt with suicide in an uplifting way – a statement he felt was likely untrue. Was it even possible to achieve such an oxymoronic outcome? Probably not.
“Don’t suppose you want to join us for pizza night next Monday? Got a couple of new people starting at the helpline. Younger people.”
Izzy clicked on an email he had no interest in. “No, sorry, I have quite a bit of work to get through.” He wondered what had brought this on. Henry hadn’t asked him to join any social outings in months. After all, he’d been consistent with his vague excuses for years. Everyone else, including his family, had learned their lesson.
“Of course.” Henry lifted his hand in farewell and tackled the stairs one at a time, pausing on each step. He needed a hip replacement but refused to use health care resources ‘on frivolous things’, so he refused the surgery. Everything this man did put Izzy to shame.
When Henry finally made it to the second level, Izzy abandoned his computer and threw himself on the couch, letting air drain from his lungs. If he ever finished this film, Henry would be disappointed with it. Or shocked to his core. Possibly both. He hadn’t quite figured out the ending yet, but considering that the story took place in the afterlife and he couldn’t really raise the characters from death... no, that would never work. It wouldn’t be authentic. People who died stayed dead, without fail. Just like Erin, since she’d leapt into the dark Waikato river.
