Call Out

Keith McCarthy

I used to live in Hawthorn when I was younger, did you know that? It was quite funny actually, back then I used to be an outdoorsy sorta kid and so my dad would take me to the rocket park. Well now that I'm much older and not much wiser, I realise that it was never called the 'rocket park' but instead actually Central Gardens, growing up really reshapes one's awareness, no? It was called that because the rocket essentially served as a landmark, being bright plastic-red with hulking protective steel bars that felt a lot like prisoning restraints now that I gave the thing a second thought. To the side of the vehicle were two plastic slides on the different height levels depending on how far you climbed up. For a child, the top was a means of bragging rights, a flex. I remember how I'd always climb to the top level and Paul would take a photo of my proudest childhood achievement, pretty silly when you think about it, but once you grow up, you start to miss those simple days. Everything had always been that way, every Sunday we would go there and play, Paul would lay out a mat and he finally would get a chance to rest by himself away from his spunky kid, letting me roam free. It's just me and Paul each getting our alone time, I understand and am cool with it all. But then one day something bad actually happened — something unexpected.

I was six or so around then and so I was somewhat old enough to remember and vividly record everything that happened. Paul was taking a nap by the playground's palm tree and I was zooming around the place before stopping nearby. So, the garden had a massive plot with a variety of flowers and patches of greeneries between the paved asphalt paths. I noticed a few adults in the distance not far from there who were sipping on their drinks, grilling their food at the park's barbies, celebrating an occasion of some sort. But then I tripped while running.

Luckily, the flower bed broke my fall but some of its pollen got into my nose and now the garden was ruined, I dusted myself off and then ran in the opposite direction, avoiding the blame as a whole. Back then I thought this was a good idea but avoiding a mistake was never right.

My chest tightened and at first, I thought it was just me being tired but then I remembered that I had pretty decent stamina and usually didn't get tired early. I shrugged it off at first and before then I started coughing. Fatigue and weakness crawled up my spine as if I was shrivelling up like a dried date. I was so tired in fact, that I was forced to sit down by the grass to regain my composure. And then I began breathing really, really fast and wheezing at the oxygen that I was receiving, it was like having a massive and painful lump up in my throat. Everything became dizzy, really dizzy but I didn't want to worry Paul so I tried to calm myself down.

But it wasn't really working, I was having trouble breathing. Good thing Kathy was around the corner, I didn't know her real name then but she saw me struggling and asked me if I was okay before rushing to her parents for help. Her mother, Alice asked me if I was having trouble breathing; and if I felt that my chest felt tight and I replied with a 'yes' to all of them. Kathy's mum pulled out an asthma inhaler and thanks to that plastic thingamabob, my life was saved.

Turns out she was a doctor herself and had similarly suffered from asthma as well growing up and she walked me back to Paul. Kathy was literally next to me then, she patted me on the back and would look at me ever so occasionally to check that I was feeling okay. She had these emerald green eyes, a magenta headband with a bow on it and a sweet but assuring smile. At the time I didn't think too much about it but now I am grateful that she was there.

Paul woke up and was obviously worried and we realised that I should probably not be around pollen. And it turns out I'm just like Mum, genes truly are the cruellest punishment because even I can't get rid of it. Paul still blames himself for being so careless of me and I told him that it was my fault but still, he wouldn't budge. Now I live by the idea of not ever overworking myself physically, it is said that once you're in your teenage years there's a chance that asthma could go away. My dad however still had me registered on the school's medical list as a 'just in case' precaution, a Plan B for when it could potentially hit me where I least expect it.