Icy Patches

It's the stupid, small details that will get you in the end. It is the fact that something actually happened two days earlier, and somehow that changes everything. It's the fact that he took her with him on that trip. You just don't get to know these thing anymore. You're not in the loop. 

That's the problem with the small details. They pop up in Twitter feeds and fall out of people's mouths when they aren't looking. But they are so seemingly insignificant that no one else seems to understand when you need to take three deep breaths or walk away. Because suddenly your chest has got a little too tight. There's an ache in your stomach that would need a knife to justify it. And no one understands why those few days make any difference. Maybe you would have acted differently if you had know then. But you didn't know, whether your dates are right or slightly off. You acted the way you did with the information you had at the time and it has past. There is nothing you can do to change it.

It doesn't matter if he took her on that trip too. He could take her or he could not take her and that doesn't change anything. You could know about it or not and that still doesn't change anything. They feel the way they feel and you feel the way you feel and sooner or later you will let the dust settle. It still hurts and you can still feel the black scribbles just below your breast bone. But they will gone by the morning.

You just need to keep reminding yourself one thing: you are moving forward. Sure, details like these are icy patches on the ground; you didn't see them coming and you slipped. Sometimes you catch yourself before you go down and sometimes you don't. Sometimes there's someone there and sometimes there's not. But you are still moving forward. That icy patch and all the others are there but they aren't going to stop you. Maybe they take your breath for a few seconds or maybe they knock you down for a day. But you are going to keep going. And the icy patches will get less. One day there might not be any. But it doesn't matter if they are gone in five months or two years. They aren't going to stop you.  

Real Life

I complain to you that things in real life never happen like they do in films. No one is waiting for me in the pouring rain or throwing pebbles at my window. When we fight, we don't stand and scream with just the right amount of tears. You tell me it's okay. You tell me that sometimes they do. You tell me that even when everything is far too real, it doesn't have to be bad.

A few days later we are sitting on the sofa together. We are talking and laughing about nothing in particular. You have got your feet planted firmly on the ground, and my legs are crossed.

“Put your arms up.” I tell you, and you oblige. You look quizzical, but raise your arms anyway, an aeroplane.

I lean over and wrap my arms around your middle, and yours fall into place around me. I hold tight, not wanting to let go.

“See?” you say, triumphantly, “Sometimes things do happen like they do in films.” 

Spire

The sun had worked hard to summit the buildings. An arduous climb, but the view was something else. The morning had lit up, sending the darkness to crevices of old stone buildings. There was barely a soul in sight; the view from the top of the spire spread for miles. The streets were empty. 

The fine mist left the morning hazy, like old film footage of Edinburgh, not the real thing. One or two people had emerged into the day, slowly moving around in the early morning light. Everything was still; even those who were walking seemed barely to be moving at all. The mist had brought with it a chill. It was the kind of cold that clung to buildings and bus stops and grass.

Cheeks were pink and vision was still blurry; people freshly awake. As they walked through the mist, they left cut-out shapes behind them. Birds were the only ones to make a noise. One might say you could hear a pin drop, but nobody who had to be outside at half past six in the morning was carrying a pin. 

A few more people entered the morning. Still no one seemed to be in a rush; it was as if they were walking in chest-deep water. One man's neck was stiffer than normal; in an effort to loosen it he let his head roll around on his shoulders in a circle. That was the intention, anyway. Before he had managed to complete the circle, something caught his attention. He rubbed his eyes hard with the heels of his hands, convinced that his mind was still thinking in dreams. 

Most days, churches are peaceful. But seemingly not their spires. Rather far down the spire of St. George's West Church was a body. Face to the sky, limbs hanging out, impaled. From the pavement, he could feel his neck getting stiff again, but it didn't matter anymore. Still unsure about what he was staring at, he fished in his jacket pocket for his phone, never letting his eyes leave the spire. 

2:10am (Part Two)

She heard nothing past 'no'. The room began to move around her ever so slightly. She had prepared herself for terrible, and now it seemed things were getting worse. There had been talk earlier in the pregnancy of other complications, but she had been assured that they would sort themselves out. But everything else had gone smoothly and she was healthy, surely that would count for something. 

Before she really knew what was going on, she was being taken somewhere. She had picked out a few words from conversations going on above her. It was something to do with the placenta. The more she tried to listen and understand what was happening to her, the hotter she felt. The world was draining of colour and she could feel a filmy layer of sweat on her forehead.

The doctors left, and James began to slowly explain what was going on. He was holding her hand and brushing hair from her eyes. Something had gone wrong. The placenta was not in the right place, it was close to covering the cervix. She had heard this before, at a scan. They had said everything would readjust during the pregnancy. It would all be fine. She had been due another scan in a day or two. None of that seemed to matter anymore. Things were happening now. 

