by Dick, Amanda
“You’re speaking the same language, but still I can’t understand half of what you say.”
Chris grins back at him, but it’s Ana who clarifies things.
“JAFA – it’s what we call Aucklanders. Just Another Fucking Aucklander. JAFA. Get it?”
“Ah. Right.”
“Even though, technically, you’re a JAFA yourself,” she says to Chris.
“Hush your mouth, woman. We don’t talk about that.”
Luke offers his hand to Chris.
“Well, take care out there in the big wide world. I guess we’ll catch up again next time you’re down this way.”
“Count on it,” Chris says. “I’m planning on coming back through in a couple of weeks on my way back down to Wellington, so I’ll probably see you again then.”
Luke holds out his hand to Ana.
“It was really nice meeting you,” he smiles.
Ana, though, doesn’t stand on ceremony. She ignores his hand and goes in for a kiss instead.
“And you,” she says, kissing his cheek.
For some reason, it makes me nervous. I hope he doesn’t expect that from me. I’m not going anywhere, for one thing. And I’m not kissing a stranger, for another – on the cheek or anywhere else.
He doesn’t seem fazed, though, and Ana is practically smug.
“I’ll be back next weekend, so I’ll probably see you then,” she says. “We better get going. I’m dropping Chris off at the bus station in town. He has a four-hour bus trip from hell in front of him.”
I’m constantly torn between the desire to be alone and the desire to have those I love stay close to me, just in case something happens to them. Deep down, I know that keeping them close is no guarantee of keeping them safe, but it doesn’t stop the longing. I think that’s part of the vacuum they leave behind. I fill it with fear, even though I don’t want to. It always takes a while to fade.
That’s the way it seems for me lately. I’m a contradiction, an exercise in both hope and futility. I’m a study in opposites, continually warring against myself. No wonder I feel like my head is going to explode sometimes. I wonder if it’s got nothing to do with my residual brain injury and more to do with the fact that I’m trying so hard to both hold on and let go, simultaneously. Something has to give.
I try to steel myself for the approaching sadness, already making plans to fill my time to make it seem like the next five days are shorter, not longer. Letting go is a complicated process.
“Sian?”
I snap back to the present. Everyone’s looking at me. I get the familiar sucking sensation in my chest.
“Sorry, what?”
Geezer is licking my fingers, and I pull them away, tucking them into the pockets of my linen dress. I feel like a naughty child once again, caught daydreaming in class.
“I was just saying that if you need anything in the meantime, you only have to holler,” Luke says, his razor-sharp eyes missing nothing.
It feels like he’s digging again, and it makes me squirm like an ant under a magnifying glass. I can’t wait to get away.
***
The boat ride over is slow and silent. There is so much I want to say to Chris, but I can’t bring myself to say any of it. I’ve caught him looking at me, and I know he’s feeling the same combination of pain and joy as I am.
As Ana pulls the boat in beside the jetty, cutting the engine, the silence deepens. It feels heavy, almost suffocating. Chris climbs out first, and Ana hands her weekend bag to him, along with his backpack, the weight of which almost topples her over. I pass up her handbag, and he helps us both out of the boat.
Walking together along the jetty, the faint hum of traffic mixes with the sounds of the café we’re heading to, and my stomach clenches. I can’t do this in front of an audience.
“I think I’ll say goodbye here, if that’s okay,” I say, reaching for Chris’s arm.
He stops, lowering his backpack and turning to me.
“Course it is.”
We stand there for a moment, facing each other, the ghosts rushing between us. Then he pulls me into his arms. I return the hug, holding onto him as tightly as I dare. I’m afraid to let him go in case I never see him again. Anything could happen between now and two weeks from now. Between this moment and that, a million dangers lurk. I hold my breath, determined not to cry.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he says huskily. “I know it. Might take some time, but you’re going to be okay.”
I nod into his shoulder, my heart breaking. He has no idea.
“If you need anything – anything – call me. I left my cell phone number on your fridge.”
I nod again and pull away. They have to go, and I have to get back before I lose it altogether. I smile, weakly, but it’s all I can manage right now.
“Have fun with your parents,” I say.
He rolls his eyes, smiling.
“Yeah. Fuck. I might be back sooner than you think.”
Ana drapes her arms around me, pulling me close for just a moment.
“I’ll call you in a day or so, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
She lets me go, and they back away slowly, as if they’re afraid I might disappear. I’m afraid I might, too. Chris waves one last time, as they get near the café, and I wave back. Then I turn and make my way back along the jetty to the boat.
I want to cry, but I hold it all the way back over the lake until I get to the cottage. I even hold it as I walk over the lawn and up the stairs. It’s not until I’m inside, standing in the silence of my living room, that the tears finally come.
Chapter 8
I immerse myself back into my routine immediately, even as loneliness tugs at my fragile heart. It’s not as if I’ve been abandoned, yet that’s exactly how it feels. They went back to their lives, out there in a world that scares me to death now. Part of me wonders if I’ll ever be brave enough to exist anywhere else but here.
