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III.
Stories have to begin somewhere.
There are so many now, everywhere –
So similar, so different, walkingdrivingswimmingflying;
Surrounding us, formless, liquid dreams. Where did they come from? We are
trapped within, locked, criss-crossing through a multitude of others,
some known, some not; rippling in countless concentric cascades [imagined].
Follow the threads, follow them back.
I came to.
It was as peaceful an awakening as I could remember. No grogginess, no tiredness, no lazy resolution of imagery – everything was crystal clear. The cracked ceiling grinned down at me. Light crept into the room on unsteady feet, wavering. Silence carpeted the house. I knew instinctively that it was late, maybe midday.
I stretched, a shuddering yawn ripping free.
Got up, tip-toed to the bathroom and began to wash up. I took my time, movements slow and careful. I thought about the past few days as I scrubbed my teeth –Dad drunk. Tess distant, face grossly over-painted.
I spat out a gob of mouthwash, mixed with red.
Vertigo flirted with me; I threw on a shirt and went to make myself a bowl of cereal. I rooted around in the sink for a usable spoon. Outside, heavy clouds floated – black ships against a mostly light background. Squinting, I brought my gaze back down to earth and saw Sam sitting in the street. Her back was to me but I knew it was her, that distinctive orange-blonde bob and slight shape was unmistakeable.
I walked out to see her, screen door banging carelessly behind me. She didn’t turn. The pathway was warm and wet against my bare feet.
‘Hey,’ I sat down beside her. ‘How long you been here?’
‘Not long,’ she said.
‘What’s up?’
She shot me a glance and I felt it like a punch to the chest, breath suddenly lost.
‘Could ask you the same thing. There’s a reason you have a phone, you know, you should try answering it sometime.’
I looked down at my toes wiggling in the gutter.
‘…it was off, you know.’ I cut off her exaggerated groan, ‘and besides, what did you want me to do? Call and say “hey, Sam I had a mini-breakdown and punched Mickey in the face?”’
‘Is that what it was? I mean, we get it --’
‘I don’t even know anymore.’
She sighed. ‘Did your Dad flip out?’
I made a face. ‘He doesn’t know – he was passed out by the time I got home; Tess took the call. She’ll cover for me.’
‘Okay.’ Sam sniffed, carelessly brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hair reached just below her shoulders, tucking it back only made her big ears stick out. She was staring at me with an odd look; I blinked, coughed.
‘You alright? You look a bit crook.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ she mumbled, averting her eyes. ‘Must be somethin’ going round.’
‘So you skipped school, huh?’ I grinned.
Again, the odd look, the sadness. ‘It’s Saturday, Jake.’
I
stared.
My world tilted. It’s Saturday. It was Saturday. The Saturday. The day.
Of course, it made perfect sense. My head hung between my knees; my nails needed trimming, there was black muck gathering beneath them. Sitting in the gutter wasn’t as comfortable as it used to be, that was for sure. I lay back, small patch of grass cushioning my back, tickling my hands. The bloated remnants of the last storm had moved on, leaving a mostly clear sky streaked with wisps of white.
It wasn’t just the grass – Sam’s hand was clenching mine. Had she been saying my name? The events of the past few days began to rush together in a seamless jumble and I could see it now, lying beneath them all (Maharaj; the fight) a thread of unease that led straight to this day, to Mum. How the fuck had I forgotten? But no, that’s not quite right. I knew – I’d known all along.
The house is empty.
I’m standing, staring at its cavernous face and gaping black holes; it is immense and yet dwindling in size. My feet register the rough sensation of skin on tarmac, Sam’s distant concern presses down on me. It fades but doesn’t vanish; the wind is whipping at my face, stealing liquid from my eyes and I have the briefest thought – is she following me, chasing me as we did once so long ago on sunny carefree days? – the streets blur into meaningless forms but I know where I’m going.
Past the local creek, over a bridge and through dense foliage, gasping up the steep hill on the other side to face a huge arching entranceway. Green fields dotted with tiny white T’s and slabs of gray spread out to the horizon. The cemetery’s gate was oddly grandiose, given the out-of-way location. Weeds crept into the cracks and up, meandering through the cobblestones that lined the fields ahead.
