France, 2003
Edith wonders what her son dreams of, is excited to wake him, "Eden," his eyes no longer see stars, just a white ceiling, "he's here" Edith smiles.
Eden lifts himself off from the seat, follows the nurse to Azra's room. He walks through the narrow hallway, it squeezes him. His senses are no longer tainted with fatigue. He walks among shiny tiled floors, an absence of laughter, the indescribable scent of nothingness.
They approach a familiar door, on the other side, a newborn cries in his mother's arms. The sound of Eden's son is faint, but he cherishes the cry, already loving it. The nurse opens the door for him, politely smiles. He steps in, a baby boy sits in Azra's hand. He sits next to Azra, eyes unable to focus on anything besides their child.
Azra's nose is stuck to the bits of hair that occupy his head. The child has stopped crying, its eyes have not yet opened to witness the colours around him, the shape of his mother's face, the beauty in her eyes. She slowly hands Eden the fragile cargo, wrapped in soft quilt.
The warmth of his child in Eden's arm does not just fill up the space between his hands, it fills the void inside his chest. He cries, the baby's fingers drag across his face and onto his nose. Its eyes finally open, for a second, Eden sees a slither of purple and green that surround his pupils, but he blinks them away, his child's eyes are distinct pools of sweet caramel. He smiles at the sight of his father, Eden laughs, "Hey buddy" he whispers. Eden kisses his soft cheek, holding him closely. Their giggles fill the room as Eden brings the baby closer to Azra. The child looks around the room, then at his mother. Another tiny smile.
Azra watches Eden and her son in wonder. Her eyes are bloodshot. Eden gently lays the baby onto her chest, carries a chair beside her hospital bed and sits. A doctor quietly enters the room, the child's eyes are shut again. With a pen in his hand and a note pad in the other, he says in a stern, tired voice, "Tests will be done for the child, but we need a name."
"Could you give us a sec, doc?" Eden asks politely. The doctor nods, before leaving the conversation with a yawn. He stands politely beside the door, almost asleep.
Azra has given it some thought already, but was never able to decide, "What is your name gonna be?" she asks the child, waits for an answer from his father.
Eden shrugs, stares at the baby, who's nose is smaller than a finger nail. They both study his thin lips, brainstorming in silence. Then Eden remembers the dream he had just lived in, its silence, the river, the snow, the sky, the mountain. An epiphany on the tip of his tongue, "What about," Eden hesitates, "Arlo?"
Azra teeth show, as if the name is of familiar friend, "Arlo?" The child in her arms smiles, signalling his agreement. Azra notices the single dimple that lingers on his left cheek. She weakly chuckles at the numerous names that popped up in her head, none as good as Eden's suggestion, "What does it mean?"
"I don't know," Eden's mind begins to fill with a sense of déjà vu, a fluttering image of a mountain, "but it just sounds... right."
"It does. Arlo it is." Azra's mind ignites, "Arlo Montagne Lumiere."
"Perfect." The new parents stare deeply at their new aventurier, their mountain. Arlo.
He is alive. He is a life. He is their lives.
YOU ARE READING
The Northern Lights
AdventureTwo adventurers and a mountain cross paths. Their souls are connected to the lights that flicker unpredictably. Every spirit has a purpose. Every journey has an end. But with every end there is a beginning. The Northern Lights dance, for they are no...
