Without looking at me, Wil turned and marched off, Danii following suit and striding towards the opposite end of the boat.
The lighter mood never returned after that, and eventually I became the only conscious soul remaining. I should sleep and rest my deteriorating body, but I won't. Not yet.
Sneaking out from behind a cloud, the giant moon lights up the floor, revealing Danii to my right, Wil just in front, and Ethan sandwiched in between; his eyes wide and on me.
"Can't sleep?" he asks, struggling to his feet.
"Not sure if I can't, but I certainly aren't."
"Yeah, you've given up on rest these days," he says, sitting beside me in dark green shorts and a torn Rolling Stones t-shirt. "It's a lovely night."
I nod and look up to the moon, once again hidden as darkness highlights the other boats around us, each with its own glistening fingerprint on the blanket of black ocean. "This place is unreal. I still can't get over that beach."
"I know. It makes the other beaches look like Blackpool." Yawning, he reaches for a bottle of water resting by my foot. The Ethan of a few months ago wouldn't drink it. It isn't his, so both his morals and doubt would prevail. These days... "So," he says, sipping from the bottle. "Australia been everything you hoped for?"
"I love it, mate. I love all of this," I say, opening my palms.
"A little different to York, huh? It's a shame Danii and Wil had to spoil things."
"Tell me about it!" I say, rolling my eyes.
"Was it really over a book?"
"Yep." I chuckle to myself. "I suppose it was inevitable. Those two... civil... day-after-day..."
"Bloody Wil! Why does he always have to do this?"
"Actually, it wasn't him."
"I find that hard to believe."
"It's true. It was all Danii. She sat there, fawning over how good Pride and Prejudice is—which I know for a fact she doesn't even like—and pushed and pushed and pushed. He didn't say anything at first, but she kept prodding away. I've never seen her pick a fight like that before."
"You spoken to her about it?"
"I tried to, but as soon as I mentioned his name she punched me in the arm. A real punch, too. It bloody hurt."
"Oh, man," he says, laughing. "Still, it'll be okay come morning. It usually is."
"I'm not so sure. It wasn't like their usual fights. I'm not even sure they were fighting with each other, rather themselves. An entire trip's worth of stress and emotion blowing up before a couple dozen passengers. And all I could do was stand to one side with a throbbing headache."
"Bloody book."
"It wasn't about the book."
"I know..."
I sigh. "I guess it's going to get harder, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"The tension's going to get worse, too."
"Yep."
"I was hoping I might experience one of my famous memory lapses."
"No luck?"
"No."
"Typical."
"Yeah."
Sipping from the water bottle, Ethan looks around the darkened boat. "You finally going to tell me about Wil?"
"What about him?"
He smiles, his teeth glistening in the moonlight. "Oh come on, you didn't think I'd notice?"
"Notice what?" I ask, taking the bottle from him.
"Whatever it is you know, of course."
"I promised I wouldn't say anything."
He smiles again, gazing out into the dark cosmos. "A promise to Wilbur Day is usually destined to be broken."
Sighing, I shift in my seat. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. Well, recently I've seen a side of him. One I didn't think existed. A fragile and childlike one."
"Hardly surprising. He is a child, after all.”
"I'm serious, Ethan. I'm worried about him. I always figured he was bipolar or sociopathic, or a plain and simple moron, but he has scars... deep and lasting scars."
"Like?"
I hesitate, considering my betrayal, but Ethan's right. I need to let him in. "Like his parents are worse than we thought. That they're the reason he doesn't trust anyone."
"Everyone has issues with their parents.”
"Yeah, but he has some real issues with them."
"His parents aren't that bad. I mean, his dad's the biggest tool in the shed, but—"
"No mate. There's something deeper to it than that. The way he speaks about him. I think something happened at some point."
"Like what?"
"I don't know, exactly. I sense he hasn't told me the entire story, and I'm not sure I want to press for it, either."
"If things were so bad he would have told us."
"Really?" I say, offering him the bottle. "Since when has Wil ever shared anything of meaning? The way he's opened up to me recently... well, it's made me realise how little I know him."
