The Weight of a Thousand Feathers

by Brian Conaghan

  ‘What’s happening? What you doing here?’ I ask.

  ‘I wanna talk about somethin’.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’

  ‘And I wanna see you.’ He shrugs his shoulders almost apologetically.

  Music to my lugs. I want to see him too, I really do. I hold the moment a little longer, just to plant a tiny seed of doubt in his mind. Actually, I think I’m winning the stand-off competition.

  ‘Come in,’ I say, stepping aside. His hand brushes my waist as he slides past. Fresh deodorant billows up my nose.

  Danny’s standing to attention as if awaiting royalty.

  ‘Hey, you must be Dan?’ Lou says, stretching out his hand. ‘Good to meet you, dude.’

  Danny sniggers. It’s like the incarnation of every Netflix show he’s ever watched has just entered his house.

  ‘Is that your real voice?’ Danny asks.

  ‘Yeah, I’m not from around here,’ Lou says.

  ‘Dan, why don’t you go and play some Xbox?’ I say.

  ‘You any good?’ Lou asks.

  ‘Shit hot,’ Dan says.

  ‘Cool.’

  Danny sniggers again.

  ‘Maybe you can show me some time,’ Lou says. ‘Probably beat my ass.’

  Danny’s eyes grow.

  ‘Go, Dan.’ I banish him off.

  Danny heads to his room. Lou takes a seat, looks anxious. Serious. Sad.

  I think I know why; since returning from the Borders I’ve been going through every facet of what happened. Delights and frights in equal measure. I stand in front of him.

  ‘Everything OK, Lou? What’s going on?’

  ‘Just thinkin’ and stuff,’ he says.

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘Stuff that happened, you know?’

  DO I KNOW?

  NO, LOU, REMIND ME AGAIN!!!

  ‘I’m sorry about the Saturday,’ he adds. ‘I didn’t know how to look at you, or how to deal with it, so I clammed up.’

  ‘I was the same really.’

  He stares at our tired carpet. Examines our discoloured walls. Judges the two Ikea prints we have hanging above the fireplace. Mum’s choice. He slumps forward, bends into his knees, hands turning.

  ‘Just haven’t done anythin’ like that before, that’s all,’ he says. ‘In case you thought –’

  ‘Me neither,’ I say. ‘But know what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m glad we did.’

  ‘Yeah, me too, Bobby.’

  ‘And I’m glad you felt strong enough to tell me about your mum.’

  ‘Sorry for puttin’ all that shit on you.’

  ‘No, it means a lot actually. It’s trust, isn’t it?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘I’m glad you felt you could trust me, Lou.’

  ‘I did. I can, I mean, I do. I do trust you.’

  I look at the ceiling to see if I can hear Danny’s Xbox. I bend to meet Lou’s face. We smile. His lips move. I’m still conscious of Danny’s presence.

  ‘But can I trust you, Lou?’

  ‘With your life, Bobby.’

  ‘Because I know what watching your mum die feels like.’ I stand upright, step away and leave him seated. ‘I know that feeling exactly. The weight of it is attached to every garment of clothing I own – it pushes me deeper and deeper into the ground.’

  ‘Every wakin’ hour, dude.’

  ‘And I’m struggling with it, Lou.’

  ‘I couldn’t handle it either. It sank me.’

  I’m pacing. Worried about Danny interrupting. Worried about what I’m about to tell Lou.

  One of us has taken the floor again, just like in the attic at the residential. But now it’s my floor that awaits; it’s my turn to fiddle with dangling threads. The knots in my stomach contort.

  ‘Lou,’ I say quietly. ‘I’ve something important I need to tell you.’

  ‘I’m here, dude. My ears are yours.’

  ‘But this has to stay between you and me. Only you and me. Nobody else. OK?’

  ‘Jesus, Bobby, I got it?’ Lou’s body is rigid, as if engrossed in a film. ‘It will not leave this room. You have my word on that. You have my word.’

  ‘I need to know I can trust you, Lou.’

  ‘Fuck! After what I told you? The shit we’ve been through already – hey, you can trust me.’ He reaches his hand out for me to take. ‘I know we can trust each other. So I’m here for you, dude. I’m here for you.’

