Drowning

He woke up by the singing of the ice. It cracked and moaned and spoke, harmonized with the unrelenting wind. By this time of year, the ocean was thickly covered by it, he could no longer get through with his boat. Sleds and skates were the only way to travel across. Or a snowy beach at least until the sun returned to them. That was many months away, and he wondered if he would be able to drill a hole in the thick ice again soon. Last night, his old drill couldn’t manage it. But fishing was the last thing on his mind right then.
Because she was there.
Lying right next to him, like she had done every night for the past ten years. They had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, not wanting to let go. She had rested her head on his chest, her hand over his. His nightshirt had been dampened from her tears, and perhaps some of his own too. They hadn’t spoken. They had only laid there together until their breathing stilled and they fell asleep.
Her eyelashes fluttered as she dreamed, every breath heavy. For once it seemed her sleep was soothing, not ravaging with nightmares as it used to for months. A strand of hair had fallen across her face, and normally he would reach out and put it behind her ear. Not tonight. He didn’t dare wake her. He wanted this moment, this night, to last for as long as possible. To memorise every second of it.
When night would fade, she was bound to leave. She would leave him, leave their life out here. So he needed to remember everything.
Odd hair or two had turned dark silver, but the dark hair was still as beautiful as the day they had met. He would never forget it.
***
She had been wearing a raincoat, as long as she was tall, and a pair of rainboots that made the water splash around her feet. He had laughed when he saw her, so completely drenched as she walked outside the store. He had gone into town to buy some things, and took refuge there when the rain started. He couldn’t wait longer when she walked past the window, a strange urge to meet her taking hold of his body. He had seen her around for weeks or maybe months whenever he visited town. Her presence in town was dark,but delightful compared to that of the natives. She wasn't the first stranger in town who had captured his interest. But she was to be the last one.
She resembled a willow capturing wind in its slender, resilient branches- that's what he thought about her.
So he ran after her, instantly getting soaked to the bone.
“You’ll catch your death.”
She had turned around, the biggest smile on her face, a vibrant sparkle in her dark eyes. “It’s only water.”
She never spared her bright smile to anyone. He came to town more often ever since hoping to see her. He got to know her raspy voice. Her speech was never rushed as if she was choosing every word with care and meant every one of them. She really did, he soon found out.
They strolled streets together, she asked what town was like before her and treated him with exotic sweets. As their wandering became more frequent, his hand found hers and their fingers entwined. One misty morning they didn't let go anymore.
He was glad for her resilient nature when she moved in to live on shore with him only a year later. Nothing the nature surrounding them threw their way seemed to bother her. Not the summer heat. Not the bone-cracking wind in autumn. Not even the freezing winters, no sunlight as far as the eyes could see. But still, in spring, she would turn her face towards the sun, and smile. Her shoulders dropped, the lines in her face smoothed out. A respite after the harsh months behind them. He would always grab her then, as the first rays of light shone upon them, and kiss her until she forgot her own name. He certainly forgot his.
She had married him there, in the dead of winter. It still boggled his mind that they got the priest to come. That year, he could take the boat to go get him. The ice wasn’t as thick as it was now. She wore white,tailored coat waiting on the pier, wind mingled in her curls. Lips were sealed,but happiness radiated from her eyes. She promised to have him. In sickness and in health. Through better and worse.
They wouldn't know of the sickness they would face. They were just happy and they believed that it would always be that way.
***
She turned beside him, the movement pulling him back to reality. Do not wake up. Not yet, he pleaded silently in his mind. She didn’t. Carefully, he touched her hair. So soft, as it always was. It smelled of the soap she created herself, honey and oats. How long would it take for him to forget that scent? He hoped he never would. To him, the scent of her thick locks was the scent of home.
***
First year of marriage was challenging. She would always correct him saying " it was adventurous". Storm tore parts of the roof off, and rain-filled their bed. She was alright with that. It was simple in her mind. They just needed to fix it. Nothing could break her spirit, ruin her calm confidence. They worked by candlelight late in the evenings, drawing up their now shared home to stand tall through any storm that was to come. Should they add an extra room? Expand the loft?
