No-Con-Truth: May 2016

Where is this room? I have been looking for it for ages now. These corridors all look the same and they never seem to end. I cannot remember where I have been told to go. What if I have missed something? What if it has already happened and I am too late?

Sweat is gushing out of me like water out of a burst pipe. My heart is thumping at the back of my throat.

I must ask someone who works here for directions. This maze cannot be solved by me.

A woman in nurse’s clothing walks briskly towards me.

“Excuse me. I am looking for room- “.

She has walked straight passed me. Can she not hear me? Maybe I should speak louder.

“Excuse me!” I yelp as she disappears into the distance.

She must have heard me that time. Then again, maybe she is just busy and needs to attend to her duties as a nurse. But to not even acknowledge me? Not even a courtesy “Sorry I’m busy.”?

Dizziness and blurred vision hits me in the face and panicked blood rushes to my face.

“What if I am not real?” I say aloud.

Passing faces of doctors and nurses ignore me. No – to say they ignore me is wrong. They don’t see me. I am not here.

Nonsense. I need to get myself back into shape so I can find this room.

Something unbeknown to me shoves me on my shoulder as if to alert me.

“What do you want?” I blurt out inquisitively.

No one is there. What on earth just hit me?

I peer down the long corridor in front me. Why am I not at the room yet? The corridor appears to stretch out. The far end slides further and further away from me. This cannot be real! I reach out my arm in desperation, grasping at any faint hope of normality. The corridor swings violently from side to side and the floor beneath me jolts my legs. Lights illuminating the hallway start fading to darkness.

I am hit on my shoulder again, but this time with considerably more force. So much so that my body experiences a spasm of shock.

Black.

My eyelids unfurl and I am awake again. I am not greeted by bright hospital lights but instead by darkness. Instantaneously I realise I am in bed and I immediately recognise the source of the pushing.

“You need to get me to hospital George,” She says with a tone of distress. “I think-“ her words interrupted by heavy breathing and a suppressed cry, “-I think it’s time.”

“Yes… Okay, right… Yes we’ll come down right away.” She hangs up the phone. Her face glimmers with pleasure. It really is wonderful how she can be so reassuring and calming at the most stressful of times. An angel. My angel.

She looks over at me and announces, “We need to get down to Whipp’s. Liz has gone into labour”.

A grandchild! But wait.

“I thought the baby was due later. It’s a tad premature, isn’t it?”

“Doesn’t matter now. If the baby wants to come out it’s gonna come out.” She proclaims with an air of ease and certainty.

“But we do however need to get moving. Do you want to take the wheelchair or the scooter darling?”

“Erm… we’ll take the wheelchair. I haven’t charged the scooter.”

“Okay I’ll go get it.”

As she floats down the hall like a dragonfly I raise my voice after her, “I’ll do the driving dear.”

Oh, what a start to the day! Soon I will have a grandchild, a grandchild! How time has passed. In my sixties yet I still feel eighteen. An eighteen-year-old with a grandchild whom I can teach to play golf and read to.

Let’s just hope everything is okay with the new one. Even if the baby does not turn out perfect I still have high hopes for its future. From this day on I promise that I will do everything in my power to protect this new Davies.

“Hello.”

The two people that created me in front of me. And now I am doing the same by creating my own. An awe of science and the wonder of genetics brushes over me briefly like a strong gust.

“Is she okay?” my mum asks, interrupting my brief daydream.

“Yes, she’s okay, but they are having to perform a C-section due to the position of baby.”

I say “baby” like it’s not mine but in-fact someone else’s. As if I am a nurse again, informing grandparents of how the child-birth is going.

“Right. Well when is that likely to be over?”

I wonder what has happened there. I notice that I am staring at a middle-aged man hugging an elderly man across the way and that I have only half-heard what my mum has asked me. A sudden rush of sweat stabs my armpits.

“George!”