Slowly things started slotting into place. She couldn't take her mind off the last scan. They had said that if the problem had not corrected itself by this time, she would definitely need a c-section.

She felt the cool gel on her stomach as they scanned her to be sure of the situation. She looked over to the monitor, holding her breath for any confirmation from the doctor.

Caesarian section it was. And it was going to be now.  

2:10am (Part One)

The lights were flickering. She couldn't get the idea out of her head; she was sure. Someone would have replaced the bulb by now, though. Hospitals can't have flickering lights. Hospitals are reliable, things are constant. She readjusted herself in the wheelchair, gently rubbing at her aching abdomen. For once, she was important and relevant and it was for all the wrong reasons. The magazines around her were proving useless. Her thoughts kept coming back to the present. But acknowledge what was happening meant having to think about what would happen next. Granted, she could be wrong about what was going on. But still. She might not be. 

Ten past two in the morning. She was sure that it hadn't been that late when they were in the car. Her eyelids were growing heavy and despite the panic it was becoming harder to keep things in focus. Tired seemed to be a permanent state. She didn't want her suspicions confirmed; if she was drifting then maybe all of this would go away.

The first sign of blood had convinced her. She had almost flushed, but the red caught her eye. She had called James through, vaguely murmuring about the hospital and pointing at the toilet. She was so sure it was a miscarriage. A tiny part of her hoped it was: she wasn't sure she could handle anything worse, whatever that might be. 

The people moving around her were a blur. Although James had not left her side, he hadn't spoken to her since he had started the car. Once they had got there, he had done all the talking. His voice was shaky, but it was there. Hers had curled up in the back of her throat. She couldn't stand the thought that something had died inside her.

There was now only one doctor with them. She looked up near him, avoiding his eyes. He was ready to tell them what was going on. She rubbed her palms on the chair, trying to get rid of the sweat.

"It's a miscarriage, isn't it?" Her voice trembled along with the rest of her body.

"No."

Turbulence

She was sitting alone, waiting as the rain came down harder, glad that she was inside. The sky was slowly growing darker around her. The cold from the metal chair seeped through her trousers and made its way down her legs and up her back. She could feel it in her fingernails and at the roots of her hair. Despite that, her hands were sweating. 

Announcements overhead made her hands damper. She rubbed them on her jeans and inhaled. She held the breath for a while as she looked around at the other people waiting with her. She was in the right place, she was sure. She had checked several times. There was nothing else to do now. 

The silver ring on her finger was cold, despite the sweating. She was twisting it absentmindedly. Her mind kept wandering, in spite of her best efforts to keep it still. She focused her eyes on the departures board. On time. Everything would be fine. 

The turbulence is getting stronger. It's like being on a roller coaster, but this time there's nothing to prevent the fall. Her breathing is getting heavier, she can't help it. She twists the ring round her finger more and more, trying to think on about that. The plane is shaking now, as if a monster has it in it's claws. 

Of course the wedding had to be abroad. It couldn't have been local. The whole situation could have been avoided. She had thought about not going. But family weddings aren't optional. Another deep breath. She pulled the ring off, inspecting the inside. She had never been able to work out what it said. It frustrated her to no end, but had its uses. 

She moved the ring from finger to finger. Her eyes moved to the departures board again. Still on time, boarding. She felt the cold metal slip. Heard the ring hit the floor. She brought her eyes back just in time to see it rolling into the feet of the crowd. 

She got up and started to chase it, though she couldn't tell where it had gone. She walked through the people, angry mumblings following her. She couldn't hear what was being said, there was just a blur of noise. She could feel herself getting hotter and hotter, sweat on her forehead dripping down. 

Final call.

Calton Hill

The sun melted into the horizon, liquifying below the buildings that stretched on forever. Night was ready and a chill had already set into the air. They barely moved, though they could feel the cold from the stone they were sitting on seep through their clothes. The hairs on their arms and the backs of their necks stood to attention for the stars. They couldn't help but feel that they were wasting the moment, using it for the wrong thing. This should be romantic; the two of them up on the hill watching the sky turn inky. All alone in the cold. But it wasn't. They couldn't take back what had been said, and even if they could, they shouldn't. It was important, even though they didn't want to hear it. It had left them stuck. Sitting together, her leaning against him with her head on his shoulder. Just like they always had. It felt like that should be wrong, but it was too familiar. They didn't know what else to do, so they stayed sitting and watching the night take over, getting darker. They got colder together but didn't talk. The time for talking had gone.

Despite what had happened nothing felt uncomfortable. They supposed the feeling would come. Then reality would set in and they would have to deal with the consequences. But as long as they remained still and silent, their moment would last as long as they needed it to. They made the most of existing next to each other while they still could. 

