by A. M. Hudson
He’s gone. He’s really gone.
No. He’ll come. He has to. He promised. He’s just late, that’s all. But he’ll come.
I wiped my tears, straightened up, then pushe d up off the ground and tripped over my own
feet to get to my desk. In one sweep, I sent my or derly homework into a spread of disarr ay
over my washing-rug, then climbed over the wood top and tucked myself into a ball against the cold
glass of the window.
Soft dark-blue light filtered in from the world outside and lit the edges of my dresser and bed,
casting soft shadows of pale blue across my floor.
The streetlight below seemed to sing loneline ss down onto the vacant si dewalk, and clouds
hijacked the stars from the sky. There was nothing out ther e that resembled life toni ght, and
strangely, though my heart was beating, there was nothing here that much resembled it either.
With a long, dejected sigh, I lowered my head onto my knees and closed my eyes.
David’s not coming. If he were, he would’ve been here by now. I guess he thinks I don’t
deserve a chance to explain, and maybe I don’t. Maybe, in David’s mind, loving another man makes
things pretty final.
I looked up at t he cloud of heat from my body causing a frosty circle on my window and,
using my fingertip, traced a heart on the glass, then wiped my hand through it—washing it away.
He’s right. David. He’s r ight to have left me when he saw what he saw. I mean, what did I
expect? That he’d just stick around to watch me fall for my best friend? I’m so dumb.
I dropped my head into my knees again.
I don’t know why I possibly thought he’d st ill come—like everything is all right between us,
when the truth is….it’s not. In fa ct, I’m pretty sure that by not coming tonight ...he’s telling me it’s
over. A loud chime set my heart ablaze with a start; I looked up from my knees, instantly regretting
having moved my head when my neck cracked fr om the stiffness. I rubbed the top of my spine and
looked around my room, then down into the street below, counting the chimes I heard in my head.
One, tw—There were only two. There should’ve been more than that. I came to bed at seven.
It can’t be two in the morning.
Feeling the heavy tilt of my lids and the tingle of pins in my toes, realisation s unk right into
my heart. My lip quivered.
It is two in the morning. David didn’ t come. He ju st left me here—to fal l asleep in the
windowsill—by myself, cold and alone.
I buried my head in my arms and let the warmth of tears roll onto the tops of my thighs and
trickle down onto the window ledge under me.
What did I do to him? I must have destroyed him to make him leave like this. I’m a horrible,
horrible person.
My self-pitying sobs stopped with an abrupt jolt when my door handle twisted. I rubbed my
face into my knees to dry off the tears, and as the door pushed open, watched a line of yellow light
spill in from the hallway as the deep, husky breath of my friend touched my ears in a long sigh.
“Baby girl, what’re you doing asleep here?” he whispered to no one in particular.
His wide, broad arms fixed a hold under my knees and around my back, then he swept me off
the windowsill, over the desk and into his body with less than little effort. I stayed floppy in his arms,
making my breath long and deep as if I were asleep.
He laid me on my pillow—much softer and warmer than the cold glass—and tucked my feet
into my quilt, then brushed my hair firmly back from my face, pressed a quick kiss to my brow and
walked away, closing the door behind him.
“Thanks, Mike,” I whispered quietly, all owing a smile to appear f or one second befor e it
melted away in the darkness.
“It’s alive!” Mike waved his hand dramatically as I zombie-walked into the kitchen and sat at
the bench. “Hungry?” He held up a spatula.
“Not for plastic kitchen implements, if that’s what you’re offering.”
“Oh, a comedian today, huh?” He turned back
to the s tove, wearing a grin. “S o, are you
hungry or not?”
“A little.” I grabbed an apple and took a bite while I watched Mi ke at the stove, poking t he
frypan with an egg-flip. “Where is everybody?”
“Oh, um, Sam’s at school, Vicki’s gone to the movies with her fr iend, and your dad’ s at
work.” Mike turned back and winked at me. “It’s just us.”
“Okay, so, is that why you think it’s acceptable to wear a pink apron?”
Mike laughed, rolling his head back a little. “I thought you might like that.” He turned around
and untied Vicki’s apron. “Thought it might cheer you up a little.”
“What makes you think I need cheering up?” I turned my wrist over in question—the apple
still in hand.
“Ara, I know you better than you know yourself. Yo u need cheer. So—” he grabbed the fry
pan and tipped the contents onto two plates in front of me, “—I made your favourite. Pancakes!”
Hm. That might just work.
“Is there maple syrup?” I asked in a low, questioning tone.
Mike grinned and slowly, from behind the bench, lifted a glass bottle of brown l iquid.
“Would I forget the syrup?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” I snickered and took the bottle from him.
He walked around the bench and slid onto the stool next to me, then dumped some cutlery
beside my plate. My attempt at moodiness slipped away completely when the first bite of his light ,
fluffy pancakes touched my tongue. Like sugar-coated puffs of heaven, the golden exterior of the
pan-fried breakfast melted with the syrup at the perfect ratio of sweet and savoury—sending trickles
of warm delight down my spine.