I snap out of my day-dream. “Right. Yes, erm… you asked when… no, sorry. What time is it?” I sharply look down at my watch and notice that my wrist is shaking. “Yes okay! They should be done by now. I think we can go and make our way down to see her now.”

As we get near to the room in which Liz is, I glance at two members of staff who greet me with warm smiles that read: “all is well!” I am the actor and they are the audience about to witness an operation.

I step into the room to see my tired grinning wife. In her delicate arms, I see a little being. My creation, my little child! A choking sensation graces my throat and my eyes start to haze. Tears of ecstasy.

“Say hello to your son” my fatigued fairy says to me with a dream-like tone as she raises this baby up to my arms.

I take my son in my arms and feel the weight and warmth of a mini-me.

“aha, ha.” A soft laugh creeps out of me as if someone had just whispered a joke into my ear, followed by a sniffle to stop crying-induced snot coming out of my nose. Nose… he has my nose. What beautiful eyes! Blue, like the clearest of blue skies. The type you rejoice in seeing after days of grey clouds.

“He’s got your eyes dad.” I say with an overwhelmed, weep-like tone.

I cannot stand this woman. I don’t like what she has changed my dad into. She moans all the time over nothing. She doesn’t work. She takes my dad’s money. She does not contribute anything to this family. Yet my dad is completely blind to all of this. This woman is destroying our relationship.

Why did he have to fall in love with this woman? Why? Is he incapable of loving a woman his own age?

I pull my hair in hopes of it coming out. Tears burn my face like acid.

With my head in my hands I say to myself, “he doesn’t care anymore.”

Rage enters my body: my ugly alter ego. Grinding my teeth and with clenched fists I swing out at a chest of drawers and produce and an enraged groan that increases in volume the longer it lasts.

I hear and see the door handle in front of me move.

“Michael, let me in.”

I manage to whimper, “No.”

“Please, just let me in” he pleads.

Like a king protecting his fort I have barricaded the door so that no enemy can get in. I do not want to see his or her face. Suddenly a cold and heavy waterfall of dread rushes over me as I facilitate the possibility that I might not want to see my dad ever again.

“What’s the problem Michael?”

“You.” I reply sharply and plainly.

“What do you mean?... Please Michael! Just talk to me!” he asserts with a sense of panic in his voice.

He is selfish. He has put me through so much pain. A greedy dictator. Everything he has done is for his benefit and no one else’s. He doesn’t seem to care about his son anymore. Well – I am not waiting in line anymore.

“I’m moving to mum’s.” I state blankly and without emotion.

To my surprise, I don’t get an immediate response-

“What do you mean?... For fuck sake!” he shouts at the top of his lungs. A thud on my door makes me jump in my chair.

This is not happening. I am the angry one. He doesn’t get to be angry.

“You don’t care about your family anymore dad. You don’t.”

“Bullshit.”

This reply immediately strikes my nerve like a pinch to the back of the arm.

“You don’t give a fuck about anyone anymore.” I roar. “You get married without telling anyone. You couldn’t even tell your son who up to this point has supported you through everything! Everything! And now you have caused a massive divide in the family and your parents won’t talk to you anymore!” By this point I am light headed with ski-high adrenaline.

“You don’t care about your family!”

I haven’t seen Michael in a while. Where has he got off to?

I scan the pub and don’t see him. He can’t be far. He is probably talking to one of my mates. Mates. Most of which torment and take the piss out of me and my relationship. My different relationship. ‘Mates’.

Anyway, this night is for… there’s my angel. Even with cheap lights her skin looks like glittering diamonds. She really does look stunning tonight. A butterfly in a field of mud and worms. I really hope she’s enjoying her night. No matter how much abuse I get, nothing hinders how special she is to me.

The lights have gone out. The pub starts to sing happy birthday. A cake with candles hovers into the side of the pub where the function is. It’s Michael holding it. This perfect. This is happiness and peace. My loved ones together and happy.

The candle light glows on faces with pure and delightful smiles.

Those were the days. Days of peace and smiles. Now everything has gone to shit.

I look over to my healer.