They hadn't dressed for the weather. They'd planned a short walk, but had wandered up Calton Hill. They weren't going to stay, but then the conversation started. They had a sense of privacy, despite the city being splayed out before them. They were the only two up there; the only two left.

Finally they moved. They didn't know how long they had been sitting together, but night had established itself. They stretched slowly, letting blood flow properly all through their bodies. They were slow, as if just awake. It was over and rightly so. There were no arguments to be had and no loose strings to tie up. There was nothing bitter between them, and knew they were lucky to have it that way. They walked down the hill in silence, pausing at the foot. They said polite goodbyes, but nothing too much. They had done all of the reminiscing and the real farewells as the sun was setting. There was no need now to say any more.

Cooling Off

The dust slowly began to settle at their feet. Shallow breaths getting deeper. They were both looking at the ground, not knowing what else to do. The door was slightly ajar, waiting for one of them to walk through it, to slam it. He took the opportunity. The door crashed shut behind him, most of his weight pushed into it. Then the slam of another door, the bedroom. 

She drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes. She walked out of the room, moving as quietly as possible. The bathroom was cool. She switched on the shower, letting the water run. It was too hot but adjusting it seemed like too much effort. She was sure she would acclimatise. 

She rubbed shampoo roughly through her hair, pulling through the knots she hadn't brushed out. It hadn't gone as planned: he wasn't supposed to be angry, he was supposed to be sympathetic. She couldn't shrug the sense of guilt, even though it wasn't her fault. She washed the shampoo out, tugging at her hair. The brush was in the bedroom.

It was getting harder to see through the steam, her head spinning in the heat. She dried off and wiped a little at the mirror. Her skin was red. Running the cold tap, she rubbed at her cheeks. She tied her dripping hair up and began to tug clothes back on. She rubbed at a mascara stain beneath her eye and moved towards the door. The living room was empty. Collapsing on to the sofa, she waited. Somewhere in the flat, a door opened.

He sat down next to her, neither of them knowing what to say.

Night Drive

The clouds were heavy in the sky. The kind that people stretch their necks and arch their backs to look up at. The unnatural colours infested the sky, resplendent. The kind that shouldn't be in the sky, but are anyway.

She stopped the car suddenly. A pheasant had meandered out into the road. She looked down at the bird, catching her breath. She always stopped if something was in the road, but was starting to lose her patience with pheasants. Birds looking for a way to die. She was already late, but had to take a minute to compose herself. Last time she'd stopped for something in the road it took her months to drive again. She needed fresh air. 

Her breathing was starting to slow. The pheasant was still in the middle of the road. She looked away, but couldn't help but see the terrified face. She had stopped in time, but only just. The kid hadn't been able to move once they saw the car looming ahead. He had run out from behind a parked car, chasing something caught in the breeze. As soon as she had noticed the dark hair blowing around, she had smashed the brake into the floor. The car had stopped inches from the boy. She had got out to check if he was okay, and saw him touch the license plate.

A light breeze swam around her; goosebumps emerged on her arms. Her eyes were fixed on the slowly appearing stars. She was hunting down constellations; trying to pick them out of the clouds. She could feel time passing. She was making herself more late, guilt building up inside her. Her breathing had regulated, but was loosing rhythm again. She watched the small pheasant slowly make its way to the other side of the road safely. 

Her eyelids were getting heavier with every blink. Tiredness settled on her, weighing her down. The bonnet was becoming more and more uncomfortable underneath her. She must have been stopped for a while now. The stars were becoming more obvious. She got back in, turning the engine back on. The road was clear in both directions. She tried to move off, but couldn't stop seeing the small boy's face. She breathed deeply. She couldn't leave herself stranded. She was over this. She was moving on.

Rain

The rain was beating down hard. The sky was as dark as it was going to get; the only light coming from streetlights and headlights. She paused in a near by bus stop for a little shelter, pulling out her phone for directions. She was already late, and this wasn't helping. She was lost, and the rain and darkness weren't helping. 

She moved back out into the rain, more confident. The green man lit up and she crossed the street, trying to keep her balance. She was glad to make it to the other side of the pavement; feeling a little steadier on her feet. Water was everywhere, above and beneath her. She hadn't understood people who said that they could feel the cold in their bones, but now she did. She was soaked to the skin and fed up. She wasn't sure how much further it was, but it couldn't be that long.

As she debated trying to get a taxi, lights flashed suddenly in her eyes. She could see the headlights of the cars from the corner of her eye, but this light was coming straight at her. She looked up, trying to understand what was happening. She had thought for too long, not moving. Suddenly she felt a tremendous weight hitting her. She was confused and shaking. Her eyelids felt heavier than she could ever remember them feeling and she let them close. There was a lot of noise around her, shouts and screams. People were coming near her, but all she could focus on was sirens. She was still unsure of what was happening. But there were sirens; there was a chance things would be okay. Help was coming.