  I look out of the window and wait for my heart’s tempo to ease up. Then I begin to yap. And I tell him. It spews from me. I blurt out everything, every last morsel. Rip open my chest, expose all inner workings, slacken my burden, whatever you want to call it. I tell him about Mum’s illness, her birthday, the joints, the music, John Hughes, what she wants me to do, Danny, my fears. Nothing is concealed. Nothing. And, true to his word, Lou gives me his ears and sits in utter silence. He’s a good listener.

  ‘That’s why we have a strong connection, Bobby,’ Lou says after I’ve finished. ‘I felt your agony, I understood it. I saw that you were goin’ through the same thing I had.’

  ‘It’s destroying me,’ I say.

  ‘But you have a choice to make now.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Actually, it’s your mom’s choice. She’s the one who’s drivin’ this thing. You just have to agree.’

  ‘It’s not that easy though, is it?’

  Lou looks confused.

  ‘Really? I think it’s very fuckin’ easy, dude.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Way I see it, you have a moral obligation to your mom – you have a moral obligation to free her from the torture she’s livin’ in. That’s all she wants. You’re her ticket.’

  ‘But, what if …’

  ‘What if what? It’s what she wants. It’s like her last wish. You ain’t gonna take that away from her, are you, Bobby?’

  I find myself staring at our Ikea prints, being sucked into them.

  ‘It is what she wants,’ I whisper to myself.

  ‘And I can help you.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘What your mom wants.’

  ‘You? How?’

  ‘I can assist,’ Lou says.

  I take my eyes away from the prints and fix them on him.

  Cider and Black

  We call it sleeping, but in reality it’s flitting in and out of consciousness. She can show lucidity and is able to hold a conversation, but chatting like before drains energy and is probably painful. The raconteur in her has all but vanished, only fleeting signs here and there.

  Danny’s stroking Mum’s head. I’m at the bottom of the bed, fighting the demons in mine. Thinking about Lou’s visit, of how the conversation went from my massive revelation, to him offering to assist me. By assisting, does he mean doing it for me? Re-enacting exactly what he’d done with his own mother? Or watching over as I play executioner? Holding me tight after it’s over? It’s all beyond thinking. The stress and pressure is completely locked inside my mind, eclipsing everything else. I can’t construct poems. My sleep is shit. I rarely smile. I eat crap, if at all. It scrapes at me like an archaeologist’s trowel.

  Danny and me don’t speak. Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine belt out a song called ‘Falling on a Bruise’. Actually, it’s not too bad. I’ll definitely continue to keep her taste alive afterwards.

  Mum’s breathing is short and steady. There’s truly a wonderful peace in the air. I think she can even sense it. I know she can.

  ‘Her hair feels less jaggy,’ Danny whispers.

  ‘It’s grown,’ I say.

  ‘Feels like fur, like a tiny kitten or a guinea pig.’

  ‘I’ll be sure to tell her that, mate, she’ll be delighted.’

  ‘It’s much better than her skinhead.’

  ‘You’re not wrong.’

  ‘She looked like a woman who likes other women,’ Danny says, smiling knowingly. ‘You know, Bobby, like one of those –’

  �
��Yeah, I get it, Dan. I get it.’

  ‘Is Bel one of those?’

  ‘No, Danny, Bel isn’t one of those. And can we stop saying “those” to describe human beings?’

  Danny gently rests his cheek on the top of Mum’s head, closes his eyes. Smells her hair. Kisses her. He’s so content, so serene. Mum was the one who could always calm him right enough.

  The song changes. Another Nineties lager-swirling classic pours from the speakers. I look at Mum and visualise the cardigan-clad Anne Seed spinning on one foot, ceiling gazing, skilfully not spilling any of her cider and black. She’s a beaming, bacchanalian beauty. Who wouldn’t have wanted to inhabit her world? To be loved by her? It’s us who are the privileged. And now here she is with her youngest son, both dented in different ways, yet utterly connected. The true tragedy is that she’s now unable to shelter him. I want to burst into tears.

