TICK to the TOCK (A Coming-of-Age Story) (30 page)

"Okay, I'm just going to talk," I say, looking at my toes. "I can't tell you how happy I am, and although I may never be able to express it, I am happy. I promise. You're going to be an amazing mother, Danii. So much better than you know." I breathe deeply, considering telling her about our son, only... I can't. It's a secret that must remain my own. "At the same time, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you have to do this on your own, and that I won't be here to help or be part of both of your lives. I'm sorry you'll be reminded of me every time you see him... or her... and that you'll have to live with this pain each day."

I'm locked on the floor, but I can tell she's holding back the tears. Her bare ankle shakes, and the unstable table vibrates. Her calf is tense, and the bottom of her green dress dances, in the wind, maybe, or from her turbulent legs. I can't look at her because if I do, I won't be able to finish. But I need to say these words. I need to let them escape and free them from their hold.

"I can't stand the thought of not being there for all the sleepless nights, early morning feeds, the laughs and giggles. But in a way, I will. I don't know what to expect after
it
ends, and maybe this terrifies me more than anything, but whatever it is, I'll cling to you with everything I have. I'll never leave you again, Danii. I promise."

The door swings open and a bell rings to life. Feet move across the room, but I don't know who belongs to them. They aren't people; they're black boots laced high above the ankle and a pair of tatty purple pumps. They're no socks and no trousers; one set of legs smooth and pale, the other dark and overgrown with thick, curly hairs.

She cries now, but she's doing her best to hold it back, the stifled sobs forcing their way through. This is Danii at her bravest, feeling the entire world dig into her shoulders but remaining tall and grimacing through the pain. To the surrounding clamour of Americanos and Mocha Lattes, we're a young couple making up after a fight, or possibly ending it for the final time.

Raising my head, the large coffee cup fills my vision. The thought of putting it in my mouth is repulsing, but I need to do something. I need to force something in there to stop my own agony from spilling out.

I look her in the eye, red streaks in the corner of each, trying her best to remain strong. Fingers shaking, and upper lip dancing, she's hopeless. She has so much to say but can't find the words. I know this, because I feel the same. I smell her fear. I taste her pain. I feel everything she does.

"Dante," she splutters. "You have nothing to be sorry about. I love you and I always will. As for being reminded of you? Good! I'll treasure it. The thought of our son or daughter having your eyes or smile makes me so proud. I love you, Dante, and so does your baby."

I grab her hand and squeeze so tight her pulse coordinates with my own.

"And the truth is," she continues. "I can't wait to meet our little marvel. But the closer that day comes, the further away it takes me from you. It isn't fair. It isn't right. You deserve to be there. You're a good man, and this..." She doesn't finish.

A song I don't know ends, a new tune humming to life, this one I know instantly; a calming one the two of us used to sleep to. It seems so long ago now, a time we would lay in bed and make love, a soundtrack of our lives playing in the background. No matter what we were doing, we would always lock eyes during this song. 'The Sound Of Silence' perfectly described the time of night: quiet, alone, just the two of us embracing and rolling into one another, but it's all we needed at an hour when words are a nuisance.

"I think we need to go back," I say, kissing her hand. "I was considering it anyway, but this makes me certain." I kiss the other one. "Who knows; maybe things have changed. I can take a few tests, and... yeah.... who knows."

She smiles, and it warms me like it always does. How she manages to produce such beauty at a time like this is beyond comprehension. Her dimples roll into one another, and I'm at their mercy.
 

"Yeah, we'll go back. I'll visit Doc and take some tests. Who knows. It's
 
worth a try, right? Yeah. Maybe. Maybe things have changed..."

Her smile fades a little.

"Yeah, we'll go home and try. Make sure our baby's fine. And his... or her, mother is, too."

Rubbing her nose into my hand, she nods and gives way to the tears screaming to escape.

"I love you, Danii. And I mean it. You're going to be the best mum ever. I just wish I could be there for it."