"Stop being so vague, Dante. What has he told you?"
"That his mum's an alcoholic."
"No she's not.”
"Think about it. Remember all of those times we've joked about her love of wine?"
"That doesn't make someone an—"
"Yeah, but we also don't see what goes on twenty-four-seven." I rub my hands over my chest, the nighttime breeze picking up. "I don't know the whole story, but in Jakarta, and then in Sydney, he showed a side I've never seen before. It wasn't filled with the usual fluffy words and facetious wit. It was sad and helpless and unstable, and I'm worried about him, because who knows what he'll do. And this argument with Danii... well..."
With a deep breath, he places the bottle on the floor and takes my arm. "Don't get caught up in this. You have too much to worry about without getting in the middle of Danii and Wil. You especially don't need Wil's nonsense right now."
"It's not nonsense.”
"You know what I mean," he says, his grip firm. "You need to look after yourself."
"I know, but—"
"No, Dante. No but. No maybe. You need to focus on you."
Nodding, I inhale the sea air, the salty aftertaste clinging to my throat. "Promise me you'll look after him."
"You know I will.”
"I mean it, Ethan. He needs you. He will always need you."
My cousin doesn't say a word, merely stares through me like he so often does.
"Anyway," I continue, clearing my throat. "How are you coping?"
He shuffles in his seat. "I'm fine."
"You're such a liar."
"I thought I told you not to get caught up in other people's problems."
"Yeah, yeah. Stop being a dad for once."
He smiles and scratches his stubbled chin. "Nothing new. Still as confused as ever."
Silent, I play his usual role and wait him out.
"If I'm being honest..." He hesitates. "I can't imagine going home."
Placing my arm over his shoulder, I pull him closer. "I wish you would stop guilt tripping yourself over having a good time. A trip like this is meant to change you. In fact, no, not change. Travelling doesn't change you at all. It introduces you to new possibilities. That's all. I'm proud of you. I'm proud of how you've let go of routine and embraced this life we're leading. I think about what you were like a few months ago, and—"
"Was I really that bad?"
"Not at all, but were you really that happy locking yourself away from all of the potential in the world?"
"I thought I was."
"Yeah, because you were blind to it.”
"That's the problem," he says, rubbing his face. "I knew what I wanted from life when I was twelve-years-old. It's what I've always known. I'm comfortable with that. I may have been boring, and I may have been blind, but it's all I needed."
"Ethan—"
"How sick is it that I'm enjoying this," he continues, shrugging me off. "This isn't an enjoyable trip. I shouldn't be smiling and having a good time." He looks at his feet. "I'm glad you get to see all of this, and I'm proud to be here with you. But I shouldn't change or appreciate a new side of
life. Not when yours is taken away from you."
Removing my arm from his shoulder, I fold it across my chest. "I've never heard you talk such rubbish. And to think, you're the wisest of us."
"It's not—"
"Yes it is. I get it. I feel guilty, too. Leaving was, and still is, the most selfish decision I've ever made. Each moment here is one my mother and father don’t get to spend with me. I'm horrible. And worse, I don't regret it. How can I? How can I regret everything we've seen? Back home, I'd await death, but here I'm doing something. I'm not entirely sure what that something is, but I'm living before it's too late.
"You having a good time has no bearing on my state of well being. I want you to enjoy this. I need you to make the most of it. You left your job and life to come on this silly little adventure with me, so the least you can do is take as much from it as you can. Because guess what? I can't. I'm living it and that's all. When it ends, I end. But you get to weave it into all the years you have left on this planet. All those glorious years where you'll make a difference. Because Ethan, you stubborn son of a bitch, you're the smartest guy I know. One day, you'll change the bloody world, but only if you venture outside your silly little bubble."
Picking up the bottle, he twirls it in his fingers.
"You're a great man," I say, stretching my neck and releasing some of the strain. "This trip doesn't change that. You having a good time doesn't change it. You're allowed to grow and follow a path you didn't create when you were twelve-years-old, for god's sake."