He did it for her. And she did it for him. Sawing, hammering, painting. They did all they knew how to do. Everything they didn't know how to do, they still did. Learned together and completed. She was in love with the idea that every corner of their home would be touched by their effort ,he was in love with her passion.
She made it into a home. It was hard work. They even fought, tensions high when they were without electricity, without running water for almost two weeks. He had told her they would soon be done. They would soon go back to normal, in a proper home. She smiled and wiped her tears. Nodded and kissed him. And work continued.
By the time they finished their home, summer had come. He always loved their summers by the endless ocean. It didn’t rain so much, and she would pick wildflowers and put them everywhere at home. She would make them into wreaths and hang them on the walls. Put some in her hair. She also loved to collect sea shells or small pieces of driftwood. But those she rarely brought back home. She said they belonged to the sea that had washed them out.
They would leave their little happy place sometimes, rejoin the world. Eat at a restaurant, go see a movie or wander through town's parks. Walk the paths they used to when they got to know each other. Sometimes travelled beyond their town. But at the end of the day, she would lean into him and whisper:
“Take me home.”
He did. Always.

There were times she went into town alone. House always seemed so vast without her there. Her presence was imprinted in every bit of their home, and without her there- it didn't seem right. The ocean roared differently, the ticking of the kitchen clock so loud, he could barely think. Always, before she left, he would think that it would be nice. Some alone time, he could make the food she didn’t like. But as he waved her off, he would lose his appetite and just make their usual lunch. He would try to keep busy, and he usually was. But the backbreaking work he did every day didn’t calm his mind like it usually did. He would stop and look out at the shore, hoping to spot a familiar silhouette returning. He would tell himself to stop being ridiculous, that it was good to be apart sometimes. He didn't like solitude as much as he used to and he wasn't as comfortable with it as she was. At least not anymore, when he had gotten used to her presence and comfortable silence that sometimes fell between them. And then he would look up once again, just to see if she was on her way back to him. When she finally did get back, she would wave to him, a big smile on her face. She would tell him about the people she had seen, or the things she had gotten for them. Perhaps the bakery had new cakes they had to try or she had found exciting books. Maybe she had seen a doctor, and she would retell everything. He would listen. Get her some food, and just look at her excited eyes as she made him part of her day.
One of those days was different though. She hadn’t been feeling well for some time and went to see a doctor. He had wanted to come with her, but she had told him to stay home.
“Probably just a stomach bug,” she had said. There was no need for him to lose a whole day's work just for a quick check-up.
She didn’t wave as she came back across the silent beach. Didn’t smile, but just walked past him into the house. He remembered how his heart sank, every disease and ailment he knew of popping up inside his mind. He had rushed after her, sat down on the bed beside her, and watched her wring her hands and look down at her feet. When he had asked what was wrong she hadn’t answered. When her hands started shaking he took them into his own, bracing himself for the worst. But then she looked up at him, smiling. There were tears glistening in her eyes, but no trace of sadness. A flicker of hope grew inside him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all?
It wasn’t a stomach bug. Well, that depended on how you looked at it. He would sometimes call the seed that grew there their little bug. They had built so much together already. Their home. Their life. And now this.
A baby.
***
She moved closer to him in her sleep. An instinctual move, something she had always done. He knew he probably shouldn’t, not the way things were, but he let her in, holding her in his arms. It might hurt tomorrow, but he would hold her tonight. As long as she let him. Stroked the soft skin on her shoulder, breathing in tandem with her. Slowly, deeply. Almost lulling himself into sleep. He urged himself to stay awake. Didn’t want to waste this last night sleeping.
The light of the moon shone in through the small window, highlighting every peak and valley of her face. The nose that she always hated and subtle smile lines she was self-conscious about. The full lips that had kissed him so many times. Did he dare press one more kiss to those lips? No. Not now. She had to stay asleep for a little while longer. So he just kept holding her and lost himself in their memories.
