Author's Foreword: This is a story started way back when Remnants first aired. Joe Mallozzi commented on his blog that among the many things cut from that episode was the remark by the Sakkari, that John mustn't blame himself for what happened with his mother... so I started thinking... what could possibly have occurred to have led to that?
Rating: T for swearing... I probably ought to cut those out because this really is a K story...
Title: It's a Buddhist thing... ten thousand things make up life... I guess if Buddha had been alive today, it'd be ten million things.
Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate. I'm glad I don't... I'd hate that sort of responsibility... it fairly makes me shake and quiver to simply write and publish fanfic...
Ten Thousand Things - Part One
"Look mommy! Look mommy, I'm flying! I'm flying just like a jet, mommy!"
And another jet flew low over the bluff, screeching, cutting air, turning wings on edge, dipping down towards the black-blue sea, disappearing from view, rising again, soaring up, up, up into grey skies.
Power. Energy. That thumped through the ground beneath his feet. Power and energy that shook his small frame. Power and intensity that drummed through every limb, bone. Thrilled through every nerve, eyes. Vibrated through outstretched wing arms.
"Look, John! Mommy's one too!" And she ran forward, spreading out her arms, laughing, zigzagging, looping round, overtaking him, dark hair and words carried back with the wind. And the two black Labradors, Janie and Maisie, barked and barked, chasing tails, round and round, running, bounding, excited, joining in the fun.
And he laughed too. And yelled, filling his lungs with the noise of the jets. Didn't matter they'd go deaf.
"You guys are crazy!" shouted David scornfully, concentrating on keeping his kite aloft.
A third jet followed, shrieking. Every detail clear on its fuselage, its underbelly.
You could even feel the heat. You could even see the pilot.
The grass of the cliff path flat, bowed down, turned grey as the wind, the rush, the downdraught streamed, quivered through every blade. He was going to go that fast. He was going to run that fast forever and forever. Be a jet forever and ever.
And he tripped and fell, rolling over and over, breathless, still laughing. But the grass was soft. It didn't graze like tarmac. And mom was there beside him. Laughing too. And she put her arms around him. And it was soft too, and warm, and comfort, and forever.
And the praying face and the praying hands of the white angel of Great Aunt Matilda seemed to bless the whole wide world.
-oAo-
Rockfall has changed little. But you can never call Rockfall sleepy. A fresh breeze blows off the Atlantic. And that's constant. Stirring up white crests on the waves of the incoming tide. Agitating the small craft moored up along the boardwalks of the marina. Causing the sea to slap and slop against wet hulls that glisten in the afternoon sunshine. Fidgeting the sails and rigging of yachts. A perpetual clinking. And gulls caw and screech, dipping, and diving and rising again in the thermals of the small bay. And there's always one craft, leisure or fishing, chugging at low throttle, wending its way around the protective harbour wall.
He selects a coil of thick heavy duty rope thrown to one side and casually sits with a foot resting up on a lobster pot and sits. No one minds. It's that sort of place. Easy going. He guesses that's why he comes back from time to time despite everything… Though he knows he's going to regret sitting there soon: damp, and the smell of salt and fish will soak through into his jeans in no time flat but he's bored with aimlessly strolling round the quayside and the immediate streets surrounding it.
He's been going over things in his head ten thousand times. Memories. The future. What's best…
But this place… this place is as alien to him now… as that other place must be… so… he might as well take the chance…
This place… this place, Rockfall, should have been where he should have put down roots… if life, fate, destiny, whatever, had dealt a better hand… though he was never one to give into maudlin, bitter thoughts… he'd learnt long, long ago, the hard way, how fruitless that could be, how that could eat you up… you push everything to the back… and blank it out… If he ever had any ties to Earth it would be here… here would be the test, he knew that… But those ties were gone…Time heals they says and he was testament to that… Time to move on and leave the ghosts behind…
Gentle gusts catch at his thick black hair and he attempts and fails to flick it back into some sort of order. He squints, dazzled by the sunlight playing on the water, wishing he hadn't left his shades back in the hire car. He stands, heading back the way he's just come. He's promised he'd visit Tom and Clarrie and knows Clarrie would be busy baking now… a cake or something… his aunt always insists on feeding him when he passes by Rockfall… He's always too thin for her liking…
The river Rock feeds into the harbour and the quayside road climbs slightly to join the main highway that goes over the bridge. Grassy slopes spread beyond, steeply rising to meet the cemetery and chapel of rest, sitting on the cliff top. The white angel, the statue headstone of Aunt Matilda stands in the centre of the cemetery, like some sort of guardian over the town.
He's still too early for Tom's, so he sits again on the grass bank of the river. Cyclists pass by on the road behind.
Just passing by an ordinary kind of guy… wondering whether to journey through a Stargate to another Galaxy… yeah… ordinary…
He remembers, wincing, that General O'Neill, had virtually tried blackmailing him into going to… Atlantis…
'If you don't give me a 'yes' by the time we reach McMurdo, I don't want yer.'
