Something Magic This Way Comes (11 page)

When I open my eyes again, Erin is hovering in the air before me.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi. How long have you been there?”

“Not long,” she says, pulling out a chair and sitting in it. She’s doing that for me, I think. She would much rather float in the air than sit on hard plastic. I can see it in her eyes, by her look of tolerant pity. It doesn’t anger me anymore, not like it used to. There’s no point in letting it. I see that look about fifty times a day now.

“You want anything?” I ask, signaling for a waiter.

“Thanks. I’ve already got,” says Erin, sipping from a multicoloured cocktail that suddenly appears before her.

“You’re showing off,” I say, half-joking.

“Dana!” She reaches forward and grasps my hand.

“Dana, you know I would never do that.”

I squeeze her hand, a silent apology. Of course not.

Nobody ever does anything to rub our noses in it.

I take a sip of my espresso, grimacing at its bitterness.

I squint up at the sun. “Don’t you get tired of this weather?” I ask, more to stop the silence growing awkward than anything else.

“Sure,” says Erin quickly, obviously as eager as I am to fill the void. As I watch, thunderclouds the color of angry bruises appear from nowhere and pile up in front of the sun. An angry rumble echoes close by.

“But I just do that and no more sun. And if no one else wants it, for them it’s still sunny.”

I
want it. I want the rain again. “What about me?”

I ask, trying hard not to sound like a petulant child.

“What about the others like me?”

Erin shrugs awkwardly. I can see her trying to stop herself getting annoyed. We’ve been through this before, too many times. “I sympathize with you guys, I really do, but it’s your choice. You don’t have to stay like you are. There’s no reason for it.”

“There are plenty reasons.” One. One reason.

She won’t let herself be drawn into the argument again. “Look, Dana,” she says. “The reason I called you here . . .” She pauses. I can see she’s nervous about something. “It’s to tell you I’m going away for a while.”

Ah. I ignore the churning in my body, the feeling of depression that suddenly tries to rise up from my stomach and take hold of me.

“Where are you going?” I ask. I try to sound casual but I know I don’t succeed.

“To see the galaxy.”

I stare. I don’t know the correct response to this.

Do I laugh? Do I nod thoughtfully and ask her to send me a postcard?

“I talked to my angel about it. She agreed it would be a good experience. In fact, she wondered why no one else had asked yet. She said I might start a trend.”

The depression climbs higher, bolstered by impending loneliness. I hear myself protest as if someone else is talking. “You’ll die! You can’t breathe in a vacuum.”

“That’s old thinking, Dana, and you know it. All I have to do is wish it and I can survive in the heart of a volcano if I want.” She pauses. “I think it might be good for you too. My Angel—”

“They’re not angels, Erin. They’re . . . God, I don’t know what they are.”

“Yes, you do. You just won’t let yourself accept it.”

Accept what? I think. The truth?
Their
truth? That they are magical beings from another dimension that decided to help us eradicate disease and poverty, war and hatred, and then guide us through the Change that would follow? To watch over us and say no when we would be hurt, yes when we wouldn’t?

Well, great. But why the hell couldn’t they have come a week earlier?

* * *

I wake as dusk takes hold of the stifling heat of day and turns it into something gentler, the pleasing balminess of a summer’s night, rich with the sweet smells of the jacarandas blossoming in the balcony garden.

I stare at the empty spot beside me, reach out to stroke it gently.

I’ll be alone again soon. Alone in our apartment, doing work I don’t have to do and allowed to do so only because people feel enough sympathy to let me and others like me continue as before.

Is it time to let go?

I don’t know anymore. I used to think it wasn’t fair for me to be like the others, to have my life run happily, free from grief and worry. It felt too much like a betrayal. Now . . . now I’m just not sure of anything . . .

* * *

I remember Alex dying.

