FATE(Sasha Seddon) (Note that the author was 13 years old when she wrote this story.)


“Topaz! Get inside at once!”

The furious yells from Mother jolt me from my daydream; she’s either been drinking again or I have supposedly done something wrong. My friends smile at me sympathetically as if they understand. How can they? Their mother doesn’t expect them to be by their sides every second. Sweeping my auburn hair into a ponytail, I casually walk into the kitchen. Mother is there, as expected, her unruly hair hidden under a peach, frilly hat. As usual she’s clad in designer clothes, and holding an empty glass in her hand.

“What?” I ask, my eyes widening in false innocence.

“Mrs. Wright just called. She said she was just wondering where you were. After all, you always visit Tamzin on a Thursday.”

I sigh, bitter anger welling up inside me. My eyes threaten to water, but I dig my bitten nails into my palm and the fury subsides. “I visit Tamzin all the time, Mother. Every Monday, every Thursday, every Saturday and every Monday night at 6.00. I’m sick of her dominating my life!”

Mother’s face creases, her lip trembling. “I know it must be hard for you, Topaz, seeing your best friend so… distant. But you are the only one who can help her return to us. You’ve known each other since you were three.”

Guilt seeps into my mind. “It’s just that Martine and her friends wanted to come round to my house… I completely forgot about Tamzin - ”

How could I have forgotten? She’s my best friend, lying in that hospital bed, smothered in tubes and white sheets. We’ve known each other for thirteen years, since we were in kindergarten. Memories keep gushing back to me, bringing tears, so I just block them up in one corner of my mind and try to forget about them. Forget about Tamzin… it’s too much to just wall up though. Every Thursday morning I see her before school, taking her slightly crumpled but pretty flowers. Daisies. Her favourite. Tamzin loves everything plain and subtle, whereas I prefer bright colours that are vivid and inspiring. She has always wanted to be an authoress, but my ambition is to become a dancer. Famous and beautiful. I know I can’t just let go of my best friend, but this is my future career. Instead of walking to the hospital this morning I went to the nearby dance school to enroll myself there. The heat of the spotlights and the rows of faces…I could see and feel that one day I could be on the stage….

“Who’s Martine?” Mother shakes me from my reverie. “Don’t you think Tamzin needs you more? How long have you know this Martine?” She says the name as if it were a swear word.

“For a few months…” I trail off at Mother’s expression.

“Tamzin is in hospital, dear, in a coma. Martine can wait in the garden.” Thrusting a bunch of daisies at me, she turns back to her vodka. “Take these to her.”

The hospital is like a second home to me - why do I have to keep venturing there? I hate the faded graffiti on the walls and the peeling white plaster. I hate the drunken shrieks and the vomiting and those empty beds that once held a human being. It’s not even as if I can somehow bring my best friend back. She’s in a coma. Everyone expects me to help her return, but she’s almost brain-dead. All I can have is the same, one-way conversation with her every time. I used to admire Tamzin’s long, fair hair with so many hues of blonde. Now it’s limp and straggly and her eyes, although they are open, seem to reflect nothingness - blank.

***

Where is she? I’ve waited hours, my head throbbing, my throat dry, my legs numb beneath the sheets. Is she with Martine - the girl she keeps talking about? My fingers fumble, or try to, for my glass of water. But there’s no movement. I’ve tried to move just an inch everyday for two years, but every time it ends with me crying inside. No tears come on the outside, nothing to bring comfort, because my mind can’t tell my body to do anything anymore. I’ve seen Topaz’s blue eyes narrow as she speaks to me, how she looks at her watch impatiently. She’s got new friends now; I’m just a burden.

My mouth opens slowly, but then I realise it’s not me controlling it - it’s the nurses and their rubbery gloves. Drops of water trickle down my throat, quenching my thirst, and although they have no taste, I savour the liquid. More water, then food. Not succulent meat or fried chips paddling in grease, oh no. Nothing in my mouth, just bland white liquid pouring into my body. Nutrients, I suppose. We always used to learn about hospitals and their implements in Science. I used to love Science, although Topaz loathed it.