Whistling around the boat, the cooling breeze attacks each sail and loose hanging rope.
"Dante..." he struggles out. "Every time I see you, I'm reminded why we're here. I picture your mother, and the promise I made to her. I know you want me to simply rid the guilt, but I can't. I'm not sure I ever will."
"Well, I need you to try," I say, my tone stern. "Because you need to be the strong one in all of this. And I need you to the strongest after it all ends."
Grinding his teeth and sucking in a breath, he digs his fist into his thigh. "I know... I know..."
Standing up, I lean on the side of the boat and gaze out into the infinite blackness of ocean and sky. Stars sparkle above, and sporadic lights blink out in front, and once again the moon hides behind a long stretch of grey cloud. I wonder what my parents say at the dinner table these days. I wonder how quiet the house I grew up in is, and just how much heartache I've caused. It's a lot, this I know, but how much... hopefully I'll never understand.
"Ethan," I say, continuing to stare out into the beyond. "I'm sorry you have to be the brave one."
"It's okay," he says, still sitting.
"You will look after everyone when I'm—"
"You know I will. Stop asking."
"Okay." Taking another deep mouthful of salty air, I twist further away from him. "Ethan?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you, cousin. I'm proud of you... and... yeah, that's all."
"Jesus, you must be sleep deprived. You're bloody delusional."
"Yeah. I know. And you're a stubborn son of a bitch, but I'm still proud of you."
8th February—Cairns:
Recommended Listening:
Daphne—Lia Ices
Tears in Heaven—Eric Clapton
Holocene—Bon Iver
Yesterday, I had another seizure. My recollection of the event is minimal to say the least, only a hazy memory of blurred lights and faces remain. I do not remember the minutes before it, and I do not remember the minutes after. An entire block was once again stolen, but on this occasion, I'm relieved.
"We should take him to the hospital," Danii said, the first words I heard after my mind returned from whatever vacant void it disappears to. No seizure is enjoyable, but something about this one hurt.
"No. No hospital," I whispered, the aftertaste of vomit in my mouth.
"Sweetie, are you okay?" she said, holding her palm over my forehead. "Where did you go?"
Moving my jaw slowly, I tensed and strained it. "What happened?" I groaned.
"You don't remember?" asked Ethan, who stood over Danii, the bright lights behind him casting shadows across his face.
"Not really, no. Did I have a seizure?"
They both nodded.
"Help me up," I said.
"No, sweetie. Stay down. Rest for a minute," Danii insisted, rubbing my arm.
"What happened?" I asked again, slowly moving my aching jaw. Until now, the seizures haven't hurt. They're strange and uncomfortable, but not painful. Yet this time, laying on my back, barely able to move, I hurt. I ached and throbbed and hurt all over.
Looking at one another, Ethan and Danii remained silent, seeming to wait for the other to speak. Neither did.
"You shook. You fell. You shook and shook and shook," said Wil, although I couldn't see him. "Worse than the others, dear friend. An awful sight. I'm glad you don't remember. Don't try to."
Trying to move, Danii held my chest. "Rest, sweetie. Please."
I nodded, her pale face and pursed lips assuring me I should stay down. I don't remember what happened. I don't want to remember what happened. I'm not sure how and I'm not sure why, but this one was different. Ever since, the ache in my muscles and bones have matured.
Awaking this morning, I throbbed all over. Humidity attacked my skin, the sheets beneath my hands soaking wet. Scrunching the moist fabric into balls, I gritted my teeth in the hope of keeping the pain from screaming out. The shocks roaming my forehead attacked in waves, one awful pulse after another. Gritting my teeth harder, I scrunched the sheets tighter, biting my upper lip and breathing through my nose. 'Don't let it out,' I thought. 'They're worried enough. It'll soon go. It'll soon go. It'll soon go.'
And so it did, the pulsing less severe, the waves of pain further apart. I stopped biting my lip, a tingling sensation left in its place. Opening my mouth, I let out a long and satisfying breath. I opened my eyes and adjusted to the light. Bit-by-bit, I returned, woke up, and fought the fighting tumour. But the aching remained, reminding me of running along York's river, and awaking the next morning with tight and tangled muscles.