Bowing her head, she squeezes my fingers and sobs quietly. We're in just another coffee shop, in just another city, drinking the same drinks as yesterday. A little shack like this shouldn't be memorable, but it is. I'll never forget now, at least, I hope I don't.

7
^th
March—Christchurch:

Recommended Listening:

Heartbeats—Jose Gonzalez

Shield Your Eyes—Dry The River

Pretty Face—Soley

All I want—Kodaline

The striking heat is no more, but comfort is still found in the sunshine. The day grows old, the evening ready to step forward, but the low sun refuses to budge, much of Hagley Park still in luscious light.

It reminds me of home, a simpler time when myself, Ethan, and Wil would sit in one of York's parks and cling to summer with drinks and chatter. Dog walkers and brisk joggers and young couples holding onto a younger life would surround us in a hopeful summer mood. A darker, colder, wetter time awaits, but for a little longer, the locals of Christchurch are outside and enjoying what's left. They're living for now, the hell with tomorrow, and the mood is hopeful and warm.

Sitting on a plain red blanket that Danii found in the hostel, the four of us stretch out and fill all four of its corners. She leans on my chest, her elbow on top of my thighs. Her weight restricts my breathing, but it's nice. It reminds me of what rests inside her. The sun shines directly on my face, the soothing rays kissing my neck and massaging my aching forehead. I've swallowed countless pills over the last few months, but they hold nothing on this luscious sun.

Ethan lies on his stomach, relaxed and sprawled out, his cheek resting on his forearm as a book sits beyond it. Wil is surprisingly still, cross-legged and gazing at the groups who have lasted the afternoon and settle down for the evening.

The trees' shadows grow and stretch and distort, reaching far across the grassy park and almost casting the entire area in dim light. The remaining revellers do not care, not so long as a smidgen of sun remains. We're couples leant against one another, kissing and hugging and stroking fingers through hair; we're groups of friends playing cricket and throwing frisbees, holding on to youth and freedom; we're families cooking meat on a fire and sharing platters of desserts and drinks; we're dreamers and readers and eternal schemers.

These strangers don't know I'm near the end. They're unaware that at this very moment, a headache pounds the inside of my skull. The pills don't help as much anymore. The respite they offer is minimal, but I'm so accustomed to the headaches that sometimes I forget one's even occurring. Once upon a time on this journey, the headaches held a monopoly, but no more. It shares its discomfort with nausea, muscles that feel like they've been dipped in acid, and skin so tender to touch it almost tears away from the bone. Still, no seizures of late, which is nice, although I fear my body is too tired and broken to shake and gyrate. If it did, it would more than likely bring the end with it.

Despite the pain, and how worthless it's made me, the worst part of this whole demise remains my wayward memory. Earlier this morning, I picked up my backpack and searched for my wallet. "Danii, have you seen my wallet?" I asked, panic surging through my veins. I could hear the stress in my voice, all broken and squeaky.

Danii and I looked all over. Ethan joined in. Wil tried to help. All along, it was in my jacket pocket. I had put it there myself earlier this morning, maybe last night at some point. I can't remember doing it. "Don't worry, sweetie," Danii said.
 

But I do worry. I miss the lost memories and stolen chunks of time. They're mine. They belong to me. I shouldn't have to give them up or let them go. This tumour has already taken enough.

"Got your eye on someone?" I ask Wil, eager to take my attention from the inner turmoil and angst.

Looking away from our blanket, he sways a little, hesitating before turning to face me and the rest of the group. "No, no, Dante, m'lad, merely gazing at this glorious scene. What a good idea this was. I must say, thank you, Danii."

She grips my right thigh. "So that's what that sounds like?"

"And what would that be, old one
n
and two
i
's?"

"The infamous Wil
thank you
."

He meets these words with a wild grin, jumping to his knees and swatting my foot. "Yes, yes, quite rare it is, too."
 