Topaz…where is she?

***

Agonizing cries drift over to my ears and I cover them with my hands, endeavouring to block out the noise. So many empty beds yet so many ill people; some shrieking, others as silent as the grave. Tamzin. There she is - her hair fanned out on her pillow, her eyes staring into space. She looks so tranquil and silent, as ever. No pain in her expression, just numb nothingness. At least she doesn’t hurt. I know she can hear me when I talk because her head twitches ever so slightly.

I go to her now and stroke her pale cheeks and kiss her pallid forehead. Sometimes it’s almost as if she’s my daughter and I’m her mother. I hold her hand, as time flits past on the digital clock next to her bed, and I talk. I know she can hear me.

“Tamzin,” I whisper, “I’ve got to go now. But, remember, you’re my best friend in the whole world.” Even though I loved gymnastics and dance, and she loved English and science, we were still best friends. I clasp her cold clammy hands in mine. You’d think they’d be warm with all the heat in here. A nurse ushers me out of the room as the digital clock shimmers a green 10.00 pm. I don’t leave for another half an hour though; I stay with my face pressed up against the glass, staring at my lost friend.

***

I know she’s watching me. Once again I feel loved, cherished, happy. Topaz is part of me; we’re the same soul. Best friends. Mum and Dad always visit me in the day and most of the night from 11.00 pm onwards. Soon they’ll come barging through those white doors, Dad lugging a heavy suitcase and Mum carrying a pile of books. I appreciate the fact that she reads to me, but all the classical dribble she brings me is just boring. I want to be an authoress so badly, but I don’t want to write about real-life Victorian happenings. When I’m a writer I’ll start off with a fantasy novel of fairies and goddesses and mythical creatures. My own story will be weaved into the words; sewn into the story, written between the lines. If only I could live my dream. If only I could move…

***

“Sorry, Martine,” I say into my mobile phone before hanging up. No doubt Mother will have shown my friends the door straight after I left. Martine’s not happy, but then why should she be? It’s my life - I’ll see and be with who I want. Tazmin is part of me; we’re almost the same person. She’s my best friend ever.

Cars trundle past, lights flicker in the darkness, the city is alight with luminous signs and women on billboards with exaggerated beauty. I wish I could be so flawless like that. One day I’ll be a famous dancer and nobody will care about some of those freckles on my cheeks or the way I won’t let Tamzin go. I’ll be Topaz Slater, the queen of the dance floor and -

Suddenly there’s something in the corner of my eye. Hurtling towards me. Lights shine, horns sound and I am pushed to the ground as the vehicle collides with me. My hands are shaking and my legs are decorated with blood…

No.

The driver looks down at me, his face screwed up, awash with tears. There’s a moment of strong tingling in my limbs, right from my head to my toes, then an awful ringing erupts in my ears as if a chainsaw is slicing through my head.

Painful…shaking…fingers groping… must hold on… cold… blank…

My eyelids drop.

***

Lavender. Mum’s aroma wafts over to me, as musky and beautiful as ever. I want so much to lift my arms and cling to her with all my might. But every single day for two years I have wanted that to happen and guess what? It hasn’t.

I have to speak out loud to stop this whirring in my head. I must speak. I have to cling onto life. To fulfill my dream.

“‘Little Women,’” Mum reads from the front cover, smiling. “This is a wonderful book, darling, a true classic. Isn’t it, Steven?”

Dad nods instantly, attempting to keep up with the hopeful smiles. I love them both, but I wish Topaz were here… she smells of a new fragrance each day. She always outlines her eyes with a different colour each day and wears different clothes too. She reminds me that time is flicking onward and that I have to keep trying…

My mouth twitches.

“I think she’s thirsty,” Mum says and calls for a nurse.

I shake my head slightly. “No,” I murmur. “Topaz…”

Hell is let loose. Nurses run to my side excitedly, shining a torch into my eyes and massaging my numb fingers. I can’t move but I can speak. Finally people will know I can hear them.

