On entering the ground floor ER of the Alfred Hospital, I first came upon the main reception desk, staffed by a handful of clerks.

One of the younger guys at reception was immediately familiar. My gaydar ‘pinged’, registering a U.F.O. (Undeniably Faggy Object). My mind’s eye superimposed the pleasant looking guy with short, brown hair and probing blue eyes onto the backdrop of clubland, as experienced at The Depot, the popular GLBTI nightclub situated in Prahran, where I’d worked behind the bar for over three years.

Not only had I served him numerous bourbon and Cokes during my employment at The Depot, but also I’d once wandered into the downstairs guys’ toilets and stumbled upon him and another guy in one of the cubicles where he’d been using his muscular companion’s dick as a tongue depressor. As if he, too, suddenly recalled the memory, his gaze shifted awkwardly back to his computer monitor.

“Puck, over here!”

I turned to the left and saw Desi standing by the water cooler in the main waiting area, where she was part way through filling a disposable cup.

We crossed to meet one another, embracing fondly and placing brief, gentle kisses on one another’s cheeks – or in my case, I kissed my diminutive friend’s forehead, which almost reached the bottom of my chin.

Desdemona Delrita lacked height, measuring little more than 5 foot. But her petite face was capped off by an explosive growth of wild, dark hair that grew in tiny corkscrew ringlets that had (unkindly, perhaps) earned her comparisons to The Simpsons character, Sideshow Bob.

Desi possessed a curvaceous figure that she happily exposed in low-rider jeans and a seemingly endless array of midriff tops and halter necks, and when they girl walked, those curves danced a salsa as if born to it.

“How you doing?” she inquired, staring up at me with large, dark eyes that made me think of a seal cub.

“Fine,” I said unconvincingly. “You?”

Desi gave a shrug, echoing my own comment. I asked after Tish’s whereabouts and she informed me that Tish had ducked out to the toilets a couple of minutes ago.

“And Alexander?” I inquired.

“Over there.” Desi gestured to a location on my left, behind me, where just a few feet away Alexander sat in one of the generic molded plastic chairs that adorned the waiting room, which was populated with several other harried, bored and/or lost looking souls.

Alexander, who sported short blue black hair and – when standing - was as tall as Drew was and reasonably broad of frame. He was sitting hunched over in his seat, head bowed and shoulders sagging. His hands were clasped anxiously before him, with arms resting on his knees. His wide-eyed gaze appeared nailed to a point just beyond the tips of his shoes. So absorbed was he in whatever it was he saw, Alexander hadn’t noticed my arrival.

I shifted my attention back to Desi. “So…? Any news on Michael?”

Desi shook her head. “Nah. Nothing yet,” she advised. “Am waiting for Tish to get back, then may be she can find out what’s going on…” Her voiced trailed off.

“But you guys have been here since – what? 8 o’clock…?”

She nodded. “Actually, Alexander and Tish got here about ten to eight,” she said. “Just after the paramedics brought him in. I got here around eight thirty-ish.” Desi worked at as a sales assistant in a pharmacy located on Malvern Road, in the wealthy suburb of Malvern. The pharmacy was open until 9pm weekdays. I figured that once she got the call about Michael, and left work early, it would’ve taken her some twenty minutes to travel to the Alfred Hospital via public transport, as she did not own a car.

“Well, it’s getting on towards ten, “ I observed, consulting my watch. ”Can’t believe no one has come out and spoken to you guys yet…” I said, feeling my frustration and anxiety levels rise.

“Such is the nature of the public health care system,” Desi lamented.

I muttered a curse of disgust, to which Desi responded with a small smile, intended to comfort me, and gently patted my arm, then took my hand and squeezed it. “It’ll be ok, Puck,” she said. “Tish will be back any second… she’ll get them sorted…”

Yes indeed, that was what Tish did best: taking charge. We all knew this well enough that we just stood back and let it happened; it was what Patricia ‘Tish’ Vale had been born to do. I often suspected that upon her birth, Tish herself had recorded her birth weight and measurements, filled out the forms in triplicate and filed them. Hell, she’d probably even reorganized the hospital’s filing system for them at no extra cost.

Desi asked how the movie date with Drew had gone, as if searching for some kind of distraction. I wasn’t able to indulge her. All I could do was offer a noncommittal shrug of the shoulders and a gentle nod.

“It was fine,” I told her in manner that made it clear I didn’t want to discuss it further; too many other thoughts had collected in my head, all of which seemed to have a central nexus: ’Why?’

It was at that juncture Tish emerged from the toilets and joined Desi and I, thus saving me from having to think – if only for a few minutes.

Unusually tall for a girl, Tish was as willowy and graceful in body and presence as Desi was bodacious and tiny. Tish’s copper hair hung perfectly straight and was kept in an elegant and neat bob that fell just below her chin. And where Desi’s complexion was dark, Tish was china-doll pale, a tone that brought out the brightness of her round, emerald eyes.

