Jackson, Deborah - Heaven's Children (Earth Totem)

Ha, now you know the truth, Hawk...you might be weird, but I’m just plain crazy.

I grin at Amber then, she’s whispering something in Andrea’s ear. The nurses and doctors are still hovering around as she smiles back. Although, I can’t be certain if the smile is directed at the nurse.

I glance outside, slivers of sunlight spill through the blinds into the room. It’s so different from last night’s storm.

The doctor and nurse are moving around me, and I’m almost pleased when the group moves further back. If they’re not even going to talk to me, I want them to go, I think miserably.

That’s when I spy Jo-Jo. She must have been standing behind my parents earlier, and she’s crying, this was different. Josh is with her, his arms holding her tightly as she presses her head into his arms. I watch as he strokes her blonde hair and feel the familiar feelings of hurt, at being pushed to the outside. I look away, I don’t like the way he is staring at me, it feels wrong somehow. Anyway, I have Hawk now. I fume then, she doesn’t have to be so damn dramatic. It’s not as if I’m dead. Even though I think it, the thought feels like a heavy echo and bounces round the room.

Dead …dead…dead…dead.

11

Flutters

MONDAY

I look anxiously at the doctor now. He’s listening to my breathing. I can’t feel the coldness of the stethoscope and wonder if he’s warmed it up like they used to when I was little.

‘Am I ok?’ I ask, but he doesn’t answer.

Idiot, he has the stethoscope in his ears, I tell myself.

He has the face of a stranger, and as his eyebrows knit together in concentration, I find myself hoping that he knows enough. I wish my old doctor was here. Why haven’t they called Doctor King? He’s been the family doctor since I was born.

‘Mum?’

I turn to her quizzically. She’s a little further down the bed now, hidden, and I peer at her from under his arm. Dark tangles have fallen loose from her tied hair, and I know she did it in a hurry. Although it’s not her hair that makes me stare at her but the look of worry that lines her face. She looks much older today.

I can just make out Dad’s hand on her shoulder and feel a flush of guilt that I’ve even put them through this. Dad lost his job recently, and I know they have money problems because I’ve heard them. They haven’t figured out that my bedroom is over the dining room and even though Mum’s been doing extra shifts at the hospital it’s not helping. I worry about them even though I know that if I said anything, it would make things worse. I think about our coffee and window shopping and wish more than anything to be doing that now.

Sorry Mum. I don’t want to say it out loud, remind her, it will only make her feel worse. This is one thing they could do without, and even though her head is now bent away from me, I know that she’s tearful. I groan,

Mum is always tearful lately, Dad called it ‘baby blues,’ but I’m awake now - so why is everyone so worried?

‘Hey, I’m ok guys, really…’

I call to them before looking back up at the doctor. What’s he doing now? I want to scream. I hate injections, always have, and he’s using one on me now. I breathe a sigh of relief. This guy is good, I didn’t feel a thing. In fact, I feel great, really great, like I can do anything. As the pale light hits my face, I’m reminded of Hussein, and the white Ford and hope he knows that I’m okay too. For some reason, it feels important. I don’t know whether it’s the drugs but when I look around the room and wonder where he is - I see him inside the police station. He’s wearing his worn out denim jacket and the grey trousers he irons so carefully every morning.

They’re ripped, but he’s not thinking of them now, his greying head is in his hands, and he’s weeping.

‘Nevaeh, No!’ A voice roars at me. Is that you Hawk?

I look back at Hussein curiously and dismiss the voice as his. He has enough on his plate, and it’s not his fault, I want to scream. It’s mine; I stepped into the road in front of him. I wonder why he’s at the station. It’s busy here with people bumping into each other or queuing at the desk.

Did they all just look at me?

They give me the creeps. Anyway, nothing ever happens in Tidwell, one road in and out.

Hussein is trying to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. Have my parents brought charges against him? I hope not, I must tell them that it’s not his fault, it’s an accident.

Orhan, his son, appears at his side and gently rubs his father’s back. He’s talking quietly in Turkish telling his father not to worry, he spoke to the hospital, and she’s okay, I guess that means me. A feeling of relief seems to wash over both of us as he reaches for his son’s hand.

I knew I was okay.

When Orhan goes back to the desk to fill out the paperwork because his English is so much better than his Dad’s, I sit next to him. He’s taken out his wallet, and inside the clear plastic is a photo of his wife. She’s pretty with large eyes as dark as coal and a wide smile. Maybe now he can go back to his home and wife. She has no idea what’s happened. Orhan, her step-son told her that his father is working an extra shift and his mobile battery is dead. I sense something else, she’s pregnant, and I know it’s a girl with dark hair, and rosy plump cheeks. When she giggles, everyone will laugh at her. They are going to call her Rosita; she will be his little rose. Of course, I’m biased, that’s my Mum’s middle name. I want to show Hussein his daughter - she’s a little far off at the moment, waiting to wake up. Her laugh is infectious, and I laugh with her.

‘Look, Hussein, she’s right there.’

I touch his back briefly and feel an electric shock before quickly pulling it away. I hope I don’t electrocute him. I get a sense that my touch can help or hurt him. Hussein is thinking about his wife and baby, and now the image of her laughing is in his head. I feel like doing cartwheels, even if this is a drugged dream.

Then, I can tell, he remembers me and the sadness returns, making the room feel dense. I look at my hand and hesitate before placing it back on his shoulder.

The electric shock triggers something in my body. The light is as thick and fluid as water and it seeps from my hands.

That’s enough, pull it back. This time the voice breathes on me like a cold wind and I shiver. I pull my hand back. Who is that? Hussein’s not talking; his swollen eyelids are flickering wildly. Maybe I have electrocuted him. I worry and sit hunched in front of him, hoping the sadness has gone. I think he sees me. His face is replaced with wonder and I smile as he puts his hands in my direction. His hand is millimetres from my face when a similar sound to the singing bowl screeches through making me cover my ears. I’m being pulled back, and even though I fight it, it’s too strong.

I’m back in bed exhausted, and look around at the now familiar room. Hussein is gone, and despair washes over me. I hold my hands up curiously.

Head rush, huh?

The voice seems casual, but I can sense worry a mile off. I freeze automatically closing my eyes like I did when I was little before opening them a crack. I can’t see him, but I know it is Hawk.

‘Are you doing that mind thing again?’ I whisper, wondering how he got inside my dream. He ignores me.

‘Wrong, it’s no dream…why do you think I’ve been calling you?’ There is an edge to his voice.