Mistake

It was a dull spring Wednesday. The heart of the week, which is so hard to endure when one is constantly deprived of holidays. David stepped onto the floor tentatively. He was not yet ready to abandon his soft warm bed entirely so he grabbed the edge with all his might. Maybe, it would last, maybe he could just call in sick and stay at home, under his blue cotton duvet, dreaming sweet dreams…

A loud crash of a body on the door accompanied with deafening laughter skillfully retrieved him from his trance. The kids. Did he really hope he could stay in bed all day when he was a father of two? A smirk on his face told him he was back to earth.

David was not just a father of two. He was a single dad, working two jobs and not relying on a nanny. How? One of his jobs was a part-time in a local bank while the other was being a freelance journalist for some trashy newspaper. Neither paid well.

‘Luke’s destroyed Tim, dad. Can you imagine? When Tim was sleeping on a bed of his, Luke just jumped on top of him, and killed him! He just smashed him into pieces, dad! I need to take him to hospital now. He’ll probably get a dozen of stitches. Will you help me? Please?’ – Mia was sobbing. While Luke kept on laughing, holding his sides on the floor.

Was he a monster? Was she a drama queen? Well, perhaps, a little bit of both. Luke’s favourite pastime was smashing and dashing and splashing. Sometimes, it seemed he was capable of nothing else. Mia, on the other hand, cried for no reason, lived in an imaginary world for approxiametely 20 hours per day, and, to be honest, hid under a table in fright when her brother got home from school. Was it normal? How was he supposed to know?! It was normal for him, for them, for their minuscule jungle-like universe, where rules were made on the go and blood was the only thing they had in common. If the three of them were to find a way out on a deserted island, they’d destroy each other before finding one.

Now, David, suddenly wide awake, was embracing Mia and whispering words of support into her little ear…Her brother didn’t mean to hurt her friend, he was just trying to grab her attention. Tim would be alright, and, perhaps, stiches could wait. Someone jumping on him hardly made any difference for his health in the long term. Considering Tim was just a teddy bear.

After breakfast, David managed to load both kids into his minivan, and, still panting and sweating, started driving. The day was, in fact, rather pretty. A young spring sun was about to bring a snippet of free glow into his exhausting routine, and, gosh, wasn’t he grateful for that!

His days were one long trail of meals, washing, cleaning, morning struggles, bedtime stories, rounded up with a bonus of midnight struggles. He was being consumed by this whirlwind of events, which he could hardly relate to. They were passing by, whizzing by, leaving him breathless and he was secretly looking for a way out. After all, he was a 35-year-old man, still craving tender touch, a rare kiss, a strong hug at the end of the day, which would come from someone approximately his height. At times, he was hollering for help. Silently. Overall, though, he wouldn’t trade their tentative hugs and sleepy moist kisses for anything.

Beatrice had left 139 days before, and the crater of loss, confusion and betrayal was still erupting. She had honoured him with no note, no explanation, no manageable life ahead. A week later she sent him a text (a text!) asking, begging him, to forgive her as she was simply…now, how did she put that? ‘Incapable of going on any longer’, supposedly imprisoned by his affection and kids’ constant need of her. Laughable excuse, isn’t it? For a stay-at-home mother of two, who’s never worked a day in her life, and somehow didn’t know where a supermarket was, how to pay the bills, when Luke’s next medical appointment was due, and what to cook for dinner.

He wasn’t doing it, munching those days all over again, rage burning inside, and fatigue fighting his anger fiercely. His fatigue could fight, indeed, since it had hardly anything else to do. David couldn’t rest, couldn’t call in sick, couldn’t forget to set an alarm, couldn’t watch the news, meet up with lads, have a cold beer in a pub. And still his life made perfect sense. More of it, he thought, than Beatrice’s pitiful lonely wandering aroud the world in search of inexplicable happiness.

They arrived at school 5 minutes before the class. A quick kiss, and they were gone for the day. David spent an extra moment looking at them being devoured by the school doors, Luke holding Mia’s hand against her will. The thing is, Mia’s more scared of school than of Luke. Her potential friends vanish into the thin air as soon as they discover she’s carrying Tim in her backpack and still madly enchanted with Cinderella story. Maybe, one day, she’ll find a soulmate, someone who’ll accept her, embrace her with all her weaknesses and fears, hold her gentle hand throughout trouble and horror. Somone will.

David parked in a packed underground parking lot at a quarter to nine. He always used the metro. He never drove to the city – there was no way he could park his car for a day. That would cost him more than he earned. Still a couple of minutes before his train arrived. He stepped on the rolling stairs, flipping through the daily news. The world seemed darker and grimmer every day, with riots, accidents, poverty reigning over our reality. Suddenly he felt someone push him, rather nudge him slightly with an elbow, but somehow on top of the turbulent morning, even more turbulent life, and the mad world, it felt like a push. No apology followed. A black girl was stumbling down the stairs, like a meteor, trying to reach the ground ahead of the wind itself, apparently.

‘Hey, slow down, ape!’ – he shouted after her. As soon as he did, he regretted it. He’d never used this garbage of a slur in his life. In fact, he hated people doing that. Every single face turned towards him. And said nothing. Faces didn’t speak.