“Topaz…”

Mum says, “Don’t worry, darling. Topaz is as fine as ever. She’s gone home, into her bed so she’s as snug as a bug.”

I know Topaz won’t be asleep, as snug as a bug, but I don’t say anything. I’m not wasting any effort on saying that. “I need Topaz,” I say. “I need her to dance for me so I can move…”

***

Everything is distorted and strange but I manage to make out Martine’s face leaning over me. Her scent is sickly sweet like sugar and her hair is shiny but not as soft as Tamzin’s. I don’t want her here, to see me like this. How can I look cool and confident when…? Tears flow down my cheeks, although my vision doesn’t get any more blurred. A light seers into my eyes; I’ve seen nurses do this to Tamzin. Now I’m in her shoes. Well, not literally. She wears dusty old trainers and I wear designer sandals, but…this really isn’t a time to make jokes. More tears come.

“Hey girlfriend,” Martine says in her husky voice. There’s no compassion or consideration in her eyes; just a gleam of amusement. “Time to wake up now.”

She’s taking this all as a joke - nothing is serious to her. Being funny is the only way she can cope with this I suppose. Why can’t she just go away? “Tamzin,” I murmur, and see Mother’s face looming above mine. I can see it all in her eyes; all the emotions I used to see in Tamzin’s parents’ eyes. Anxiety, upset, pain, confusion, unanswered questions.

Martine moves away, saying she has to go. I don’t care what she has to do. The only people I want are Mother and Tamzin. My best friend…

I’ve never known my father, probably never will. Mother always bites her lip, worrying away at the skin, when I pester her about him. I wish I could know who he was before the end… he could be anybody though. Any male in the globe. I could take my pick out of millions of faces and never choose the right face.

“Father…” I mutter and Mother puts her head in her hands and weeps.

“Not now,” she says, stroking my cheek. “Not ever.”

I nod, understanding.

Nurses bustle in and out of the room, murmuring in low voices. “Increase in stability with Miss Wright…unfortunately we have another coma patient in the Air ward.”

The hospital has four wards - fire, earth, air and water - and I’m in the fire ward. How coincidental; it appears I have a renewed spark inside me. For the first time in the past two years I need the toilet, I can almost move, I feel ravenous, I can wiggle my toes. Everything’s going to be alright. I mustn’t give up…

My time’s up. I don’t know how Tamzin managed to stay alive - perhaps I really did help her survive. Perhaps she’ll wake up and be fine but I’ll never know. I’ll never see that day. It’s as if we’ve swapped bodies; I know her pain now. I can just about speak although my throat is burning with the taste of bile. My stomach is rising to meet my mouth. Vomit seeps through my lips, into the bowl in my hands. I feel dirty, ashamed, brain-dead. As if I’m incapable of keeping my head. Everything is turning wish-washy and Mother’s face is fading. Her dark hair tickles my face as she leans down to talk to me. Whispers soothing words. But I’m not listening. I can’t. Darkness. Blank. Numb.

***

“Miss Wright, you have a visitor,” a nurse declares loudly.

Please let it be Topaz… Mum and Dad nod at me as I wiggle my fingers. Maybe my best friend has come to dance for me, or has brought me daisies and a funny story to read. I need to be cheerful… I need Topaz to help me. She’s the only one who can.

But it’s not Topaz - it’s her mother. Tears pour down her face as she speaks to me, her hands groping at her face, her mouth twitching. And I listen. I let her pour salt onto my wounds. I let her share her sufferance with me. Topaz is dead - my best friend knocked down by a car. I can’t believe it. She was by my side only hours ago, holding my hand, whispering words, her auburn hair framing her jovial face. So happy, she was.

Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe she was thinking about me instead of looking at the road.

Oh Topaz. How can I live without you? This must be some cruel kind of dream… I’ve finally awoken after two years to piece back my life again only to find that my best friend, half of my soul, the one who helped me survive, has died. I wish I could have gone instead of Topaz. I was already brain-dead. Well, nearly. I should have died instead of her.

Now I will.

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