The Engineer I Used to Be and the Night Guard I Am Now, Talking at Two in the Morning

Two in the morning. The standing fan turns one way, then back, and each time it passes my face it carries the smoke of a mosquito coil. In the guard booth of the apartment block, twelve camera squares blink a pale blue, the iced tea has almost melted away, and out by the gate a rubbish truck crawls past.

I am fifty-four. At twenty-eight I signed the first drawing of my life, a small workshop building, my hand shaking for fear of one wrong number. Now I write licence plates in a green notebook, open the gate for people coming home late, and on some nights, around this hour, those two versions of me sit on the same plastic stool and talk. Not out loud. But clearly enough that I could write it down.

Neither voice is more right than the other. One remembers what was lost. The other remembers what is here. Both are real.

The-Engineer: "I used to sign drawings. My name was in the bottom right corner, with a stamp, and people stood reading every line. Now I sit writing licence plates. How do you stand it?"

The-Guard: "I am not sure I do. Some nights I just sit and think of nothing. Some nights I think of you."

The-Engineer: "It sounds like a step back. Or two. Or more than I have counted yet."

The-Guard: "Yes. I count too. I count until I get bored."

The-Engineer: "Then what do you live for, if you are no longer the one people look at?"

The Guard does not answer right away. On screen number seven a motorbike rolls into the basement, its headlight sweeping the wall before it goes out. He taps his finger on the desk, three times.

The-Guard: "Last night, this very hour, a girl from the ninth floor came home from work and stood outside the gate for half a minute without pressing the bell, as if she had forgotten what she meant to do. I opened the gate. She nodded once, saying nothing. I said nothing either."

The-Engineer: "That is tiny."

The-Guard: "Tiny. I am not saying it is big."

The-Engineer: "And the nights with no girl? Only the rubbish truck, the mosquitoes, and the clock on the wall?"

The-Guard: "On those nights I walk a lap of the yard. I check the lock on the bin room and push back the chair the wind has shoved into the middle of the path. Nobody knows. In the morning people walk past, trip over nothing, and that is all."

The-Engineer: "That sounds fine. But nobody praises it."

The-Guard: "No. Sometimes I would like to be praised too. Truly. I will not pretend I do not want it."

I look down at my right hand: a streak of blue ballpoint ink on the middle finger, the kind of ink the old drawings never left behind. On screen number two a cat slinks across the yard, tail straight up, caring about nobody.

The-Engineer: "Then how is it different from an excuse? People say things like that to soothe you."

The-Guard: "It might be an excuse. I am not sure. But that night the gate was opened at the right moment, and the person who needed to come in came in. Back then you signed drawings so people could have a house. Now I open the gate so people can get home to it. I am not saying the two jobs are equal. I am saying they sit on the same string."

They are both quiet a while. The fan turns past. The smell of coil smoke drifts over again.

The-Engineer: "I am still sad."

The-Guard: "Yes. Then be sad. That sadness says you once loved something."

That is all. The iced tea has thinned to plain water. I stand, pour a little hot water in the glass, and just then the gate light comes on. A car has arrived.

Letting both voices sit

That night I reached no conclusion. I only noticed one small thing: the two voices can talk, if I do not make either one win. The voice that remembers what was lost is not the enemy of the voice that remembers what is here. And whichever one is "right" was probably the wrong question from the start.

If you want to try it, here is how I do it, and you do not need a guard booth, a kitchen table is enough.

How to tell you are doing it right: the second voice does not try to convince the first. It only answers. The first time, many people feel awkward, or feel one voice keeps beating the other. I did too, and the first night the engineer talked five turns in a row while the guard only said "yes". After a week, some people find the two voices argue less, and others still find one pushing over the other. Both are common. On a busy day, write just one question and one answer.

The most common slip is letting the second voice become a preacher and close with a beautiful consoling line. It is tempting because everyone wants the conversation to end well. But the first voice will recognise at once that it is a soothing trick. Instead, let the second voice say "I am not sure", like my guard did.

When this conversation is not enough

There are nights when the two voices can no longer talk to each other. There is only an emptiness that goes on for many weeks, along with eating and sleeping out of rhythm, or no wish to see anyone. At that point, talking inside your head is no longer what you need. Speaking to a professional, a doctor or someone who works in mental health, is worth doing earlier than I once thought. And if you have thoughts of hurting yourself, please go to Emergency Support today.

The piece Wanting Big Meaning and Having a Meal is also two voices talking, but at a dinner table. And if you would like to look closely at the moments in a day when you were of use, there is A day of noting when I felt useful.

Three in the morning, the gate light comes on once more. I set my glass down, pull the iron gate open, and hear the wheels grind across the concrete step.

Then someone comes home.