TICK to the TOCK (A Coming-of-Age Story) (13 page)

His eyes drop and his shoulders slump, a distant sight from his usual taut self. The natural assumption is he's some kind of Adonis, living out his days in the gym and sculpting a desirable physique. It couldn't be farther from the truth. His body is firm and tight, but it isn't through exercise, rather, his relentlessly vibrant days. He never stops, always twisting and turning and shuttling about.
 

"I'm sorry, Wil, I shouldn't—"

"Dante, m'lad, you have no reason to apologise," he says, straightening his back and clearing his throat. "You talk more sense than any other I know. Let us toast this conversation like we should every other. Oia is dying, you see," he says, pointing out to sea. "There's little time to waste."

The sky is on fire, lines of orange spread out in all directions. Sitting halfway up the rocky hillside, we watch Oia perish behind another day. My oldest friend dances with it, his eyes moving from left to right, up and down, taking it in and tasting each second. For so long I've wanted to walk in his shoes and see the world as he sees it; as though he held the secret of happiness in his hands, and that if I watched him, and envied him, and tried to live the way he lives, I too would grasp the coveted remedy. Now, all I glimpse is sadness, and how very wrong I was.

28
^th
November—Lhasa:

Recommended Listening:

Almost Lover—A Fine Frenzy

Into Dust—Mazzy Star

Shiver—Lucy Rose

Graveyard—Feist

I've grown up under the assumption I'm a cultured and well-rounded individual, but as soon as I stepped foot in Tibet, I realised how ignorant I am—indeed, how most of us are. Living in a bubble is what I've known, being told one thing by the media and another by teachers.

Lhasa is unlike anywhere, and I hope no other tries to compete. This is the kind of place I need to visit on such a trip, but it isn't what I expected, although to be honest, I'm not sure what I did. The ridiculously cold and fresh high-altitude air isn't soothing like I hoped. It's stained with questions I never thought to ask, but now they're out, they're difficult to ignore.
 

The journey from Oia to here was long, several days of planes and buses, although the entire period is somewhat blurry: dreamlike. Headaches mixed with jet lag and exhaustion. It's hard to tell which moments were real and which were those of dreams. One I'm sure that's real is a conversation with Wil, as Ethan disappeared to the small airport shop, and Danii slept a few inches from my thigh.
 

"Dante, m'lad," he whispered, moving close to my ear and stuffing his right foot underneath his left leg. "May I ask you something... hmm, yes, something that may not be the right thing to ask." His darting eyes refused to settle. "Of course, you don't have to answer if you don't wish."

"It's fine, Wil. Go ahead," I said, and although I had no idea what his question was, I assumed he had many, most of which remained locked away deep inside at the insistence of Ethan, no doubt.

"Right, good, good lad. Well, it's the headaches, you see. I know they're bad, but how bad are they?"

"You hear me in the morning, don't you?"

Playing with his fingers, he shuffled in his seat. "I do, sir. Regrettably so."

"Yeah, I figured. Danii sleeps like a lion, but you barely sleep at all."

"It's the curse of a curious mind, my friend." Removing his right leg from under his left, he sat on the ground and looked up to me, like a child listening to a grandparent read a story. "So, the pain? What's it like?"

"It's bad, and I sense it'll get worse. I mean, it differs. Some mornings I wake up fine for a few seconds, as the pain sneaks up on me slowly... gradually. But then, other mornings, I awake to this spiking agony. Those are the worst. It's jarring, you know? Like someone has woken me up with a knife to the chest."

"I see, I see."

"Either way, it lingers for a while, getting worse and worse, and although the pills help keep it at bay, they only do so much."

"Yes, of course. The pain, though... how bad is it? I know I can't begin to imagine, but..."

"It's bad, mate," I said, hesitant to share too much. "My forehead heats up and stings, like someone is holding a dozen matches an inch above it. The pulsing is slow at first, but then gets quicker and quicker, and soon I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches and my teeth throb, and if I try to open my eyes, I can't. And I sweat, and shake, and bunch whatever I can grab into my fists: the sheets, a pillow, my thigh...