“I don’t know what to do dad.”

I tilt my head down, wiping my face with my fingers.

“To be honest son, this has just created one big mess.”

He nods his head in shame.

“Why have you come to speak to me when your mum isn’t in?”

“You know how she gets.”

An awkward silence fills the room. Sea water is pouring into this sinking ship. My son is in pain. But he can however handle it better than Michael.

“How’s Michael?” he asks me.

“Quiet.”

“Hmm.” I murmur. “Why have you come to speak to me George?”

“I want to explain myself to you and get your opinion on this whole thing… without mum getting emotional and so on.”

“Go on.” I say preparing myself for a storm.

He takes a mindful pause as if he is preparing a speech in his head.

“Fact is dad, Christina is a pain in the arse… But I love her. She moans, she doesn’t work a lot, she’s lazy, but I love her and she loves me… Yes, I have probably spent too much money on her, but I want to be with her for the rest of my life."

I shake my head. Poor Michael.

“But George you have got to think of Michael. He has already been put through a divorce and now you’re putting him through this.”

I can tell by the look on his face that that was not the response he was looking for.

“You’ve never met her dad!” I blurt out.

“She’s twenty-four and an eastern European. She’s bad news George.”

“Do you and mum not want me to be happy? I thought you told me once there is no age to love?”

Suddenly I think back the innocent and small face I saw in 1963.

I can’t put him down harshly. This relationship with this girl is trouble. Love has blinded him from what truly matters. It will be hard for him to get over it … but I will help my son as I always have.

With my stronger arm, I grab the end of my arm rest and propel myself into a more upright position.

“You know I love you George! You know I want you to be happy.” He focuses his gaze at the window momentarily. He’s staring at a father and young boy walking up the street.

“But you are making a big mistake. And you need to think of Michael.”

I have reached the end of the road. I have completely fucked my life up and now every day is a chore. Every breath hurts, every second a waste. Every movement and every thought, is too much effort. There is nothing ahead of me, no future.

I am completely alone. Everyone cares simply for themselves. Family and friends are a myth. Everything scares me, bar one thing. Nothingness. I am not scared of it anymore.

I pick up the pills on top of the note.

I can’t live with this anxiety and unhappiness anymore. Now the torture can finally end.

I cry alone. I fear alone. There is no such thing as peace in this world. Peace is forever mute.

He looks skinny and pale, and his hair is messy. His hair is always neat.

“I’m going to get a drink from the vending machine… Do you want anything Michael?”

He hasn’t moved for about 10 minutes. Lying on the bed like he’s paralysed with a face that has lost the ability to smile or frown. Expressionless. He’s looking at the ceiling but almost staring at it as if he is looking through the roof up to the sky. Belatedly he responds to Elizabeth by pushing his bottom lip out and shaking his head slowly and gently, blinking slowly.

As she walks out of the room, I lean forward in my chair, rest my arms on my thighs and put my head in my hands.

What if I have caused this? Maybe this is a product of my behaviour and care.

I think back to when Michael was young and he cracked his forehead open. Guilt followed me around for years. I took my eye off him. I remember holding his head and wiping his tears away with my thumbs. Then my nurse training autopilot took over:

“You need stitches son. You’ll be okay… Okay? We need to go to the hospital.”

“Michael?”

No response. He lies there exactly the same as a moment ago. Voices of parents have been tuned out.

Not expecting anything, but all the while begging for a response I state, “Before the doctor comes … I need to know how many pills you took.”

My words bounce off him and land miles in the distance. With a sigh of despair I feel my face start to get hotter and my eyes welling up.

The phrase “It could be worse.” rings in my head. The image of my dad starts to emerge in my mind. I open up my phone and open up me and my dads’ message thread. At 11:04pm he said “How was Michael today?”

It slowly dawns on me that this text was the reason I went into Michael’s room and checked on him. That’s when I found him. Lifeless.

Something about this place enables me to forget. A momentary relaxation and withdrawal from this crazy and busy world. It must be this peaceful town, completely separate from the working and pressure-filled lifestyle of London.