He should be flattered that they'd even asked. After Afghanistan… being sent to McMurdo was virtually demotion. It was certainly the death knell of any future promotion prospects… not that he was ever much of a career sort of guy. As long as he could fly, that's all that had ever mattered… though he guessed he wouldn't be flying from now on… this was, after all, a scientific expedition, with military personnel going along for protection… hand picked marines with previous Stargate experience… He was going to be a bit of an oddball… No one had said anything about flying… He was going to be giving that up and that was going to be hard… It's all he'd ever wanted to do… It's all he'd ever lived for… Was it going to be worth the sacrifice?... And it piqued… a little… that he was wanted for this 'mutant' gene, and less for any previous experience with special ops… And he wonders which parent had handed down the gene… and secretly hopes it was his mother… because… that would make it… special… And if it were Dad, then would David have it too… And this Dr. Beckett had said they had ways of finding out, winking because it was cloak and dagger stuff, so a register could be kept… just in case… just in case of what?…
So why couldn't he just say 'yes' to the General, there and then? What was he so afraid of? Was he afraid? He was a Major in the American Air Force. He'd been under enemy fire. Since when had he ever been concerned about saving his own skin and backing out of anything? Though having that drone thing nearly blow up his chopper hadn't done a lot for him… And guys had been doing this Stargate stuff now, for what… eight, nine years? It wasn't exactly new...
They'd been told they might never come back. Hell, he'd been up in choppers and knew he might never come back… But this was kinda scary stuff… and scary that the stuff of sci fi really was so very true, and all the rumours of work done at Area 51 and Cheyenne Mountain weren't just rumours… scary that he had this ability to use this alien technology… and he remembers sitting in the Ancient chair… 'Major, think about where we are in the solar system'… and the whole space above his head had lit up with, well… space… and suddenly he was connected… somehow… to…
O'Neill was dead right when he said 'this thing is bigger than you'… John felt he was connected to something big, indefinable, unknown, beyond this life… and yet, there was a sense, some sort of sixth sense, that… he belonged to it… that his whole life had always been heading in this direction…
Destiny… Was he afraid of that?
He shifts uneasily… Shrinks… shrinks he'd seen, would say he was afraid of failure… damn… shrinks had said that… shrinks had said he was afraid of letting people down, and it meant he took unnecessary risks… to prove that wrong… damn… why could they never see it was simply doing his job to the very best of his ability? Why had they always got to dissect this stuff? Why always blame it on… his mother, father, Nancy?...
His father had accused him of running away… joining the Air Force to run away… volunteering for dangerous missions to run away… Was he doing that now? If he accepted this position? Had he really left the ghosts buried behind him in the past?
Running away from the child that cries in the darkness, forever damned to see the tears of a white angel…
Was he still running? Hell, even he was doing the self-analysis now… No… you had to move on… and you couldn't move on with so much baggage holding you back… he was ready for this now… ready for a new life…
But he pulls out the dime, all the same. He'd known since last night when he hadn't slept, when his head had just gone round in circles, like it was now… that he'd end up doing this.
He calls heads, tossing and slapping the coin down firmly on the back of his hand.
Heads.
Atlantis it was then. No going back.
This Rockfall local boy was going to the stars…
-oAo-
Uncle Tom called it a one horse town. He guessed that was Mom's horse. Coz he didn't ever see any other. Dad bought it for her for a wedding present David said. They were the only folks rich enough to own a horse he said. It was kept in a field by the cemetery. The horse always seemed lonely. Its head over the fence like it was talking to the big white angel. Mom didn't ride that much though. She liked to go for a run. Or swim. One day, David said, Dad planned to be even richer and they'd own lots more land and have lots more horses and the boys would have their own horse apiece. John wasn't sure… he was given rides and didn't like it that much… he hated the way the horse moved beneath him… you couldn't tell where the bumps were coming from… and he hated the way it nuzzled into his hair when he was down on the ground… dribbling yuk everywhere… Dad said the horse was too big for him… that he'd soon get used to riding when he had his own horse and had lessons… David called him girlie for being so scared… John would much rather have a plane than a horse… but he daren't say so…
Uncle Tom was Mom's older brother. Uncle Tom was married to Aunt Clarrie. Aunt Clarrie and Mom were best friends. They had been to school together. Rockfall was their hometown. Mom was a Kirkwood. There had been Kirkwoods in Rockfall for hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years. Great Aunt Matilda was a Kirkwood too and she was so old, she'd become the big white angel in the cemetery that looked out to sea. Dad had come from Outatown. John didn't know where that was. Dad worked in the city. He was driven to work in a long black car by a man called…a…a… showfer who wore a black hat. David said that was because Dad was an important man. The showfer, called Jake, also drove the big lawnmower. The mower had a big engine that thudded through the ground. But not as big as planes. The showfer cut branches too. That Mom couldn't reach. Mom liked to work in the garden. The garden was big. 'You should let Jake do it,' said Dad. But Mom said she liked to do it. Jake was married to Kathy. Kathy came in to cook and clean. But Mom liked to cook too. She liked to cook for David and John. Two other ladies came into clean too on some days. John didn't like them much. They touched his stuff. Told him to keep tidy. Told him not to bring dirt in the house. Mom said: 'He's young.'
