Tyler’s arms wrapped around me, and we snuggled in the comfy blanket of snow surrounding us. He drew me in for a quick kiss, before he jumped up and pulled me to stand beside him.
‘I can’t wait to do this in Canada with you,’ he said, as if it was already decided, and kissed me again. He launched himself away and left me standing there. I started to speak, started to call out and remind him I didn’t do travel, but visions of the Canadian slopes interrupted, and my whole body tingled with excitement. How amazing that would be, to board the longer, unknown runs – and with Tyler. I gasped. Was I really considering it? Tyler’s encouragement already got me to Sydney, could I go further? Maybe I could step out from behind my hodophobia label. If all it did was tell me I couldn’t do something, maybe I should listen to Tyler instead.
A smile rose to my lips, so content in that moment I thought I might burst with the fullness of it. Embers of hope grew within me, that maybe, after all the turbulence, things were truly headed in the right direction.
— 28 —
Tyler stared me down, concern etched into his face. ‘You need a break,’ he said. We sat on the library sofa, pretending to be busy working, but my eyes were heavy and I didn’t have the energy to read the words in front of me.
It had been two weeks since I’d saved Beverly and life had shifted into a new norm. Each night I sat with my book and flipped back through the pages to another old face I could work on. Drawing helped bring their stories and deaths back into mind-shattering focus, so when I closed my eyes I was there again. Sometimes I even repeated the pattern in the middle of the night, frantic to make the most of my night time hours, because I had a whole book I needed to bring back to life.
I’d saved the little girl who drowned in the backyard pool, the man who died of the heart attack, and the woman hit by the rock. I’d gone all the way back before Tyler had shown up at school, twelve weeks of dreams in two.
‘Are you sleeping?’ he asked, the worry evident in his eyes.
‘Is that your way of saying I look like crap?’
‘No.’ He brushed his thumb under an eye, peering into them mischievously. ‘Besides, these dark circles suit you. What do you call ‘em?’
I swatted his hand away. ‘Bags.’
‘How many times did you wake up last night?’ His deep voice turned serious again, tender.
‘Only two. At one in the morning and then again at four thirty.’
‘You need to give it a rest. For one night at least.’ He was right. The relentless visions and constant yearning to help tightened around my chest. The increasing pressure made it hard to catch my breath. ‘No buts. Tonight I’m coming over and I’m gonna teach you how to meditate. If I can keep you away from your dreams by having my own with you, then that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.’
I laughed. ‘So thoughtful.’
He came around after dinner and I tried, I really did. But having Tyler beside me while I attempted to shut off my mind from the dreams and his close proximity was like sitting on a hill in a thunderstorm and expecting me to ignore the blizzard and bolts of lightning striking around me.
The following day he gave me a pep talk before we went our separate ways. ‘Remember, don’t rush, give yourself time.’ He rested his hands on my shoulders and rubbed in circles. ‘Let it go.’
‘Thanks. Now I’ve got the Frozen song in my head.’
I tried again that night, but it was hopeless. One minute in and my mind ran off like a dog chasing a stick, and I was left behind to watch, hoping it’d eventually come back. I struggled competing with my overactive thoughts, and chose to instead consume myself with the one thing that always stilled my mind.
‘Ready?’ Cal shouted above the wild breeze, his cast pressing into the compacted snow where he’d remain before returning inside. We all nodded, poised for flight at the top of the slope. ‘Set.’ His voice rang across the terrain. ‘Fly!’
I lifted my board, pulling my body with it, and started down the slope. Heels, tilt, toes, I weaved my way down, gathering momentum, my heart pulsing rhythmically with the movement of my board.
We yelled ecstatically to the wind, and it whistled a chorus of elation into our ears. I sensed the other guys around me, but I was all on my own – me and my board and the mountain. The wind whipped the falling snow past my face, blowing my loose hair behind me and piercing the exposed skin. But I felt nothing but exhilaration. I was alive and in control and my rampant thoughts slunk into the shadows.
