Page 35 of Here One Moment

They’re in the back seat of a cab, which will take Ethan first to his apartment in Waverley and then on to Coogee, where Leo lives. Ethan wouldn’t have picked him as living at Coogee. He looks more inner-city, like a guy who doesn’t appreciate sand in his shoes.

“I’m sorry. Was it a family member?” asks Leo solemnly.

“No. It was a friend.” Ethan looks out the window and focuses on the giant billboards advertising luxury watches, hotels, and cars.

“A friend? A friend your own age died?” Ethan turns from the window to see Leo turning his whole body to face him so that his seat belt pulls uncomfortably across his neck. He looks horrified. Genuinely horrified. It’s gratifying.

“Yeah,” says Ethan. “Exactly the same age. He’s turning thirty in August. I mean, he would have been turning thirty.”

“Oh, mate, I’m so sorry, I thought you were going to say it was your grandfather or something—not that it’s not sad to lose a grandparent, it’s very sad, but to lose a friend at your age!” He pulls agitatedly at the seat belt. “That’s something you’ll never forget, you’ll never get over it!” He grimaces. “I mean, of course you will get over it, what a stupid thing to say, I’m so sorry.”

The taxi driver makes a sound that could possibly be a snort.

“It’s okay,” says Ethan. “Thank you.” The streetlights reveal Leo’s face. He’s wincing as if he just stubbed his toe. He actually reminds Ethan of Harvey: they both belong to the same subspecies of slightly odd, deeply intense people. Ethan has always been drawn to people like this. He likes bouncing off the surfaces of their oddness, in the same way he prefers to play tennis against a hard-hitting player. It’s more difficult to cope with the soft lobs of normal, well-adjusted people.

“I once had a friend,” says Leo. He stops and wipes vigorously around his mouth as if he’s worried he’s got tomato sauce all over it.

The pause goes on too long.

“Did he…die?” guesses Ethan.

“Oh, no,” says Leo. “He didn’t die.” He looks out the window wistfully. “We just lost touch.”

Okay, so that was a weird thing to say.

“Sorry,” says Leo. “You losing your friend, for some reason it just made me think of him. It’s hardly the same.”

No, mate, it’s not.

Ethan changes the subject. “So, what about you? How long did the lady give you?”

“Oh!” Leo laughs. “Ha ha. Not long at all. Forty-three, which is this November. A workplace accident. You?”

“I don’t have long either,” says Ethan. “I turn thirty in October.”

“And she said you’re dying in a fight?” Leo does a dorky little boxing move: jab, jab, uppercut. “You get in many fights?” He nods at Ethan’s sling. “What did you do to yourself?”

“She said assault. So I guess that’s not necessarily a fight. I’m pretty conflict avoidant. I broke my wrist in a rock-climbing…mishap,” says Ethan.

“My father always said if those psychics knew what they were doing they’d win the lottery,” says Leo.

“Maybe some of them have won,” says Ethan. “They just don’t advertise it. But yeah, I’m definitely not a believer.”

There is silence for a moment. A car changes lanes directly in front of the taxi. The driver slams on his brakes and simultaneously slams his fist against his car horn. Leo and Ethan are jerked forward. The driver opens his window and yells insults.

“Sorry about that, boys!” says the driver, who has the same cockney accent and thick wrinkled neck as a terrifying gangster in a movie Ethan saw with Harvey.

Two weeks ago.

When Harvey was just Harvey. Like, not that important. He had come up to Sydney for the weekend. Reviews were bad, but Ethan and Harvey thought the movie was pretty good.

“Not your fault, mate!” says Leo. “Idiots on the roads these days!”

They drive in silence for a moment before the taxi driver clears his throat.

“Hope you don’t mind me eavesdropping. Was there a psychic on your flight?”

“Just a poor soul with dementia, we think,” says Leo. “She was telling everyone how and when they’re going to die.”

---