Without looking up Grandma caped her marker and placed it on top of her adult colouring book.
“Will,” she said, “it’s been a while.”
“I know,” I said softly.
She wiggled her nose and looked up, “you smell like the sea, and I can see you’ve tracked sand all over my floors.” She didn’t sound angry, only wistful as she leaned back into her couch.
I hadn’t knocked when I walked in. No one ever did with grandma. She always knew who was opening her door, who was climbing her fence to get in the back. All her grandchildren had played here since infancy – and I had been no different.
“Are you hungry?” She asked, collecting her tea cups and pulling her old body forward. Instinctively I stepped forward to help her up, meeting her smiling eyes as she wandered towards her kitchen.
“Tea perhaps? I always keep ice-tea for you sugar junkies.”
I slowly followed her, slipping into a bar-chair, “I’m alright Grandma, I actually came to-”
“See pictures of your mother?” She asked, although I knew it wasn’t a question. She busied herself in the pantry, producing almond biscuits and tim-tams.
She placed them in front of me and moved to her left to open the high china-cupboard, taking out a shoebox brimming with photos.
“Your father gave me a lot of them.”
“I know, he said he did. It’s why I’m here.”
“Lots of questions ey?”
I shrugged, taking a biscuit and seeing her spoon milo into a cup of cold milk. “How do you know what I want when even I don’t?”
She eased herself into the bar-chair next to me, both of us pretending not to see it sink a little with her weight, “when your mother was stressed or tired she would make herself a cold milo. It was an educated guess.”
Your mother.
No one really talked about her. It was as though she was one of the colours of the rainbow people mumbled quickly. Or the jumbled “l,m,n,o,p” of the alphabet. She existed, she had been dearly loved and fiercely missed – but the pain made her hard to talk about.
But grandma wasn’t like that.
I sorted through the box, taking out picture after picture of a short-haired girl with smiling blue-green eyes.
“I miss her,” I said softly, pressing a hand to a photo. I remembered running after her in long grass, my five-year-old laughter mingling with hers as I followed the flattened grass in her wake. She would pick me up and point out bugs and trees and clouds. I remembered her singing. Everywhere she went she was singing. Cleaning dishes, in the shower, in the car, down the street.
But most of all I remembered her love of water.
I knew I had been very little when she had led me down into a small closed off part of a sea cove. She had placed me between her legs as the water lapped and gently surged around us. Later, she would teach me to swim in the mouth between the sea and river where the water wasn’t so salty.
I could swim before I could walk. Looking back, I think my mother considered it a parental achievement.
My grandmother looked at me with sad eyes, “I miss her too. I miss her singing.”
I nodded. Sometimes at night, just when the moon was full, I was convinced I could still hear her singing over me as she had when I was a child. It was probably the hallucinations of a heartsick son, but I didn’t care.
“Why doesn’t dad talk about her? Like, I know why, but still. It’s been so long”
Gran picked out a photo of my parents wedding day. Dad had his arms wrapped tightly around my mother as he pretended to lick her face, her laughing face pulling away.
Gran handed it to me as she answered my question. “It’s a little like the light as blown in his house. The light she shone was so constant and so present, that when she died… he is having trouble finding a new lightbulb. She was a rascal. She had a temper that could tear strips off your back, but she forgave quickly and loved freely. She was his light Will, and in a way – still is.”
“If you ask me, he threw himself into work five years ago and never looked up from it.” I said bitterly, “never remarried, never tried anything new-”
“Never saw his son,” Gran said softly, taking my hands as their wedding photo drifted to the floor to land under my seat.
“Will, you are so much like your mother. I want you to know that. You may have your father’s brown eyes and his slight build, but you move like your mother. You smile like your mother. Your heart burns at injustice like Mia’s did.” She looked down and added, “you even track sand and water into my house like she did.”
“Sorry Gran,” I said, something in my expression making her laugh.
“Look Will, you’re 16 now. You’re hitting the age where for some senseless reason society has decided you need to map out the rest of your life.” She raised her eyebrows in an expression of obvious disapproval, “between you and me, no one knows what they’re doing at any-age – so don’t expect to have a life plan at 16. But.”
She took my empty glass and scooted off the chair, waddling to her dishwasher, “before school starts up again I want you to go back to the cove. You know which one – the two-hour drive one. I want you to take your father there on the sunset of when the moon is full and go to the edge of the pier.”
“But Gran, that’s…”
“In two days.” She said, groaning as she bent down to the dishwasher. “Tell that father of yours that I said so.”
“But Gran-”
She straightened and came around to my side, shuffling through the photos until she produced a single photo. She opened the draw in front of her and found an envelope, gently slipping the photo inside.