After a morning of pure exhilaration, I waved to Sean and Max on the ski lift above and tapped on my wrist. Lunch time.
‘So which run next?’ I said, reaching for a fry, my hands warming around a mug of coffee. The scenery outside the floor-to-ceiling glass stole my breath, but with Tyler across the table from me, I barely noticed. ‘You guys reckon Tyler’s ready for “The Intrepid Shelf”?’
‘I’m not ready for The Intrepid,’ Max said. ‘You’re nuts if you take him up there’.
‘If he’s ready for that slope, he’s ready for Whistler. May as well pack his bags now, ’cause he’ll be bored here in no time,’ Cal said, reaching for a corn chip.
‘I’m not ready. This is just Lucy’s way of saying how incredibly slow I am.’
‘No, it’s not. If I was going to say that, I’d just say it.’ I cupped my hand to the side of my mouth and whispered to the others, ‘He’s really slow.’ Chuckles erupted around the table.
‘I heard that.’ But he joined in the laughter. ‘You might be faster than me, but you watch me master and hone my skills. I’ll be ready for Canada in no time.’
Cal tapped a hand on the tabletop. ‘And with school holidays around the corner, you got heaps of time to practice. And I’ll finally be back on the slopes.’ He grinned around a mouthful of cheesy nachos.
‘Who’s going to Canada?’ Amber peered at Tyler.
Tyler’s dark eyes glinted, the sides of his mouth lifting. ‘Lucy.’
Hang on, what? I never actually agreed to it.
‘Seriously? Luce’s gettin’ on a plane? Since when?’ Sean asked.
Tyler’s eyes reassured me with their inviting depth. ‘No details yet, but I know she really wants to go. Sometimes that’s the only detail you need.’
‘Yeah, but about the plane.’ Max widened her eyes as if to say, ‘Wake up, tell him how much you don’t want to do this’. ‘That’s a pretty big detail.’
Tyler shook his head. ‘Minor.’ I stared in wonder and suddenly saw my desire to travel through a different lens. I’d been so focused on the details that scared me – the plane, the faces, the new dreams – when the only detail that mattered was being in Canada.
I turned and smiled at Max, and with eyebrows raised and a shrug, it told her everything she wanted to know.
‘Meditation sucks.’ I slid my goggles onto the top of my head, unclipped a boot, and skated up to the back of the ski-lift queue. Tyler was ready to try a new blue slope.
‘You just have to keep practising, you’ll get it eventually.’ He reassured me.
‘Easy for you to say, Zen master.’
‘You’re used to being good at everything. Gotta be something I can beat you at, even if it is having a quiet mind.’
‘I’m sick of trying, I wanna give up.’ I leaned my backside against the metal railing.
‘But you’re not a quitter.’
‘Unfortunately.’
‘And surely the payoff will be worth it, getting to see me day and night?’
‘The payoff will be worth it if the payment doesn’t drive me to madness first.’
‘Can we give it a try anyway? To dream. If we believe we can do it instead of thinking it’s not possible…I mean it has to be, doesn’t it? Why should our subconscious need our physical bodies to be close, it’s only our logical brain that’s thinking that. If we can shut that part of our mind up.’
‘Easier said than done.’ I shoved off the railing and we scooted into position for the chair-lif
t.
‘I know, but I like a challenge, don’t you? I mean, look where I am.’ The chair hooked under our backsides and we landed into position, the bar falling into place over our laps.
‘I’m looking.’ The ground disappeared beneath out snowboards.
‘So let’s do it then.’
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘None.’ His face brimmed with that all-consuming smug-filled smile I loved. ‘Meet me here tonight?’
‘I’ll try.’
Satisfied, Tyler put an arm around me, and I rested my head on his shoulder. A stupid grin spread over my face at being able to share this magnificent mountain with him.
I didn’t have a stupid grin on my face later that night in bed as I tried to visualise being on the snow-covered slopes with Tyler. It seemed impossible, yet Tyler had to be right. Surely the possibility was similar to being in the woods with Toby, or watching a train wreck when over four-hundred kilometres away I lay sound asleep.