***
Time never passed as slowly, or so quickly as those months when her belly grew. Swinging in her hips when she walked changed, steps she took got slower. Her hair reached waist and dark eyes shone brighter than ever. Every now and then she frowned when back pain stopped her, but never complained. He learnt to ease her pain. Doctor had advised her to take long walks, and they did. They walked shores daily reaching distant corners they hadn't discovered before. It became their new normal, and parts of him felt like she would always be pregnant. She had told him as much herself too. And at the same time, all of a sudden it was over. In the early hours of the morning, she told him to get the things they had packed weeks ago. He kept telling her they should have moved into town for when the time comes, but she always rejected. She insisted on being at home. He thanked his lucky star that it wasn't winter and ice hadn't covered sand yet. How they got to the hospital, he wasn’t sure. Maybe he managed to find a taxi, maybe they got on a bus after crossing shoreline. Her eyes were closed for most of the time in a deep focus he couldn’t feel or understand. All he could focus on were her small, hasty breaths. Her reassuring smile through the moments of pain, as if it was him that needed comfort. Perhaps he did.
They told them it was lucky they came in when they did. It wouldn’t be long now. Seeing her in those hospital clothes was strange, the white such a stark contrast to her usual blacks and reds. The staff had been right. It didn’t take long at all. As dawn turned to morning, a small bundle was laid on her chest. Glistening in her eyes, sigh of relief- she had looked at him and then at the boy, and he knew he was the luckiest man alive.
Ten fingers and ten toes. And a set of lungs that would make any opera singer jealous. The boy put those lungs to good use occasionally during those first few months of his life, wailing over the ocean only for them and the seagulls to hear. Perhaps he wanted to talk to the rest of the world as well. But it was only the three of them. And that was enough.
That first year was a blur. A blur of long nights, tears and endless happiness. A confusing time, a time of transformation. Because the boy had changed them, and he would keep doing that for as long as he drew breath. After as well.
They taught the boy to walk, to talk. To fish and to build. They taught him to love and to trust. When the boy was old enough, he took him with him on his boat and gave him knowledge of his own. They brought home fish and she then cooked it, listening to their adventures.
They dreamt how they would take turns walking him into town for school in the mornings when the time would come. They dreamt the boy would come back smiling, telling them of the day's adventure and new discoveries and friends.
The boy’s third year came and went, and then his fourth. He helped his father on the boat, and his mother at home, and for every free moment, he was outside, looking at the sky above.
He had asked the boy once what he was looking at, and the answer was a mere shrug of the shoulders.
“Everything,” the boy said.
***
She woke up slowly, as he was holding her close. It wasn’t morning quite yet, but they both knew it would come soon enough. He looked at her, and she looked back, not saying a word. They had spoken plenty lately. There was no need for it now. He had to stay.
She couldn’t.
So there was only that night. They weren’t going to waste it talking much. She rested her head on his chest, breathing in his scent. Just as he had breathed in hers moments ago. He wondered if she could feel his heart beating. Her hand searched for his, and when she found it, she held it close to her face. He could feel her breath on his knuckles and wished she would kiss the skin there. She didn’t. He pulled her closer, needing to bury his nose in her hair, needing to press his lips to her skin.
Quietly, almost so quietly that he couldn’t hear her, she whispered:
“Do you remember the stories?”
“I do,” he said. He would always remember the stories. Every single one of them.
“Will you tell me one?”
***
The boy asked his mother for notebooks every time she left the house. And some pencils, he always needed pencils. He stopped looking out at everything eventually and started looking down at those notebooks, pencil in hand. Scribbling away at his stories, adding lively sketches.
The boy would read them out loud in the evenings, and his mother and father would hang on to every word. In his words, he brought the world to them. This world, and others beyond. Some stories would take place right on their beach with the fish as the characters. But most were set in faraway lands, where knights and dragons still ruled. Sometimes, the boy would act out his stories. Making swords out of sticks and seeing his enemies in the corners of the kitchen. Sometimes it would be a somber affair, him telling them about the fish without friends.
