I once shared a birthday with a guy called Ray, a bachelor type, about 50 years my senior. Told me once he didn't want for nothing but straight teeth and a Toyota truck.
We became great friends. He used to ride around in a beat-up old Ford Ranger, with his old Labrador Bueno sat up front with him.
Swear if there was a venn diagram of strong coffee, old trucks and lumberjack shirts, he’d be in the middle petting his dog, smoking a roll-up.
He never got that Toyota truck, but that Ranger ran so smooth it was almost silent. Looked like shit on the outside, but he liked it like that. He called it a sleeper.
And that old dog Bueno just loved people, she was a real leaner, always flopping in your lap for some fuss. That's why I liked Ray, I got a good vibe off him, because he loved his truck and he loved that dog.
I have a photo of you and Jason above the fireplace, Tammy, a picture from when the two of you went on your first 'big holiday' together around Asia. A whirl of beaches, and cocktails and sunsets. ‘Total bliss’ you grinned when you both returned.
God, you look so happy, so together. And from here, so far away.
I keep that photo above the fireplace, a safe place for it, if you can really use that word 'safe'. Tucked between the little clay dinosaur with the missing eye Ethan made me for Mother's Day and that photo of him as a toddler in his pram, all ice cream and chuckles, oblivious to your brother's head turned away, keeping his face out of shot.
It’s a little normality for Ethan, ha! even for me. Family photos can be a bit thin on the ground as an only child - don’t I know it - and… well… your brother isn’t one for ‘family’ much, is he?
I like to keep your photo up there for when your brother is going through one of his ‘episodes’ and throughout the shouting, and the breaking and all of the chaos that accompanies the balled fists and wet cheeks I hope that Ethan can look at it and somehow find a little escape.
I sometimes do catch him looking at it, zoning in, and I wish I could physically put him right inside that photo with you, just so he could taste that moment. A tiny gilded square, a cyan and yellow porthole into another world, all warmth and choice and… and maybe I’d leave him there for a while. A little respite for a day or two, or, perhaps, forever.
I remember you talking to me about Jason once, about how you met. ‘We just clicked!’ you beamed.
I thought about that… how lucky you were to just ‘click’. Like a finger and thumb. SNAP! And there you both were!.. fully formed and brilliant and buzzing with potential.
Your brother and I do not click Tammy. I know this. You know this. We slap, and punch and we claw at each other, physically, mentally and emotionally. We silently brush past each other, wincing at the slightest touch, like knuckles scraped on a brick wall. We are raw and cruel.
But there you are, on our mantlepiece. Sea and skies and clouds away, on a beach. I’m scooping my darling Ethan up now, turning from the noise and the things being violently projected through the space between the walls of the room. Whisking him over the pieces of china or glass or splintering wooden toys that are breaking on walls and falling down to the floorboards.
Past the white knuckles and spittle and stabbing fingers, and whoosh… into the photo. Right to you. The best you, in the best time, your whole life existing perpetually in that exquisite brief moment like a permanent high-five.
Hey sweetheart I will coo gently. Unafraid. Incredulous and overjoyed.
Lately, I sit in your room for hours, silently willing you back into existence. Excusing myself from matters of the day ‘due to unforeseen circumstances’.
Unforeseen. Like the circumstance that destroyed our family. Destroyed your tiny body.
Deeply I suck in the air of your room, eyes flitting hopefully.
Desperate to reach you. Like waiving a tiny flag, signalling in the shadow of this tragedy. Do you see me? Here I am sweetie. In your room baby. Come back.
But I’m petrified. For this apparition before me is not you.
The future promised so much, but in the end - now - it just took took took.
We'd been invited to attend an exhibition; Extinct Insects: A Fascinating and Immersive Real Reality Experience via your Mind Link Receiver assured the advert.
Not that you'd ever known any different, but we didn't have insects anymore, now the Earth was inside The Sphere.
We couldn't afford to teleport like most people, so we drove the car there, turning surprised, smirking faces fleetingly from Life Link screens.
'Do you remember Bees, Dad?' you asked as I fastened your seat belt.
"Not really" I lied, ashamed.