The house they lived in had once been lived in by his Gran and Granpa. He didn't know why they didn't live there anymore. It was a very big house. So there would have been plenty of room. He would have loved his grandparents to have stayed. They looked nice people in their photos on the big dresser. Other boy's grandparents gave them candy. But Uncle Tom was also good like that...
...John stopped walking suddenly. Trying to sort things out in his head. Coz that didn't make sense. He stopped kicking the stone with his sneakers. Stopped following David and David's best friend, Wilson.
He then asked David why grandma and grandpa didn't live in the house anymore. David knew a lot of stuff.
David looked back. He was dead annoyed. Annoyed that he had to babysit his little brother. Again. Annoyed that every once in a while, John's stone hit the two older boys hard on the back of their legs. John said sorry but he knew he didn't really mean it.
"They're dead, stupid! Keep up, if you're coming!"
"Oh," said John. And he frowned. Looking down at the ground. Following the two in front some more. Pastor Linley said: when you died and if you were good, you went to heaven with the angels and if you were bad, you went to hell with the devil. And God got to chose, who was good and who was bad. But… you had to make it easy for God to decide and not be bad at all and there were lots of rules. Though if you got to fly, with your own wings, John had decided to damn well make sure he was good… coz flying with your very own wings would be so, so cool.
And it was weird, coz God was Father of everyone but John already had a Dad. And yeah, Dad did get to decide who was bad and who was good in their house, so that figured…
But pictures at Sunday School showed heaven in the clouds with angels and hell underground with deep pits full of fire and once a picture of somewhere in between, that just looked cold and miserable but was still underground. Probably for those God couldn't decide whether they were good or bad. But it didn't make any sense… the big white angel was in the cemetery. And was Great Aunt Matilda who was hundreds of years old…
And what was died and dead. He'd heard those words before and knew they meant the same thing: they were sad words. Dead was like the rabbits that bobbed around the coast road grass and ended up as squished road kill. Like broken toys that didn't move any more. And he'd heard about dead at Halloween. It'd been his first when he'd been allowed to dress up and get real messy with face paints and wear plastic fangs that made you dribble and you were allowed to knock on people's doors and ask for candy. And everyone talked of ghosts and zombies, witches and vampires. That climb out of holes in the ground called graves or big boxes called caskets. So they were bad guys who came up from underground, from Hell? So the cemetery, full of its headstones was for bad people? Oh, that was so creepy…
Well, the nice people in the photos couldn't possibly have ended up like that… so they must have gone for angels. And you had to leave home for that to happen coz humans were different to rabbits… God's children… Though when Dad got to decide when you were bad, you were just sent to your room with no TV or allowance for the week… twice he'd been cuffed around the head… once, smacked hard, real hard across the backside that made him cry… but Dad never sent you away from home. And… he couldn't remember Dad ever saying he was good… Mom always gave him a hug.
So what was Great Aunt Matilda doing there? Ah, a Guardian Angel. Who looked after everyone. Mom said she'd given money to charity. That was a grown-up word for the poor. Dad said: the Kirkwoods would have been have been a whole lot richer if the woman hadn't gone so soft in the head and spent her fortune on down and outs. That was more grown up talk-
"-Are you sure it's ok?" Even Wilson wasn't certain and David was his best friend. David was already pulling his sweater cuffs over his hands to protect them from the barbed wire before starting to climb the fence that bent and creaked with his weight. He just dared Wilson with a smile. So Wilson followed suit.
"What about him?" asked Wilson before he started to haul himself up, nodding to John with his head, considering John's small height might not get him over the fence. John just stood there, looking up the whole nine or ten feet of rusty chain link, thinking that too. Thinking too: why was there a sign with red writing that he couldn't read and a picture of a big black dog?
David paused at the very top and then replied as he dropped down to the other side.
"He can come too if he isn't chicken." So John pulled his sleeves down and climbed on up. He found it easier than David or Wilson. The fence didn't bend over awkwardly at the top and his smaller feet fitted in the holes. But David and Wilson were already lost from view in the dense undergrowth on the other side when he reached the top. Beyond was the derelict house and outbuildings with boarded up windows and doors. He could hear rustling in the leaves that showed where the two older boys were heading. He gingerly lifted legs and hands over the barbs, wishing he'd put on thicker jeans and not his newer thinner army camouflage pants he'd gotten Mom to buy him. He clambered down and started pushing his way through the dark greenery. The sunlight was gone in that instant and damp smells came up from the earth. There were snails and slugs and cobwebs and creepy crawlies everywhere. He was sure there had to be poison ivy in here somewhere too. And he thought hard to remember what it looked like so that he wouldn't accidentally touch any. He wasn't scared though. He was sure he wasn't. He just… didn't like the feeling of being left behind. Or being alone.
