Halcyon

“I’ve come to save you,” I declared, projecting my squeaky, high-pitched voice into the quiet depths of our small suburban townhouse.  

The front door swung shut loudly, heroically, behind me. A statement to the world I was leaving behind. An invitation to the sanctuary I had entered. A challenge to - I sniffed the air. It was suspiciously citrusy.  

“Have you been cleaning?” I accused, louder. 

I wiggled off my scuffed sneakers without undoing the laces. They scattered, exhausted, next to a neat row of tiny flip flops, ballet flats, joggers and shiny school shoes. God. They were so small.  I nudged my sneakers with my socked foot, a little for the sake of neatness, mostly to enhance the dramatic effect of my shoes next to her itty bitty foot decorations. I exhaled my happiness into the air. 

I wanted to take a photo of them.  

I didn’t know why.  

I successfully resisted the urge and hunted for my daughter instead. I found my Daisy in the living room, curled up in the exact same spot I’d left her nine hours earlier. She’d probably moved. I hoped. The cat had, at least. It was now tucked under her chin, so she had to stretch her neck forward across the feline’s considerable bulk to successfully peer down at her book. I dreaded the future chiropractic bill.  

Daisy didn’t look up. Her sitter, Nina, the skinfluencer teenaged daughter of a friend from Pilates, did look up. The detached yet judgmental eyes of youth scrolled up and down my body then swiped away when she found nothing she liked. “Hey, Mrs. Gordon.” 

I smiled warmly at Nina. I liked Nina. She’d kept my child safe, fed, and protected from the scummiest parts of the internet for the past day. She also had the best eyebrows I’d ever seen. Dark, lush and fluffy without reminding you of Johnny Rose from Schitts Creek. I greeted Nina, asked about her mum, then gasped in Daisy’s direction. “Cleaning and studying, Daisy Dukes? What a wild weekend.” 

The loathed nickname was enough to warrant attention at last. Daisy’s level, long-lashed gaze met mine. Her hazel eyes were calm and warm. “Mum.” It was both an acknowledgement and a reprimand. I grinned at her, overwhelmed with pride for her just existing. She resumed reading.  

Nina lifted herself off our well-worn leather sofa with the graceful ease of someone who hadn’t yet pushed a miniature version of herself out of her vagina.  

“Sorry I was late,” I told her as she stuffed a hairbrush - and some kind of skin balm that I was really rather curious about - inside a handbag I definitely wanted to adopt as my own. “The bride wanted more photos of her dress, but she was literally wearing it so -” 

“It’s fine, I don’t care.”  

I could respect that. “I have dinner, if you’d like to stay? There’s some extra in there just in case.” I set the greasy bag of Guzman y Gomez on top of the coffee table and ruffled through it to produce evidence. “I got a few extra cheese quesadillas, there are a bunch of beef ones, some spicy some not -” 

“I’m vegan.” 

“- and chips, I know you like chips...” I trailed off. “No? Okay. Cool. Well, um, I’ll send you the money now, thanks again, and I guess we’ll see you next week?” 

I held up my hand for a high-five.  

I didn’t know why.  

Nina ignored it and glanced back at Daisy. “Let me know what happens with that Tutankhamen guy.”  

“He dies.” Daisy deadpans.  

“We all do.” Nina parried and left.  

Daisy snorted and Tank the cat named after a dead pharaoh peeled a displeased eye open to assess the situation. He sniffed the air, spotted the Mexican takeaway and stretched awake. Freeloader.  

“Okay, here’s the agenda,” I told Daisy.  

Last Sunday, Daisy and I had been foraging through my old suitcase of 90s relics in search of a Tamagotchi and we'd unearthed my Game Boy instead.  

“What can you even play on that? Tetris?” Daisy had sniped.  

“Technically, you can’t play anything on it anymore. It doesn’t work.” I’d admitted.  

But the blocky carcass of my childhood had given me an idea.  

“This,” I said, raising a dusty old cartridge into the air like it was the lost Ark of the Covenant, “is The Legend of Zelda in its original form. And by original, I mean, like the third or fourth game in the series. But it was the first Legend of Zelda that I played. Waaaay back in 1996, when I was your age, and my freckles were adorable sprinkles like yours, not gross sunspots like mine.” 

“Mum.” 

“Right. Anyway. I had to wait three years for it to go on sale at a price Nana was willing to pay for it. Time has never moved slower. You could never even imagine.” 

“You'd be surprised,” Daisy said drily.  

“Hush. Be kind to your exhausted mother who has spent all day toiling with the masses to produce historical evidence of love. And now, in the precious few spare hours of my twilight years-” 

“You’re 37. Not 90.” 

“- I’ve decided to gift my favourite daughter-” 

“Your only daughter.” 

“- with the memories of my youth. Because now you’re going to play it. At ten years of age. The symmetry! The kismet! The pure providence! It’s meant to be.” 