  ‘You can kiss her cheek, mate,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t want to wake her.’

  ‘She won’t wake up, Dan. It’s fine.’

  ‘Will I then?’

  ‘Yeah, you can kiss her lips if you want.’

  Danny puts his lips on Mum’s.

  ‘Very dry,’ he says.

  ‘Yeah, I need to get some balm on them.’

  He then kisses her cheek, mouth lingering on her skin. It seems like an intrusion on my part; I’m half thinking of leaving them alone.

  ‘They’re going to take her, aren’t they, Bobby?’

  ‘Who are?’

  ‘The nurses and doctors. They’re going to take her to the hospital.’

  My head sinks, mouth tightens.

  ‘She’s not going to get better, Danny. You know that. I’ve told you.’

  ‘I know, but she’s our mum.’

  ‘She’ll always be our mum.’

  ‘So she should be here with us. With you and me. You can’t just go about splitting up families like that.’

  ‘We can’t give her the care and medicine she needs now, Dan.’

  ‘But why is she going to go to the hospital if she’s not going to get better? What’s the point of that?’

  ‘She’s going there to be more comfortable.’

  Danny nudges her pillow, fixes her blanket.

  ‘Look at her,’ he says. ‘She’s comfortable here.’

  We take a moment to see the truth in Danny’s statement.

  ‘You’re right, she does look comfortable,’ I say.

  ‘So she should stay here.’

  ‘You think Mum would want that, Dan?’

  ‘She’d always want to be with us.’

  ‘Even if we can’t give her the care she needs?’

  ‘She’d not want to be away from us, Bobby.’

  ‘You’d prefer to see her in constant pain?’

  ‘No. Would you?’

  ‘I just want to see her in peace. I want her to have what she needs.’

  ‘Me too.’

  I feel myself about to vault over the line, drag Danny in the same direction as me. I hear myself saying the words and his reaction to them. The tears. The snot. The punches. If anyone’s going to carry out Mum’s wish it’s her sons, not Lou. Not anyone else.

  ‘Danny.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What if we could make the disease go away?’ I say.

  ‘What do you mean, make it go away?’

  ‘We could get rid of it for good. You and me.’

  Danny looks bewildered. He wants to speak, to say something, question me. He’s having a torrid time formulating what I’ve just said. I’m having the same difficulties. Guilt pangs start to crawl over me. Even though Mum wanted me to involve him, I can’t help thinking that I’ve betrayed her; that I’m infiltrating and corrupting my brother.

  ‘If you had the power to stop Mum’s pain, would you do it, Dan?’

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘Remember that game you were playing the other day and your guy was injured?’

  ‘Yeah, so?’

  ‘So you didn’t go back for him and take his pain away.’

  ‘Cos then I’d have got killed.’

  ‘You just left him there to die an agonising and slower death.’

  ‘It’s just a game, Bobby. It’s not real.’

  ‘But if it was real life, would you have gone back?’

  ‘Maybe. I don’t know. Can you stop talking about that stupid game?’

  ‘All I’m saying is that if it was real and it was someone you knew, someone close to you, would you help them if it meant making their suffering go away?’

  Danny’s cells are spinning. He pauses, holds me in his glare.

  ‘You mean Mum, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, mate. That’s who I mean.’

  He looks down and puts his hand on Mum’s growing hair. I notice her eyelids stutter a bit.

  ‘I’d always help her, Bobby. Always.’

  ‘And what if I told you there was a chance?’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of taking her suffering away.’

  ‘Bobby, I wish you would speak like normal people sometimes,’ he spouts.

  Mum’s stuttering eyelids blink open. Danny doesn’t see them at first. She coughs. Parts her lips. Tries to speak.

  ‘Tell him, Bobby,’ she rasps. ‘Tell him what I want.’

  ‘Mum!’ I say.

  ‘Tell him, Bobby. Tell your brother.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ Danny says. ‘Tell me what?’

  I look at Mum for support, which isn’t forthcoming. My expression pleads with her to change the subject. My mouth tastes of sour saliva. I want to spit. Mum offers nothing, Danny’s like a dog on its hind legs. I rest my hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Everything’s going to be OK soon, mate.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Seriously.’