"And time stops. All I can do is focus on my breathing, hoping I'm not screaming or panting, because I don't want Danii to experience it. I know she does, to an extent, but I can't put her through that pain every morning. I don't want to put any of you through it."

He looked at me, silent.

"And every single time it happens, it feels like it'll never end. '
This is it,
' I think. '
I'm broken
'. But the pills work their magic, or my body fights back, or the tumour decides to offer some mercy. Some days are worse than others, and some last longer, but eventually, my grip loosens, the shaking subsides, and my jaw unlocks and I open my eyes. It still hurts, but compared to that before it, it's bliss. In a strange way, it helps me appreciate the day more."

Nodding, he sighed. "You are a very brave man, Dante King." And he stood up and walked away, hands in his green chino pockets, chin tight to his chest.
 

We said nothing more on the matter, and the next day we arrived in Tibet. During our first evening, I experienced my first seizure. Sitting on the bed and sipping from a bottle of water, I suddenly felt lightheaded, the world blurring at the edges like an ancient photograph left in the sunlight. Everything went black, and as I awoke, I couldn't move, paralysed on the floor and looking up at the cloud of worry surrounding me: Danii kneeling, crying and shaking; Ethan crouching, speaking muted words; and Wil standing rigid and straight, his thumbs flicking and feet tapping.

As feeling came back to my muscles, I moved my fingers, then my toes, then my entire hand. It wasn't particularly painful, but it was strange, and most certainly terrifying. I've taken anticonvulsants for a while now, having the audacity to think they were working. Maybe they have been. Maybe, without them, I'd suffer such shakes on a daily basis.

Ethan helped me sit up after a few minutes of insisting I lay still, and I hugged Danii and dried her tears, and although we all decided everything was okay, and that we were all okay, we're not. Things have changed, and coupled with this strange and eerie Tibet, I'm not sure what to do. I want to ask Danii questions about the moment, about what I looked like and what I did, but I can't. How can I ask her to re-live it? I could ask Ethan now, the huddled figure sitting next to me, but I don't want to. Part of me needs to know what it's like from the outside looking in, but another refuses it. From my perspective, it's strange and scary, but not particularly haunting. I sense from Danii's view, and Ethan's and Wil's, it is.
 

"I still don't know how to approach this place," I say to Ethan, the pair of us sitting at the foot of the Potala Palace. He's silent, cuddled up in his large woolly coat that drapes below his knees. "Everything about
here
is beautiful, but I hate it... or... maybe it's that I hate
us
for being here."
 

"What do you mean?" he says, shivering and blowing into his red, raw hands.
 

"Whether we like it or not, we're tourists, but how can you be a tourist
here
? Are we helping these people? This place is above tourism, surely. We shouldn't be here, but at the same time... I'm glad I've seen this," I say, pointing up to the palace: white walls climbing up the hillside that's hiding the Himalayas behind. It's hard to comprehend how high we are and what rests so close, but a quick walk to the left or right opens up an entire new existence. "It's selfish. We're here for our own good, which is fine in places like Rome, but here... I don't know..."

"It's a pretty eerie place," he says softly, practically not at all.

"I thought we knew the world, mate. Our parents were good, you know? They took us on holiday and read to us and encouraged us to learn and accept those that are different. I thought I knew, but coming here... I haven't a clue." The wind picks up and creeps under my thick jacket, my skin shuddering as it brushes past. The air here is something else: fresh, pure, fragrant.

"Yeah..."

"Are you okay?" I ask, worried by the lethargic vacancy in his tone.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Gazing up, I marvel at the red-bricked centre of the palace sitting atop the white walls. Groups pass below, mere figurines against the high-rising kingdom. "Are you sure? You seem a little distant today."