"Ow!"
He stopped suddenly, wincing, as one stray briar branch caught and tangled in his thick black hair, scratching his scalp.
"David!" he whispered loudly, coz… this just felt like the sort of place you had to keep your voice down.
But David didn't come. John knew he wouldn't. He took hold of the briar carefully between his finger and thumb, fidgeting it out of his hair and when that didn't seem to work, he gave it a hefty jerk.
"Ow!" he cried out again as a whole hunk of hair got taken out by the roots, making his eyes smart.
And then the dog started barking.
And David and Wilson were shouting.
And then the two boys were crashing through the undergrowth right at him.
And the barking was closer. And fiercer. And more savage. And David was pushing him forward and nearly knocking him over.
"Get out! Get out, quick!" Yelled David, still pushing him forward through the undergrowth, virtually using him as a battering ram. Branches were whipping at his face. He held up his arms. To stop the scratches. They were running too fast. He was gonna trip and fall over.
"Crap, David! Crap, David!" Coz David had taught him good swears. "Crap, David, you're hurting!"
"Go! Go! Go! That dog'll hurt a whole lot more!" They reached the boundary in a different place. The fence nailed to a tree here. John was elbowed out the way as David and Wilson scrambled up the trunk. John wasn't far behind though but neither was the dog, already leaping up the tree, madly barking, falling back, careering round and round, salivating from the pair of biggest jaws John had ever seen in his short life. Nearly to the top when - a nail ripped through his pants leg, tearing and snagging at the fabric, acting like a brake, making him lose hold on a branch. He slipped but was able to grab the tree again, grazing a hand, with the dog's open snarling mouth only inches from his feet. Upwards again. But he couldn't move. Something was holding him back. A small branch. Gone through the hole in his pants. Pinning him there. He twisted round reaching out with his one free hand. His fingers wouldn't reach that far. And the dog snapping so close, front claws up on the trunk, pawing upwards. John jerked away. More fabric ripping. His underclothes. Now he was starting to sniff. But he mustn't cry. David and Wilson mustn't know he wanted to cry.
"John! John! Where are you? Hurry up! The guard will come and get you if you don't hurry."
"I'm… I'm hooked up on something…" He heard scrambling and David's head appeared at the top of the fence.
"Christ, John! Have you… I can see your backside!" And David started to snigger and it was harder than ever for John to hold back the tears.
"You'll have to get Mom!" he managed.
David took one look at the dog and seemed to agree with that. "You are going to get in so much trouble!" he warned as he disappeared.
And that seemed so unfair. He'd never be here if it weren't for David. And it wasn't his fault… that he was stuck… in this damn… stinking… crapping… tree… it really wasn't fair… why didn't things just go right… why did they just go wrong… and he was bawling properly now… and only easing up with hiccupping sniffs when the guard whistled over the dog, appearing with Mom.
She, sympathetic. The guard not so. A face set hard. He helped John down with big strong hands. And swung him effortlessly out of the tree. Arms like Uncle Tom's. Though this was a stranger. Once his father had held him. And it felt awkward, like this.
"I won't bring charges," the man said. What are those? thought John.
"I have kids myself… but he has to be told… to respect other people's property…" John stood miserably, wedged between the two adults, looking down, holding up the loose flap on his pants with one hand and passing the back of his hand across his runny nose. His Mom bent down and sharply wiped his face with her own hanky.
"What are you saying, Mr. Singleton, that I don't bring up my children properly?" He'd never heard his mom talk like that before. And she took off her pink cardigan and tied it round John's chest so that it draped down over the hole in his clothing. And John didn't know which was worse… the hole or… wearing pink… if David ever got to see this…
"Don't Mom. Don't Mom," he complained. But she didn't take any notice. She stood to talk to the big guard.
"It's not as if he was stealing or anything…"
"I know that… I know who you are… but… there are laws, rules, you know…"
"It'll get dealt with. Thank you for your assistance," and she took John's hand firmly and marched him along the path through the bushes.
But she said nothing.
And he couldn't help it but he began to cry again. Because he couldn't bear his Mom not speaking to him. And she was down beside him in an instant, wiping the tears from his face with her hand. Her face so kind. Her eyes so kind.
"Hey, hey, pet…"
"I'm sorry…"
"I know that. I'm not cross with you, John." And he tried to stop crying but couldn't.
"And John?" and she stroked his face again with the back of her hand. "It's ok to cry. Don't ever let anyone tell you any different…"
It was David that spilled the beans to Dad.
And it was Dad that wouldn't believe him that David was there too. And Dad that got to decide he'd get no treats or TV that week.
