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We kiss. It's slow and tender and written all over our skin is 'I love you', but we don't say it; there's no need. And suddenly I want him, I want to know every facet fact fear feeling that makes him, I want to have known him for years and years. I push hard against the warm wet of his lips. I want to consume him. I bite him, and he groans -
and he groans -
and I'm a young mass of frozen nerves, terrified of the possibilities of the moment as he grips his skull like he wants to rip it open, tendons clenching against the hard bone the hard table the cold floor the cold air the PAIN. How can I help? 'Call an ambulance!' he grits out.
I run for the phone but what's the number? What's the number what's the number what's the - phone book. Front page. Triple zero. How could I forget that? I've wasted so much time. And it hits me that this is an emergency, this calls for an ambulance, and I call for an ambulance. I stand next to him, too afraid to reach out and touch his skin -
touch his skin -
it's hot and does something magical when it feels mine, so I touch it more, more, more, oh God I want you I need you I love you it's everywhere. I can't get close enough, but I try because I need to feel all of him right now and we're still kissing and I open my eyes.
His are still closed, and I think he might even maybe possibly be feeling the same thing. There's a tiny crease between his brows his brown eyes he's enjoying me he wants me and I'm in control, I can choose, but how could I choose anything else? I close my eyes again because looking feels like cheating. We're standing next to the bed and he sinks down -
he sinks down -
and this frightens me even more because he managed to get up and stagger to the couch to lie down so he must need to lie down and he doesn't look like he'll get up again. He's cold, bitterly cold, even though I can feel the heat coming off him. It's morning. He's only in pyjamas and a dressing gown. Just minutes ago he was reading me stories while I woke up and now I'm fetching towels to throw over him to keep him warm, and he's clutching them with pale, mottled hands like they're saving his life.
The paramedics come trampling through the screeching French doors with a barrage of equipment, crowding into a space built for two, and they frighten me more but I remember they're saving his life. Now that I'm not the one responsible, now that I can start to be a child again, I feel a kind of fake relief that lets me believe everything is alright. The ambulance people mean safety and efficiency, so I don't panic as they lift him into the truck and connect him to their machinery. I hover.
I hover.
But only for an instant because not touching him feels like a violation of my body. Then I join him and it's glorious being this close, having him here, why me? But I'm so glad it's me, and so glad it's him. You're mine, I'm yours. I've found you. And I want you so badly it hurts not to feel you on my skin. You're mine, I'm yours, and I have you here at last -
here at last -
crashing into the emergency room and I feel like a puppy getting under everyone's feet so I shrink back against the wall, small and wide-eyed, as they connect disconnect insert measure remove adjust advise discuss in a flurry of practised movements. Suddenly they disperse, and one of them leans down on her way and places her hand on my stiff shoulder, telling me to stay with him and talk to him. I watch him fiercely, willing him to live, and he gasps -
and he gasps -
and I breathe a huge gust of relief because we are together, we are close, and that's what I needed and he holds me to him and I feel complete.
I've been holding it back, but as we move I feel the knowledge rising from somewhere deep, bubbling and popping against the surface. I bite my tongue and tense my back and I think I'll explode. It's pouring out of my skin like sweat, and I can't keep it inside me any longer, and I look at him and I say - 'I love you!'
'I love you!'
And I know I haven't said it to him much but I hope I've told him in a thousand different ways and I know he knows but I need him to know now, because he's slipping away and I've run out of things to keep him here. I don't want to let him go, but he's going, and I hold his hand and lock my eyes on his face so I can tell him in all those ways too, and I hope he feels it, wherever he is, and I hope it stays with him and sweetens his last moments. One final, hard-earned breath. He's gone.
And I'm left here, comfortless, still whispering, 'I love you, I love you, Dad, Dad, Dad, I love you, Dad, I love you, Dad... I love you. Dad... Dad.' I'm crying -
I'm crying -
because I didn't realise how true it was until I said it aloud, and it's a hard thing to know, and it's true, so true, and we're kissing and I'm still crying from the sheer strength of everything. We keep kissing and lust takes over and there's so much relief and so much love and so much want that I suddenly feel purely happy. I love you, I love you, I love you, I plant it all over his body, in as many places as I can find, and I hope he knows that it's true, I hope I can tell him in a thousand different ways, because I never want to let him go.
and he groans -
and I'm a young mass of frozen nerves, terrified of the possibilities of the moment as he grips his skull like he wants to rip it open, tendons clenching against the hard bone the hard table the cold floor the cold air the PAIN. How can I help? 'Call an ambulance!' he grits out.
I run for the phone but what's the number? What's the number what's the number what's the - phone book. Front page. Triple zero. How could I forget that? I've wasted so much time. And it hits me that this is an emergency, this calls for an ambulance, and I call for an ambulance. I stand next to him, too afraid to reach out and touch his skin -
touch his skin -
it's hot and does something magical when it feels mine, so I touch it more, more, more, oh God I want you I need you I love you it's everywhere. I can't get close enough, but I try because I need to feel all of him right now and we're still kissing and I open my eyes.
