Refraction

It is boiling in this room. Yet the elderly that occupy the cozy armchairs still complain about the cold. They sit here all day, like sailors who have forgotten the sea. They’ve inhabited this room for so long that their bones almost curl around the chairs.

“How is she today?” A tired man asks, you can tell he doesn't belong here, he still has life left in his eyes. The first thing people notice about him is his eyes, so vibrantly green that it's hard to look away.

“Visiting hours are almost over.” A bored nurse repeats, “You can come back tomorrow.”

Another nurse, older, kinder, says “He can stay for a bit, come on Mr. Cartwright.”

The bored nurse nods reluctantly and leaves them be.

The nurse turns,“To answer your question, same old, same old. She's refusing to eat again and barely leaves her room.”

The man's smile droops as he says “I only need a minute.” 

He heads down a long hallway until he finds room 209. Inside, a dilapidated woman lies in a tousled bed,  she murmurs something about a hearse. There is a faint look of recognition in the man's eyes, like he's heard these mixed up mumblings before. 

He looks at the nurse and says, “She's remembering the death of her mother.”

The man whispers something to the woman as a tear rolls down her cheek mouth agape, as if she were screaming.

“Shush now, time to take your meds” says the nurse, with a sympathetic nod to the now crying man.

***

Him. 

He is everywhere I look. He always has been. Sometimes he talks to me, or grabs my hand to sit in silence. 

Lately he just pleads. “WAKE UP. WAKE UP.”

He calls himself Alex, a name I’ve always been fond of. If I were to have a child, I think that's what I would name him. Alex.

He is in all of my fondest memories, yet never in any of the photos. I was a small child when I first found him. Him, a small boy, I can still see his face, even when I shut my eyes. Eyes. His - green. 

When I am tired, I go somewhere. A room with half hearted flowers and old lady curtains. Furnished with a rocking chair and a single bed. Sometimes people come in and out of the room, I try to collect their faces in a vain hope that I will remember them. Their smiles vary from kindness to condensation, dressed in some sort of uniform. 

Except for one man who frequents “home” often. That's what they tell me, that this is my “home”, but home doesn't smell like a hospital. Home has love, there is no love here. I don’t know where here is, but I don’t like it. Sometimes I wake there, sometimes Alex is there, but sometimes he isn't; I’d imagine that he has better things to do with his time. 

Anyway, forget the room. I often do. 

I like to imagine my memories, putting myself back where I was happiest, in times before everything became jumbled.

When I try to recall my wedding, the people fade into a blur of colors. They dance together, his bright yellow swirls into my deep blue until we create a gorgeous forest green. 

When I try to picture my husband, all I can see is a soft yellow, no mouth, no eyes. Nothing to cry from, nothing to kiss with. My lips try to form a name, Paul, no Pete. My husband, Pete, I think.

The priest repeats words that will make up one of my best days of this life. Yet something is wrong. The inside of this massive building has a grass floor, littered with dandelions. 

I look up from the trampled grass of our wedding venue to look into my yellow haze of a soon-to-be husband. There must be a face hidden in there somewhere, but I can’t quite see it. I want to brush the haze aside, but I can’t for the fear of wafting him away. 

When I find Alex again the wedding is almost over, and so I hold him.

I whisper, “Do you still remember the wind dance?”

He doesn’t respond, his face yearning for something I do not know. As I turn away, I hear a voice whisper something that sounds like I need you to wake up. But it is my wedding and I am already awake, so I just laugh. And whatever Alex said disappears into the air like gray smoke. 

I glance at the Priest, only to be greeted by Alex again, but this time he is cloaked in a vestment.

“Alex?” My voice cracking.

“Do you remember me? Do you remember where you are?” Alex whispers.

“I’m right here Alex.” I say as I laugh, and reach out to pat his arm, but before I can make contact, my vision goes dark, like somebody glued my eyelids shut.

“Help. Help Help Help Help me someone…” I scream into the dark.

But Alex is gone, so is my haze of a husband and I am left to fend for myself.

I issue a final “HELP.” 

From outside the darkness I hear a placid voice, saying “Ms. Cartwright, come now, calm down. He just left. You’re scaring everyone.” 

“Who's everyone? Where am I?” I ask but no one responds.

***

It is my first ever date, with the boy who brought me a sunflower, knowing that they are my favorite. 

“Here” He says with a yellow haze obscuring his face, “You are always drawing them, so I figured you may like a real one?”  He grasps a single sunflower.

