Chapter 6 – Chap 6

The song won’t stop fucking playing.

“My sweet boy, for you I’d truly die. But we’ll never say goodbye, my sweet, sweet, boy.”

I can’t take it anymore. I fumble to the record player through the darkness and throw it to the ground. I stomp on it once and the angelic voice becomes warped and demonic as it tries to continue on. I stomp on it again and it finally ceases. I have been in this box, this prison beneath the sea, for no more than an hour, but I’m already starting to feel my mind slip away from me. I can feel it. Time is stretching to the end of the galaxy, losing all meaning and urgency and I am lingering in a never-ending moment of dread. How weak willed I am, unable to keep it together for a full day, spiraling so rapidly that I have already initiated a parade of manic destruction. Why stop now? I let it continue.

I scream and begin shattering anything and everything I come across in the room. I have no idea what my hands touch, but as long as it has weight, I test its gravity. I throw it across the room with a scream. I smash it onto the floor with a sigh. I splatter it across the wall with a sob. I feel like that funny looking artist, the one on the tv who would throw fruit at a canvas. What I’m doing is not bizarre or ironic though, it is feral. It is driven by a shame and guilt buried so deep within me that now as it erupts from my body I am truly in awe of its unexpected intensity. What in god’s name has been festering inside of me all these years?

There is an object at my feet. It’s metallic and smooth. I pick it up. It feels like a clock. I put it to my ear and listen to the gears mechanically count away the endless seconds. It mocks me. It taunts me in a way no person ever has. I hate this clock. I hate it’s sound. I hate the past that it won’t let me forget. I give this one up for gravity as well and throw it with all my might.

Instead of making a crash as I expect it to, I instead hear a tearing noise, almost like a ripping of paper. The canvas perhaps? That’s when I feel it, air.

I feel my way to Joaquin’s painting. I reach the base and come up to the source of the crisp sensation. I put my hand through the hole. It’s hollow. There is something behind the canvas, an open space of sorts. Without thinking, I begin tearing away at the remainder of the painting. I shred until I am able to work my way through.

HARITA: Hello?

My voice echoes.

It’s a tunnel. Still dark and empty like the box I just emerged from, but at the far end, what feels like a thousand miles away, I think… I think I am able to make out the smallest glimmer of… of… a light.

—

I am not daft. As I sprint towards the light I begin to wonder if I am beginning to see things. I know that when shrouded in complete darkness, the human mind begins to hallucinate. It creates lights at the end of spooky tunnels. It creates hope. As I get closer to the source though, I realize that my mind isn’t creating anything. No. In front of me is a cube, a crystal.

It’s small and pinkish just like the one Nan used on that first night during the séance; the one she used to strum her tuning fork against and summon that Voice from Nowhere into her body. As I approach it, it begins to pulsate. Small, tiny reverberations of light begin resonating with my footsteps. It looks fragile, but I already know it holds so much power.

I bend down to pick it up and as I touch the soft edge, I immediately feel a buzz of warmth. It takes over me like a gust of hot air and sets my nerve endings on fire. I feel like I’m holding a heart in the palm of my hands. This object has purpose. Its glow gets brighter, so much brighter, and then-

FLASH!

A burst of light shoots from the cube and I drop it to the ground. First no light than far too much of it. My corneas feel like they are in a tug of war. I rub my eyes and try to feel for the angular, pointed surface of the cube. There’s nothing at first and then- then there’s something.

It’s smooth. It’s flesh. It belongs to a human. A child. I follow the curvature of the leg, past the ankle and around the knee, over the hips and chest, and through the loose strands of curly hair hanging down past the shoulder. I know who’s in front of me. My hand comes to the child’s face just as my vision begins to come back. Through blurry eyes I’m able to make out a silhouette. It stares at me blankly, but I smile widely at it. My voice quivers and my stomach churns. I am ecstatic. I am confused. I am beyond words. Maybe not beyond, maybe just stunted. Three manage to creep through my shocked face.

HARITA: My… sweet… boy.

—

I hold my son. I hold him for so long and I hold him so tight. This stretch of time is perfectly fine with me. Let this moment take forever. Let it go on until the Universe expands to the point of nothingness and me and Georgie vaporize together into the cosmic span. God, I love this moment so. I hold my son and it’s as if this island never happened.

HARITA: I missed you so much. So much, Peanut.

Georgie says nothing. He just continues starting at me.

HARITA: Come on we need to go. Let’s get out of here. Let’s go home.