“Go on!” my dad encourages, shouting at the TV, “Ahh.”

“He’s no good. God knows why he won’t take him off.” says my Grandad.

As the referee blows the half-time whistle, Grandad asks a very bored Grandma, “Could you put the kettle on Gene, darling?”

“Yeah sure.” She says as she slides into the kitchen.

“So how are you both?”

“It seems my second divorce has gone through.” My dad responds.

“That’s good… Michael?”

Although I am often asked whether I am okay, and I often respond with a menial, robot-like response “Yeah, I’m fine thanks”, but something about my grandad makes me want to be as honest as I can.

“Good and bad. But I’m getting there.”

Suddenly this response causes my dad to perk up in his seat and look at me with an expression of surprise.

“I’m glad you’re both okay, that’s all that matters really.” He says with an air of contentment.

Seemingly daydreaming, Grandad smiles to himself. The most heart-warming smile there is. The sort of smile a father has when he sees his son go riding off into the distance on a bicycle for the first time. Pure love and pride. I swear this smile could heal a thousand diseases.

“Do you remember that time in Bordeaux George? When Michael drank too much Coke.”

“Oh yeah! Haha!” My dad turns to face me. “I remember we were sitting by the pool in the evening and you wouldn’t stop running around naked and jumping in the pool!”

“Oh god.” With an embarrassed grin and a warm red face I ask, “How old was I?”

Grandad responds before my dad can, “Four or five I think.”

I really did love that place in France. It was too hot for grandad and his Multiple Sclerosis though.

Grandma brings in the tea and coffee, “Thank you grandma”.

The second half starts.

As I see look out the window and see a young boy with a golf club too big for him and what seems to be his grandad beside him, it suddenly hits me.

It is not the town or house that is so peaceful about this place. It’s my Grandad. I can remember countless times where I have sat here watching TV, whether it be a Sinatra documentary or a Snooker match, and not even spoken to him and there has just been this air of relief and relaxation. He is so strong and brave to be battling with what he’s suffering with… no living with. He is inspiration and hope in physical form. My restlessness, my plagued thoughts, my black feelings all disappear, simply by just sitting near him and being in his presence. His love. He omits a kind of spiritual air to put anxiety at bay. A silent peace.

I don’t want to be cliché, but it really is a beautiful day. Sunshine and clear skies really do make you feel not quite so shit.

“Harvey, Penny!” shouts Scarlett, aware that they have run off somewhere else in the woods.

Even with mud splattered up her side and an aggressive tone she is still stunningly beautiful. I still don’t quite understand why she has been with me for this long. A sad little nothing-man and then her. An angel, amongst dirty black living skeletons.

“You alright?” she asks me with sincerest of tones. She’s clearly momentarily forgotten about where the dogs are and thought to question my quietness.

“Yeah I’m alright, what about you?” I say moving into her path and embracing her at my side with my arm.

“These bloody dogs.”

I look down at her face with a smile intended to cause her to come out of her annoyed mood and smile with me. It works. My favourite sight in the world.

“You seem quiet.” She states.

“Yeah … It’s just a nice day and I like little rural escapes like this … away from the concrete jungle. It lets me think.”

“You’re not Bob Marley.”

“Ha, obviously. But I just keep thinking back to the year I’ve had… What with my grandad deteriorating and being bed ridden and me dropping out of school and all.”

“Yeah, it’s hard… but I’m always here bubba.”

“Aren’t we nearly coming to the end of forest, to your road?”

“Yeah, we need to put the dogs on the leads.”

As we enter Scarlett’s road I check my phone that I haven’t checked for a while.

“Oh shit… I’ve got five missed calls from my dad… I’ll ring him as soon as we get back.”

I wonder what I’ve done wrong now. I guess we’ll soon find out.

“Hello-“

“Michael, for fuck sake I’ve rang five times.”

“I’m sorry dad, I was out with Scarlett walking her dogs and my phone was on silent.”