Peering past the grand spectacle, he exhales, his breath visible as soon as it touches the icy air. "I'm fine. I guess I know what you mean. Being here..." he hesitates. "I don't know. It doesn't seem right."

"Talk to me, Ethan. I can't handle you being like this. Ever since..."

"Your fit?"

"Yeah."

"I know."

"It's changed, right? I'm not imagining it?"

"No, I think we all sense it, but I guess for different reasons."

"Wil's... Different," I say.

"Yep."

"He's quieter."

"I've noticed."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"He's taking it out on Danii, too." He looks at me now. "You should say something."

I shake my head, considering the many times I've moved to her rescue in the past, only for her to utter, “
I’ll handle it myself”
. "She doesn't like me saying anything. Strong independent woman and all that... anyway, you know what he's like. Danii and he have never seen eye to eye."

"It's with more venom now, don't you think?"

I take another mouthful of cold, clean air. "I don't know. Maybe. I'm sure it'll be fine. I'm more worried by his silence. It's creepy."

"Yeah..."

"You, too," I say. "I'm worried about you, too."

"That's a change for the books."

"I'm serious. I know it's your job to hold my hand, but I'm here for you, too. If you need to talk."

"I'm fine. No need to worry."

"Ethan–"

"It's this damn trip, okay!" he says, taking a deep breath and huddling further into his own embrace. "I didn't think it would be this hard. Back home, everything makes sense, but here... I don't have a grasp on anything."

"I know, but you're doing okay. You're having a good time, right?"

"Exactly," he practically spits out. "I've been having fun even though I've tried not to. I'm not here to have fun. I'm here to make sure you're okay."

"That's crazy—"

"No, it isn't. This isn't me," he says, holding out his palm and taking a long, slow breath; the hazy mist surrounding his hand. "I hold it together. Your mum, she was distraught. And I promised her. I promised you'd be okay, that I'd look after you and get you home. How can I keep that promise if I'm not in control of myself? I shouldn't be having fun or enjoying this. I shouldn't."

He tries to continue, but is met by a muted breath. This isn't my cousin. It's a man with no answer. "I know this is out of your comfort zone, but maybe that's not a bad thing–"

"I was living my dream," he continues, ignoring me. "The job and the house and the career, and it's all still there, waiting, but I'm not sure I can go back to it. What if I want more? What if... what if... what..."

"Ethan—"

"We shouldn't be having fun! None of us should be, but especially me. We're here because... because..."

"I'm going to die?"

He looks away, turning his entire body from mine. The longer-than-usual hairs on the back of his neck move in the breeze, his free-flowing strands dancing in the brisk mountain wind, no longer slicked back in an act of perfection.

"Ethan, you're allowed to have fun. Christ, that's exactly what we need to do.”

"How?" he snaps.

"How? Because it's why we came away. It's bad enough seeing my mother's vacant and hapless expression every time I close my eyes. Can you imagine what it'd be like if I saw her every fucking day? Jesus, ever since that bloody fit!"

"What do you expect? This is hard on all of us. I don't know what those two are going through—"

"Have you spoken to them?"

"No."

"Not even Wil?"

"No," he forces out. "We haven't spoken about it because we have no idea what to say. I don't know what they're going through, but I sense they're asking similar questions to me. They're asking why they're here and what they should and shouldn't say, and how they're supposed to act."

"Do you regret coming?" I ask, not knowing why but suddenly needing to hear his answer.

"Of course not."

"Really, because it sounds like you do."

"Don't. You're like a brother to me, and I don't regret this for a second. I can't imagine leaving you to deal with this on your own, to go through
that
alone..." He twists again, the woolly coat forming a boundary between the cold and me. "You were so tense. Holding you was like grasping a statue: so cold and rigid and fragile. I thought you might shatter any minute, and it wouldn't stop. It felt like hours, just crouching and holding you and hearing nothing but the muffled stutters from Danii. We're here because we love you, and that's why it's hard. That's why every time I have fun, I feel sick to my stomach."