I take my son’s hand and continue walking down the tunnel. We go a few steps and I feel Georgie unlatch. He runs back the way I came.

HARITA: Georgie?

I turn and gasp. Not only is Georgie gone, but I am no longer in the tunnel. I am in our home. Our house. Back in Kensington.

HARITA: How-

Footsteps. From behind me I hear-

TAM’S VOICE: Hey you.

My heart drops into my stomach. He’s here. I turn.

HARITA: Tam?

He smiles at me warmly in a waffle stitch crewneck. He holds a handheld gaming device that he got Georgie for Christmas, but plays it more himself than anyone else. He talks to me in between the movement of his fingers and quick glances at the screen. He’s playing a racing game. Something with go-karts, and mushrooms, and odd lizard creatures.

TAM: Shouldn’t you get a move on?

HARITA: Wh- what?

TAM: You’re having lunch with the girls, right? Cynthia’s birthday?

I know what this is. I know where we are. Or rather, I should instead say When we are. This day- this horrible day. It’s a Saturday morning. This is the day my life ended.

I want to say no. Screw lunch. Screw the girls. Screw Cynthia. Let me stay here with you. Let’s go upstairs and take off our clothes and make love and never even think about going to that tiny, awful island in the middle of nowhere. I want to say all that, I really do. But I can’t. This mirage is not a do-over. It’s a movie. A flashback reel of my mistakes. My biggest mistake. Against every urge I have to negate what comes next, I realize I am completely powerless to make and sort of change, and I simply say-

HARITA: You’re right. I should get going.

Tam walks up and pulls me in close. He kisses me. I forgot how wonderful my husband’s full lips feel. He goes back to his game and falls onto the couch. I make my way to the door, forcefully pulled to it like a marrionette on some strings. Tam shouts before I go-

TAM: Did you want me to pick up Georgie from football?

Say no Harita. Say fucking no! That’s not what happened on this day though, I didn’t say no. I said-

HARITA: Don’t worry. I got him. Enjoy your game.

I walk out the front door.

There’s a flash of light.

—

I am sitting at a table in a restaurant with five of my girlfriends, Kerry, Mo, Alice, Imogen, and Cynthia, the birthday girl. It’s not even half past two yet and she’s already wasted.

CYNTHIA: 34 and asking for more!!

The girls loudly cheer. I smile and roll my eyes a bit. Kerry spots my small insert of judgement and shares a quiet wink with me. We’re the sensible ones of the bunch. The adults who never make mistakes. How strong I thought I was. I was naive.

Cynthia slurs to a waiter passing by-

CYNTHIA: We’ll take two more bottles of champagne, please.

Imogen half-heartedly implores her not to.

IMOGEN: No! I simply can’t!

Mo, the vulgar one of the group, offers her two cents-

MO: Shut up and guzzle it. We all know how good you are at that!

Another shrill cheer that annoys the other patrons. Alice chuckles and starts clapping.

ALICE: I’m ready! Another!

CYNTHIA: Another!!

Although I haven’t seen most of these women since this day, apart from Kerry, this memory of their wild antics and small annoyances hold a special place in my heart. There’s a fondness to their diverse personalities that I miss deeply. The waiter drops off the bottles of champagne and Cynthia begins to pour.

CYNTHIA: Harita, you’ve barely had two glasses. I need you to drink. Now.

She puts the edge of the flute to mouth. I can smell the acidity of the cheap champagne and it makes me want to vomit. I try to politely push her hand away and decline. She whines.

CYNTHIA: But it’s my birthday!

The voice is like a small animal dying. She doesn’t relent though with just one plea, instead it drags on and on and on. Other customers are starting to get angry. It’s embarrassing. Even Kerry gives me a look that says, “Just drink it. Get her to shut up already.”

I sigh and down the glass. They cheer. The are my girls after all. The party continues.

Another flash of light.

—

What comes next is a fact, a moment in time, that happened and cannot be changed. Ever. Not even in my dreams am I able to escape it or twist the narrative to my desired outcome. I am bound by it’s permanence.

After what happens next, I spent many nights hating Cynthia and the rest of the cackling bunch, even sweet Kerry. But as I laid in bed sobbing up at the ceiling, I realized that it wasn’t any of their faults. I could have said no to the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh drinks that were placed in front of me. I could have been my usual stick-in-the-mud self when the group came together. I could have called Tam. I could have cashed in a favor and had another parent of someone on the team help me out. But I didn’t. I didn’t do any of that. What happens next is… well, it’s simply my fault.

