by M R Field
My mother died when I was young, and the memories I have of her are a haze. I can barely remember her voice or even how she smelled. Nothing of hers was kept in the house. Not even photos. Only the ghost of her remained, and I could see how that tormented my father while I was growing up. But in this moment, I feel a connection to her. A strong link, tying us together. The protection she cast upon me to get me in the first place is an indestructible force.
“She left in a haze while you were asleep, saying she needed to go for a drive. Before leaving, she stared me square in the face and told me that the next day she would leave with you and I would never see you again. That she would go to Melbourne to see if Ricardo Arce would be the man that I never was, taunting me with that man who had robbed me of my wife all those years before. She could no longer stand to see my face. I was the man she used to love, who refused to give her the one thing she wanted. She stormed out, and later that night, we lost her.” He stands from his seat and keeps one hand resting on the table top as we make eye contact. “I was trapped. Made to look after a son who I never wanted. A boy who was a constant reminder of what I couldn’t give to the woman I love—a failure. I was never enough for your mother.”
“So a kid was enough to emasculate you? I was a child! You expected to drill regimented rules into my life and then tell me I wasn’t even yours? You waited sixteen years to tell me that I had another father.”
“Who never knew you existed. He deserved to know. I couldn’t deal with the burden anymore, Theo. I had to tell him.”
“I’m a fucking burden now?” I seethe, watching his mouth twitch. “Oh, this is just getting better and better.” I step closer to him until I can see the redness in his eyes. “I don’t want to know anymore. You have said enough.”
“He deserved to know. I went to him and he demanded to get to know you. I couldn’t have you never knowing … especially after—”
“Enough.” I hold my hand up. “Not. A. Word.”
I turn and stare at the two vases on shelf near the table. One has a geisha made up of cherry blossoms in blue, red and ivory. Trinity would love to see that. The other depicts the face of geisha on an ivory vase. I pluck them from the shelf and call over my shoulder, “I don’t want any of the things in my old room. But I want these.” I reach forward and grab the alligator onyx ashtray that reminded me of my oji-chan. “And this. These are all I want.”
“You deserved to know your real father.” His voice wavers.
“Yeah.” I turn towards the hallway, refusing to look at him. “Thanks for that. Now, he’s infiltrated my life with building projects. Because one arsehole wasn’t enough in my life, I had to get given another one.”
I begin to walk briskly, but the tips of the slippers almost trip me up. Flicking them off my feet, I leave them on the carpet and pick up speed with my steps.
“THEO!” Ko bellows, shuffling in the lounge behind me. “I forbade him to see you before you finished high school. I had worked hard to get you to the top, and I wasn’t going to let some distraction get in the way.”
“You took away my identity as a child and swapped it into what you wanted. You have some nerve, you bitter old man.”
“But I gave you his address; I needed you two to meet. I needed to make sure that you would be okay.”
I continue to walk. I need to see Trin. I need to get the fuck out of here.
“I have Parkinson’s disease.” The words gush out, and my feet stop abruptly. “The doctor told me ten years ago, and I didn’t know how to tell you.”
His tremors … moving slowly …
“It’s going to rob me of my life, Theo. My brain is going to be imprisoned by a useless body. I didn’t want you to be alone after everything.”
I shake my head. Why can’t there be a clean break where we both walk away from this?
“What do you expect me to do about this?”
“I’m sorry. I just need you to know that. I should’ve never let discretions with your mother affect the love I have for you.”
“Now you tell me? Really? I’m an adult now; I needed to hear that ten years ago when I thought all I was to you was a pianist, not a son. The burden who displeased you. Who was cut off from knowing his mother’s family and even knowing his real father. Now you make me feel like shit when all I want to do is leave.”
“I’ve failed again.” His voice trembles behind me.
I turn and stare him square in the eye. Clasping the sleeve of my long-sleeved shirt, I begin to roll it up to the elbow and watch his eyes widen at the ink that lines my forearms. I move my hand to the other sleeve and slide the fabric up, revealing more ink.