For a minute I cannot speak, the words too clunky to fit through my mouth. Gratitude swells as my cheeks darken.

“I didn’t think anyone could like me.” I whisper and as I look at his hazy face, the yellow separates to reveal a nervous twisting mouth with kind eyes. 

“I do.” Pete says.

I melt.

***

I am eight, and it is 1947, I think. No one can prepare you for the death of a mother, particularly not at age nine, no eight, I’m not sure. 

“You were only seven when your mother died.” Alex says as he appears, sandwiched in the middle of sobbing sisters.

 My sister Emma ignores him, and so do I because I cannot tear my eyes away from my hands.  They are weathered and wrinkled. I am seven, but it doesn’t matter; these are not my hands. Yet Alex still holds them tight as I scream.

I scream so loudly I almost expect the car's windows to shatter, but they don’t, and Emma doesnt look up or even flinch.

  The driver continues following the black hearse in front of us, then he turns, says “Shush, now, time to take your meds.” 

Alex squeezes my hand as I swallow capsules and as my eyelids drag down, I am engulfed in the colors once again. All I can see are the swirls of green, Alex.

Alex whispers, “I know you are scared, picture your happiest memory, the kind that can't help but make you smile. As you do this, there's a special dance, created by the ancients. They said to hold out your arms, embrace the winds, and let them blow your worries away. For at the end of the day, there is nothing you cannot handle.”

This sounds familiar to me, but I am young, and it's probably just deja vu. I get that a lot, like I have already lived this life, like I've seen this all before. 

***

Forests.

The way the light seeps through the canopy, hitting the water at just the right angle, I think it's called refraction. And suddenly I can remember. We learnt about it in my science class, the way it makes rainbows possible. Without it, the sky would be bare, a stark gray reminder of the absence of color.

Science class, the boy next to me, Pete.

I used to imagine that Pete and I are part of the refraction process, bending light toward each other. Reflecting our love back and forth to create something beautiful, our very own rainbow.

***

I can feel someone looking at me.

“Mum?”

As my tired lids open, I see him standing there, eyes wide with a dashed hope. Eyes. His eyes evoke a memory, my wedding, the green. I can picture it clearly now. The last dance was a solo one. As my feet graced the dancefloor, I held onto Alex, my son. A boy born years after that day. How could that be right?

“Mum, can you see me?” A green eyed man asks.

I try to explain that I see him always, that I love him, that even though his father is dead I am here. I am here, and I love him. The green eyed boy who I have watched grow up, has been here, with me, watching me discover my memories.

My mouth whispers “Alex?” without permission. His name floats to the top of my memory, bypassing the wall of fog and forgetting. I move upwards to embrace him but he stops me.

“It's me Mum, sit back yeah? I don’t want you falling” Alex half smiles as he reaches for my arm.

It hit me. I remember now. The hospital room. The bracelet with my name, the bracelet with his, encircling his tiny newborn wrist. The smell of warm sour milk, and the pastel walls of forced gaiety. The cartoon giraffe watching me with a false smile.

“What are you looking at?” I remember snapping at the giraffe.

I can hear the sounds of babies taking their first breaths, the first cries of life, there is no room for sadness here.

“Mum, do you remember your wind dance, the one you used to teach me? I need you to remember right now, I can’t keep losing you.” Alex squeezes my arm, with a tremor in his voice. Like he's done this before.

“Alex, my darling, I promise, you won’t lose me again.” I reach out with hands that are more earthquake than flesh and pat his arm.

Two teenagers look up from glowing screens, holding a guarded look in their eyes. A look that shows a painful distrust with glazed irises used to being disappointed. They exchange a knowing glance. 

Alex. 

My son, my baby boy with green eyes, now a man, with jade jaded eyes that reflect my shriveled appearance.

I feel it, a sense of peace, I can go to sleep, safe in the knowledge that my son, Alex, loves me, and I can remember him. He looks older now, more tired, but still full of a rich green that expands in my lungs, inhaling him so my body absorbs him, and I cannot possibly forget this forest of a boy.

***

I can hear someone. Someone in my room. I want to run, to fight but I can’t, can't even sit up. Don’t panic… Jenny? Jane? I try to retrieve my name from the gaping canyon of my brain. I suppose it doesn't matter now, just another label. But I have to protect my home, my husband. As my eyes creak open, I am greeted with strange curtains, a frayed blanket, and a single bed. Gone are my plants, and wicker chairs, instead there is a strange man in my room, smiling at me holding a single sunflower.

“Mum it's me, Alex.” He says.

“Who?” I ask.