My struggle once again to calm my racing thoughts led to me pulling my book onto my lap and flicking back another page. How could I leave these people in here? Their families needed them, just like Tyler needed his dad. My fingers trailed the edges of the paper, fanning the pages like a flip book, and stopped right above the picture of the old lady on the plane. Her words still haunted me. ‘She needs me, she needs me.’ I stopped myself. Slammed the book shut. I needed Tyler.
I need Tyler.
My heart rammed into my lungs. Oh God, I couldn’t, could I? It wasn’t possible. Surely that was too long ago. Fear lodged behind my eyes and tears welled. I would learn how to meditate if it was the last thing I did. I need Tyler.
I pulled out a clean, crisp sheet of paper, sharpened my pencil, and drew the face of the person who’d given me so much more than he’d ever know. Half an hour later, when I set the picture aside, I was able to relax my muscles, slow my breathing, and close my eyes. Nothing interrupted my thoughts, nothing but Tyler, and for the first time since I began my painful attempts at meditation, I actually believed I could do it. My head sank heavily into the pillow. I inhaled and exhaled, finding comfort in the rhythm of my breathing, and after my best attempt so far at meditating, and with Tyler’s face in the forefront of my mind, I drifted off to sleep.
‘Woohoo,’ Tyler called across the snow, arms raised in triumph as he carved his board in swift bends down the mountain.
I couldn’t help but yell right along with him as I kept up to his escalating speed. My hair flew in a dark tangle behind me as the wind blew across my face and whipped at my cheeks. The snow, with its dream-like perfection, shimmered beneath our boards, as if we soared down a mountain of diamond-coated powder. I bent and plied at the snow, grabbed a thick handful, and threw it in Tyler’s direction. It landed squarely on his back.
‘Hey!’ he yelled over his shoulder.
He slowed, formed his own ball of snow, and propelled it straight at my head. I ducked and missed the snowball, but not the trap of his arms as I glided past. We erupted in laughter and he tugged me in close.
*****
I closed the book and shut my laptop. Relieved I’d completed the two large assignments set for the school holidays, I reached for my sneakers. I shot off a quick text to Tyler and let him know I was heading out for a run. His reply appeared almost instantly.
Sorry, Mum needs me x
He didn’t give a reason – that was reason alone.
I headed up the hill, past the newly inhabited homes that now overflowed with constant noise and beat-up hatchbacks. The sun edged toward the horizon, and the street lights flickered on. I’d need to make it a quick run if I didn’t want to be stuck out in the dark. I tucked the earphones in my ears and slowly, methodically, and meditatively formed a rhythm between my heart and my feet, my feet and the earth.
Tyler was right. Running was a form of meditation. Now that I’d managed to snatch actual glimpses of it I could see that. Since our first shared dream from a distance three weeks ago, we’d done it again three times. Still catching up on my book full of dreams, we made an agreement; one week of saving lives earned us a night of shared dreaming.
The music flowed through me, and I immersed myself in the thud of my feet on the damp track. It helped to dispel some of the unease that occasionally crept through me, that the seemingly perfect life I’d been living was all an illusion. What was the saying? If it’s too good to be true then it probably is.
Where was Tyler when I needed him? He had a knack for saying the right thing to make my insecurities go away. I couldn’t be irritated at his mum though; she really did need him more than I did.
It had been barely over a year since he’d lost his dad, he hid his grief from everyone so well, but it reared its nasty head every time he spoke of his mum. Her grief was his to carry. Hidden beneath the layers of smiles, banter, and caresses, his scars were red raw. It was like his mum kept picking at the healing scab, encouraging it to bleed, reminding him of the pain. I wanted to take it away like I could for so many others, but it was to me as insurmountable a challenge as Everest would be to climb. I questioned, not for the first time, how he managed to care for everyone so well, when he hurt so much himself. I knew the answer too well, it mirrored my own. It was simply who we were. To help someone in need came as naturally as breathing, but we shared a mutual relief to give to each other what we couldn’t receive from anyone else – fresh air to breathe.