With my fork in front of my lips, I studied him—the chef, the wonder-cook, the man who
knows no failure. How is he so good at every damn thing he does? Is i t just my imagination, or is
everyone I know, but me, perfect? I threw my fork onto my plate. It’s infuriating.
“Something wrong, baby?” Mike asked, mid-shovel.
Yeah, you’re making it really hard for me not to love you. “I uh—I just remember ed I have
rehearsals today.”
“Rehearsals?”
“Mm. For a benefit concert were doing to raise money for this kid who died.”
“Oh. Okay. What time?” he asked.
“Dunno.” I shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll go.”
Mike sat taller and grinned. “Wanna go for a run with me, instead?”
“Yeah. Actually, I’d love that.”
“Great. Maybe we can make a picnic out of it. What’d ya think?”
I nodded and picked up my fork again. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
“So, do you wanna talk about it?” Mike dropped to the grass by our picnic blanket and gulped
a few swigs of water.
“Talk about what?” Huffing, harder than him, I let my hands catch me on the ground, sinking
into my elbows, then rolled onto my back to watch the midday sun overhead.
Mike took a couple of long breaths, wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned forward with
his elbows draped over his knees. “The reason I came in to find you asleep on your windowsill last
night.” As if controlled by a body-stiffening remote, my limbs went long. I laid very still, suddenly
no longer aware of my exhaustion from running. “No.”
“You know that
won’t gel with me, baby.” A bot tle of water appeared over my face; I sat up
on my elbows and took hold of it. “You need to talk, and whatever it is, you kn—”
“It’s none of your business, Mike.” I sat all the way up, unscrewed the lid from the bottle and
rolled it to my lips, letting the cool liquid inside melt the heat in my throat. “Just stay out of my room
if you don’t like it.”
He let out a short sigh, not an agitated or a hurt one, just more….frustrated. “Here. Eat.”
I studied the sandwich for a long breath, then snatched it with just a little too much hostility.
It’s almost like he does this deliberately—it’s always the same with him; Gee, Ara, you need to talk.
No, I don’t. I’m fine.
Okay, fine then. Here. Eat.
And so I eat, and then, all of a sudden we’re talking. Well, not this time!
“Ara? Where are you going?” Mike jumped up and ran after me as I headed toward the swing
set across the park.
“Wherever you’re not.”
“Why?”
I dumped the sandwich on the ground—with a pang of regret—and said, “Because I’m not
going to let you talk me into opening up to you.”
“Okay. Fine.” He laughed. “I won’t. We’ll just hang—like old times.”
I stopped walking and looked down at my left wrist; my arms were so thin that they looked
longer now, and whiter than they’d ever been—which made the unhealed scab on my wris t look
malicious. I quickly cupped my hands behi nd my back as Mike appr oached. “Push me on t he
swing?” I said playfully.
The mask of concern dropped from his lips, but stayed in his eyes even as they lit with a
smile. “Sure, baby.”
And that was that. He didn’t even mention my weird sleeping habits again—or my mum, or
David—only Vicki and my relationship with her. But I assured him things were getting better, and he
said they must be since I willingly called her “Mum” the other day.
When the park emptied and a strong breeze swept half of our picnic away, we packed up and
jumped in Dad’s car, then headed home—with Mike driving.
“Are you okay?” he asked, looking at my knees; I looked too. My legs were so stiff and rigid
that my knees turned completely white.
“Yeah. I just—I never really feel quite safe in cars, now. It’s like, before, I knew they could
crash and that they were dangerous, but now I know what that feels like, I don’t feel so invincible.”
“Blind faith gone, huh?”
“Yeah. But you s till have it.” I nodded to the road. “You don’t feel the fear of these deat hly
metal machines.”
“I know. I’m just one of the lucky ones, Ara, but the same could be said about you.”
“What’d you mean?”
“You have a real sense of what danger is, now. I know that’s a pitiful consolation, but at the
same time, you’re seventeen and you have an under standing about life that no other ki ds your age
could. Cars are dangerous, and people are a blasé about that power. I’ve seen enough accidents in my
time on the Force to know how little people value the power of these metal machines.”
The car slowed as Mike fl icked on the indicator and changed gears; muscle by muscle my
legs unclenched, and as we rolled at less than half the recommended speed limit, Mike turned his
head and smiled at me warmly—ignoring the honking horns from behind us.
“Thanks, Mike.”
“Anytime.”
When we pulled up in the driveway at home, Mike pointed to my shoe. “Might wanna tie that
up so you don’t trip.”
“Uh, crud.” I bent over my legs and twisted my lace into a bow, then looked up as the door
popped open and Mike stood before me with a smile on his face, the picnic basket in hand.