Tish flashed me a faint smile before she kissed me on the cheek and we held one another for a moment or two, voicing basic greetings. As we parted, Desi turned slightly to look on Alexander and I followed her gaze. He remained in exactly the same pose.

Desi’s brow creased with concern. “I’m going to go sit with Alexander for a bit,” she announced. “Just make sure the poor thing’s ok – he looks so lost,” she noted.

This left Tish and I to talk. I looked at her levelly. “I need to understand what’s going on here,” I said frankly. “Because none of this makes sense; this afternoon – at lunch time – Alexander calls and tells me that Michael’s had one of his turns,” I recounted, and by ‘turns’ I was referring to Michael’s long time problem with his blood sugar levels.

For as long as Tish, Desi, and I had known Michael, he’d had a minor problem with his blood sugar, which could drop suddenly and sharply, leaving him disorientated, trembling and exhausted, and seemingly on the verge of fainting. As far as Michael was concerned, it had never been a big deal and he controlled it through diet. But some times it would sneak up and catch him off guard; today had been one such instance.

Although Alexander and Michael had shared an apartment together for 2 years or so, Alexander had never actually experienced one of Michael’s ‘turns’. Therefore, when he’d found Michael in a bad state, the first thing Alexander did – sensibly enough – was to phone Tish, Desi and myself in order to learn what he could do to help Michael.

I wasn’t able to take his call at the time. But I learned a short time later he’d also tried calling Desi and had left a message with her, too. But Tish had been the first person he’d been able to get through to, and so our resident ‘Take Charge Person’ was able to direct Alexander in a suitable manner.

Essentially there was little anyone could do for Michael once a turn had happened, other than make sure he was comfortable and let him sleep it off, as these events tended to exhaust him and he could literally sleep for ten hours afterwards. Then he’d generally wake up refreshed and re-energised.

Throughout the day, each one of us – Tish, Desi and myself – had phoned Alexander just to check on how Michael was doing; we were a close group of friends, so this was just a standard response when something untoward happened to one of us.

When I spoke to Alexander, he’d already fielded a couple of calls from Tish and Desi, so he merely repeated what he’d already told them; that Michael appeared fine and was in bed sleeping. When I got off the phone to Alexander at that point, my mind was completely at ease, for he had handled the matter in a calm and reasonable fashion and, most importantly, Michael was fine.

Which brought me back to my original point: how had we gone from that situation to this, in the space of a few hours? How was it that Michael was lying in a hospital’s ER, fighting for his life?

“I don’t get it,” I told Tish. “He was ok this afternoon,” I cried, and Tish nodded at me, looking sympathetic. “This has to be some kind of mistake,” I told her. “It has to be!”

Tish tilted her head to one side and reached for my hand, holding it gently in her own. “Sweetheart, there’s no mistake,” she said with calm authority.

“How can you know that? How can we know what’s going on?” I said. “I mean, this is Michael we’re talking about – do you really think he’d try to kill himself?” I asked her in disbelief.

Tish drew in a deep breath and I saw her expression harden a little. “Puck, honey - Michael left a note.”

Michael and I grew up on the same street, living just two doors from one another. We went to the same primary school and when the time came, we went off to Helton High School together, which was where we met the girls.

Michael was not merely my oldest and closest friend; he was more like my brother. He had always been there in my life, just as I’d always been in his. Hell, even our birthdays were only a couple of days a part, and as we shared a number of physical similarities, we often pretended to the foolish that we were twins.

After completing high school, Tish and I went to university where she studied nursing and I undertook the course you do when you don’t have a clue of what to do: Bachelor of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences.

Desi (the only daughter in a large Italian family) remained in Helton for another year or so, working in her father’s pharmacy, before she packed up and moved to Melbourne. But Michael left Helton within a matter of weeks of completing high school. Despite being jobless, he went to Melbourne and took up residence in a backpacker’s hostel until he found work at a supermarket in Prahran doing nightfill.

When he had a little money saved, Michael moved into a shared apartment in the suburb of Windsor, living with a gay guy and a lesbian. After a few months at the supermarket, he resigned to take a job at one of the cafes in the heart of gay Prahran, on Commercial Road. One thing led to another and he eventually ended up working at The Depot as a barman, and it was through Michael that I eventually got my job there as well.

I stuck it out at university for two and a half years, but my grades were lackluster, something of a reflection, I suppose, of my tepid interest in the course. Finally I realised I was wasting my time and decided to withdraw and get out into the ‘real world’ – perhaps then I’d have a better idea of what it was I wanted to do with my life.

My Dad - ever against The Establishment - was supportive of this move, but Mum was articulate in her bitter disappointment and fears for my future. But I did it anyway.

I found a comfortable and large apartment in the inner-city suburb of East St. Kilda, an area that Michael had relocated to a couple of months beforehand – his own flat was a three-minute walk away.