I reached the crest of the hill and the fence became visible not far ahead. My phone vibrated on my arm. I stopped running and instinctively smiled when Tyler’s name appeared on the screen.
Tyler: Come over on your way home?
I’d already turned around.
Me: Sure, what’s up?
Tyler: Have you heard the news?
Crap. It had to be bad if he felt the need to tell me.
Me: No, should I have?
I waited nervously for the phone to beep back at me. I ran on the spot, not overly keen to find out what my nightmares would be made of. Even now with all the new possibilities, I dreaded the impending calamity.
Tyler: They’ve found the cause of the crash.
My heart stopped. I swear it actually stopped beating for a few seconds. It waited until I’d reread the message to start again, and a lump wedged in my throat. For a moment, I thought I might be sick. I stepped off the path and braced myself against a tree. I wanted to smash my phone into pieces, but instead stared at the seven words I’d been dreading for the last two months. I couldn’t go over there. I couldn’t find out the truth. Finding out would send my mind down a path I didn’t want it heading.
My thumb trembled as it hovered over the screen.
Me: I’m coming over, but you can’t tell me any details xx
I turned and ran in the direction of Tyler’s house. He opened the door, his eyes sunken and downcast. The reminder of what their dad had been through, of the nightmare they continued to live, couldn’t be easy to deal with.
He stepped onto the porch, and under the flickering moth-riddled light he held me tight. His arms crushed me with the weight of his burden, and I took what I could, but as he pulled away and spoke, I lifted my hand and placed my fingers over his mouth.
‘Don’t say it,’ I said quickly. ‘I can’t know what happened. You know what it’ll mean.’ The urgency of my voice caught him off guard, and the question in his eyes, the pain on his face, tore through me. He tugged on my hand and led me across the lawn.
‘Here,’ he said gruffly, and we sat at the edge of the grass on the cement curb. ‘Away from the noise in there.’
I crossed my feet on the bitumen roadside and wrapped my arms tightly around myself. I felt weak, pathetic, useless. Tears fell, unwanted, down my cheeks and I brushed them away. ‘I’m sorry. I should be comforting you, not crying on your doorstep. Oh, God, Tyler, this is a disaster.’
He lowered his eyes. ‘We had to find out eventually.’
I hooked my arms around Tyler’s l
egs, resting my head on his lap, and he folded himself over me. We stared up the hill, at the sun falling steadily below the tree line.
‘I know this is hard for you. But you have to promise you won’t tell me.’
Tyler’s chest rose and fell on my back. ‘I promise.’
I dreamed of the plane crash that night. It was all the same, except for one thing. The man across from me opened his mouth to tell me something, but I interrupted him and repeated what I’d said to Tyler earlier. ‘I can’t know what happened, I can’t.’ I lowered my body over my knees and placed my fingers in my ears to block him out. ‘Please don’t tell me. Promise you won’t tell me. Promise me.’
— 29 —
I woke full of dread the next day. The thought crossed my mind to stay in bed, but what was I going to do: stay in my room until the story died down? Climbing into the shower, I reminded myself of Tyler’s promise.
I arrived at school on edge, my shoulders already aching from the tension. Fearing the worst, I stuck my earphones in and locked myself safely away in my own little world. I couldn’t learn the cause. I couldn’t risk it – I couldn’t lose him.
Tyler broke through the barrier five minutes into our lunch break. I sat against the tree, book in lap, pencil in hand, listening to Jack River’s ‘Limo Song’. He sat beside me and removed an earphone. ‘Hello in there,’ he whispered, sending tingles through me, and I slanted my face up to him before I switched my music off.
‘Hi.’
‘You all right?’
‘Perfectly fine.’ Liar.
‘And that’s why you’re here, while we’re all over there?’ He pointed to our friends only a few metres away at the table, but could’ve been on another continent for the space I’d made between us.
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