I make myself tidy up the cottage, even though Ana did a decent job of that before she left. Chris has left his toothbrush behind. I stand in the bathroom staring at it for a long time, memories washing over me. Every time Chris stayed over at our place, he always left something behind. It became a bit of a joke. I wonder briefly if I should post it back to him, for old time’s sake. I can almost hear James chuckling from somewhere in the distance.
I don’t, though. I put it in the drawer in the bathroom cabinet instead. It’s a reminder that he’ll be back.
It’s weird, the things you leave behind when you die. Voicemail messages, handwriting on a grocery list, photos in a frame or on a phone or in an album, toothbrushes. Echoes of a life, whispers in the dark. Evidence, proof, tangible signs that you once existed.
By the time I woke up in the hospital, I’d lost five months and the two most important people in my life. James’s family had cleared out our house, and all traces of he and Kieran were either packed away in boxes for when I woke up, given away to charity or taken as mementos. The things they chose to keep for me weren’t the things I wanted. They were someone else’s memories. The things I would’ve kept were much simpler.
I would’ve kept James’s toothbrush. I would’ve kept the second-hand quilt hanging over the back of the chair in Kieran’s room.
I would’ve kept everything – every last thing.
I think that’s part of the reason why the wardrobe is my sanctuary within a sanctuary. I can still smell James in there, among the holiday clothes he had stashed away. He’s tangible in there, in a way that he isn’t anywhere else. I can hear him, and sometimes I can see him, but in there, in the wardrobe, he’s everywhere. I can smell him, feel him. He’s so close, I can almost reach out and touch him.
Ana is the only one who knows that I still see them, still hear them. It came out one dark day, not long after I moved back here. There were a lot of dark days then. One afternoon, lying on my bed, it just slipped out. She didn’t freak out or ship me back to the nearest hospital. She didn’t even raise her
voice. She just nodded.
“It’s the lake,” she said. “This place, it’s alive with spirits. My koro always said there was something special about this lake.”
She was deadly serious.
“They’re watching over you, babe. Their love for you, that’s what you can feel, hear, see.”
I wanted to cry with relief. Maybe I wasn’t as crazy as I thought.
***
Last night, I dreamt I was playing with Kieran on the lawn. When I opened my eyes, I could still hear his laughter echoing through the cottage. I sat up in bed and watched the moon hanging over the lake until the sound faded.
At sunrise, I walk down to the lake with my candle, my matches and my paper boat. I wade out into the lake, only knee-deep this time. The match lights on the first try, and I gently push the glowing boat out into the lake and watch as the sun’s rays illuminate it.
Back in the cottage, staring at the calendar, the number of black crosses outweighs the number of white boxes. Days gone. Days left. I’m not sure which is which anymore. I pick up the marker pen and put a cross through Tuesday. Another day, one of many.
Ana called after dinner last night. She dropped Chris off at the bus station late Sunday afternoon. We talked about how good it was to see him, and how much we were looking forward to seeing him again in a couple of weeks. We talked about his parents, and whether he could stand to be in the same house as them for that long. She reminded me that I needed to go to the store and get my supplies. I don’t feel like facing the world today. I’ll do it tomorrow instead. I can wait another day.
I pull out my notebook over coffee, and write about my dream. It was so real, but then they all are. I close my eyes and I can picture Kieran running across the lawn, giggling as I chase after him. He loved to chase the ducks, and I loved to chase him. By the time I finish, my mood is strangely improved. I feel him with me, just out of sight, tugging on my hand and my heart.
Some days are good. I think today might be one of those days.
I keep that thought in mind as I lace my shoes. It’s early but warm, and I feel like a walk.
I head for the track with the kind of dedication I haven’t felt for a while. I look forward to the breathlessness that comes with the climb up to the half-way point. I imagine myself sitting down on the mossy rock and taking in the scenery, even as I make my way up the beginning part of the track, over tree roots and through stray fern fronds. I love how it smells here. Damp, earthy, untouched. It’s like another planet, and I feel like a pioneer, even though there are signs of human intervention everywhere.
The first part of the track is cooler than the rest, the canopy shading it from the sun. My thighs and calves burn with effort as the incline becomes more obvious. I remember running along this track, before. Now, I walk, and I’m careful. I’m not as steady on my feet as I was before the accident. As the track widens, the canopy opens up, dappling the damp leaves beneath my feet with shades of gold. I hear voices in the distance, and a dog barking. I cross my fingers that it’s coming from down at the lake. I know I have no ownership rights, but I’m not ready to share this hallowed ground with anyone.
Before long, my suspicions are confirmed. I can hear them behind me. I turn to see Geezer bounding up the track towards me. He looks like a wolf, and every horror movie I’ve ever seen runs through my head. I stop, petrified.
“Geezer!”
Luke has rounded the corner too, but the dog keeps coming until he’s practically on top of me. Luke chases him but I already know he’s not going to catch him in time. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for impact.
“Geezer, no!”
Nothing happens. I’m still upright, and I can hear him panting heavily. I open my eyes and Geezer is sitting right in front of me, as if he’s waiting for something. My breath escapes in a ragged rush, my heart still racing.
“Bad dog,” Luke says, slowing to a halt as he finally catches up. He grabs Geezer by the collar, which seems kind of unnecessary now. “You okay?”