“Thanks,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt and jumping out. As the door closed after me, the
look on Mike’s face became apparent. “What?”
“You didn’t yell at me for opening the door.”
“Oh.” I looked at the car, then shrugged. “Guess I didn’t.”
“I like this new, grown-up you.”
Deliberately scanning his broad shoulders, his proud, tall stance and school-boy grin, I said,
“And I like this new, hot-guy you.”
We walked up the fixed previously-broken bottom step of the porch and Mike laughed as I
darted through the front door when he opened it for me. The genuine surprise in his intake of breath
caught my escaping happiness and labelled my face with its presence. “I can’t believe you let me
open that for you,” Mike said. “You’re so different, now, Ara.”
“Eh, not really. I just couldn’t be bothered arguing with you.”
“Exactly.”
“Hey there,” Dad said as he came down the stairs.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Did you have a good day?”
I looked at Mike, then back at Dad. “Actually, yeah.”
“Well, I’m going to unpack this basket. I’ll see you upstairs for a movie?” Mike looked at me
suggestively.
“Yeah, sure.” He walked away, and Dad’s gaze seeped into my skin. “What, Dad?” I asked
with a smile.
He leaned in, kissed my cheek and said, “I’ m just happy to s ee you happy agai n.” Then, he
followed Mike into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the wake of his odd suggestion.
I’m glad he thinks I’m happy. But I ’m not happy. Well, at least—I looked up to the coming
night through the small window above the front door, hugging my arms across my chest—at least, I
won’t be in a few minutes.
Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
It might’ve been a dream, but it was as close as I’d been to him in two days; I rolled over in
my bed and fli pped my pillow to the dry side, wi ping the moist layer of ageing tears from my
cheeks as I settled my face against the cushion.
While thunder grumbled somewhere outside in the real world, the daylight fill ed my eyes
behind closed lids again, and the face of the boy I love smiled back at me. “Where have you been?”
I asked.
“In another time, another place—where love was real.” He turned away from me and looked
out across the valley of golden lit trees below our feet.
“But, it is real, David. I love you. You know that.”
He nodded once. “But it will never be enough.”
Wait! Stop! Rewind. This is my dream. It doesn’t have to be like this.
In my mind, I scrolled back through the images until I found the one of his smi le, and as I
was about to press play, I stopped.
What am I doing? Laying here making up scenes where we’re together isn’t going to change
things. It just makes this—when I open my eyes to an empty room—so much more regrettable.
I just never thought David would do this. I always thought he’d give me a chance to explain
if ever I did something wrong.
It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t seem like the way my David would behave.
But then, he did tell me once how strongly he feels about infidelity—and with good reason,
too, after a biblical warning on a wall above his mutilated aunt’s body was the first thing he saw the
day she died.
But I didn’t cheat on him with Mike. I know I dreamed of a wedding, but t hat’s different,
right? Or maybe not. Maybe not in David’s eyes. Maybe, much like the dream that destroyed him,
/>
life is all just black and white.
As I watched the numbers on my digital clock change, one by one, the glowing green light
all the while reminding me of David’s eyes, I felt the numbness of fatigue set into my bones. I tried
to sleep through the night—through the pain—and many times I’d felt its grasp pull me down, but
then I’d see his face in my mind and sit bol t upright, calling out for him—covering my mout h
quickly upon realising how loud my voice was.
Outside, the thunder rolled again; it’d been that way all night. Bad weather was brewing, but
it hadn’t the strength to burst out and become a st orm. It was a dormant eruption, a traveller lost in
purgatory, a lovers quarrel with no happy ending.
I didn’t mind the thunder tonight, though, because I understood its pain—how it fel t as
though it just couldn’t get free—to be where it was supposed to be. It was trapped, caged in by the
wrong conditions.
My door cracked open and Mike popped his head in. “Hey, you’re up—you ready to leave?”
he half-whispered.
“What, you wanna go now?” I sat up in my bed.
“Yeah—it’s a long drive.”
“You never mentioned leaving this early.”
“I know.” He grinned and opened my door fully. “I planned to wake you—figured I’d save
myself from the whingeing last night about getting up early.”
“What makes you think I’d have whinged?”
Mike just raised his brows and rolled his head down a little.
“Oh, fine.” I jumped out of bed. “I’ll get my bag.”
“Might wanna put some clothes on, too.” He nodded to my pyjamas.
Hm, good idea.
He closed the door and I threw on my bikini, my shorts and a shirt, then slipped into my flip-
flops and met Mike at the car—dragging my feet the whole way.
As the sun peeked out from the eastern hills, I closed the car door gently in the early silence
and rested my head on the window as we pulled away from Dad’s house. Then, we grabbed an egg
muffin from Macca’s before we took to the freeway and left this sleepy little town behind for the
day.
“So, why are we going to a beach four hours away?”
“Because.” Mike shrugged, tossing his coffee cup into the br own paper bag our food came