“Okay, okay.” I can sense a tone of distress on my father, which is abnormal for a man who has spent the last year being positive all the time whilst helping me.

“Are you alone?” My heart sinks to my pelvic floor.

“What’s happened?”

“Michael… Grandad has had a bit of a crisis and has been transferred to a hospice nearby…” A hospice? What’s that? Does he mean a hospital? “And it doesn’t look like he’ll be able to go back home again.”

“What’s a hospice?”

“You don’t know what a hospice is?”

“No.” It can’t be a good place then.

“It’s where people go to … to live out the rest of their lives.”

No. It can’t be.

I’ve seen a lot of films with moments in them when a character gets told they’ve got cancer or a relative has passed. Thing is I’ve never experienced a moment like this in real life before. There has never been a possibility of someone close to me dying.

No. It can’t be.

“Tom I wish you’d stop bloody messing about.”

I’ve been staring at this fishing pole for a good 20 minutes now.

“Sorry dad.” Tom says with a sulky tone.

“How long does it normally take dad?”

“How long is a piece of string George?”

I am starting to get bored and impatient. I don’t even like fish.

My older brother daringly moves from a sitting position to a sort of low squat. “Dad, what would happen if I stood up on this boat.”

Dad nods his head dismissively.

“Tom!” my dad shouts.

Tom slowly stands up and the boat begins to rock heavily. He reaches his arms out horizontally, presumably for balance. His upper body sways outwards and gravity plays it part. Tom crashes into the lake. Arrays of water splashes my dad and me.

As Tom’s head appears out of the water dad bursts into hysterical laughter, shortly followed by myself.

With a grin Tom grabs the boat and joins a sea of laughter.

Oh, they were good times. I move my glance from the pond outside the window, back into the room.

He looks so different. Pale. Skinny. Weak. This is not a true of reflection of this great man.

I gently grasp his cold frail hand and try to wake him. “You okay Eddie?”

His eyes open ever so slightly and slowly. He smiles the smile I know. An expression of purity and adoration. My dad is still with me. With great effort he moves his other arm from the other side of the bed over, and softly places this other hand on top of mine. No words are needed. Just soundless expression.

Harmony and love.

This pain will pass.

I have never liked photographs and photo frames. An unnecessary medium through which people remember events and people. Why do you need an image of someone to remind you of the love you have for them? Love is instilled. It’s deep within you.

Yet I think this photo frame is an exception. Filled with the faces of my son and my grandson. They look so healthy. Seeing them, even if it is a fake and brief snapshot of their greatness, fills my heart with warmth. They are my hope and I hope I am hope to them.

“Darling.”

“Yes Eddie.”

With all my efforts I raise my working arm and beckon her to me. My beautiful strong-willed soulmate.

“I know I’m going Gene.”

I am blessed with a heavenly kiss on my forehead. Harmony and love from my family. Such is life.

Sweaty palms. A brief sense of dread. Am I real? Is this place real? Is any of this actually real?

I notice my hand fluttering like a tsunami in my flesh. What is happening to me? Dizziness and blurred vision hits me like a train. I feel my cheeks burn as panicked blood rushes to my face.

No. I can’t faint. I am not dying. I need to help my family.

“Dad?” my voice a wining dog hiding from a thunder and lightning storm.

What is happening in there?

I can read my dad like a book. This is not good. He’s emerged from the room pale with eyes glazed over like ice.

He’s not gone. He’s not gone.

As my dad comes close to me he shakes his head with the face of truth.

“No … no!”

He embraces me like a towel to a cold and wet child.

With a soft broken voice; “I’m sorry son.”

We cry together.

I peer across the hall. A window. A son and a father weeping together. It’s a reflection, caused by the bright LED lights. The light switches turned off and the son and father disappear with it.

“He was my hope … my peace dad … now he’s gone.”

“He’s always with you.”

We continue to cry together. We worry together.

Like my grandad, some of us join impermanence, but most can still find peace.