PART TWO

Of Strangers and Sojourners

It had been two weeks since the world had changed forever, and yet, somehow, not ended.

School was agony. I learned quickly what "stolen moments" meant. At break times we nipped into the pine forest behind the cricket fields to hold hands. We cast silent glances across desks and hallways. We tried to make out behind the gym once, then got spooked as we heard footsteps. Even in the relative safety of our houses, we couldn't gather up the courage to do anything more adventurous than put our arms around each other lest a family member walk in.

I existed mainly in silos. My brain learned a lot of facts, such as the date—barely a decade earlier—on which same-sex activity had ceased to be a crime, as well as the precise wording of the protections afforded in Chapter 2, Section 9 of the 1996 Constitution. My heart fed itself a diet of Snow Patrol and Scriabin sonatas. My dick was sporting a perennial semi.

My soul was perhaps the most pragmatic, resolving to have a casual breakfast with God some time after Easter to discuss this infuriating business with Leviticus.

There was no manual, no reference text, no trusted sage to consult. So we said cute things in hushed voices over the phone, sent slightly ruder and ruder texts as the days passed, and jerked off to thoughts of each other in the shower.

It was now Thursday night, two weeks after we'd first kissed. I was feeling a little less doleful. We had finally made plans to spend the day together on Saturday.

I was about to drift off to sleep when my phone rang.

'Dude,' I said. 'I told you I was going to bed early.'

‘Cal.’ His voice was trembling and cracking.

‘Hey. What’s up?’

‘It’s my mom..she's hurt herself.'

'Shit. What happened?'

'She had a massive argument with my dad on the phone. She drank a lot of wine and tripped and hit the side of her head against a cupboard. I think she needs stitches. I'm sorry... I didn't know who to call.'

‘Fuck.' A memory surfaced of me cutting my foot on a rock on Scarborough Beach and my mother tending to me. 'Put pressure on the wound,' I said evenly. 'Can you get her to the casualty at Constantia Hospital? That must be the closest one to you.’

‘I think so. Oh God, why didn't I think of that?'

‘Get her into the car. I'll meet you there.'

'No, Cal, I can't expect you to—'

I rang off because I knew he was going to protest.

My father didn’t ask any questions when I told him, but grabbed his car keys and told me to hurry up.

We met an ashen-looking Chris sitting in the waiting room of the emergency unit, hiding his face underneath the top of his hoodie.

‘She’s with the doctor now getting stitches,' he said, fidgeting. 'You didn’t need to come out. I feel really stupid calling you guys.’

‘No,’ said my dad gently. ‘I’m very glad you called.' He looked at me and handed me a R50 note. 'Why don’t you boys go get something from the canteen? If I may, let me find out how she's doing. They know me here. I work on my paediatric patients in their outpatient theatre.’

Chris nodded shyly and I led him out of the waiting room. I got us each a can of cola and we sat down on a bench in the outside garden.

It was the very one where I used to smoke illegally when my mom had chemo.

He looked around for a few seconds, then burst into tears.

‘This is all so fucked up,’ he said after a few sobs.

I pressed my side against him. ‘Let it out. I'm here.’

He leaned down and buried his beautiful face in my chest. For the first time, I didn’t care who might be looking. I ran my fingers through his hair.

’Sorry,’ he said, sniffing. ‘I’ve gone and messed up your shirt.’

’It’s about time my shirt got messed on instead of yours,’ I said. 'Albeit with different body fluids.'

He smiled a little.

'Tell me what happened.'

‘I got home from gym,' he began. 'I heard my mom shouting over the phone. Apparently my dad’s coming to Cape Town with his, ugh, girlfriend. He isn't happy that I’d been put into a co-ed school and thinks it’s gonna make me soft. As if he cares, I mean he’s only bothered to find out now. So my mom drank like a whole bottle wine and I got angry with her and told her she was an alcoholic and an embarrassment and then I felt like shit and went for a drive to clear my head.'

'Fuck. That's... that's a lot.'

‘Yup. When I got back I found her sitting in a heap in the kitchen with this huge gash on her forehead. She wasn’t even doing anything about it, she was just letting the blood run down her face and onto her clothes. She kept on saying how sorry she was. But, bru, If I hadn’t snapped at her this would have happened.’

I tightened my grip around his arm. ‘That's bullshit and you know it. Has she drunk like this before?’

‘I thought she just liked her wine. But now that I think of it she’s tipsy almost every night.’

‘Ever since she and your dad split up.'

‘Yeah. Maybe even before.’

He kicked the floor and whacked his fist into his hand with sudden fury. ‘Sorry.’ His voice cracked again. ‘You know what’s the worst thing, Cal? He’s more upset that I’ve broken the family tradition. Cause I'm not going to matriculate from the same school he and all my brothers did because I got expelled for shit I still haven't told you about because I've been too fuckin' ashamed to.'

'You don't have to—'

We were interrupted by my dad, whistling awkwardly as he walked towards us. ‘Your mother's doing fine, Christopher, and you can go see her.’

‘Thanks for being here, Dad,' I said, as Chris shuffled to the entrance where a porter was waiting for him.

‘Of course, my boy. He’s become such a good friend to you.’

If you only knew how much, I nearly blurted out.

When Chris came out again he looked a lot calmer.

‘How is she?’ my dad and I asked in unison.

'They’ve stitched her up,' he said, fidgeting. 'They want to keep her overnight for observation because she hit her head.’

‘Very good idea,’ said my dad. ‘I think you better come stay with us tonight, Christopher.’

My heart leapt at this, and then I felt guilty that I was getting a wish granted because of an awful situation.

My boyfriend looked startled. ‘Thank you, sir. But first... um... Cal. My mom said she’d like to see you? If that’s okay?’

‘Me?’

I looked at my dad, who shrugged, paused, and then nodded.

A few moments later a nurse led me into the bright hall with its bleating monitors and smell of blood and alcohol to the bed where Mrs Hathaway was lying. She waved at me and motioned me to sit down on the bench next to the bed. There was a nasty bruise welling up on her one eye and the sutured scar behind her hairline, though neatly patched up, looked angry.

‘Hello, Caleb,’ she said as I walked towards her.

‘Hi, Mrs Hathaway. How are you feeling?’

‘I'm not too bad, sweetie. I just wanted to say how sorry I am about all this.’

‘It’s nothing,’ I said, looking down and feeling fifteen types of awkward. ‘It’s none of my business. My dad and I just wanted to make sure you were safe.’

‘Bless you, sweetie. I want to be frank with you.’

‘Ma’am?’

‘I know I’ve been having some problems but I want you to know that I had a big fright tonight and I’m going to try to set things right. I want to thank you for being there for Chris. The last year has been very hard for him.’

'Okay,' I said idiotically. I swallowed. ‘My dad said Chris can stay with us tonight, if that's okay.’

‘I’m so embarrassed. I’m forever in your debt.’

Chris had obviously inherited his vulnerable looks from Fiona as well.

‘You must think I’m a terrible mother,’ she said, her voice tinged with desperation.

At that moment a little voice started speaking inside me, and I let it take over.

‘I don’t think that,’ the voice said to her. ‘I’ve heard that being a parent is extremely scary. Nobody can do it perfectly.’

Then I remembered. I was channelling my grandmother’s words, on that afternoon on Scarborough Beach. Ouma was reassuring my mother that she was not in fact guilty of a capital crime for not noticing me running off during the family picnic and taking a tumble on the rocks.

I gave Chris's mom a small wave and walked back to the waiting room.

The world was still changing, but it had not ended.