“This dragon”—I point to my right forearm—“is what I got when I turned eighteen. I didn’t have the guidance I wanted from you, but this?” I tap my arm. “It’s my protector. When you dished your shit out to me and watched my world detonate, you told me no real son of yours would be so weak to take the news so poorly. In my sadness, you chose to take the liberty of shattering me even more. I didn’t need you anymore.”
“People will think you’re a yakuza,” his shakes his fist in disgust.
“A gangster?” I shake my head. “You have to be full Japanese to be that, and we know after our rendition of This is your Life that I’m definitely not.”
I wish I could unburden myself from all of this shit. I slide my feet into my sneakers as Ko’s voice whispers, “Please forgive me, Theo.”
I turn to look over at him, and my chest tightens as I watch tears cascade down his cheeks. “I may not be your son by blood”—the cadence of my voice lowers—“but I will honour my ancestors. Even if they weren’t mine in the first place. Forgiveness must be earned. You should know that.”
I open the door and stomp through, tucking both vases under my arm to slam it behind me. Reaching into my pocket, I grab my phone and see the text that Trin sent. The tension in my shoulders loosens. Only she has the power to strengthen me—the only face I want to see. Notions of her singing, though, aren’t as cheerful as they seem. Cats and dogs fighting hold a more melodic tune. I opt out of the text for the time being as another idea comes to mind. I quickly scan my contact list. Tapping my phone against the contact, I put it to my ear and wait.
“Theo!” Jason calls down the phone. “Long time no hear. How’s things?”
“Good. I’m in town. You wouldn’t happen to have a tattoo slot free would you? I know it’s Saturday and all ...”
“As a matter of fact, this afternoon has been a bit slow, but drop in as I’m not booked for another hour. The drunk eighteen-year-olds tend to take up my Saturdays, but today is a bit light. They must be sketching their butterflies and dolphins.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you soon.” I pick up pace as I head for the main street. The script that circles in my head becomes more vivid and calming.
Afterwards, my back stings like I have sun-baked for twelve hours. When my shoulders move, the burn intensifies. But it is worth it. I pay Jason and shake his hand, a new sense of hope beginning to rise. I am done feeling like the victim. I have a reason in front of me that gives me hope. Trinity. Like my mother, I know what it feels like to want something so badly. To risk it all for a dream. I’m ready.
As I step out of the tattoo shop, my phone rings in my pocket. I shuffle the vases under my free arm and retrieve it with my other hand.
Reaching down, Trin’s number flashes on my screen. Ask and you shall receive. Grinning, I brush my thumb across the green button and bring it to my ear. “Hey—”
“Theo.” A deep male voice cuts me off.
“Felix?” I ask.
“Yeah. Trinity is in a bad way. Are you finished with your father? I need you to help her.”
“Yes. I’m done? What happened?” My hand grips the phone, and I don’t care if I crack the screen.
“I’ll explain when I see you. Tell me where you are. I’ll come and get you.”
“No need.” I pick up my feet and begin moving fa
ster. “I’m about ten minutes away. I was in town. Tell her I’m on my way.”
“I don’t think she’d hear me through her wails.” His voice breaks. “Hurry, Theo. My baby girl needs you.”
I tuck my phone away and grip a vase in each hand, shooting through town, remembering all the shortcuts on my way to Trin’s house. Could this day get any more fucked up?
It doesn’t matter.
My girl needs me.
That is all that matters right now.
Hold on, firecracker. I’m coming.
“I forgive you.”
Love, M
TRINITY
Uncontrollable pain.
My stomach hurts.
My legs hurt.
My head hurts.
My heart hurts.
Wave after wave, the hurt continues to wash over me, through me, around me, like a tidal that has clipped me off my feet. I clutch the corner of my pillow as my knees curl higher against my stomach. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can barely exist.
What the hell did I say to my dad? I am the last person to have any right to throw insults. I’m a selfish fucking bitch.
Oh God.