“Take this to him.” She smiled, handing me the envelope. “Your father needs a jumpstart.”
I hugged her then. I pulled the woman closer to me as I felt hope swirl inside of me.
“I love you Will,” she said, “you are not your mother, or your father – but they are part of you. Better work out your past before your future ey?”
I wasn’t sure what she meant. But I gripped that envelope and pulled back from her embrace.
“God’s speed Son,” she said to my back as I gently closed the front door behind me.
-OoO-
“Will, is this just an excuse to get more driving hours in?” Dad asked, winding down the car window. We had an old car, one with a busted air conditioner and the slight smell of old lady.
“No.” I pointed at the glove box, “take out the envelope. It’s from grandma.”
I watched him hesitate then ask, “grandma? You mean…”
“Mum’s mum. I rode my bike and saw her a couple days ago.”
“Ah, it’s been a while.” I watched him hesitate again, eyeing off the glovebox.
I stopped at the last traffic light before heading out towards the coast, turning to look at him, “Sooo… are you going to look? It’s a photo."
Slowly he popped the glovebox open and took out the envelope, taking out the photo just as the light turned green.
He looked at the photo and a small sound came from him. It was somewhere between a sigh and the sound when your throat hitches when you try and speak.
“Son,” he said softly, “go faster.”
-OoO-
Memories flooded through me. The moment it was warm enough mum had taken us here. The Cove. The faded “no camping” sign had been damaged since I had been here last, a chunk of it lying in the sand. We had both taken off our shoes and walked up the small incline. Dad hadn’t spoken a word the whole car-ride, instead staring at the photo. The late afternoon sun shone down on us, showing the stains on dad’s work shirt. He was a qualified PE teacher but instead chose to be part of the management team of our local supermarket. The closer to the Cove we got, the straighter Dad became, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
“Mia loved this place.” He said at last, “she used to sing the whole way down to the water.”
And in that moment, I remembered the song. She would hold my hand and sing the simple song, Dad a few paces behind with lunch and towels.
“Down to the sea,
Just you and me,
Oh, the waves they’re calling me home.
Down to the sea,
What a place to be,
Oh, the waves they’re calling me home.
How love seems to grow here
How laughter fights the fear here
Oh, the waves they’re calling me home.”
Before I knew it, I was singing it, feeling the breeze lift and carry my voice away from me. Dad sang it quietly behind me, a mumble that almost held no sound.
We sang it over and over, the words soothing my soul just as they had as a child. Dad looked up at the darkening sky, frowning. “Sunset Gran said?” He asked, seeing me nod.
“We better run then.” And to my surprise he dropped his shoes, phone and even shirt to the sand before taking off.
“Wait- dad!” I dropped my own things beside his and sprinted after him. To my astonishment he didn’t slow down, only smiled a crooked smile in my direction. My father has gone mad. His serious brown eyes had changed, his legs digging into the sand as he powered his way to the Cove.
The next turn brought us to the Cove. He slowed, looking around and then heading towards the pier.
“Will,” he said as I caught up with him, “I know I have been a terrible father. I know this. You were her joy, her laughter, her song – and I, well... I found my grief harder to carry then I thought I would. But right now, Son, I want you to go onto that pier and sing the last sentence of her song.”
“You’re not coming?”
He shook his head, “I’m gonna make a fire and go find my fishing spot.”
“But Dad-”
“Go.” And again, he was the serious man of a few hours ago, frowning at me, “you’ll just have to trust me with this. Go.”
So, I marched to the pier, singing the tune, “Oh, the waves they’re calling me home.” I soon grew bored with the tune and played with it, allowing my voice to curl it and vibrate the notes. I looked behind me to see Dad collect driftwood, looking younger then I had ever seen him.
Turning back, I kept singing, the wind whipping my cold body. The sunset flared in front of me, pink and purple plumes mixing with the red sky. It was spectacular, the sky melting into the ocean. My hand slipped into my pocket for my phone to take a photo, only remembering I had thrown it on top of dad’s shirt.
I turned back to see Dad watching me, shading his eyes to see me. He motioned ahead of him in a shooing gesture and I kept walking, singing the song. I had always had little difficulty in singing. It was odd for a boy I knew, but it always felt like somehow, my mother could always hear me that way.
“Oh, the waves they’re calling me home.”
I frowned, tilting my head to the side and then sang again, “Oh, the waves they’re calling me home.”
A higher, lilting voice had joined me.
“Willikin.” The voice smiled. The voice was so familiar, and yet unreal, like an old recording of a homemade video. That was my childhood nickname. That was what my parents had called me.