To Daisy's credit, her groan was soft, polite and largely self-contained. Like her. She smoothed her t-shirt sleeve. Had she ironed her t-shirts? I wouldn’t put it past her.  

“Games are a waste of time,” she declared.  

I tutted. She sighed and clarified. “For me. For you, games are a ‘perfectly valid outlet for emotional self-expression and regulation’.” 

“And?” 

She frowned. Thought for a moment. “A good side hustle?” 

“Passion project. Not hustle. But no. Try again.” 

"They’re fun?” She hesitantly guessed.  

“They’re fun!” I agreed. “Which is the whole point. You and I are going to have some fun. We are going to bond.” 

“Mum. Please. No. You can’t force us to bond.” 

“You can’t stop us from bonding, kid. We’re doing it. This very instant. Right now, your brain is busy making a memory that you’re going to look back on when you’re old and semi-grey like me, and it’ll make you realise how much you looooove me and appreciaaaate me and neeeeed me. Y’know, if I’m still around.” 

I gave her a meaningful look. Then, just in case I was being too subtle, I stuck my tongue out, rolled my eyes back, and made death sounds.  

“You’re manipulative.” Daisy noted.  

“I am.”  

“You should be happy your daughter chooses to spend her weekends preparing for her career as the world’s most relevant archaeologist.” 

“I should.” 

“...” Daisy fidgeted. “Did you say you got extra cheese quesadillas?” 

“I did.” 

Daisy carefully slipped a bookmark into the giant tome she thought contained the cheat code for her future and slid bonelessly to the floor. She propped her tiny, stabby elbows on the citrus-scented coffee table she’d freshly polished – she was such an adorable dweeb -, and I plopped a big, squishy pillow next to her to sit on.  

“I’ll watch,” she offered. “But I’m not going to play.” 

 - - -  

Two spicy beef quesadillas, a handful of French fries, three chocolate-dipped churros and a bottle of peach iced tea later, I’d paused, unpaused and quietly cursed my way through a YouTube tutorial that had been sufficient enough to show me how to successfully set up an emulator and connect Daisy's ROG Ally deck to our projector.  

As a single mother who mostly worked during the wedding season but had to afford rent in Australia’s most expensive city, my scrimping skills had been filed to a razor-sharp edge.

My camera was second-hand, my clothes were thrifted, the holes in my jeans were patched up with squares of Daisy’s outcast and outgrown clothes, and our cat was a stray we'd found at the tip. But I hadn’t cheaped out on movie night or Daisy’s ROG.  

I took a step back, rested my hands on my hips, and admired my work. Our projector screen engulfed the entire wall, so big that even my short-sighted self could clearly see the desktop background featuring Daisy and I pulling goofy faces at the Powerhouse Museum.  

Dimmable fairy lights snaked the length and width of the wall while a delicate curtain waterfalled from a hook in the ceiling to enfold our ancient sofa, army of plush floor cushions and masses of soft, fluffy blankets in its safe embrace.  

Daisy’s favourite junk foods – Oreos, red frogs, popcorn and milk buds – circled a caramel butterscotch candle in a sugary hug. The air con was turned up full blast and the flickering flame of the lit candle cast dancing shadows across the shimmery curtain walls.  

Dude. I’d have un-alived an entire bloodline for this set-up when I was ten. 

Even my kid and her cat looked staged. Daisy lazed prettily on the floor, idly braiding her crimson curls while Tank half-heartedly batted his multi-coloured paws at her bare toes. He looked less like a trash cat and more like a pampered puff of useless but cute fluff in this light.  

I’d done well. We weren’t in the cramped, overheated western suburbs of Sydney any longer. Tonight, we were just a dream in a hero's head.  

“Alright, Daisy bear. Time to shake a shipwrecked short guy awake.” 

- - -  

And just like that I was ten again.  

The first time I’d played this game, I thought I’d hit my peak. Life couldn’t possibly get better. Seriously. A game, in my palm, that I could play wherever I wanted to. On the sofa. In bed. On the toilet. Cleverly disguised behind a book in math class. In detention. While I was grounded.  

With enough AA batteries, the possibilities were endless.  

But before too long, it became less about the fact I could play games anywhere I wanted, and more about how I couldn’t stop playing this game every spare second I had.  

The charming small town and weirdo residents of Koholint Island stole my heart. It was the first game I’d ever finished. And here I was, 27 years later, playing it with my own daughter. I felt ten and two hundred at the same time.  

God, I wanted Daisy to love it.  

I shot a look over my shoulder to gauge her reaction. She was used to games like Fortnight and The Sims. This would feel like watching a black and white movie. Or using dial-up. Or, y’know, playing a game that existed before she was even a twinkle in her mother’s ovaries. 

She shrugged at me. “I expected it to be worse. It kinda reminds me of Stardew Valley. With less chickens.” 

She had a good eye. We were playing the original version, which was designed for the 8-bit Game Boy. I’d forgotten how raw the graphics had been. Not bad. Just unsophisticated. Like you still needed an imagination to play it. 