My sides were heaving, ears ringing. I walked into the cemetery, down the slope with its litany of names and dates glaring at me from both sides, the judgmental dead that never rest. The sun is shining on the slabs; it is hard to look directly at them. The first time I came down this way, I didn’t notice the names, the graves, or their state. The second time, I paid particular attention, noting and reciting the dead and their years as though it mattered – I could construct stories for those fading ghosts with tombstones that were already beginning to forget, losing identity by the consonants.
Other times I would note the differing structures, some ostentatious with gold lettering and gleaming marble, others huddling closer to the dirt in humble shame and I wondered about the families of these neglected souls – had they put flowers, candles, some token of sentiment? It always surprised me to see, on those rare occasions one encounters other living people in the cemetery, which grave belonged to which person –you would never pick it.
Just ahead, a slight figure was kneeling before a black tombstone. Her auburn hair flickered in the breeze - she was crying. I halted– should I just walk on? Something about her tugged at me, some sense of familiarity. She turned briefly. It was Jenna. We stared at each other in mutual shock.
‘Jake?’ Jenna wiped hurriedly at her face, sniffing. ‘What are you doing here?’
The wind nipped at me with chilled teeth, despite the mostly clear day. I shivered, a wave of gooseflesh rising up and with it the realisation that I was still wearing the shorts and singlet I’d woken up in. ‘Uh, hey. Visiting Mum,’ I said.
‘Oh, do you always…,’ she trailed off, looking me up and down.
‘No, I…I’d rather not talk about it actually. Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you or anything.’
I began to shuffle around her, burning with shame.
‘No, no, it’s cool. You can stay if you like. I mean, if you want,’ she said, looked down.
‘Dad would appreciate it. He never gets any visitors aside from me.’
Increasingly anchored in the now, I felt more and more ridiculous in my shorts and singlet – I sat down next to her.
‘How long’s it been?’
‘Eight years, four months and thirteen days.’
Quiet pooled.
Jenna flicked her hair back. ‘What about you?’
‘It’s been…’ My breath caught. ‘Uh, three years. Three years today.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ She slung an arm around me.
Warmth radiated down my neck and I involuntarily leaned closer into it.
‘I forgot. I can’t believe I forgot.’
‘Hmm?’ Her breath tickled my skin, we were so close. I could lean in, tilt and kiss those lips. Awkwardness slipped over us and we moved away. The wind pickled the absence of her arm around me.
‘Uh, I should go.’
‘Okay.’
A little disappointed she didn’t argue, I began to walk. ‘I like what you’ve done with your hair, by the way,’ I said offhand.
She grinned, crooked teeth flashing. ‘Thanks.’
I smiled back. ‘See you at school, okay?’ Not waiting for a reply, I continued on, feet slapping on stone in rhythmic applause. Mum wasn’t too far away, a few twists and turns later, I stood before her plot. It was at the edge of the cemetery, hemmed in by the gate. A huge tree on the otherside loomed above, casting its fragmented shadow across her face. Pots of flowers were artfully arrayed around her, colours of red, white and green shone vibrant and glossy.
It looked well-tended. Now I knew why Dad had been so off for the past week, why we all had, and could see why the house had been empty this morning. At least they were switched on. Ashamed of my lack of contribution, I looked away.
‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ At least, that's what I wanted to say, but I couldn't. The words shrivelled up inside, became dead weights in my gut. I sat there in the quiet, with the breeze whispering lazy tunes through dangling leaves and tried to be content. Thousands of angels, statues, and idols stared at us; from above, below and all around. It was really creepy.
I hunkered down.
The funeral was still fresh in my mind, almost brighter than everything else. The sun shone so bright that day, defiant, ugly in its radiance. The shadows had fled into the gaping hole in the ground. It was so dark and black inside. And we were just going to put Mum in there? I couldn’t believe it. For an insane moment, I wanted to stop everyone, stop everything and say wait, just wait a minute. She’s going to need to see.
She’s going to need light.
) to get things across sooner rather than later and I wanted to get his mother's death out in the open, so to speak...
