The Bright Side

Chapter 8 - Part 4

SKY

"Sky!"

Mum's voice is husky and I feel like it's much too early to get up already. I just had the funniest dream of little fluffy balls bouncing about my room singing One Direction songs to me. Hilarious.

"Sky!"

"You sound like Tristan, Mum." It's true. I don't know why, but when she whispers like that, it makes her sound like him.

"That's because I am Tristan."

My eyes fly open to find a dark shadow standing next to my bed that sure as hell has his physique.

"Umm, may I be so bold as to ask what you're doing in my room in the middle of the night?" I struggle to sit up straight, trying to make my sleepy head work. "And how you got in?"

"Climbed up the garage and in through your window."

"With the cast?"

"I didn't say it was elegant."

I switch on the light on the nightstand and squint my eyes at the sudden brightness.

"Can I stay here tonight? I... at home... I just can't take it right now."

I'm obviously still fast asleep, because it sure sounded as if Tristan wanted to sleep over. Sleeping, waking up – it's weird; it makes the most impossible scenarios seem real. And it's great, too, because you can just go along with anything.

"Yeah, sure." I rummage around in my bed until I find the spare blanket close to the wall and toss it over for him. "You need anything?"

"Joggers maybe?"

"In the dresser."

"Any particular drawer?"

"Could be in any drawer," I say. How would I know?

Tristan sighs and starts going through my clothes, one drawer after the other before he finally pulls out my favourite blue pyjama bottoms, holding them up questioningly. "Alright?"

"Sure." It's only then that it dawns on me that this is reality. Any second now Tristan will come into my bed. Lie down in my bed next to me. Tristan in my bed! My heart is running ahead of me and I desperately hope that it will come back soon, or I'll choke at the idea of having him in my bed, no matter how innocent and friend-ish the situation is. And I realize something else. He could've gone to Mark; I know he's home, but he came to me instead. Even though Mark has his own place and more space and lives closer to Tristan's house. He came to me.

"Mind if I turn the light back off?" I ask with my fingers already on the switch. I've gotten used to the light by now; what seemed like piercing brightness at first had slowly faded to a dim yellow glow that really only manages to illuminate a foot around it's source. But if I'm supposed to live up to my standards as his friend – and nothing more - I really can't risk to watch him undress, no matter how much I'd like to. The second he hints a nod the light is out and I can only make out schemes across the room that I try to ignore, that I try not to paint a colourful picture of in my head. The shadow that is Tristan comes closer and the mattress sinks as he crawls between the sheets.

"Do you have overnight guests so often that you always have a spare blanket prepared?" He asks me in the dark; I can hear the cotton sheets moving against his body as he makes himself comfortable underneath.

"No," I chuckle. "When I was a kid, I loved having an extra blanket to wrap myself around. I don't know why. Made me feel safe, I guess. And it just became a habit."

"I see."

Tristan rolls over onto his side and the small stripe from the streetlamp outside illuminates his face, the one that always seems to find a way through the curtains and drives me crazy at night.

"And what was it that made little Sky scared at night?"

His voice is soft and quiet. I've never told anybody about this but somehow the look on his face makes me want to share it.

"When I was four, I overheard two ladies talking at the grocery store down the street."

Mum had taken us shopping and was pushing Jen along the aisle in the trolley, already visibly pregnant with Amanda and I had been hanging back by the sweets I knew I wouldn't be allowed to have. That was when I heard them. Mrs. Ashmore and one of her brain-dead friends. I can't remember the actual conversation, only that it left me with the feeling that there was something wrong with my family. Even back then I had no doubt that they were talking about us, something about too many men, which didn't make much sense to me then. But what stuck to my brain was one short sentence and I can still hear the intonation and remember it word by word.

"One said, it would be best if child protection stepped in and put us in a home. Completely freaked me out. I couldn't stop imagining men come to our house and take us in the middle of the night like thieves for years. It scared me to death."

"Oh, boy."

"Yeah." I pull my blanket up to my chin as the remembrance of the fear I had felt back then comes back to me. "Turned out, it wasn't thieves that took me away from her in the end."

I clearly remember the day Mum had announced that I would be going to prep school as if it had been yesterday. Summer holidays had just started after my last days of my second year at primary school. Mum had cooked a special dinner for me before she had tried to convince me of the incredible luck I had that I was given this opportunity. It had been the end of my childhood for me. It had been my worst fear come true.

"Your Dad?" Tristan whispers into the night.

"The father. Yes."

There's only mine and Tristan's breathing failing to keep my room completely silent for a while before Tristan speaks up again.

"Mine's dead now. For real. Died two hours ago in his hospital bed, plugged onto machines that refused to let him go, looking nothing like I remembered him to."

"I'm sorry, mate." My hand finds a way from underneath the covers and briefly brushes over the hand that is resting on the mattress in front of his face. "How are you holding up?"

"To be honest, I'm elated. I won't ever have my Mum trying to pressure me into forgiving him again. I won't ever have to wonder if I'm wrong for refusing to see him again, because I can't change it now anyways. I won't ever even have to think about him again. I feel like shit, because I'm supposed to be sad or regretful or maybe both and I'm not. I'm eased. Does that make me a bad person?"

"No. It makes you human."

"I mean, shouldn't I be feeling loss or something like that? Shouldn't I be crying? Shouldn't I be sad?"

"No." I take a deep breath, because I'm not sure that I'll be able to explain what I'm thinking with the feeble words the English language provides. "You made a choice five years ago. A choice that made it possible for you to move on and be happy. Not being sad or regretful now only shows that you made the right choice back then. That you made a responsible choice for life. That you took good care of yourself. That you did the right thing."

Tristan adjusts his position until he's lying on his back, staring at my ceiling.

"Yeah, maybe," he says. "Or I'm just an arsehole."

"You sure are, but I won't point that out since you're an orphan now." I reply.

"You really suck as a friend, Sky." A hint of his usual grin appears on his face, like a promise to come back soon and it makes my heart float, because I caused it.

"Sleep tight, mate." I nudge his shoulder and turn to the other side.

"You, too," he clears his throat. "And thanks. For taking me in and all."

"Anytime." I mean it. I'd do anything he'd ask me for. Anytime. 

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