My memories of her and us are so scared and pure that I still struggle with letting her go. I hadn’t wanted to leave for university the year after she was diagnosed, but she’d been stubborn. Holding her hand in mine as the tears rolled down my face and onto my acceptance letter, she’d told me, “Live your life, Trinity. I want to know about all your adventures. I’ll be fine.”
But she wasn’t. Before I moved away at the end of my final year, she tried to hide most of it—the excess tubes of toothpaste to keep her mouth clean, the nausea, the scarves, the secret bouts of crying in her bedroom when she’d thought I was sleeping in … all to evade the big “C” from taking over our lives. So while she tried to hide it, I played on the façade. It had been easier to pretend that everything was okay.
When her beautiful lush golden hair had first fallen out in clumps, I lost my shit. Even after it had grown back, I couldn’t take the new dull brown hair that peaked through the silk scarves she wore on her head. Her running shoes were replaced with slippers and her satin dresses turned into robes over her pyjamas, all showcasing what was underneath. While one hand had carried the truth, the other concealed it with disguises, all as a tapestry of guilt that wrapped itself around her failing state, closing them all in.
So, I’d hidden. I’d gone to university, studied, and partied like a mad woman, making infrequent trips home. The doctors had only given her a year or two at best, but my imagination coaxed me into believing that it wasn’t going to happen to us. It wouldn’t happen to me.
We spoke almost every day. Through text or emails, brief or long, I carried my mother through what I was doing. I narrated the life of her only child as I flitted through uni life, sampling all that it gave to me.
The times I’d spent visiting, she carried on just like her name, Harmony. Being as harmonious as possible. As I’d aged, we’d meshed our roles of mother and daughter into a close bond as friends. While I’d sketched designs, she would scold me if I wasn’t letting myself be seen. “Never conform,” she’d tell me. “Instead, let the part that makes you alive fly.” For the assignments where I was restricted to traditional styles, I gritted my teeth and bore it. When the task gave us free rein, I took it and flew. Just as my mum had wanted.
But it had only been a matter of time before the peaceful façade had erupted. As her health had deteriorated so did my … morals. I’d drowned myself in alcohol and men, looking for something to keep my mind from connecting to the moment. I’d dragged the girls to clubs and danced until my feet ached. Drank until my brain switched off and held the tug-of-war friendship with Theo, as I couldn’t handle him not being there. I let my jealously over his relationship with Claire, override my need for his friendship. For his comfort.
As her hospital stays had grown longer, I’d pushed myself harder in the cycle of denial. The week before she died, I made a special trip to visit her, and she looked better than my dad had told me on the phone. She’d sat in bed and beamed at me as we’d talked, and my heart had hoped her smiles wouldn’t be the last ones. They couldn’t be. Surely. Such a foolish, fucking naïve idiot I was.
On her final day, I’d been the one who ignored Dad’s plea to come home. I couldn’t believe that she was worse. How could she be, when we had spoken on the phone the day before? He was obviously being paranoid. No one tells you how when death approaches, a person can have a slight second wind about them. A soft glow that glimmers with hope until their candle fades.
So, I’d taken to the dance floor and wrapped myself around a stranger. Our sweaty limbs had rubbed against each other’s and I’d tried to get closer. Deeper. As the strobe lights had flashed with the music, I’d been lost and empty. While we kissed I fought away the voice of my father, telling myself that tomorrow, everything would be alright.
Until a hand had clasped my shoulder and pulled me away from the stranger in my arms. The dark brown sleeve turning me towards its body as the lights beamed towards the heavy chest that rose and fell in exertion. Theo. Without a word, he pulled me from the dance floor and led me to gather my coat and bag, and, in silence, we’d gone into his car for what was to be a six-hour journey.
As the alcohol had swirled in my stomach, I remember asking him to pull over several times to purge it. Still, no words had been spoken. It wasn’t until we were parked in the hospital car park that he’d uttered the words, “I’m sorry, Trin. I tried to get us here as fast as I could.”