And it was John that sat in his room and listened to his parents' shouting coming up the big grand staircase and down the landing. And it was John who felt bad. He felt bad because he knew Mom was in trouble for something he had done. And Dad had got to decide that…
-oAo-
A part of the garden was put aside for David and John to play in. There was a swing. And he could fly high into the sky on a swing. And his stomach would turn and he'd feel sick and giddy but he didn't care. Soon he got used to that feeling. There was also a wooden climbing frame. With a slide. And a sand pit. A small hut that held bats and balls and stuff. David played there less nowadays. Leaving his younger brother alone.
John didn't mind. John hadn't really forgiven him over the tree.
"Don't you ever say I was there," warns David.
And.
"You cried! Why do you always cry like a sissy?"
"I don't!"
"You always do! One little scratch! And it's Maddie, Maddie, I need a plaster!"
"Don't!" And he kicked David hard in the shins. And they fought in the dust of the garden. And John might cry but he was David's equal in a fight. And it was David who ran off that time…
No. He doesn't mind David not playing in the garden anymore.
Mom had placed a table, chairs and a sunshade there so she could sit with him. She often read now he didn't need pushing on the swing. Or they'd chat over a juice. 'When I grow up, I want to be a pilot.' 'Well, it's good to know what you want to be. But lets keep that our little secret. Just you and me. Lets not tell Dad.' 'We can surprise him?' 'Yes. Lets do that.'
Or she would go and garden. Never too far away.
He likes the sand pit. He makes runways with his toy dumper trucks. And then planes can take off and fly round the garden. Fly round the whole wide world…
When Uncle Tom and Aunt Clarrie come to visit Mom and the weather is ok, that's where the three of them sit. Kathy brings out drinks and snacks. He plays quietly once they've ruffled his hair and said how much he'd grown. He listens to their voices and tries to understand. Sometimes they speak quietly and look his way and he knows then he isn't supposed to listen.
"He wants to send the boys away to school… What is the point of having kids if you do that?... He says it'd be good for them… Character building!... He says they're running out of control… It's my fault… I mean, he's lining them up for Ivy League… at this age!... yeah ok… though I hope he gives them the chance to decide for themselves when they're ready… David would be ok… but John… he's too young… and more… sensitive… what is wrong with the local school?... we all did it… It's snobbery… it's Pat's sense of values… they're not mine anymore… it's using the kids as some kind of status symbol… what do I do?... I can't just leave… David's mother lost custody of David… I should have known when I married him… Patrick's like that… I'd lose John…"
"You'll work things out…" says Aunt Clarrie.
He tries not to listen. To listen to the pain in his mother's voice. He tries not to look. He knows there are tears. He pushes his trucks deep into sand. He feels… angry. He feels angry that he can't stop this hurt. And he is to blame. He doesn't understand all the words. Except that he has to go to school. He knows he is big enough to go now. So… this is his fault. This is his fault that his mother is unhappy and that his parents argue…
-oAo-
The house they lived in looked out to sea. There was a kinda dip down from the cemetery and then a climb back up to their house. So you could always see the big white angel. A path led from the house, across the cliff, around the cemetery so you could walk to town. Or… another path took you to the beach down white steps made of wood. You weren't allowed there unless David was there too. And you weren't allowed to swim unless Mom was there because it was dangerous. Dad said they should get a house with a pool but Mom liked this house. She made picnics on hot days and they'd spend all day playing in the water. The beach was sandy but with loads of pebbles that hurt your feet. But you could find interesting stuff there washed up by the sea. Close to the big cliff were rock pools. And seabirds flew like planes, swooping and diving, black against blood red sunsets or skittered across the shoreline of a hush hush tide. And shade would stretch over the beach from the cliffs and… 'it's time to put on jackets' Maddie would say, as they start to shiver. And it's time to take those white steps back home with the two boys banging every plank hard with their feet till the whole stairway shudders and Maddie starts to scream at them to hold steady. There's always a loose plank after every storm. But John and David just grin. David especially. They love it because it's scary…
One day, when they're down on the beach alone and walking home, John asks David, "why do you call Mom, Maddie?" John doesn't know why. And doesn't know why he's never asked before. Its how things have always been. David calls Mom, Maddie. John calls Mom, Mom.
"Coz she's not my mom. Dad divorced my mom and married your mom. We're half-brothers."
"Oh." But he didn't understand that. Half a brother? That didn't make sense.
"What's half a brother?" John was following David, trying to keep his footsteps exactly where David's had been in the sand, stretching his shorter legs into giant, giant strides because David was growing fast now and the grown ups called him tall for his age. He was a good foot higher than John. But one day John would be as tall as him.
"When you're like us. Same dad. Different moms. Or the other way round. Same mom. Different dads."
Still didn't make sense.
"What's dee vorce, then, David?"
"When you stop being married."
"What's married, David?"
And David sighed now because he knew then that his little brother was on a wind up.
