Lemonade

He had been enclosed in the wooden hideout so long, he could barely even remember how he got there.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a clouded memory lingered, like a storm cloud. He tried to ignore it but the more he fought to avoid it, the larger it grew, looping in his mind like some eternal nightmare.

He had run through the grass and kicked at flowers. He had jumped around, flattening leaves and cracking branches beneath the soles of his trainers. When his friends arrived, they filled water guns until they spilled all over the floor and run away before his parents could tell them off. Outside they battled the fierce sun with attacks of water arching through the air to reach their targets. They darted in and out of trees, not pausing to catch their breath, and showered each other with the icy liquid which quickly turned warm and sticky under the baking heat. Even his older sister, June, appeared to barrage them with water from above, stopping to stick her tongue out playfully before pulling the window shut and barricading herself back inside her room – which was strictly off limits.

The rabble collapsed to the ground, giggling and squabbling, soaked with water and sweat which burned their eyes. They dared each other to stare up at the sun until it made their eyes water and then they laughed at each other’s tears. Their limbs ached so that they couldn’t move from their spots, as if they were melting away into the ground.

His mum appeared smiling from the doorway, her bright, flowery dress swished around her legs as she carried out a tray of glasses.

‘Lemonade, anyone?’ She called and suddenly a rush of energy burst back into the group and they jumped up, swarming her, to grab the drinks.

He waited, calm, polite, at the back of the crowd until everyone else had claimed their drinks.

‘Here you go, James,’ she handed him the glass with a smile so wide it felt like he was the only one there, the only one who mattered. He took it and gulped so fast the fizz made his nose tingle. He shivered and she laughed, her eyes crinkling. She ruffled his hair with a comforting familiarity before collecting up the glasses and heading inside.

The kids threw themselves back onto the grass and laughter rang out. In the distance there was a shattering sound and a flurry of shouts and yells and sirens and suddenly James was lying alone. His friends were nowhere to be seen, the windows were dark and motionless; no lights were on in the house.  

‘James?’ A voice called. He got to his feet shakily. ‘James you have to come with me,’ June urged. He shook his head slowly, covering his ears, and retreated until his back hit the solid trunk of the tree house.

‘James we have to go now if you want to say goodbye before-‘

‘No! No, no, no!’ He yelled and swiftly darted up the ladder hanging from the platform high in the branches.

‘James! It’s going to be okay, just let me talk to you!’ June called. She moved toward the ladder and he panicked, blood rushing deafeningly in his ears, head spinning. He hauled the ladder up and up and up until the last of it was on the wooden floor of the tree house beside him. Until nobody could reach him.

June waited, even slept below for a while. But it barely registered amongst the turmoil in his mind. His nails scrabbled at his ears and he screwed his eyes shut so that he lost all sense of time, so he didn’t even know whether it was night or day.

Sounds of shattering and shrill screams looped in his mind, keeping him awake until his body was so drained he couldn’t physically remain awake. Sometimes he could do nothing but stare up at the wooden ceiling which hid him from the sky and listen over and over again until he became numb to the sound.

He watched the door from high, high above, almost as if he was waiting for her to walk right through, with a smile and a tray of lemonade. Every time it opened a rush of hope shot through him but it left him even weaker every time someone else appeared instead.

His dad stepped onto the patio sombrely and yet another wash of disappointment weighed him down, followed by a pang of guilt.

‘What did James say?’ His dad asked when June joined him, his voice drained and empty.

‘Nothing. He won’t talk. He won’t even move. He just lies in his room but it’s like he’s not even there.’ June replied, staring at the ground.

I’m here. He thought. Right here. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak out loud. What was the point in saying anything? Nothing he had to say mattered anymore. Not to anyone there to hear it.

He could only watch himself fading before his own eyes. Watch from the insurmountable distance he had created as he prolonged the pain his family felt.

They turned and he wanted to shout to them that he would come too; he didn’t want to be left alone there. But even as his brain yelled at his lungs, he knew he wouldn’t make a sound.

They disappeared into the long, black limousine and it turned swiftly around a corner, out of sight.

And he collapsed back against the wall. Shadowed in the same heavy blackness. He stared through a gap between two of the panels, glaring at the spot where his mum had once stood, offering out lemonade with a breezy smile which told him everything would be alright. Where she would never stand again.

He sat, frozen in time, watching the world turn around him while he couldn’t even bring himself to move, to eat. He watched as spiders formed webs between the corners of his wooden prison and caught flies and moths and butterflies, forcing their delicate wings to still forever. Until finally, they too curled up and fell still. Watching this chain, he wondered what the point of any of it was when the ending was always the same.

He had been enclosed in the wooden prison so long; he had almost forced himself to forget why he was there.

In the spot where he started hour after hour, day after day, the door opened. His dad stepped out. For the thousandth time, a slight surge of disappointment hindered him. His dad held two glasses of clear liquid, bubbling with fizz. The liveliness of the drink seemed cruel, stark in the morbid atmosphere. But his dad didn’t seem so sad anymore. Just tired. Ordinarily tired.

June followed him out and he passed her one of the cups, putting a hand on her shoulder.

‘Lemonade?’ She observed. ‘James loves lemonade. Let’s take him some too,’

‘You won’t ever give up on him will you?’ Their dad mused.

‘Never. We can’t get mum back but he can come back to us. He will.’

James choked back the burning in his throat as he finally realised. Maybe the ending would always be the same, but he could choose the story.

And finally, he let down the ladder.