Then, my world exploded. I’d thrown open the door and run to the entrance, bashing my fists against the closed glass doors that were locked afterhours. In a haze, I vaguely remember Theo holding my elbow and bringing me to another entrance in emergency, where we were rushed through doors and long corridors. Each felt like a rabbit warren with no escape.
The faded green door had been ajar, and I’d pushed it open to see soft light from within. My dad had sat with his head forward on a bed, his hands clasped around my mother’s. My eyes had roamed instantly up to her face, her skin soft under the glow from the side lamp. My chest had ached and I’d rushed forward to the bed, my dad’s body rising from the seat.
“Oh Trin,” he’d wept. “Oh, baby … she’s gone.”
“No!” I’d screamed, my hands frantically moving to her hands, arms, up her shoulders to her neck. “She can’t be.” Stroking her face, I’d sobbed, “Please wake up, Mum. Please, please wake up. Open your eyes for me. Let me see your eyes. I need you to wake up!” My thumb had stroked her cheek as the tears had streamed down my face, the heat rising in my skin and the cries continuing to wrack at my chest. “I di-didn’t think,” I’d stammered. “I tho-thought she would b-b-be okay.”
Dad’s arm had wrapped around my shoulder and pulled me back to lean against his chest. “Oh, Trinity.” He’d wept. “What are we going to do?”
I’d broken out of his embrace and dived forward, needing to feel her hands. To check in my despair for any sign of movement. I had been gutless, selfish and horrid. She’d looked so tiny on the bed. I hadn’t been able to bear watching the cancer chew her up and spit her out like some ragdoll, and I hadn’t been there when she’d needed me the most.
“I should’ve been here. Oh my God, I should’ve been HERE!” The weight of my body shifted as my legs had struggled to stay upright.
Two strong arms had wrapped themselves around me, and I felt Theo’s mouth against my ear. “I’ve got you.”
“I never got to say goodbye.” My voice had broken.
The loud thumping on the door shakes me from my thoughts. Clenching the pillow, I clutch it in my fist as I turn only my head to the door.
“Please,” I beg. “I just want to be alone. I’m sorry for what I said, but I can’t—”
“Trin, it’s me.” Theo’s loud voice reverberates on the other side of the door. “Let me in or I’ll break down the door.�
��
I sit up slowly, my sobs still breaking through my chest. I breathe in small spurts, and turn my legs to the side until my feet plant on the floor. My forehead pounds, and it feels as if it’s going to explode.
“Trinity.” Theo’s voice softens slightly. “Baby, let me in.”
My ears prick at his endearment while my body raises off the bed. In a flash, I am unlocking my bedroom door and then Theo is there. In an instant, I’m in his arms; my sobs escalate, and the cries pass my lips.
“Shhh,” he coos in my ear as his arm rubs my back up and down. “I’m here—it’s all going to be alright.”
I wrap my arms around him and hold on. He moves me back and we walk awkwardly in this embrace until we reach the bed. He shifts me to sit us next to each other, my head now resting on his shoulder, and he continues to hold me close.
I take big breaths to control the crying. Tremors rock my shoulders as the grip around his back intensifies. I close my eyes and focus on the sound of his own breathing, and I feel his neck is hot against the back of my head. I lick my lips and taste the salt of my shame.
“Have you be-en runn-ing?” I murmur through puffs of air.
“I was in town and ran straight over. Your father called me.”
“Oh God.” My nose wrinkles. “I was so disrespectful before. If you had heard me … I was a fucking bitch.” I sniff as my nose congests. “The things I said … I’ve never spoken to him like that. I’m so ashamed.”
“He wasn’t angry; he was worried. He’s waiting in the kitchen for us. He could never be angry at you.”
“Thanks.” I smile timidly, my cheeks stinging slightly from the salty tear streaks. I hate feeling pathetic, but I am rocking that look today—pathetic, selfish, and useless. Yet Theo’s embrace is restoring the warmth into my broken body. His hand brushes the side of my face and I lean into it, savouring his tenderness. We stare at each other, not saying anything but saying everything at the same time. My eyes linger on his mouth, and I run my tongue along my bottom lip, wetting the dryness away.
