Just a short while ago, they had been merrily going about their daily routine, plunging deep into a precious, enchanted world as the afternoon sun showered them in radiant delight. It was a world known only to them – their precious secret, their jewel. It was a universe trapped in an age only they understood, one that only they could enter. They could never have foreseen nor even imagined the catastrophe that followed. In the blink of an eye, a thick dark fog had descended on them, smearing the entire vicinity with a cold and sinister black mist. As they scrambled in the dark, calling out to each other and wondering which way to turn, the earth began to erupt, cutting a crevice so large that much of the ground beneath them not only broke into tiny pieces but caved in, collapsing into a seemingly bottomless open grave. It was then that he heard her scream, calling his name in a frantic panic. Feeling his way on all fours, he scrambled towards her desperate shrills for help, struggling for breath as fear’s callous claws clenched his panic-stricken heart. Groping desperately in suffocating darkness, he somehow found her hand and held on tight.
There they remained for what felt like an hour, suspended between life and death; one flat on his belly with arms outstretched, each second draining his strength, sucking the life out of him as he refused to let go, and the other periodically assessing the eternity of darkness beneath her, gradually succumbing to the notion of a gruesome impending fate.
Recognising the only possible outcome, she had accepted her grim reality. But the boy refused to let go, determined to save her at whatever cost as tears streamed down his face. He blamed himself; he had brought her into his world, enticing her with tales of chivalry and bravado from another age. She was all he had, his one and only true friend. If only he had simply turned around and walked away when she approached him. As hope drained from her hazel eyes, he wished it was the other way around – that he was the one about to die and not her. He couldn’t let go. He dared not. Life would be meaningless without her. He could already feel his heart weakening as the knot in his chest wrapped itself around every organ, consuming him. His entire world hung on a precipice, and yet even he knew there was no hope for her. His strength was fading, and he could feel the pull of her fingers slipping away, each centimetre driving a blade of insurmountable grief deeper into his heart. As much as every fibre in his being yearned for some kind of miracle, deep down he knew there could only be one outcome.
“Let go, my friend…you have to let go,” she said, her voice a calm of acceptance.
“I…no…I can’t…I won’t!” he replied.
“You have to! Or we’ll both be dead.”
Still putting him first. It was what he loved most about her; she always possessed an uncanny ability to shine a light on the darkest of moments.
“Let go…I’ll be fine.”
He pondered on her words – ‘be fine’ – how could she possibly be fine? And worse still, how would he cope without her? Who would talk to him, play with him, accept him for who he is? Who would protect him from the predators that regularly plagued his existence?
‘’Let go,’’ she said again, almost pleading this time. He wondered whether her request was more for his sake than hers. For that was her nature, who she was – setting her needs aside, every time. Even in the midst of her desperate plight, she was thinking of his wellbeing. He closed his eyes, summoning whatever strength was left inside him one final time. With gritted teeth he heaved, straining every sinew in his hapless body. But it was no use. He bowed his head in despondence as his lungs exhaled a beleaguered sigh. And just like that, she was gone, her fingers finally slipping from his grasp as the gentle sides of her lips curled one final time, descending into an abyss of darkness and rocks.
In an instant, the black mist was gone, replaced by a hollow and feeble sun. As he stared into the oasis of nothingness below, contemplating his pathetic existence, a tortuous mix of anger and despair enveloped him. For a fleeting moment, a bright glimmering light of joy had adorned his lonesome existence, only to be snatched away in the most cruel and sadistic manner. Surely, it would have been better for him not to have experienced it at all.
***
A middle-aged Indian woman teeters on the edge of a brown leather sofa. Her brown, tired eyes longing for some hope and respite. Beside her is a white, Caucasian male with short black hair, his right arm placed around her petit shoulders. Every so often, the strain on the whites of his knuckles intensifies as he struggles to contain his emotions. He has to be strong, but only time will tell whether or not he is able to withstand the torrent of pent-up grief that has besieged him. How quickly things can change. Just twelve weeks ago, they had gathered around their beautiful son as they sang ‘happy birthday’ to him, celebrating his eleventh year as though it was his very first. That is how it felt, like their boy was alive and well again after years and years of ambling around like a lost soul. They had grown accustomed to his near nomadic existence, keeping to himself and only coming to life in unexpected and sporadic moments. And yet, six months before his birthday he had sprang to life. All of a sudden, he was brim-full with vibrance and energy, attacking each day with a hitherto unknown verve and excitement. The man and his wife knew not why, but that was the least of their concerns. All that mattered was that their gorgeous boy had a new zest for life and a permanent smile on his face. The beautiful half of their two greatest treasures – the other half being Ruby, their four-year-old daughter – was suddenly a picture-perfect life. And so, they had decided to go all out – celebrate his birthday like never before, rejoicing in their relief and elation. And yet, here they now are, wondering whether or not they will ever hear him speak again…smile again…live again.
“Hello, Ethan. My name is Doctor Samuels, but you can call me Doc. And no, I don’t like carrots,” says a slightly eccentric looking man in red, metal framed spectacles. He laughs at his own joke, albeit somewhat nervously, hoping to break the ice. Perched on a brown leather armchair, his hands are clasped together, eager to make some progress with the boy in front him. The boy’s father’s right hand clenches his wife’s left shoulder a little tighter. Only when his wife flinches does he loosen his grip a little, recognising his overbearing tension. The therapist’s feeble attempt of a joke irritates him. How is a boy that was born in 2012 supposed to know about Bugs Bunny? The very fact that he started with such foolery concerns him. Surely, the key thing at this point is to connect with his boy? A Bugs bunny joke? Maybe they should have stuck with the other doctor; at least he made his son smile once. It was, admittedly, faint and fleeting, but a smile nonetheless. He shifts in his seat a little, withdrawing his right hand from his wife’s shoulder and joining it with his left one, interlocking fingers and squeezing the back of each hand, trying desperately to restrain the cauldron of irritation that is building up inside of him.