They'd reached the steps. And whenever they reached the steps, they always played their game. In turns. To think of a different way up. Miss a step. Hop. On your hands and knees. Go backwards. Go backwards on your backside. Because walking up the steps straight was just plain boring.
David's turn. And it was pay back time for the questions. A dare.
"All the way up. Underneath."
And John looked up. He knew there were forty eight steps. David had counted them. And John had learnt his numbers by counting with him… but forty eight steps suddenly seemed like an awful long way…
"You mean… like hanging like a monkey?"
"Yeah."
"But we've been told not to-" Not to get into any more scrapes.
"-You've been told not to. Scared?"
"No." Because he wasn't now. Because he'd thought he could do this.
"It's easy. I've done it before." And David walked beneath the stairway, spat on his hands, and jumped, grabbing at the tenth step, starting off, swinging up his legs to push on the lower rungs, quickly going upwards.
So. It was like crawling upside down. Piece of cake. John had heard that said on TV once. And he liked saying it now.
He copied David, jumping up at step number seven. And he already figured then that David had an unfair start. He started counting. Because that made it easier. Thumping came from the boards above him as David carried on climbing.
At twenty, his arms and shoulders ached and ached. His hands felt sore and splintered and ached too from holding on so tight. And his legs felt like lead weights as he hitched them along behind him. He was hot and out of breath. He paused for rest. Looking down. This was the highest point above the beach. But he had no fear of heights. And it was weird looking at the ground from here. An upside down world.
If you flew in a jet… and turned the plane over… like the acrobatic ones… the Thunderbirds… the world would look like this…
But he knew he couldn't stop long. Hanging there was making his arms ache even more. Up again. But slower. And David yelling from the top because he'd already made it there.
"Christ John! Are you crazy? I didn't think you were actually going to do this! Dad'll kill me! I thought you'd chicken out! Why didn't you jump down when you had the chance! Christ John!"
From now on, the steps bridged over a grassy rocky slope coming down from the top. Step number thirty. Slower. Slower. And harder. And arms that felt like they wanted to leave his shoulder sockets. This was stupid. But… he couldn't go back. Every step a gasp. And he was so thirsty and hot.
His legs slipped down suddenly. And he was left hanging by his arms. Too tired to swing his legs back up again. Now his arms were going to have to carry the whole weight of his body. No. If he reached for the next step, only one hand would hold his weight.
David had come clattering down the steps until he was above him, stooping and trying to reach for John's hand through the gap. His brother was screaming at him. David wasn't scared before. But he sounded scared now
"Reach for my hand! Reach for my hand and I'll pull you through!" But it just wasn't going to work. David wouldn't be able to pull him. He was just too big for the space. David was stronger than John but not that strong. And just holding onto David's hand was no different than just holding onto one step.
And John still didn't like the idea of hanging by one hand, even for only a second. When his arms and shoulders ached so.
"Keep going! Keep going! Not far now!" urged David. "Another yard and swing over to your right. There's a pile of dirt. You can get to it! Go on! Go on! I've done it!"
He couldn't. He knew that. He looked down. Not far. And he sorta felt proud. This was his decision. Not Dad's. Not Mom's. Not David's. His very own…
And he let go…
-oAo-
When he woke, he heard people talking. But he was feeling too sleepy to open his eyes. Was it time to get up? Usually Mom came into his room to do that… But it was Aunt Clarrie and Uncle Tom that were talking. They were in his bedroom? And Uncle Tom was saying, 'You have to admire him… to get so high…"
And then he remembered falling. And then he remembered waking once before and crying because his shoulder hurt so much and the Doctor was only trying to help but he was making it hurt more and Mom was crying too…
Mom was crying now…
And Uncle Tom asked quietly: "Patrick not coming then?"
"No… still in Chicago… he phoned… God, Thomas… John could have died and Patrick couldn't leave a goddamned meeting!"
"But he didn't," said Aunt Clarrie in a nice kind voice.
"Children bounce, you know?" said Uncle Tom.
And John remembered his fall again. And it hadn't felt like bouncing… he was rolling and rolling… really, really fast, trying to grab a bush, grass, anything, and then the pain in his shoulder and then he hit his head, saw stars, heard whizzing in his ears, felt sick, fought it, tried not to be sick, and then went to sleep…
His mom was still crying…
He opened his eyes. And she was there beside his bed. A hospital bed with rails at the side. So she couldn't get close but passed her hand through the rail to hold his. And there were nasty medicine smells. And his other arm was stiff in a plaster cast. And his mother's eyes were really red.
"I'm sorry, mom." Because he had made her cry again. "You're not too cross?"
"It's ok, sweetheart," and she patted his hand. "I'm just glad… be more careful…"
-oAo-
His father had brought him chocolate in hospital which was nice because he had lost his appetite but he could always eat chocolate. But Dad hadn't seemed pleased to see him. He didn't shout at John which was nice too. But he'd gotten told off.
