I have been blessed to have a number of companions throughout my life; friends (both real and imagined, when I was young), family, girlfriends, work colleagues, sports team members, school mates and people I have met on my travels who have shared a brief but enlightening companionship. There has been no shortage of solid, dependable, supportive and loving companions in my life and for that I am eternally grateful.
We always had pets – cats, budgie, and goldfish – so there was always a fluffy, feathered or scaly companion around. Mum still has cats so when I visit her I get to have my cat ‘quality time’.
An old flatmate of mind used to enjoy drinking sessions with a 'companion'. These were usually an inanimate object. I remember one enjoyable drinking session in a dodgy but welcoming Enmore pub where it was just the two of us and a BBQ gas bottle. By the end of the evening that gas bottle had an opinion on everything and a number of the punters in the pub were convinced that my friend and I were stark raving mad.
Inanimate objects have also provided me with companionship; he-man action figures, transformers, hot wheels toy cars, bikes, computer consoles (Atari, commodore 64, PC and now Mac), skateboards, cricket bats, cars, mobile phone and wallet. All of these items have provided me with solace in times of boredom, need, despair and sadness.
There are then the environmental companions, the ones you have very little control over, companions who can adversely affect you like nothing else can. The kind of companion you’d shield your face from or cross the street to avoid a meeting if they human. I have lived across the world in many different climates and thus have had the pleasure, or displeasure, of encountering a number of these companions.
In the small town I grew up in cold was a constant companion. The wind chill factor of a winter’s early morning was one companion you could well and truly do without. On the occasions I met this fellow I was left breathless, numbed and in the possession of two semi-frozen eyeballs. Not pleasant, not at all. This companion was persistent. Should you spend your nights indoors, snuggled up in a toasty warm slumber, the minute you went out to your car he welcomed you again. There is no greater joy on a below zero morning than to extract a credit card with numbed lifeless fingers and proceed to painstakingly scrape a thin layer of ice from the windscreen. That is fun my friends, good old-fashioned joy.
Toronto in high summer provided a different, but equally gracious, companion. The ‘Muggy-heat’ companion was always ready for action, constantly welcoming and hard to distract. That we lived on the top floor of an 8 storey tin box with a flat roof, no cross breeze, no curtains and no air-conditioning assisted this companion to maximise his presence. Many a day and night was spent prone on the couch, bathed in sweat, dehydrated beyond repair wondering when this companion would just #@$% off. When a good friend brought over an air-conditioner and our companion was banished I could have married her on the spot.
This summer (a word I use loosely) I have been introduced to a Queensland native companion. This guy loves the rain and this summer his boots must be worn thin from the rain dancing he has been performing. The flood crisis we are experiencing is testament to the ferocity and unnerving regularity of the rain. This rain, coupled with high humidity, provides the perfect environment for my new companion. Mould. Yep. Yuck.
I was looking through my cupboard and thought ‘what an odd smell’. It was not offensive, just odd. Upon further inspection I found my new mate ‘Mould’ hanging out on my bags, shoes, jacket and a few other items. I was unimpressed by his arrival and come this weekend he will be thrown out on his ear.
What this goes to show is that no one is ever truly alone. Even those living in a cave, shipwrecked on a remote island, or lost in the desert will still have a companion.
In this modern day can we not find somewhere, anywhere, where we can truly be alone?
It seems not.
We just need to make the most of it and be selective about the companions we keep and the ones we bid a swift goodbye.
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