It’s a region that falls into the infamous ‘Pink Triangle’, taking in the neighbouring suburbs of Prahran, South Yarra and St.Kilda and everything in-between. It’s reminiscent, I suppose, of the Bermuda Triangle, only instead of people entering it and vanishing forever, in the Pink Triangle all there was to fear was Fabulousness itself.

I shared the apartment with another gay guy called Terry, who was around the same age as myself, and not too long after I moved in, Michael was able to get me shifts at The Depot, and we’ve been working there ever since.

But in my spare time, I try to tell myself that I’m a ‘struggling would-be writer’, although I suppose I don’t write nearly as much as I ought, nor about the topics that genuinely interest me. I found a semi-regular ‘job’ with one of the local, free-to-street newspapers, writing restaurant reviews, but that was about the extent of any literary accomplishments, and the best thing about that job was being paid to eat and drink.

So there I was: just another twenty-something gay guy, unremarkable in many ways, standing in the Alfred Hospital’s ER waiting area and trying to digest the news that my best friend had very nearly succeeded in killing himself; indeed, Michael might still yet achieve his goal.

She nodded. “Yeah… Hun, there’s a lot to tell you,” she said, and I waited for her to go on. “Basically we got it all wrong today. Michael wasn’t out of it from one of his turns,” she said, and then went onto explain in detail. Based on the note Michael had left behind, it was clear he had taken an overdose of pills late the previous night.

When I asked Tish why Alexander hadn’t come upon the note earlier in the day, she told me that Michael had emailed it to Alexander’s personal hotmail account, rather than his email address at the lab (Alexander worked as a research assistant in a medical laboratory, as part of completing his Ph.D.).

Alexander didn’t check his hotmail account all that regularly; usually only once a day and more often than not, Alexander would wait until late afternoon or end of the day – a fact Michael would’ve been aware of. Subsequently, Alexander didn’t see the emailed note until around 7.20pm. At that point, he immediately alerted Tish via phone who instructed him to phone for an ambulance, before he then called Desi and myself.

It was pure dumb luck, then, that Alexander had elected to work from home that day, something he rarely ever did.

Alexander had gone into the lab (located in a building adjacent to the Alfred Hospital) for a couple of hours or so in the morning, but arrived back at the apartment mid-morning. He noticed that Michael’s bedroom door was shut but that in itself wasn’t uncommon – Michael often slept late after a weekend of grueling shift work at The Depot, as did I.

However, as Alexander was working away at his PC in his bedroom, he told Tish that he’d heard strangled and labored breathing sounds coming from Michael’s room. He tried knocking on the door and when there was no answer, he quietly opened the door and looked in.

He found Michael fully dressed and laid out on the bed. Unable to wake him, it was at this point that Alexander understandably believed that he’d had one of his turns. It was at this point in the early afternoon that Alexander had made the initial round of calls to us.

For the remainder of the day, Alexander kept an eye on Michael, but otherwise believed everything to be under control, certain as he was that he’d followed Tish’s advice in attending to Michael.

But in the early evening, Alexander logged on and checked his hotmail account, and that was when the truth was exposed. A brief note outlined what Michael had done, and in it he recommended (believing he would’ve been dead already for a few hours by the time Alexander read it) he contact Tish, Desi and myself as well as the police, letting the latter handle the situation.

“It sounds as though he had it all planned out,” Tish remarked, and I had to agree.

“Did the note say anything else…? Like why he did this?” I asked her. But she shook her head.

“I don’t know… I didn’t get that impression from Alexander,” she confessed. “But the hospital has a copy of it… We were told earlier that they’ll give us a chance to go over it at some stage,” she said.

I sighed and shook my head, looking round the waiting room, then out the windows at the darkened street beyond. Tish’s voice brought me back: “Puck… I know this is hard, honey… but really, is it that much of a surprise?” she asked.

I gave her a sharp look, ready to snap back at her. But when I saw the look in her eyes, any retort was lost. I had to acknowledge that she had a point. “May be… I dunno’,” I said. “He’s struggled with the whole depression thing for a long time… but I always thought he’d get through it, y’know?” I said.

“Yeah… yeah… I know what you mean,” she replied, nodding.

“Patricia Vale…?” The query came from a woman in clinical attire, standing just inside the doorway of the waiting area. Tish’s body spun round towards her and she responded with an affirmation. The woman indicated for Tish to follow her.

Tish looked back at me, silently asking if I wanted to accompany her. But we both knew that this was her arena, not mine, so I just nodded and said: “Go. Find out what’s happening, ok?”

“I’ll be back soon,” she promised, and then went over to the woman. They stepped out of the waiting area and took up positions near the reception desk where they fell into animated conversation.

I glanced back at the seats behind me, seeing that Desi was sitting quietly by Alexander, who still didn’t seem to have moved an inch since my arrival.

My mobile phone bleated from deep within the pocket of my jeans. I took it out and pressed a button. It was a sms from Nicky: so r we having fun yet? ; )

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