—

We’re standing on the platform. The train should be arriving soon. I would take a cab, but Georgie loves the tube. He always has and today he was adamant that we take it. He’s inquisitive. He like to people watch. When he grows up, I picture him being a psychologist, or a therapist perhaps. He’ll be someone who thinks hard and easily solves the problems of people like me. People who bear shame and carry a shadow on their backs. He will make the world a lighter place. He will make it so that no one must venture to a place like Aleister to grieve.

He plays with his ball a few feet away from me. Any other child doing such a thing in a public space like this would draw ire from the crowd, but not Georgie. His sense of play is infectious, and his spirit is bright. All the other adults waiting for the train just watch him and smile as he does his thing. Georgie watches them back. He knows he’s special. He knows he’s a ray of light.

I yawn. The champagne is taking its toll. I yearn for a nap when we get home. Georgie runs up next to me and grabs my hand.

GEORGIE: Play with me.

HARITA: No, Peanut, Mummy’s tired.

GEORGIE: Come on. Play with me. Please.

HARITA: Later. Later. When we get home. OK?

Georgie says “OK” back, but he knows I won’t hold up my end of the bargain. He can see how tired I am. He knows that this is not my normal level of being and that I really am in need of rest. How did we make such a smart child? Such an empathetic one? How and why was I blessed with this little raven-haired angel? I don’t question it. I just smile. I lay my head against a steel beam and try to keep my eyes from fluttering shut. I know what happens when I open them, and I am so afraid to feel that sensation again. I am powerless though. This is my story and this chapter has already been written and printed. I catch one last glimpse of Georgie, playing amongst the crowd. I drift off thinking about how lucky I am. I truly am so very lucky.

—

CHOO! CHOO!

A train pulls into the station. I shoot awake and rub my forehead. The small rest has helped sober me up some. I look around for Georgie. Where has he gone to? I don’t see him playing. I don’t see his little legs or his orange football anywhere? Did he get on the train?

There’s a digital clock to my side. It’s 7:48. I have been asleep almost an hour and a half. I scan the crowd.

HARITA: Georgie? Georgie?

He is nowhere in sight. People flood the station from every direction.

HARITA: Georgie? Georgie where are you?!

I am frantic. I push people out of my way. I make a scene. Where is my son?! The station officer rushes up to me and tries to decipher my pleas.

HARITA: I can’t find him! I can’t find him!

He tries to get me to calm down, but I cannot. My son is gone. He is gone forever.

—

Three months later they pull my Georgie’s body from a pond somewhere out in the countryside. They arrest a man. There is trial and he is sentenced. Tam stops speaking to me. He packs his things and leaves. Kerry comes by every day. She stays for hours and makes me dinner. She promises me it will get better. It does not. I see a therapist. He promises me it will get better. It does not. The man who did this will spend the rest of his life in jail. He will never see the sun again and neither will I.

A final flash of light.

—

I cry on the floor of the tunnel for another elongation of time.

“The Arduous Trek;” The name sounds pretentious and flashy. It is anything but. This final Act has broken me. It has shattered my bones and reduced me to dust. Whatever comes next will come and I’ll float away with it and fade into the ether.

Georgie. I miss you… beyond words.

I failed you. It’s my fault. I am sorry.

My sentence lies at the end of this tunnel. I can feel it. Just as that monster faced the judge and the jury, I will have to as well. I am not innocent in this tale either. I pick up the cube. It still has the faintest glimmer emanating from its core, like there’s a small glowworm floating about. I hold it up and illuminate the path in front of me. There is an end to this tunnel, far off. I can’t see it quite yet, but I can sense it. I know it’s there. I stand and walk.

Eventually I come to a ladder that leads upward. I pocket the cube and begin climbing. There is a door. It’s small and wooden and locked from my side with a thin metal latch. I undo it and crawl onto the floor of Nan’s living room. I am right back where I started my journey. I was behind The Door to Nowhere.

I look out the window. It is daytime again. Afternoon it feels like. I lie motionless and listen to the reverberations against the floorboards. Someone is coming. The end is coming.

The individual enters the room. Just as I knew Georgie by the feel of his skin, I know this other presence by the weight of his footsteps.

I roll onto my knees and prepare myself to see him, not in the past as I just did, but really see him this time, here and now. I look up at him and he looks down at me. He looks the same, just as he did when he left. He’s thinner and his arms and neck are covered in the markings, the language of Her, but he’s still him.

There’s a stillness. An understanding. A moment of indescribable everything. And then he finally says-

TAM: It’s nice to see you again, Harita.