His are still closed, and I think he might even maybe possibly be feeling the same thing. There's a tiny crease between his brows his brown eyes he's enjoying me he wants me and I'm in control, I can choose, but how could I choose anything else? I close my eyes again because looking feels like cheating. We're standing next to the bed and he sinks down -
he sinks down -
and this frightens me even more because he managed to get up and stagger to the couch to lie down so he must need to lie down and he doesn't look like he'll get up again. He's cold, bitterly cold, even though I can feel the heat coming off him. It's morning. He's only in pyjamas and a dressing gown. Just minutes ago he was reading me stories while I woke up and now I'm fetching towels to throw over him to keep him warm, and he's clutching them with pale, mottled hands like they're saving his life.
The paramedics come trampling through the screeching French doors with a barrage of equipment, crowding into a space built for two, and they frighten me more but I remember they're saving his life. Now that I'm not the one responsible, now that I can start to be a child again, I feel a kind of fake relief that lets me believe everything is alright. The ambulance people mean safety and efficiency, so I don't panic as they lift him into the truck and connect him to their machinery. I hover.
I hover.
But only for an instant because not touching him feels like a violation of my body. Then I join him and it's glorious being this close, having him here, why me? But I'm so glad it's me, and so glad it's him. You're mine, I'm yours. I've found you. And I want you so badly it hurts not to feel you on my skin. You're mine, I'm yours, and I have you here at last -
here at last -
crashing into the emergency room and I feel like a puppy getting under everyone's feet so I shrink back against the wall, small and wide-eyed, as they connect disconnect insert measure remove adjust advise discuss in a flurry of practised movements. Suddenly they disperse, and one of them leans down on her way and places her hand on my stiff shoulder, telling me to stay with him and talk to him. I watch him fiercely, willing him to live, and he gasps -
and he gasps -
and I breathe a huge gust of relief because we are together, we are close, and that's what I needed and he holds me to him and I feel complete.
I've been holding it back, but as we move I feel the knowledge rising from somewhere deep, bubbling and popping against the surface. I bite my tongue and tense my back and I think I'll explode. It's pouring out of my skin like sweat, and I can't keep it inside me any longer, and I look at him and I say - 'I love you!'
'I love you!'
And I know I haven't said it to him much but I hope I've told him in a thousand different ways and I know he knows but I need him to know now, because he's slipping away and I've run out of things to keep him here. I don't want to let him go, but he's going, and I hold his hand and lock my eyes on his face so I can tell him in all those ways too, and I hope he feels it, wherever he is, and I hope it stays with him and sweetens his last moments. One final, hard-earned breath. He's gone.
And I'm left here, comfortless, still whispering, 'I love you, I love you, Dad, Dad, Dad, I love you, Dad, I love you, Dad... I love you. Dad... Dad.' I'm crying -
I'm crying -
because I didn't realise how true it was until I said it aloud, and it's a hard thing to know, and it's true, so true, and we're kissing and I'm still crying from the sheer strength of everything. We keep kissing and lust takes over and there's so much relief and so much love and so much want that I suddenly feel purely happy. I love you, I love you, I love you, I plant it all over his body, in as many places as I can find, and I hope he knows that it's true, I hope I can tell him in a thousand different ways, because I never want to let him go.
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The idea for 'Collisions' appeared in my thoughts with no forewarning as I woke up one morning. Suddenly a mash of what seemed to be memories was whirling around while I caught snatches of phrases and images that my conscious self would never have thought to combine. They felt uneasy, crashing into each other and fighting for room in my head - hence the title. I wasn't sure whether to write them down, but the idea kept evolving and refining itself until I reached for the nearest pen and paper. What came out was a story about life, death and love - two storylines, two kinds of love, both equally powerful and impactful on one's life.
As a child I once told my late father, an artist, that to draw something it wasn't enough to observe it; you had to understand it. He used to quote me on that all the time. I now believe this applies to most aspects of life, and certainly most creative pursuits. Certainly writing. Who was it who said that experience is a writer's greatest ally? In this sense, 'Collisions' is very personal, as I drew heavily on my own experiences to convey the raw emotion of the events.
Please enjoy my story; let it immerse you. See where you end up on the other side.
Constructive feedback is always appreciated.
As a child I once told my late father, an artist, that to draw something it wasn't enough to observe it; you had to understand it. He used to quote me on that all the time. I now believe this applies to most aspects of life, and certainly most creative pursuits. Certainly writing. Who was it who said that experience is a writer's greatest ally? In this sense, 'Collisions' is very personal, as I drew heavily on my own experiences to convey the raw emotion of the events.
Please enjoy my story; let it immerse you. See where you end up on the other side.
Constructive feedback is always appreciated.
© 2013 - 2024 RadishStick
Comments11
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I've just been rereading this before commenting. I think it's an inspired idea, having the two kinds of love colliding and overlapping in this way. I'm impressed by the way one scene goes into another - the adrenaline surge of being with a lover changing to the adrenaline of fear and panic with the father.
There are so many parallels - with the lover, the narrator feeling out of control but actually being in control, and with the father, trying to be in control when the situation really is out of the narrator's control. And of course there is still a bitter-sweet poignancy at the end. We are reminded in the story that grief is always waiting in the wings. Even if someone we love is younger than us, there is always the possibility we may have to mourn them. Love and grief are intimately connected. But it's also a positive story - after grief you can be happy again.
I thought the scenes of the narrator with the father were perfect. They absolutely rang true to me. The scenes with the lover - I felt they were in places a little mannered. Too many words. I realise you were trying to indicate passion and losing control, but I noticed the words rather than the effect. The alliteration in the first paragraph jumped out at me as being a little clunky. But these are minor things - on the whole I think the story works very, very well.