The shadows lining the boundary of our sunny island edge a little closer, the park losing another group as the frisbee throwers depart to the outskirts. The laughter and joy is dying, the songs from the birds more prominent, and The Kinks singing from a nearby speaker.

Stroking the back of my ear, Danii rolls onto her knees next to Wil. Her purple flowered sundress contrasts Wil's yellow chinos and faded pink shirt. The two of them are so colourful compared to Ethan and me. They're flowers to our grass. We're the boring leaves of summer, green and plain and all the same. Danii and Wil are the leaves of autumn: crisp and colourful and unique.
 

"We need to go home," I say, sudden and off subject. I've wanted to say it all day, but for some reason been wary to do so.

Wil gapes as Ethan remains calm and steady.

"I'm glad I've shared every second of this with you," I continue. "I'm sorry I tried to do it on my own, and I'm thankful you wouldn't let me. I know it's been tough, but it's been wonderful, too. I hope all three of you can take something from this. Something good, because I don't want you to remember this as a journey built on misfortune. It's more than that, especially since... since." I pause and smile at Danii. "Danii's pregnant, guys."

Wil's gape transforms into shock or awe or complete bamboozlement. He turns to Ethan, who joins him with an uncharacteristic concern.

"Oh... kah... ay," says Ethan, breaking the hesitant, still air. "I can't say I was expecting that, but I guess it's... good news, right?"

In unison, they look from Danii to me and back. She nods and holds her stomach, Wil leaping to his feet and bringing an energetic vibe to the red blanket.

"Oh my, oh my, what wonderful news this is. Why, we shall soon have a miniature Dante, a true boyish boy with childish charm and dreamy delight." He hovers over me, grabbing my hand and shaking it. Twisting on the spot, and nearly falling on Danii, he wraps his arms around her. "Tonight we shall toast—except you, Miss Danii—although I'm sure the rest of us will make up for your dryness." He moves to Ethan, tapping his shoulders and urging him upwards.

"It really is something," he says, struggling to his feet like a man much older. His tone is cautious, no doubt sensing my deeper feelings. The news is grand, but it's tainted with certain regret. Ethan knows this. He's already inside my thoughts.

"And of course we shall go home," Wil says, leaping off of the blanket and walking around its edge. "Yes, yes, the time is now. We've trekked an impressive trek, but all grand tales must come to an end. Ethan," he says, pointing with an outstretched arm and taut fingertip. "You've succeeded in your quest, good man."

Laughing, Ethan offers me his outspread hand. "Your mum will be delighted."

I stand and plant my palm on his shoulder. Even though we needn't have worried telling Ethan and Wil, for some reason, we did. I sense we all fear going home because we know what it represents. It isn't just the end of the journey, but an end to
the
journey.
 

"Right, Danii," says Ethan. "Let's get you back to the hostel and into the warmth. Will you help me book our flights home?"

"Of course I will. We can't leave it up to these two, can we?" she says.

Paying no attention, Will waves his arms and kicks out his legs. He's on the blanket but not, skipping and patting arms and hugging whatever limb he can grab ahold of.

"How about you two head back?" I say. "I think Wil needs to burn off some energy. What do you say, mate? Walk with me?"

*

**

The sun is sparse now, the park lost in a jungle of shadows as each tree fades into one another. It's met with a chill and a ticklish breeze, the prematurely fallen leaves dancing among it. The world around is still green, but it doesn't hold the same vibrancy as it did a few weeks ago. The smell of smoke and cooking sausage wavers, but not as strong as it once did.

"I cannot believe it, Dante, m'lad. You've created life, you crazy lunatic." He hesitates before his next words. "We will make sure he or she knows you. Knows how amazing a father you would have been. And with that, I shall say no more."

I nod, thankful for his sparse overview. I move slowly along the concrete path, each footstep a struggle as my muscles tighten and bones hum. Where Wil practically wears nothing, I'm wrapped in a thick jumper and windproof jacket, but still I shiver from tip-to-toe.

"Lovely day for such brilliant news, also. Lovely day indeed."