I nod, not taking my eyes off Geezer, still panting at my feet.
“So sorry about that. I should get him a leash, I guess.”
Geezer leans forward, licking my fingers as if apologising.
“I don’t think he was gonna hurt you, if that’s any consolation,” Luke chuckles nervously. “I think he’s just got a crush on you. I’ve never seen him do that to anyone before – the licking thing, I mean. Not even me.”
I’m still not sure, but Geezer is looking at me with such an innocent expression, I feel guilty for doubting him.
“It’s okay,” I say. “It did kind of take me by surprise, though.”
“Yeah, he’s not that great with boundaries – or rules – are you boy?”
Luke ruffles his coat and releases his collar. In answer, Geezer moves a step closer until he’s practically sitting on my feet. He sits there, staring up at me.
“See what I mean?” Luke chuckles, pulling him backwards as I take a step away from them. “Dude, personal space, remember? We’ve discussed this already.”
He looks down through the trees to the distant lake.
“It’s the first time I’ve been up here. Chris was telling me about it the other night at dinner, so I thought I’d try it out. It’s really beautiful.”
“It is.”
“Do you come up here a lot?”
“Most days.”
“It’s kinda nice to have some company. Would you mind if we walked the rest of the way with you?”
I want to say yes, I do mind. I’d rather be alone, and we barely know each other, and I’m really crap at small-talk. But I don’t because I’m still bound by the social rules I was raised to respect.
“No, that’s fine.”
We start walking, side by side because this part of the track is wide and open. Geezer falls in behind us, panting quietly. We walk in silence for a while, which feels weird at first, but not so much after that. I’m grateful that Luke doesn’t appear to be the kind of guy who likes to talk for the sake of it. I feel less inclined to fill up the silence with meaningless chit-chat. It’s a skill I’ve lost over time.
Geezer runs up ahead of us, and Luke calls him back but is promptly ignored.
“He needs obedience school,” he says. “Damn dog does whatever he pleases most of the time.”
We watch as Geezer dashes into the undergrowth, reappearing a moment later before wandering ahead of us on the track at a more leisurely pace.
“You should probably put him on a leash out here,” I say, “because of the native birds and stuff. I don’t think they let dogs roam free on the tracks without leashes, just in case.”
“Shit, I never thought of that,” he mumbles. “Geezer!”
Geezer stops, looks back at us and hesitates, just for a moment, before wandering on ahead again.
“See what I mean?” he says. “One word from me and he does what he likes.”
We watch him for a few moments, but he sticks to the track and he’s not doing any harm.
“He seems okay,” I say.
“Yeah, but I think I’ll get him a leash next time I’m in town anyway. You never know, I guess.”
We walk in silence until we approach the half-way rock. I stop automatically, because I always do that here. The lake is sparkling far below us, through the trees. The view is breath-taking and I never tire of it. It’s been a special place for me, right from the beginning. I used to come up here as a child, perching on the rock and watching the world. It always felt safe. James loved it too. We had a photo of the view from here on our bedroom wall in Wellington. It wasn’t in the boxes I couldn’t bring myself to open until months after I woke up. I don’t know where it is now. I don’t want to think about all those things, languishing God knows where.
“I can see why you come here,” Luke says quietly.
I’d almost forgotten he was here.
“It’s beautiful. I don’t know what it is about this place, but I felt it the moment
I got here. I swear, if I didn’t know any better, I could’ve sworn I’ve been here before. I think that’s why I had to buy the house the moment I saw it. Maybe it was because the lake reminded me of home, but it just feels so familiar.”
A shiver runs down my spine but I keep my eyes trained on the view. I don’t want to get into a discussion with him about strange feelings or intuition or anything intimate. I want to keep him at arm’s length, so I turn the conversation away from such things and back to safety.
“You’re a long way from home,” I say. “You must miss it.”
He doesn’t answer immediately, and I turn to see him still looking out across the lake. He seems far away, not standing right beside me.
“Yeah. I do.”
I wonder why he stays, when he seems so torn.
“What brought you here, to New Zealand, I mean?”
He sighs, as if the story is too long and too detailed to go into right here, right now. Then he turns to me and smiles, shrugging lightly. I’m not fooled by the casual gesture. It’s in direct contrast to the tightness that has settled across his features. The smile is not genuine and he’s either lying or shying away from the question.
“The usual,” he says. “Wanderlust. Adventure. The search.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. More, I guess.”
He gets that look in his eye again, the one I saw before, over dinner. I hold my ground, looking away instead of putting physical distance between us, which is my preferred response.
The search. More.
I’m searching too. It occurs to me that maybe we’re all searching for something. It’s just that only some of us will find it, that elusive something to fill our hearts and make our days worthwhile. I had it once, and now that it’s gone, I’m still not sure I’ll ever recover from losing it. It leaves a mark, a wound that I don’t think will ever heal. At this point, I’m still not sure I want it to. A scar is a reminder of something that once hurt you. What do you call that which continues to do so, long after the physical evidence has healed?
He touches my arm.
“You zoned out there for a minute,” he says, his startling blue eyes laden with concern.