There is nothing—
nothing
—more painful in life than watching the person you love wither away before you with each passing day, so doped up on drugs that he barely recognizes who you are. That feeling of incredible pain and sadness, of utter
helplessness
, as an almost physical part of you is torn away, and there is absolutely nothing at all you can do about it. When you can’t cry anymore and you try not to sleep and feel guilty when you do, just so you can spend every last remaining second with them. As if you can somehow concentrate what could have been into those last pain-filled moments.

He refused the drugs, at the end.

Some part of him must have known it was close.

Maybe he could feel the cancer eating him away inside.

Maybe he knew the end was coming.

We lay on the bed together—he had asked to come home from the hospital—and wept in each other’s arms, him telling me over and over, until the pain finally stole his words, that he loved me.

When he died, I sat for hours staring at him. I couldn’t believe he was gone. I stared at features no longer ravaged by pain, looking desperately for a twitch of an eyelid, a flicker of a muscle, something that would tell me he was still here. When I finally managed to leave the room, I came running back halfexpecting him to be sitting up in bed, smiling at me and telling me what a funny joke he had played.

I watched the setting sun bathe his face in gold.

He died a week before the Changeover.

* * *

I stand on the balcony and inhale deeply, letting the scent of summer wash some of the pain away.

If only it had come a week earlier. Or he had been able to hold on that little bit longer. How much would be different now?

I lean over and look down the street to the right, where a once-busy road travels toward the city center.

A trickle of people move along the route, dressed up in brightly colored costumes and extravagant bodies in preparation for some party or another. I see a twenty-foot man lope carefully over those below. They look up and scream in delight. He leans down and waves at them.

I look back at my dark apartment, feel the wave of loneliness reach out and grasp me by the heart. I turn away again. I don’t want to be here. I’m tired of being alone.

“You don’t have to be alone.”

I whirl around. “Who’s there,” I snap. “Show yourself.”

“I cannot until you give me presence. It is this act that moves you from the old into the new.”

I take a step forward, relaxing slightly. “You’re my Angel.”

“You may call me that. Some of your kind find it helps them accept us. I am whatever is most comfortable to you.”

“What do you want?”

“Only for you to be happy. I have watched you this past year. Watched your unhappiness shrink your soul when it should be so full of life. There is a time for mourning, Dana, and a time for letting go.”

“Don’t you
dare
tell me when I can stop mourning!”

I storm into the apartment, searching for a focus for my anger. “I loved him! We were together our whole lives and now he’s gone!” I scream. I collapse onto the couch. “Why couldn’t you have come a week earlier?” I ask, sobbing.

Silence. Then, “Do you think he would want you to live like this?”

“Go away.” Softly.

“Think on it, Dana. I will be here. Always.”

* * *

Later that night I follow the road to Erin’s house, walking with a unicorn on my left and a brass robot on my right. I get strange looks from those who pass me, dressed as I am in jeans and a t-shirt. Normal clothes for a normal body. Nobody is hostile. They simply regard me with a mixture of sympathy and patience.

Erin pops out of thin air before me. She looks around, as if to see where she is.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi. I came to see you off.”

“Thanks. I’m actually kinda nervous. Weird, huh?”

I smile, and it feels strange. “Not really, Erin.”

We reach the city center. Erin stops walking. “Here,” she says.

“Here?”

“So everyone can see.”

“Oh.” I can’t believe it’s so soon. I thought we’d have a chance to talk, to say our goodbys properly.

Erin comes forward and hugs me. I hold on tight, fighting an irrational urge to never let her go, to keep her with me forever.

I step away. “Remember to come back.”

“Of course I will. I’ll never leave you.”

She was crying. “Hey,” I say softly, surprised at her show of emotion. “I’ll be okay. I’ve survived this long.”

“Try to be happy, Dana.”

“I’ll try.”

Erin steps back and spreads out her arms. “Goodbye, Dana,” she says, and slowly floats upward, in a nimbus of golden light. Someone shouts and points, and soon everyone in the city center is focused on the slowly receding figure. After a few moments others join her, spreading their own arms and following her into space. I strain my eyes against the black backdrop and watch until she disappears, a golden star rising into the Heavens.

