After these twenty-four hours, I need nothing. Nothing limits anything bad happening, and although I must know this is temporary, that I can’t continue living in this void plane where there aren’t highs or lows it’s what I can handle at the moment, and God help anyone who forces me otherwise.
I’m not sure what line I take, but it doesn’t matter, and the round trip should take me three hours all the way out and back. At the train station I stand in line and order a jam doughnut, a chicken and avocado sandwich, mango and orange juice in a Pop Top, three dim sims, and three potato cakes.
It takes ten minutes to eat them, and the man next to me who smells of rusty metal and a mixture of something dank, with his holey T-shirt, ripped pants and no shoes even gives me a look.
When I finish, the sugar from the jam doughnut still coats my lips, and my lips are greasy too.
“Miss?” someone asks. I look up to see a nice-looking lady in her late twenties. “That’s an adorable dress. Caught my eye the moment I boarded the train. Hope you have a nice date.”
She gives a parting smile and gets up to exit at the arriving station. I watch her look at me and turn and step off, then I see her figure shrink down the platform and up the escalator.
She was so full of life. For the moment she was near me, I just wanted to smile and I knew it would radiate all the way into the core of my body. And that’s the reason I didn’t. Being happy seems terrifying when there’s so much on the line. As if one tiny smile from me will send the happy police on a hunt to take that away too.
Tears streak my face. I’m stinky and lethargic after my extremity of no sleep, and then oversleep. I’m dirty, and the tears feel like acid streaks. On my seat, I curl up my knees to my chin and fan out that “adorable” skirt over my legs. As I hunch over, the thin straps are like blades slicing my shoulder open so I flop those off my shoulders and feel the cool soothe my skin. For at least a little while, it’s a break where I can just let go.
At my original station, I leave the train and walk back to the hospital without seeing.
I walk and walk, and it takes forever. I stop only to unhook my heels and carry them in my hand. I walk until I run into Nate, with his thumbs hooked in his pockets. They’re right in my line of sight with my eyes dropped. I know it’s him by the way he holds himself. After this scare he’s learnt to leave me be, not to push me.
But my body responds to him, even after all of this and I realise since he’s been gone I’ve been depleting, and alone, and I am liking alone less and less.
Still, I shock myself as well as him when I wrap my arms around his neck, my heels dangling, and mould my curves around his chest and hips. I drop my head into the warm bit between his jaw and shoulder and his warmth undoes me. I cry ugly tears into the nape of Nate’s neck. He drapes his coat over my back and shoulders.
“The doctors are waiting for you when you’re ready, Kalli,” are Nate’s first words. “And they know you might not be ready for a few days, and that’s okay.”
“I’m ready now, I think.”
• • •
I go home and open the front door on the third day to hear Scout calling, “Fine! No Nemo, then!”
I walk around the corner to see she has her hands on her hips, standing beside the TV in the living room. I step in further, glance around. Within seconds, Seth and Tristan, put their plates in the sink and come back to pack away their glasses too.
“See how easy lunch is when we share tasks?” She looks up to see me, perched at the step in the hallway. “Oh, Kalli. Kalli’s back!” she calls.
“Kalli!” Tristan yells. He throws himself onto me. “I don’t like that lady or Scout as much as you. I missed you. Where were you?”
“Kalli!” It’s Seth’s turn to crash into me, making Tristan latch on tighter, for fear of being pushed away. “I thought you left. And Tristan was crying so bad, but I cried only once ever. Kalli!”
Both boys try to outdo each other.
“I bet Scout was good to you. Here, let me put on Nemo. Were they good enough?” I turn to Scout for approval.
She holds back a giggle and agrees. I put the boys in front of the TV to watch.
Scout gets us two cups of warm milk, hers with flavouring. I cup the glass in my hands and let the heat travel through me. Marginally, I feel prepped for our conversation.
“It’s fine,” I say, tracing lines down the couch cushion with my free hand. “I’m good to talk. Really.”
This is the thing when a family member comes close to death. People are so cautious. You can’t say death but “passed away” sounds cliché, and so everyone talks about the incident as if it’s that. “That event”. “That night”.