Oceans

Cate Kennedy's short story "What thou and I did till we loved" inspired me to write a story of my own as an outlet or the problems and emotions in my life. This is a 16 year old's dance with love.

I remember the fear in her eyes, the haunted searching. “You won’t leave me will you?” A pause. A second to commit. I remember shifting my weight onto my right leg, Cate’s side pressed against mine as we sat on the veranda. The sharp intake of breath breaking the soft drizzle of rain as she mistook my pause for hesitation. I had connected with Cate in a whirlwind of passion, a daydream of highs, not a single thought to the forbidden nature of our love. Now the question, her eyes desperately scanning, delving through the layers of my mind. She didn’t need to. The answer was never hidden, was always clear from the moment we connected. I forced myself steady, voice strong but eyes soft. “No.” The tensing of her body, her echo a whisper, “no?” I saw it in her face, the confusion, distress, and then it all came pouring out.  At the time, the words were sinfully easy to speak, a promise for eternity merely a means for me to give Cate respite. A promise I would ask her to break in the future.

The accident shattered me past the loosest definitions of a human being. I was all too conscious of my hollow sunken body, veins popping out like the plastic tubes they hooked up to my body. The tubes that held me like an inconvenient anchor to this world. An unwanted anchor.  But Cate, my beautiful Cate, visited every day. As she dragged her feet down those unsympathetic halls, I watched her put her mask on. The mask that hid her pain as she left a little piece of herself behind in my room. A piece of my old Cate.  Behind her mask I watched her heart break day by day, and my heart sung with the same notes, the same pain. A duet in its purest form, perfect synchrony in all of its awful beauty.  Tragic irony that I, the one left injured, felt the horrible helplessness as I watched Cate fight her own battle. Full knowledge that she tortured herself with guilt and an absurd clarity belying my physical state that told me that I could do nothing to relieve that guilt.  Another guilt ate away at me. I knew how much pain it caused Cate in these circumstances, but all I wanted to do was ask of her something that would certainly break her, ask of her something completely selfish and unfair.

Oh how naïve the early days were. I struggled against the prison of my body, trying to pull a miracle out of this dead log. The foolish daydreams of Cate’s wild elation as I climb out of my bed like the accident never happened, her inability to form words as I suddenly spoke mine. Those daydreams wiped away through the daily sanitation of my scratchy linen sheets. The inescapable reality of my condition as still as the body it inhabited. The fake smile she put on for my sake, useless. The doctor’s “her condition is improving” routine, useless. The clinging grasp of Cate’s hand, searching for life in mine, useless. Another question, this time, no answer. Everything was. Useless.

It was in the swirling helplessness that came the aching echoes. Cate in the kitchen. Cate making cakes and ruining music, screeching and dancing to MisterWives “Oceans”. How she would butcher the meat of the song before twisting her head over her shoulder, eyes filled with self deprecating mirth, and sing perfectly a single line. “My everything, you’re my everything”. That I marvelled at, and at the time, constituted it to our love. True love. What a fickle ideal.  How guileless I was believing true love was encompassed by her staying ever resolute by my bedside. We loved with reckless emotion, so childlike and unawares of the burden of reality. So perfect. How harsh now the disillusionment when I realise that if she truly loved me, she would have to learn to stop.

It tore her apart; a woman replacing sleep with hastily applied makeup. A woman hiding exhaustion behind concealer. A woman trying and failing in her attempt to bury pain behind a mask. Cate never wore make up. This wasn't her. Body present but life absent, a husk going through the motions. Situation too unbelievably real and her reality too surreal. I don’t know when it happened. When her caress turned from tender affection to a desperate hunt for response. When those eyes became unfocused, as if living in a daydream was a better alternative than facing the truth. When “I’m here for you” became a routine.  “You only truly start loving to live, when you start living to love” were the words Cate lived by. That was the day I met her, the irresistibly attractive passion that flared in her. Some undefinable and intangible quality that made her different to the others. That fire now quenched. Hope overpowered by harsh, cruel, unforgiving, darkness. Reality.

It took Cate two weeks to decide. By Cate I mean the doctors, she was just someone close enough to “make a decision” without legal repercussions. I think she knew what I wanted, and it reflected in her. Her physical state an imitation of mine. It was heart wrenching watching her frantic disbelief spiral down into empty nothingness. Pushed past the thresholds of emotions and into numbness as if in such trauma, her brain put her under the dullness of anaesthesia. It was in this state of mental paralysis that Cate “decided”. I was moved from my room, out of the ward, through those unsympathetic halls and into deception. A bright room, yellow walls newly painted, open layout with bed in the centre, large clear windows pouring in sunlight, soft embracing sheets. All a fabrication, all a fake representation of reality. The only welcomed embrace would be the end.