A flight of red dragons flies past, bellowing fire and slowly flapping ponderous wings. I glance at them, look back to see if I can spot Erin, then turn and walk away.

I intended to go home, but I find myself outside the graveyard. There are lights all around it, little globes of orange like miniature suns, chasing away the shadows where fear might dwell. I’ve visited his grave every day over the past year.

I don’t go in.

I stand outside on the pavement resting my head against the chipped green paint of the metal fence, staring in the direction of a headstone I can’t see through my tears.

* * *

I dream of Alex that night.

I see him lying on a hospital bed. I see me sitting at his side holding his hand. “Promise me,” he says, “Promise me you’ll move on. That you won’t let this change you.”

The me by his side doesn’t answer.

Don’t say anything,
I scream, but they ignore me.

Don’t promise anything!

“I promise,” I hear myself say.

Tears roll down my face. Don’t promise anything, I whisper. It all comes to lies.

My pillow is wet against my cheek. I lied to him.

Even when I gave the promise, I knew it was a lie. I just wanted him to be happy.

The white edge of the moon appears at my window.

I watch it as it slowly slides into view. Maybe it is time to honor the promise. I will never forget him.

My feelings are too strong for that. Even if I become like the others. But maybe it
is
time to stop blaming everything else and playing “What if?” It happened.

There is nothing I can do about it now.

I sigh, a long shuddering sigh that turns into fresh tears. I no longer pretend to know anything anymore.

How am I supposed to go through life with this pain in my heart and pretend it is not there? How am I supposed to smile when all I want to do is cry? How am I supposed to live my life?

One day at a time, comes the silent answer.

I let my eyes close. I can’t remember what it feels like to be happy. I miss that feeling, of laughing without feeling guilty, of waking up in the morning without a leaden weight in the pit of my stomach reminding me of the past.

But maybe all we can do is try to move on and hope that time will lend a hand.

I open my eyes. A woman stands at the bottom of my bed. Her features blur and change, so fast that they actually form a kind of generic face smoothed out of the sum of the parts. I can feel the peacefulness that emanates from her, the overwhelming feeling of calmness.

I stare at her for a while. “Did I give you presence?”

“You did.”

“Does that mean I am ready?”

“Only you know that.”

“I think I am ready to
try
. That’s all I can promise.”

“That is good. Life is not meant to be lived in the past.”

“I know that,” I say softly. “It’s just . . . some things are harder to let go of than others.”

The woman drifts backward and slowly starts to fade. “I will not leave you now, Dana. Rest. Tomorrow is a new day.”

I wake up with the sun slanting golden rays across my face. Something is different. I stare at the ceiling and try to figure out what it is. Then I realize. It is the first time I have woken up in a whole year without anxiety being the first emotion I feel.

I lie still, experiencing the feeling of simply being happy to be awake, of not wanting to roll over and sleep again so the day will pass quicker.

I hear a noise from the lounge. I wonder if Erin has come to visit. But no, she has gone away for a while. I smile sadly. I hope she enjoys it.

Then what is making the noise?

Alex runs into the bedroom, leans over and kisses me on the lips.

“Look,” he says excitedly. He spreads his arms out and floats upwards until he is five inches above the floor. “Look what I can do,” he says, his words tumbling from his mouth in a rush. “Can you believe it? How can you still be in bed with what happened yesterday? Come on, get up. There’s things to do.” He smiles. “But first, I’m gonna make breakfast . . .”

He turns away and floats rather unsteadily from the bedroom.

I stare at his receding back, too shell-shocked to do anything else. Was it him? Am I dreaming?

But even as I ask myself this, I remember last night, and I know, with a certainty that I have never felt before, that I am not dreaming.

I scramble out of bed and hurry through to the kitchen. I hesitate by the doorway, watching him waver in the air while he cracks eggs into a frying pan.

I run up behind him and throw my arms around his waist, hugging him to me as tightly as I can.

“Hey,” he gasps, turning in my grasp and hugging me back. “I need to breathe you know.”

I weep, and my tears are gold.