"What's with you kids? You just don't seem to understand danger, do you? Scared your mother to death," said his Dad.
So he couldn't start school when he was supposed to until his arm and collarbone had mended. And Uncle Tom joked. "Start as you mean to go on, eh, John? Boys will do anything to get out of school!"
Though he would rather go to school than put up with the long hours of boredom cooped up in his bedroom and trying not to poke things down his plaster cast to scratch at the itchiness there.
His Mom spent the following weeks reading stories to him. Or she would turn the pages of his many books on aeroplanes for him to look at and listen to him talk about his favourite pages. He would hold his toy rabbit tight and snuggle in deep into his mother's arm. Rabbit only had one ear because David had tried setting fire to it once with the lighter stolen from Dad's cigar box. John had cried but he was a whole lot smaller then. But David had still called him 'girlie.' Over and over. 'Why is David so mean to me?' he had sobbed. 'Why did he do that to Rabbit! And he keeps calling me girlie!' And his Mom had hugged him and made things seem not quite so bad…
And because he could only use the one hand, Mom helped him make model aeroplanes with thin wood. She glued parts for him so he wouldn't make a mess. Guided his hand to paint. And even attached the finished planes to his bedroom ceiling with thin string.
One day, when the sun shone and the windows were left open, he lay on his bed, watching them bobbing and twirling against the great blue sky, just like they were real planes. And his windows were bay windows set low and he could see the sea and the distant horizon. His planes were flying over the sea… and he lay there imagining far off lands and cities across the sparkling sea… one day, he would fly over seas that shimmered blue to discover new worlds…
-oAo-
Kathy puts him to bed. When Kathy does that, he knows his parents have to go to a dinner, a party, or theatre with friends in the big town. John doesn't like it when Kathy puts him to bed. He hides in the bathroom to put on his pajamas. And Kathy always reads his bedtime story too fast. John doesn't like it when his parents go out for the night. He knows his mother doesn't like it either. She never says so. He just knows so…
And he wakes suddenly. But it is not morning yet. The room is pitch dark. He doesn't mind the dark. He knows that other kids have night lights. But John isn't afraid of the dark.
There's a line of light beneath the door. That means the landing lights are on. His parents are home now.
He can hear their voices. The voices are a long way off. But he can still hear them. Their voices are loud.
Now he is afraid in the dark.
His chest pulls heavy. And his eyes prick. He wants to cry. He has heard their loud voices before…
He throws off the bedclothes, jumps out of bed and makes for the door. He listens there with his ear to the door. He can't understand all the words and his heart pounds loud and noisy anyhow. He holds his breath and quietly opens the door and tip-toes quickly to the banisters of the landing, bobbing down, watching the hall downstairs through the railings, nose pressed hard against the wood. He is fighting the tears. He is shaking. As he always shakes when his parents argue.
He hears his mother's voice first. His mother shouldn't be shouting like this. It is not like his Mom to shout. She never shouts at him.
"I'm sorry I can't be the sort of wife you want me to be!"
"You could have least made the effort! What about those earrings I bought you?"
And the voices, though loud are now muffled. He hardly dares to breathe as he listens.
And then his mother again. She is closer.
"Perhaps that's what you get if you marry small town, huh?"
He doesn't make out his father's answer.
"Married me for my money, Patrick?"
And then John gasps and pulls back suddenly. He has heard a strange sound. A sound like smacking. He knows what has happened. It is as if he has been struck also.
"How dare you?" shouts his Mom. And she is crying too. "How dare you hit me!"
And then she is running into the hall, making for the stairs.
And John scampers quickly back to his room.
His father is calling.
"I'm sorry, Maddie! I'm sorry, please!"
But his Mom is still crying. And from his bed, John hears her bedroom door slam.
And he buries his head in his pillow. He cries angry tears into his pillow. Stifling the sounds of his sobs in the pillow. He so wants to stop the voices he has heard going over and over in his head. He so wants to go to his Mom. But this is grown up stuff. And he is so angry that his father has hit his Mom and made her cry. That he has shouted at her and made her cry. John would never do that to her. If his father were like John he would never do that. And he wishes… he wishes in the dark that he could protect her… but he isn't big enough… he isn't strong enough… he wishes things were different… one day… one day… he would be strong enough…
And John is afraid in the dark. He is going to lose her. Just like David lost his Mom. His father is going to send his Mom away. And he couldn't bear that. He just couldn't bear that…
One day he is going to be strong enough to stop all the bad things from happening…
-oAo-
He was playing in his sand pit and said to his Mom : "If you want to run away… you know you can… you don't have to worry about me… I'm big enough now…"
She laughed and put down the magazine she was reading. "Whatever brought this on?"
"I… dunno…" He wasn't about to say he'd heard things…
"No, John," and she stood and came and sat on the grass beside him and began to toy with the sand allowing the fine grains to pass between her fingers. "If I ever wanted to 'run away' as you put it, I'd always take you with me. I'd never leave you behind."