  I’m too scared to look at Mum. I can practically smell her disappointment.

  Booze and Upbeat Tunes

  Bel doesn’t like Lou from the off. She sits growling monosyllabic answers to his questions. It’s obvious I shouldn’t have invited him to our Junk Food Friday. Bel doesn’t exactly roll out the red for outsiders. Yet after everything Lou and I have shared, I need to piecemeal him into my life, let him see my world bit by bit. Bel and all.

  ‘So you guys have been friends a long time then, huh?’ Lou asks.

  ‘Yup,’ Bel gives him.

  ‘That’s cool.’

  ‘Tis.’

  ‘You live nearby, Bel?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You like that music Bobby likes too?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘Tis.’

  She tuts her disapproval when Lou snatches the last slice of pizza.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked him, shortly after he arrived.

  ‘Oh, that?’ He points out the window.

  ‘Yeah, that thing.’

  ‘That’s my Vespa.’

  ‘Looks like a skateboard with an engine, if you ask me.’

  I know Bel’s behaving like an A-list queen bitch. She’s got a stick up her arse because I’ve the cheek to befriend other people. It’s not Lou. I could’ve invited Ghandi or Malala and she’d have given them the mono tongue, snake-eye treatment too. Lou’s accent and overt coolness don’t help matters.

  When she makes up some spurious excuse to leave, I’m relieved.

  ‘Sorry about that, Lou,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t sweat it, dude. The girl has eyes for you. I’m an intruder,’ he says, grinning widely. ‘I get why she’s pissed.’

  ‘Oh, shut up. Bel’s a mate and nothing else.’

  ‘You always lie to your mates, do you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, have you told her what happened at the residential?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It hasn’t come up yet, that’s all.’

  ‘Come on, Bobby. These are the kinda things you tell your buddies. Precisel
y why they are your buddies in the first place.’

  ‘I will … I mean, I intend to, but now isn’t the time.’

  ‘Lies. Lies. Lies,’ he says. ‘They’ll get you into trouble one of these days.’

  ‘I’m not lying to her, I just haven’t told her yet.’

  ‘She likes you, dude.’

  ‘As I said, we’re friends, Lou. Friends.’

  ‘You have to tell her, Bobby. She’ll freak if she finds out any other way. And you have to tell her about this.’

  Lou unfastens the top button of his denim jacket, sits forward then hauls his bag on to his knee, rummages inside. I study what he’s doing, his face. I’ve seen that expression somewhere before.

  He hasn’t, has he? Tell me he hasn’t brought …

  ‘Lou, tell me you haven’t brought any joints in here.’

  ‘Come on, what kinda guy do you take me for?’

  ‘Danny’ll smell it.’

  ‘No joints. Promise.’

  Lou digs deep. Produces two bottles: Jack Daniel’s and Coke, litre of.

  ‘Look, no joints, see?’ He triumphantly raises them up.

  ‘Fucking hell, Lou.’

  ‘Oh, come on, it’s almost the weekend.’

  ‘What are you trying to do to me?’

  ‘Loosen your hair a bit.’

  ‘It’s my house, Lou.’

  ‘Great. If you puke the toilet isn’t too far away.’

  I smile and examine the bottle of Jack Daniel’s; it’s heavy glass.

  ‘But what about Danny? What about Mum?’

  ‘Where is the little dude?’

  ‘In his room. He plays online computer games.’

  ‘All night?’

  ‘Fancies himself as some sort of gamer.’

  ‘Will he come down?’

  ‘Not if you’re here. You’re still a stranger to him.’

  ‘So we’re fine. Will he crash up there?’

  ‘He’ll crash and sleep for an eternity,’ I say. ‘That’s what he does.’

  ‘At least we know your mom won’t be joinin’ us,’ Lou states.

  Do I detect a slight sneer in his voice? I do, don’t I?

  ‘I’ll have to check on her,’ I say, rising from my seat, ‘before I put my mouth anywhere near that stuff.’

  ‘Can I see her?’ Lou suddenly asks. His request makes me nervous.