Waves rose and washed over the pier, soaking my feet. The sunlight hit the water, blinding me for a moment.
“Mum!” I yelled, “AM I GOING CRAZY?!”
“Only the best people have a touch of madness.” A voice said, laughter clear in the words, “Oh, the waves they’re calling me home.” The voice sighed the notes, “you sing so beautifully Willikin.”
I shaded my eyes and I could see her against the blue of the ocean. I could see her blue-green eyes smiling at me, the short golden-brown hair waving around her ears. I reached out for her, just for a moment I was again eleven years old, slipping my hands around her middle in the hospital bed.
She landed on the pier, allowing me to wrap my arms around her middle. She giggled, such a young sound that it surprised me.
“You’re so tall!” She said. I realised she was right, we were the same height now. Where she had always been a taller, safe presence, now we were the same. She not only glowed, it was as though the sun hit her directly, making it hard to see her.
She pulled back and stroked my cheek, catching the tears there, “Oh child, I love you so. Did you hear me singing?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed, holding her tightly, “please mum, don’t go.”
She pulled away and stepped lightly onto the water beside the pier, showing her to be wearing a long white top, white tights sliding just below her knees. Her bare-feet rested on top of the water, the waves breaking apart to make room for her, only to crash after her figure.
“You must love the sea for me now.” She sighed sadly, “I am with our maker – He loves us more than I could ever love before.” The keen note of sadness blew into my heart, settling there.
“I don’t have much time left, come on! Race you!” The light dimmed enough that I could see the glee-filled sparkle in her eyes. She ran on the water as though it was a road, racing towards the shore. I followed, careful of the rusty nails along the planks of the pier.
She ran straight for dad, feet lightly dancing across the sand until she threw herself into him.
He opened his arms, his voice cracking, “MIA!”
He gripped her to him just as they slammed into eachother, tears streaming down his face. He pulled back and kissed her, almost melting into her as the glimmering figure held onto him. They pressed their foreheads together, staring into each-other's eyes as they murmured words I could not hear. She was slightly taller then him, and yet they seemed to match in a way old couples did.
My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I caught up with them, watching them break apart at my presence. She laughed, bouncing over to me to touch my face.
“You blush like I used to!” She crowed, “I love you so!”
“How are you here?” I asked as dad led us to his small fire near the rock formation of the cove. We settled onto the rocks around the flames.
“Sometimes questions do not have mortal answers.” She said, “But I do have some words for you both.” She turned to dad, gripping his hands in hers. “Jack, I am not coming home. You can love again. You are allowed to have dreams without me.” She touched his face as a tear slid down his face, “you are allowed to cry, my Love. I love you more than the Ocean, I want you to have peace. After tonight make me a bright moment in your life – but not the whole bonfire.”
He nodded, reaching for her. He cupped her cheek and she pressed a hand to it. Light flashed, and Dad was young again. His eyes alight with laughter, his grey hair slightly curling into brown. It was a reflection of the past. Of a man who loved his wife with all his heart.
“I will.” He smiled, then he turned to me, a weight melting off his shoulders, “I’ll do better.”
She slid off her perch on the rock to kneel in the sand before him, leaning in to kiss him. He let her go then, watching her stretch out her hand for me. I took it and she led me back towards the water. I looked back to see Dad watching us, a wistful smile on his lips.
“Willikin,” Mum said softly, “I’m not coming back. You are what I leave behind. You are my smile, my laugh, my song. Forgive your father and find your center.”
I felt bewilderment and fear build up, sensing this would be my last conversation with her, “My center mum?”
She smiled, “what is it that makes your heart sing? What harnesses your strengths? What can you do that will impact the world for the better? You do not have to be smart to be kind. You do not have to be a big thing to be the world for another.”
She led me back to the pier, the sunset fading before us. She held my hand the whole time, skipping me along until we reached the edge. She turned to face me, pressing me to her.
“What you tell yourself is what you live by Willikin. You are not useless, you are a vessel – what will you be filled with? I love you Will. Both your father and I love you. After all-,” she leaned in to kiss my forehead as she slowly faded, my hands grasping nothing, “you are our legacy.”
I held out my hands, the hands that had held my mothers and sang through tears, “Oh, the waves they’re calling me home.”
And between you and me – as the stars winked at me above the sea, I am sure I could hear her voice echo mine.
Note:
In case you're wondering, Tim-tams are a chocolate biscuit from Australia. Seriously the best known to man. 626Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX3EwZACVnv
I know this is a long one... but I couldn't work out a way to make it shorter. 626Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDo6EFI0Ydt
