Escaping Life (39 page)

His footsteps resonated on
the floor like the slow and steady pace of the second hand on a clock.  He
cautiously moved forward, making progress over the black and white floor tiles
that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a sanatorium.  There was an old man
to his left, sat motionless staring at him.  He could barely see his face, and
he didn’t recognise him.  What was he doing here?  He had no place.  He could
see Dr. Carter’s office in front of him.  The door was ajar, and there was
smoke coming from inside, billowing out in swirls of transparency.  He
approached, and could see Dr. Carter sat at the desk, cigarette in one hand,
whisky in the other.  There was a file on the desk.  It had a name on it, but
it was too dark to see whose it was.  He wanted to push the door open wider so
that Dr. Carter would know he was there.  He tried.  He tried to push the
door.  It was stuck, as if locked in an open position, one which would not
permit entry.

“No, I don’t want to go any
further,” he pleaded.  “I want to talk to Dr. Carter.  I have to talk to Dr.
Carter.”  There was nobody listening and Dr. Carter could not hear him.  He
paid him no attention.  He pushed harder against the door, budging it with his
shoulder.  The door pushed back against him, and the more he pushed the more
resistance he felt, until eventually he heard the solid thud as the door
closed. 

“No, I don’t want to!” he
screamed, as he tried the door handle again.

“Whatever’s the matter
Daniel?”  He turned, reassured by the soft Irish accent.  The old man had
disappeared, and the black and white floor had been replaced by soft pink
carpet.  The frail old lady sat in her chair, repeating her words and nodding
in the direction of the door. 

“No, I can’t do it.  The
door is closed anyway.  He can’t make me.”

“It’s OK.”  She pointed to
the door that now stood open.  He could feel a light breeze on the back of his
neck, and he turned to see the door wide open, the smoke clearing.  “Just do as
your father tells you.”  There was nothing behind him now as he looked back for
his mother.  No carpet.  No black and white sanatorium tiling.  Where had the
girls gone?  There was no other way, and only blackness behind him.  He could
see Will waving at him, beckoning him towards him.  The breeze was cool, and he
could see them unpacking the bags. 

“Come on slow coach! 
You’re ages behind us!”  He could see that Will already had his red shoes on. 
He wanted a red pair too, but he hadn’t been allowed.  His father looked at
him, and he knew he was taking too long about it. 

“Get a move on, boy,” his
father said.  His words sounded formal and to the point.  He wasn’t joking with
him.  He realised that he was carrying a rucksack, so he took it off, placing
it on the ground.  His hands were smaller than he remembered, skin soft, as he
let them brush through the long grasses that fluttered gently in the breeze. 
They were smoother, and tanned.  He opened his bag, took out his lunch box, and
found his harness.

“Come on, hurry up!” his
father bellowed.  He was getting annoyed with him.  He hurried to put on his
black shoes and fasten his harness properly as his father had shown him a
hundred times before.  He looked up, and he could see his father checking
Will’s harness.  Will walked over to him as his father walked towards the
rocks.  Will didn’t say anything.  He just held out his hand.  Daniel placed
his hand in Will’s, and felt Will squeeze it a little, interlocking his fingers
with Daniel’s own.  He looked at his face.  He was smiling at him. 

“It’ll be fine - don’t be
nervous.”  He couldn’t be nervous with Will holding his hand.  He was his best
friend. 

Dan’s father handed him the
rope.  He threaded it through as he had been shown, and as he had demonstrated
time after time the night before.

“I don’t think I want to do
it,” he said.  He looked at his father, fear filling his eyes.  He could hear
the wind, and felt the grit against his skin.  Maybe his father hadn’t heard
him.  He repeated his words, louder this time.

“Daddy, I don’t think I
want to do it.  Let Will try.”  His father clipped the rope into his own
harness, and screwed the karabiner tight.  His father looked at him.  Dan’s
hands were on the rocks already, but he didn’t want to do it. 

“Daddy, I don’t want to.” 
He didn’t say anything.  He looked at Will, who smiled nervously at him.  Will
had seen this before and wanted to reassure his friend.

“Daddy, I………” he started,
but he didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.

His father grabbed his
arm.  It hurt, and he could feel his grip tightening against his bones.  He
pushed his hands against the rocks higher and higher, the grit scraping his
knuckles, bringing blood to the surface.  His lips were quivering, and the
tears started to trickle down his face.

“I’ll do it, Mr. Fox.  I
don’t mind,” Will offered, urgently trying to rescue his best friend.

“No, Will.  This little
waste of space has to learn how to be a man,” his father said, never once
taking his eyes off him, and never once blinking.

“Now climb!” he bellowed. 
As his father reached for his other arm Dan snatched it away from his impending
grasp.  He felt the searing hot fluid swilling across his arm, his ageing hands
returning, jumping up in front of his eyes as he woke from his dreams to the
pain.  His mind was back at his desk, his body quickly following.  It had been
a long time since he had fallen asleep like this.   He snatched a tissue to mop
up the coffee which was seeping into the pages of notes in front of him.
 
“Shit!” he whispered under his
breath.  His hands were shaking; his breathing still hard and laboured as he
wiped the beads of what he would tell people was sweat away from his cheeks,
his actions that of the twelve year old boy that he no longer was.