Rolling out of bed as quietly as possible, I entered the bathroom and looked at the stranger glaring back. "Shit," I said, wiping my hands down my face and stretching the tender skin. I shook my head. "Shit."
The somewhat familiar stranger shared similarities with me, but not enough to be me. The crazed strands on top of his head were the same colour, but they were far too long; dropping nearly to his shoulder. His eyes, too, were familiar, but the pale skin, and the dark lines, and the wrinkles running down, no, they were foreign. His blotchy red cheeks, too, were different. As were the red streaks in the corner of each eye. And the dry and cracked lips. And the way his skin sagged, rather than cling to the bones.
"When the hell did this happen?" I said, the stranger mirroring my movements. "How the hell have I become... this."
I'm not the only one to have changed, of course, Danii, Ethan, and Wil have also lost touch with familiar faces and healthy glows. Travelling offers a great deal, but steals familiarity. Travelling, whilst dying, doesn't only alter appearance, it replaces it. Danii, for instance, is still Danii, despite her wavy hair no longer being glossy and healthy. The nest atop Wil's head is strange and crazed, but his eyes still house those familiar blues. Ethan is Ethan, even though his clean-cut face, and neat-cut hair is far from neat at all. I, however, am a stranger. Vague similarities are all that remain, and I miss me. I miss the face I took for granted.
With finger and thumb, I massaged my temples and took long soothing breaths. "It's okay. Pull yourself together. It's okay," I whispered.
Looking the not so strange stranger in the eye, I nodded, because this was me, and although I can and should miss who I was, that man isn't coming back. The change hasn't happened overnight, it's gradually pieced together over the days and weeks and months. Danii's seen it. So has Ethan and Wil. I have, too, but yesterday's seizure seems to have turned on
a new light. An important light. A light that now illuminates what's been occurring all along.
"Just walk," I said, focussing on the strands of hair dropping freely over my eyes. "Walk. Get a haircut. Walk. Have a shave. Walk and walk and walk." I didn't blink the entire time.
After brushing my teeth and drowning my face in icy cold water, I left without saying a word. I should have woken Danii and told her not to worry, or at least write her a note. She'll worry and stress, sit alone in our room as Ethan and Wil come to look for me. Or maybe she's still asleep, it is, after all, barely seven o'clock in the morning. After yesterday, I should have told her. But I had to get out of that room. I need to walk. I need to get away. I need a haircut and to recapture some resemblance of who I once was.
The streets of Cairns are uninhabited, the sun yet to reach above the buildings, although the sky is a luscious light blue. I have no idea where I'm going, but this is fine, as all I desire is to walk, and eventually find someone who will cut my hair. Rounding the same corner the four of us did last night, on our way to our quietest and most uncomfortable dinner yet, I'm met with utter emptiness—an extreme contrast to last night's bustling streets of drunken and merry folk.
The building in front of me stands out from the rest, its white fenced balcony with blue trimming an insight into a long ago generation. It's where we ate last night, at least, I think it is. The building opposite the street also looks familiar. It was mere hours ago, but the finer details are hard to hone in on. But I definitely stood at this corner, I'm sure of it... at least... I think...
I sigh, unable to piece the particulars together, but I do remember the silence. The eerie and awkward silence. Danii and Wil refuse to speak to one another. It's pathetic. It's frustrating. But last night's hush wasn't because of them. It was because of me. It was because of another crossroad, one I can't remember.
Standing still, I stare up towards Hide Corner's balcony. The sky is crisp and clean, not so much a hint of a cloud. A bird flutters past, and it reminds me of the train journey so many weeks ago, and the hotel in Paris. I do wonder how fresh it is up there. I wonder how quiet it is. Is it as silent as I imagine?
"Are you okay?" asks an old man, his fluffy white hair popping out from under his beige straw hat.
TICK to the TOCK (A Coming-of-Age Story) Page 17