She cried when he read them that story. At night, when the boy was sleeping, she told him the boy needed to attend preschool. See other children his age. World beyond their beach. He had been reluctant, with a boy still this young,not quite the school age. How would they manage through harsh winters on those daily trips? Maybe they should move to town,she said. For the first time he was near angry with her. Even if she was right.
He looked for possibilities to sell their house and the boat too. Maybe that was the right thing to do. Odds weren't on their side back then. Not many were keen to experience nature like they did, not many were ready to take on harsh winters. When he told her that, she just nodded and patted him on the arm. They didn’t speak about moving after that. But they did visit town more than ever before.
One of those times was to take the boy to the hospital. Not long ago he had fallen from the boat and they had taken the boy for checkup. He seemed to be just fine as they were released to return home. They had the biggest ice cream, bought more pencils in town and with reassurance returned to their home. Yet soon enough they received a call to return to hospital. They both went, the boy walked between them all the way to the big building. He could tell that the boy was nervous, as he reached for their hands. That rarely happened anymore, at almost six years of age. She looked at him over the boy’s head before they went through those doors, eyes wet and the strain of keeping her tears away visible on her face. They had spent a restless night worrying sick and dismissing fears at the same time. She didn’t want to scare the boy, didn’t want to make this big if it wasn’t.
But it was. Tragedy always comes unexpected, they say. He disagreed. It didn't come. It tore right into their life and shredded it into unsalvageable pieces.
It was the dreaded word that every parent thought would never be spoken to them. It was something that happened to other people, but never could happen to them. And yet, it happened to them. To the boy.
Cancer.
He didn’t know if the boy completely understood what that word meant, perhaps he didn't. Just that his parents fell apart as it was spoken. As the woman in the white coat started talking about treatment plans, about the things they were going to do, the boy was probably the one who listened to what she was saying. For him and her, the world came crashing down. The word hit like a ton of bricks. What followed was a blurred deliverance that neither could understand. Time stopped, voices dissipated into void, numbness spread over bodies and minds. He tried to understand, to not make it so obvious he was scared. So did she. But the boy knew. Children always do.
Stack of papers clutched in her hand, they left the hospital in silence. Neither of them could understand what had happened. And behind white walls, they weren't even sure if it really did happen. Maybe it was a cruel dream. Worst of them all. The boy was quiet and his hands gripped theirs harder than ever. What the words of a lady in white coat had done to his parents scared him.
They never woke from it, for it wasn't a dream at all. They had never been away from their peaceful home as much as they were then. They came to accept what was happening to their best abilities. A year of constant visits, constant treatments, and medication. The boy had always wanted to go, to see everything. Now, all he wanted was to go home. He wished he could take him home, to never let the outside world hurt him with their needles and medicine that made him so ill. He wished that they could return to their home, just three of them and it would be enough. Just like it used to be. They tried to take their home to him. His pillow from his own bed. His notebooks and pencils. He told them many stories there, when he barely got to leave the hospital anymore. But after a while, he asked them to tell him stories. So they did. She told the boy about pirates and kings and queens. He told him all of his memories. Stories that lived in his heart, that the boy hadn’t been there for. Stories about the day he had met her. About their wedding, and when they rebuilt the house. About how his mother turned her face towards the sun in spring. The boy laughed then.
”I know that already.”
Yes. Of course, he did. But he wanted the boy to remember, to think about the happy parts of life. And then those that could be there. Back then there was still faith. He believed the boy would eventually get to leave white walls and tell more stories. Attend school, make friends and explore as he always wanted to. Make more memories. She believed that too, for some time at least.
Laughter was gone too. There came days when the boy didn't ask for stories anymore. Flesh on his bones shrunk, small lids were so heavy, he struggled to open them to look at parents, let alone ask. Instead of stories there was only a boy's breathing left in the room. Dread filled, both of them listened.
They finally got to take him home. Boy rejoiced for a bit. Needles and sickness receded, a daunting period in hospital came to an end. Joy wasn't to last long. Over a hundred times blood was drawn from a boy, almost a hundred hours he had sat observing liquids dripping in his vein, yet the lady in white coat couldn't deliver as much as a slim hope. The boy was fading away, so was a sparkle in her eyes. They were losing. Decisions they had to make devastated them. They had gambled with options that no people should ever need to.
