The Northern Lights

Chapter 21. See You Soon.

France, 2007

Azra's eyes slowly begin to perceive the light around her. For a moment, she thinks she is late for work, but it is Saturday, crêpe day, she lays in bed for a while longer, stretches her arms out as far as they can go, neither fists hitting the body of her husband, who is in the kitchen with his son.

In the kitchen, Eden whistles a tune and carefully lifts his buttery creations onto their plates. Arlo sits impatiently at the dining table with a plastic fork and knife in his hand, "Papa!"

He finishes whistling the final melody in his tune before replying, "Yes Arlo?"

"Can I please have a glass of lait au chocolat?"

Eden walks with intense focus as he holds two glass plates in his hands, "Anything for my little mountain," he says with a smile, before placing them onto the table.

Eden jogs back to the kitchen, the strings of his grey sweatpants dangle in the air. He opens the fridge; the jug of chocolate flavoured milk is empty. Damn it. Azra's light steps quietly thud against the thin ceiling and echoes off the corridor walls, she walks into the dining room, the scent of Eden's delicious cooking causes an instant smile, "Good morning my handsome men."

"Good morning mama," Arlo slices the flimsy plastic knife through his crêpe.

Eden passes her the final plate, gives her a soft kiss on the cheek in reply. The two sits with their son, dig into their food. Arlo notices the absence of a glass beside his plate, questions his father, "Papa, where is the chocolate milk?"

He swallows the mouthful of sweetness, "We ran out buddy, maybe next time?"

"But papa, I was promised chocolate milk if I used my manners." Arlo's eyes are filled with despair.

Azra intervenes, "Arlo, stop."

"No, it's okay," Eden stands from his chair, "You're right Arlo, a promise is a promise. I'll quickly drive to the grocery store and pick the finest chocolate milk for you. Sound like a good deal?" Eden smiles genuinely. Arlo nods in excitement.

Azra stops Eden with her glaring eyes, "Are you sure? At least finish your food."

"I'm sure!" Eden pats the almost perfectly flat stomach under his baggy shirt, "Besides, I'm not that hungry."

"Okay," Azra continues eating. Eden grabs his car keys from the kitchen countertop. Azra watches him leave, "Love you,"

"Love you too, see you soon," the notorious squeak of the front door quakes the empty halls of the house, "I love you Arlo!" he screams.

Arlo giggles, "I love you too papa! Bring home the best chocolate milk!"

With a loud chuckle, Eden replies, "You know I will!"

Eden shuts the door, approaches his car. Puffy angelic white clouds scatter across the sky, forming shapes Eden cannot describe. They dance among the vast canvas of marine blue. The sun shines crisply against Eden's skin, the air he breathes is as fresh as a ripe apple. The wind, though quiet, rustles against each grain of hair on Eden's arm. He smiles, although it is so simple, the world is complexly vibrant, the world is his.

The nearest grocery store is merely a short drive with few twists and turns. The roads are calm, with traffic so miniscule, one would not consider it traffic at all. The traffic light fades from yellow, to read. Eden turns on the radio, cocks the dial until he hears a sound he likes. His favourite song plays. Though his voice is rusty, deep, he begins to sing the high pitches, hums the melodies. He uses his fingers as drumsticks on his leather steering wheel.

Five years since his last cigarette, since his longest period of hopelessness. Eden is finally content with his life. With the world. In that moment, of him singing along with the radio, with his slender fingers beating against the wheel, he is happy. He is proud of his son, his mountain, his aventurier. Eden is still madly in love with his wife, her aging smile, her ethereal beauty. He acknowledges his mother's mistakes, forgives her. And, though he is unable to admit it, he understands his father's brokenness, his reasoning, his demons.

The traffic light transitions to green. Eden presses on the accelerator. A rumbling, chaotic hum of an engine fills the suburban streets, the noise roars louder than any thunderstorm. Eden's eyes glance to his left, a red car zooms towards him, a ray of crimson light. Both vehicles collide. Eden and his car are demolished. Parts from both vehicle scatter across the road, all the ongoing traffic ceases. An ambulance is called. Bystanders step out from their cars, with phones pressed against their ears. Many of them cry in panic, some manage to stay calm. An unlucky pair of eyes gaze upon one of the bodies inside. They puke.

Inside the flipped black car, Eden's limbs have snapped like plywood, he is unsure if his ribs are still under his skin. He feels the blood rushing out from his forehead, from his arms, senses an internal leakage of blood. His neck is numb. Cheery liquid as thick as oil begins to cover his eyes. He screams in agony, in pain. And yet, in his mind, he smiles. Images of past experiences and loved ones come flashing into his mind. The artificial aurora. The picnic. The birth of his son. His mother. Azra. Arlo. The mountain. The Northern Lights. The physical pain, although indescribable, is nothing compared to the aching emptiness he felt before he had Arlo. Eden becomes unconscious. He drifts away. See you soon.