“You want chickens? I’ll give you chickens.” 

- - -  

“Mum! Stop! Stop hitting the chickens!” 

I cackled, mashing the button to swing Link’s sword. Feathers were flying. Cuccos were clucking. Daisy was screaming. And laughing. And screaming some more. Holy. And my side was aching. I couldn’t breathe. But I just needed to hit a few more chickens and - 

“ARGH! OHMYGOD MUM RUN! RUN!”  

I tossed the controller into Daisy’s lap, and she squealed, snatching it up so she could sprint Link away from a herd of angry, beaten-up chickens. 

“WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS,” she yelled. “HOW ARE THEY RUNNING SO FAST?! I HATE YOU.” 

I’d never been happier.  

- - - 

A few hours later.  

“Is she in love with me?” Daisy asked.  

She hadn't given me the controller back.

“Who? Marin?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Um. Maybe.” I squinted at the screen. “But we’re definitely in love with her.” 

“Yeah,” Daisy murmured. “Yeah, we are.” 

- - -  

“I can’t doooo it,” Daisy moaned.  

The game was paused, Daisy’s face was stuffed into a pillow, and we were stuck. This Slime Eel boss turd was impossible. I could’ve managed the dodging. Daisy could’ve handled the hookshots. But doing it all at once? Ughffkf.  

“Okay, that’s it. I’m googling it. There's gotta be something we’re missing.” I reached for my phone.  

“You can’t google it,” Daisy protested, bumping it away with her foot. “That’s cheating. Did you google it back in ‘86?” 

“96, thanks. And nah. I paid the kid down the street to beat this level for me.” 

“You paid him?” 

“Well, with a kiss.” 

“Mum, you didn’t.” Daisy cringed.  

“Oh, but I did. That kid was your father.” 

“Ugh, gross. But also, cute. I miss Dad.”  

She said it factually. Not without emotion. Just in the same way she’d told me that there’s ancient graffiti in the royal tombs of the Valley of the Kings from Greek and Roman tourists, and that the literacy rate during the New Kingdom period was surprisingly high. Daisy missed Dad. It was just another fact in the history of her life.

“I miss him too, Daisy bear.” 

There was a comfortable silence. Daisy watched me, cataloguing me in that quiet, thoughtful way she had. Like I was another ancient artefact she was observing. There was no rushing her when she was like this. So, I waited.  

It was worth it. 

“I like you, Mum. I like that you're loud and I like that you love everything a little too much. I like that you play more games than my friends. I like that you write about games for a magazine that doesn’t even pay you. I like that your real job is to record love. I like you. A lot.” 

I wanted to cry. No, I wanted to bawl. This kid. Was going. To kill me.  

I took a deeeep breath. “You’re my best-friend.” 

“Don’t do that.” 

“What? I’m not doing anything.” 

“You’re going to cry. You can’t. You know it’s contagious. It’s science.” 

I was smiling so hard my cheeks were burning. “You’re right. I’ll stop. I’m a horrible mother. Now, let’s turn this stupid eel into sushi.” 

- - - 

The candle had burned out. The snacks were long gone. Tank was asleep in an empty popcorn bag. Neither of us had any idea what time it was. It could still be Saturday night. It could be morning. It might be noon. It didn’t matter. 

Because it was done.  

We’d finished it. Together.  

Daisy and I stared at each other. 

“Wait,” she said.  

I waited.  

“So...” 

“Mm.” 

“It was all a dream? Link was just hallucinating on a plank of driftwood in the middle of the ocean this whole time?” 

Daisy’s skinny arms were flailing. Which was impressive since I could barely raise a hand to scratch an itchy mosquito bite on my wrist. I was wrecked. Shooting a 14-hour wedding had been easier than this.  

“It was all a dream.” I confirmed. “There’s a secret ending you can unlock if you don’t die -” 

Daisy snorted. I concurred. We’d lost count of our deaths in the first hour.  

“- where Marin’s wish to the Windfish comes true and she leaves the island.” 

“Well shit. I want that for her. We need to make that happen.” Daisy proclaimed then slapped a hand over her mouth, horrified. “I swore.” 

I nodded, using my last dregs of energy to tug her in for a hug.

“You swore,” I said into her soft, apple-scented hair. “And you spotted nine out of ten Nintendo cameos – be grateful I named you after Princess Daisy, not Princess Peach -, kicked serious eel butt, fell in love with a bunch of pixels, and beat an entire game in one night. I’m proud of you.” 

- - - 

Early evening.  

Sunday.  

Daisy and I were balancing last night’s junk food fest with grilled salmon and veggies. The house was quiet, calm. Our living room was still our secret latibule. I summoned up the courage to ask. 

“So? What’s the verdict? You’re writing the review on this one.” 

Daisy observed me for a moment. “It wasn’t bad.”  

Then, finally:  

“Did you say there were others?”