They got on the train. Together. The girl had put on a hood – maybe, she was even crying. Good gracious, he had to explain himself, he had to make them understand he was no monster. So he started speaking:

‘I don’t know what happened. She was just running and pushing people around, this black girl here. I mean, she probably intended no harm, but she could have at least apologised, you see?’

The more he spoke (to no one in particular), the more his fellow passengers looked away as if he was a piece of rubbish (was he?), the more the girl was submersing inside her hood.

Everything was just wrong. Why would she have done that? Spoil the day which was already ruined, smash all his hopes for bearable ten or so hours ahead. He had no sympathy for her at that moment. He would have got angry if it had been a white girl just the same. Wouldn’t he? It was a matter of respect and social rules, after all. When one steps over the limits of someone else’s private space, disturbs them in some way, they say sorry, don’t they?

After a thousand and one years had passed, the victim finally got off. Before she did, she’d gazed at him, briefly, but he felt being pierced with a dagger of…Loath? Infuriation? No. Worse. Pity. For some reason, a trigger of unknown nature inside him was pulled hard, and he felt something explode. There was no way he could make it right now. Ever. Written in sharpie. His rage was released and travelled further, poisoning the world, infecting its veins, ripping it slowly to the core – the world where his kids were to live. He silently wept.

***

Joseph was complaining about his neighbours again. This non-stop rant would bring anyone to the end of their tether. David was permanently hanging on the tip.

– So, this young George or whatever his name is steps on my lawn early in the morning, and shouts like it’s his house or something, like the whole freaking world is his, ‘Hey, Potter, when are you gonna do some magic, heh? Get your dirty ball off my drive! I mean, now! And don’t you ever let your naughty little monsters throw their filthy ball anywhere near my property! You hear that, Potter?’ Can you imagine that?! Like I’m his servant or something. I can’t freaking believe he called my kids monsters. I mean, they are monsters all right, but he’s no right to call them that’. Dave, are you listening?

– Yeah, sorry. Just forgive him, Joseph. Let it be. It’s not worth mulling over and over.

David spent the whole morning, trying clumsily to settle his emotions, to quench the burning flames of fury and weakness reigning in his mind and soul. He was a racist, he was evil, his kids would discover what he’d said and despise him. He was besotted with his thoughts, couldn’t focus on a singular task, so he grabbed his wallet and rushed outside. More brooding, self-blaming, self-destroying. A phone call tore his hurt open – awoken from this hell, at last. But what followed was a new kind of hell.

– David Stone? My name is Diane Reed, from Hillsbury Hospital. Your daughter, Mia, has had an accident. She’s in surgery – we had to act fast.
David was glued to the spot, his senses switched off and he was floating. What were they saying? It must have been another girl, another Mia. There was no way his daughter could be injured. All – a blur. One minute he was barreling towards a taxi, another – he was cruising through the bleached labyrinths of the hospital.
‘Your daughter’s being taken care of, Mr Stone. She had an injury to her head after a bad fall. Dr. Park is operating on her at this very moment. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.’

His heart was momentarily split open. He was useless, powerless, sitting in the snow-white corridor, annoying lights flickering above, too bright for his dim soul. After what seemed like an etermity, David heard a slight commotion behind the mammoth doors separating him from his princess. He leapt up to his feet and darted towards the sound.

Suddenly, in a haze of hope and fear mixed into a scary mess of feelings, emerged a tall woman wearing a cirurgical mask. Since he’d expected Dr Park to be a male, he retook his seat anxiously to keep on waiting for the news. He realised with a fright he had to pick up Luke in a short while – how was he going to leave Mia?

‘Mr Stone, my name is Dr. Park.’

The tall lady was addressing him.

David slowly rose to his feet. The doctor had taken her mask off, and was relating the procedures dutifully performed on his daughter, concluding by saying she was resting after a successful surgery, and could soon be visited. That was it – all those horribly devastating scenarios he had been picturing for the past few hours ended up being simply figments of his wild imagination. How lucky was he! No doubt, David would spend long nights brooding over how feeble happiness is, how precious his loveable offsprings are, and how he has to cherish every single day spent next to them, around their unflagging energy. However, at that moment something else paralysed him, something too personal to him, too close to his heart, too farfetched, and yet…Real.

David was nodding robotically, solely focussing on the keywords, shaking wildly inside. For, there, in front of him, were the piercing eyes he thought he wouldn’t see again, no longer pitying him, – in fact, they hardly seemed to recognise him. David was ashamed. ‘The black girl’ he had humiliated in such a disgustingly ugly way that morning (which seemed a couple of galaxies away), had just saved his little angel’s life. Was he to kneel down and beg for forgiveness? Was he to send an impressive bouquet of flowers to Dr Park? Or, perhaps, send an official letter of apology? Instead, he stretched out his hand, looked his kind saviour directly in the eyes, and…thanked her.

There was so much in that painful eyes’ encounter – sorrow, embarrassment, elation, but above all, gratitude. Gratitude beyond colour, gender, size restrictions and boundaries. Gratitude reaching straight from his heart to hers, their contrasting races a mix of gentle grey, almost imperceptible, almost vanishing, almost transparent – the colour of human bond, an insoluble blend.