Then she knew what he was talking about.
"And anyhow, it's wrong to run from problems. You have to work things out, you know?"
And she had a faraway look. Like she wasn't talking to him. Not really.
-oAo-
Big 'A' and little 'a'. And pictures of 'A' for Apple and 'a' for acorn. But John's drawing showed an 'A' for Aeroplane and an 'a' for aircraft carrier. He couldn't read but he knew those words. A carrier came close to the coast one day and jets screeched over the cliffs like a thousand seagulls. And it seemed like the angel of Great Aunt Matilda reached out to them.
"Well, this is good, John," said the teacher, "but I did ask for a picture of an apple and an acorn. Like the ones in your book. You must learn to follow instructions, John."
But it was always like that. 'P' for pilot. 'J' for jet. 'H' for helicopter. 'G' for gun or gunner. 'W' for wing. 'T' for tail. 'F' for fuselage. 'C' for cabin or cockpit. He'd learnt these words long before 'A' for apple.
"I'm going to be a pilot," he had said to David.
"You can't," David had said. "You're an heir, you can't be a pilot." But he didn't know what an heir was.
"Your son is… quite precocious, Mrs Sheppard," said his teacher. "But perhaps he should have some other interests?" And the two women smiled at him. And everything felt warm. He didn't understand. But his teacher was nice. Though his Mom was a lot nicer.
"I know what you mean. He drives me crazy sometimes."
Everything felt warm and good. His Mom held his hand tightly. She hadn't been sent away by Dad.
"I'm hungry," he complained when they were outside.
"We'll get home to lunch soon. I need to pick up a few things first."
They walked along the main street of Rockfall. Dad said they should take the car to pick up supplies or send Kathy. But Mom liked to walk she said. She liked to meet people and say 'hi'.
There were cracks in the sidewalk. He was stretching his legs to take long strides so he didn't stand on them. Coz David had said it was unlucky to stand on the cracks. And his best friend Pete had said he'd seen a man stand on a crack and the crack swallowed him whole and he was never seen again. He swore the swear word 'damn' in his head as his mother pulled him along too quickly and he accidentally stood on one that was really wide.
His picture of 'A' for aeroplane flapped in the wind so he held it tight to his side. He stopped when Mom stopped to talk to Pastor Linley. He knew he mustn't fidget now. You must never fidget next to Pastor Linley. Especially if it were Sunday. And no matter if the collar of your best shirt made your neck itch. You must be particularly careful not to spit or curse or chew gum. You must smile politely and not answer back… even if the guy did that annoying thing and patted your hair… The Pastor said that bad things happen to people that were bad… He knew the routine and held still and quiet… If he were good, he would go to heaven and be with the angels… that had wings…
A convoy of trucks went past. They were building the new highway past Rockfall and a new bridge over the river. The Pastor's wife joined them. She had a baby in a pram. The grown-ups shouted to be heard above the roar. He could feel the thundering, the thrill of the heavy engines wrapping round his tiny frame… wrapping round his heart. He could nearly imagine it was the same roar as a plane. His face was at wheel height and the dust and hot air thrown out made him blink. A truck lumbered by. A back draught. That tore his picture from his grip. Flipped 'A' for aeroplane high into the air. He twisted free from his mother's hand. And ran after it.
"John!"
And he was pushed. Far and hard. Onto his hands and knees.
New noises behind him.
A wailing horn. A dull thud. Screeching.
Silence. People screaming.
What was going on?
A smell.
The smell of bonfire and soot. Rubber burning.
He wanted to cry coz the grazes on his knees hurt so. And he couldn't see his picture. He slowly picked himself up, wincing, brushing the grit from his palms. A truck had stopped in the road. He guessed his picture was beneath it. But he couldn't see it. There were just too many people in front of the truck. There were stopped cars too. With their doors wide open. And the cab door came open on the other side of the truck and he could hear the driver get out and was shouting stuff like 'it wasn't my fault!' and was swearing. He shouldn't swear because the Pastor was nearby. Somewhere…
What was going on? And where was his Mom? He needed his Mom because someone had pushed him and his hands and knees hurt. But he wasn't going to cry. Because he had started school now and David would call him girlie. The people in front of the truck wouldn't move so he could look for his Mom. Though he could see black marks on the tarmac now where the lorry had skidded to a halt. Its tyres had given off that smell. He knew that from reading about aeroplanes. He still couldn't see his picture…
"Mom?" he called. Where was she? Just too many people. He decided to push through all those grown up legs to get back to the sidewalk. He found himself in a space in front of the truck. Pastor Linley was kneeling, looking at something on the ground.
The Pastor swore.
"For Christ's sake, take the boy away!"
But John saw the arm and hand then, stretching out from beneath the truck. Limp and lifeless. Lying in a spreading pool of blood.
And his mother's wedding ring…
-oAo-