Recognising his mistake, the therapist tries again.
“Ah, yes, of course; you’re only an eleven-year-old boy, so very unlikely to get that. It’s a reference to a very popular cartoon character called Bugs Bunny, but I’m guessing you’ve never heard of him.” Another nervous laugh is inevitably followed by more silence. Ethan is no longer listening to him; he had stopped listening the moment the doctor told him his name. Instead, Ethan’s eyes are fixated on a picture of a little girl sat on a man’s lap. Both girl and man are staring at what looks to be a picture book of sorts, the radiance of their smiles speaking of a joyous time. There’s no woman in the picture, no mother. Why is the girl’s mother not in the picture? Ethan comes to the conclusion that the therapist is either separated from his wife or she is no longer alive, and probably the latter. Isn’t that how life is? All good things coming to an abrupt end without warning or pity? He wonders how long ago the picture was taken. From the looks of it, the girl in the picture is around his age. They both look so happy and at peace with the world. He can’t help thinking that maybe they shouldn’t look so happy, bearing in mind the fact that the girl’s mother is absent. And yet, there they are, a picture of joy. No worries, no sadness, smiling without remorse or anger. If only they knew; nothing good lasts. That’s what happened with his friend after all; taken from him by a violent shaking of the ground, the cause of which remains a mystery to him – nobody else had mentioned any kind of earthquake occurrence. And where did the black mist come from? He still doesn’t understand what happened, or why it happened. Instead, he’s come to the conclusion that everything ends in sadness and despair, often with no rhyme nor reason. It’s why he no longer wishes to talk; what’s the point? Why talk your way out of a hole if you know you will inevitably return to it one day?
The clock continues to tick above them, hovering between sleep and mundane, seconds yielding to minutes with ruthless accuracy, ticking and tocking without life or soul, oblivious to the strains and upheavals of everyday life. Ethan’s eyes refuse to meet the pair in front of him, conscious of what the man wants him to do – talk about his anguish, relay that fateful day. He’s not ready. Maybe he never will be. Certainly not today. He knows how this works, how long it will take; this man is no different to the last one his parents took him to – he’s simply here because he has to be. This doctor doesn’t care about him or the way he feels; he couldn’t care less about the deep chasm that is steadily eroding away his desire to live, or the manner in which his world has been so wretchedly destroyed. He’s just doing his job. But even he can’t make him talk if he doesn’t want to. He can’t force him to talk about how his heart has been broken into a million tiny pieces. Nor can he ever comprehend what she meant to him, the part she played in giving his life meaning. None of them will ever truly understand what he has lost, or how close he is to giving up on life altogether – as far as he’s concerned, there is no point to all this. Besides, to talk would mean opening a door that he forever wants to remain sealed. Ethan has made up his mind; he will just stare at the picture for another twenty minutes and then it will be time to go. That’s how it works, that’s all this is. Just another hour of staring at a boring, middle-aged man. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Can you hear me, Ethan? I know you must be really hurting, and I’m so, so sorry. But I promise you this – you will start to feel a little better if you talk about it. And the more you talk, the better I can help you,” says the therapist. For a split second, the doctor’s eyes veer in the direction of the sofa, conscious of that fact that he is the one being studied and assessed. This is his third session with Ethan, and so far, not one word has been uttered. In all the years in his profession, not once has he come across a patient that refuses to utter even a single word. During their first session, he had noticed a slight flickering in Ethan’s eye when he mentioned his friend’s name. He had been tempted to push a little harder at that point, taking advantage of the effect the name had on him. However, he reneged, choosing to tread more softly for the sake of his patient’s emotional wellbeing; to push harder could have resulted in an all too intense traumatic experience. But here he is, not quite sure which direction to go or how to get a response from the boy in front of him. He regrets his decision; it would have been better to have stirred an outburst – at least then he would have known precisely what was going on in that tortured mind of his. If only he knew which voices were plaguing the young boy before him. Alas, the blank expression on his patient’s face conveys nothing but a hollow emptiness.
“Doctor, do you think…”
“Shh darling,” whispers Ethan’s dad. “Let him do his work.”
“I know, Simon, but he needs to know. This is how it is at home, doctor; nothing. Not a word, not even a sigh. I’m worried…worried that our darling boy is gone…” Tears roll out of her bloodshot eyes, as another wave of grief overcomes her. She had heard such good things about this doctor, and yet even he can’t reach her son. Is this how things will be from now on; her son forever consumed by a grief-stricken silence?
Ethan can hear her. He feels for her and wants to embrace her, tell her he loves her and that everything will be alright. But it would be a lie. Everything will not be alright. It never will be.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. One hour gone. Finally taking his eyes off the picture, he turns to his mum and dad, signalling the end of another unproductive session, and walks out of the room, making for the waiting room before plonking himself on one of the chairs . His parents will no doubt take several more minutes before exiting the therapist’s office. Only when he’s away from their prying eyes does he allow himself to think of her, his one and only true friend. She not only accepted him for who he is but encouraged him to always be true to himself, regardless of what others think or say. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined such a popular and cool girl would give him the time of day. His lips curl, yielding to the warm glow in his heart, as images of the first time they spoke soothe his haunted mind.
Part two is coming soon.