It was Friday night. I knew that because David in bed number four always had visitors Friday night. They would bring flowers and notes that would fill the lovely oak shelves on the left of his bed. Why couldn’t I have lovely oak shelves on the left of my bed? Why couldn't I have bed number four? I didn't even want the flowers or personalised accessories. For a couple moments I warmed to the idea of miraculously pulling David out of his bed, dumping him on the floor and hopping in, settling my claim over the oak shelf. Who was I kidding, trapped in this bed, trapped in this body, I wanted a shelf because I was sitting in the passenger seat of my life. Having the shelf was just a fantasy of control, a minor act of defiance against the powers that took away my freedom. An empty shelf, the ability to choose.  Light rushed from the room, sprinting through the crack as the door swung closed, as darkness stole in to fill its place. We were wax dolls in a museum. All alone spare the beeping and sighing of medical ventilators, anaesthetic machines, heart-lung machines, ECMO, and dialysis machines. The clock against the far wall read 9:17pm, yet the sky was abnormally bright. A grey, indecisive as to whether it should paint itself a royal blue or midnight black. Indecisive, undecided and on hold. My life was a drive down a straight road and I somehow didn't see the dead end before I hit it.     Rain drop on the window, sliding down, building momentum and size across the condensation, absorbing smaller droplets as it follows its inevitable path. My life, building up, growing steady and stable, speeding up as if it knew the climax was near. Raindrop, slamming into the windowsill, all its mass dispersing into nothingness. My life.

The room change didn't stop her performing her ritual. Cate came, as ever present as before. She sat by my bed, less attention given to covering up telltale signs. A spell took over her, head jerking backwards, awake and stricken as she attempted to clear the enveloping weight of drowsiness. The young nurse, the one with the pretty face and gentle voice told Cate that she should go home. I wanted to slap her. A shake of the head, a mumbled “no”. It was at that moment I noticed what was in Cate’s hands. A bowl of pear soup. The pretty nurse pressed her again and received another mumble. Cate’s hands begun to shake, her voice no more steady, “it’s her favourite, she needs it, I have to, she wants it, please”.  I was so tired, I couldn't do it anymore. Already having accepted my own condition, I could not watch Cate, my Cate continue to suffer. It wore away at me, trying to justify to myself that I wasn't the source of her pain. I felt the weight on my chest of the torment she was going through, breathing constricted as it crushed me into my bed. The terrible guilt as I watched her succumb to the anguish that she felt inside. No more.

Moonlight drifted silently through the window, too quiet compared to Cate’s stifled panic. This distress, so unlike who she was. My mind drifted away from the present, back to the veranda. She sat so still there, knees against her chest. Head tilted curiously to the side, hair ethereally illuminated, alive in the wind. The playfulness was absent from her face. The glow of the stars shone in her wide eyes, rippling as she chased them to the far reaches of the sky. She was so still that it shocked me in the moment she turned her head upwards, moving as if something was calling her in the tranquillity. She stared unflinchingly at the blazing brightness, through the swirling mass of clouds and into the lonely patch of stars. It was a hauntingly unforgettable image, Cate, the girl who smiled at the stars, and the stars that smiled back.

 “Take out this tube”. Cate’s widened eyes as she leaned in. A long pause as her hair brushed against my cheek and her breath tickled my neck. The silence was too loud. I was mustering the strength to repeat myself until I heard the lyrics. She didn't lean in to hear me repeat myself. She leant in to share something with me. I felt not just a paralysis of body, but of thought as those words came out of her mouth, just a whisper. “Can we stay forever-ever like this and, laugh and love in this happy bliss, as time runs through our fingers, this love, this love will stay and linger”. Cate turned her head, holding my eyes in her gaze, in her gaze, I saw our past, present and lack of future. “I’ll hold you close and never, never let go and promise to love you every high and low, these words I am singing to you, you are my everything”. I couldn’t stop the tears that slid down my cheek, a silent sob. She gently wiped them away with the back of her finger. I just continued to cry, each tear filling a place inside that had been empty for too long. My Cate was back, here with me, and she knew what to do. She knew what she needed to do. She stayed by my side till the sun rose to relieve the moon. She stayed long enough for both of us to heal, to understand and to accept. She stayed until our hearts were free of the binding chains that held us in a prison of suffering. She stayed until neither one of us needed her to stay any longer. Then, after however long it was, Cate leaned in towards my ear. “Sleep well Beth, I love you”.

 

 

Author's Note

I would like criticism, particularly on expression (emotion) rather than writing technique, although anything is appreciated. I am focusing on creating a sort of catharsis for the reader.

Reviews

[Bell Appleton]

In terms of your focus, you have definitely succeeded. :)

You write beautifully! I love your style. It's a joy to read. Your ability to convey emotion is excellent, in my opinion, as you're able to suck in your readers from the first sentence. From the first sentence, they care. It's very heartfelt and it moves the readers.

While the tone and emotional expression of the piece is superb, what's actually happening in the story isn't always so obvious, especially in the middle paragraphs. So I think it might be good for you to review it and focus on clarification. The biggest one, I think, is Beth's answer to the question "You won't leave me, will you?", her reply being "no", as in she will stay with her?

You truly have talent. :) I look forward to reading more of your works! Good job!