After, she would cry into his shoulder, saying she was grateful the boy could sleep in his own bed on his last night. That he could come home, at least for a little while. Home where they taught him to love and trust, where salty breeze soothed and waves chanted comfort. For a while it was three of them and it was almost enough.
She had never been so quiet as she was those first few weeks. They walked around as ghosts, passing each other in the night, not saying a word. And then, when she turned to him in their bed once, she told him she had woken up and thought it all was a dream, they cried. Clutched each other in shaking arms, and cried until they could hardly breathe. She told him she couldn’t stand it, their home with all the boy’s things. As if he had only stepped outside and would return any moment. So they gathered a few things to keep and got rid of the rest. He thought it might help to not have an empty bed standing in their home. But it just made the place seem far emptier. And she razed herself with guilt. As if getting rid of the boy's things meant she was trying to forget him. She wasn't, she never would be able to,but telling that to her offered little comfort. After two months, he suggested they go away for a little while. Go stay somewhere they hadn’t been before. They did, one week in a new town, walking new streets and seeing new people. He spent the week missing home. She spent the week dreading going back. But he didn’t know that. Not quite yet.
Back at home they talked. Talked like they never had before. And she said she couldn’t stay. Couldn’t keep living in the house where their son had lived and died. He understood, really he did. But he didn’t feel the same. Couldn’t feel the same. He wanted to. He just couldn’t. This was his home, and it carried the life they had lived together. It carried the life of the boy, kept his memory alive inside its walls. They grieved differently. He knew that as much as he loved her, he couldn’t leave. And she couldn’t stay.
***
He almost thought she had fallen asleep again, her breathing even and slow. But then she turned her head to look at him, clutching his arms that were surrounding her. Neither one of them was quite ready to let go yet, but they both knew they would have to. With the rising of the winter sun, she would get up and leave. There was darkness still, as if the morning was giving them a little bit of extra time.
She had told him a few days earlier that they would speak. He could come to see her, and after some time she might come to see him. And maybe in time, when time would heal they could figure it out. It had been spoken as truth, and a small part of him wanted it to be true. It wasn’t though. He knew it, and so did she. As soon as she left, he would never see her again. Never touch her dark hair. Never kiss her soft lips. Never see how she turned her face towards the sun in spring.
It was the way things had to go. Their lives had arrived at a crossroads. In order not to perish, she would go left, and he would go right. Their roads would never cross. Would lead to different destinations. But the sun was not there yet. For now, he could close his eyes and smell her honey and oat soap. Feel her body pressed into his. And pretend that there was a boy sleeping in the bed in the next room. He let himself pretend. He wouldn’t be able to tomorrow. He knew everything happened because they needed it to happen, and he was quite sure they would both be happier for it. But he needed to pretend things were different just a little while longer.
When the first rays of sunlight made their way through the window, they let go of each other. The night was over. There would be no more pretending- the boy wasn't there and she had to escape that reality before it killed her. They quietly got dressed, stealing glances at the other when they weren’t looking. She had laid out her clothes the night before, the rest of her clothing packed away. The breakfast was somber, the bread tasted of nothing at all. He chewed and chewed, and could barely swallow it down. She didn’t eat at all.
He helped her with her things. She had declined when he asked if he should go with her, no doubt unwilling to drag this any longer.
She held him then, a hug so tight as if to make up for all the hugs they would not have in the future. He smelled her honey and oat soap when he buried his nose in her neck. Breathed in deep, urging his nose to remember.
They let each other go and said their goodbyes. What a strange feeling it was, saying goodbye like that. Having her by his side for so many years, and then she just wasn’t anymore. It was surreal, but somehow he knew everything would be alright. As she disappeared, he looked after her until she was only a small dot in distance.
Then he went back inside, as the ice was singing around him. It felt like any moment she would appear on doorstep. Back home, where he thought she belonged. But time went on and she didn't. He knew all along she wouldn't. Both of them were gone leaving memories and void behind.