Outer Space / Carry On | Michael Clifford AU

15.

I think I floated the entire way home.  My feet certainly seemed to have disappeared. Maybe all of me had. Maybe I was just a floating head. 

A floating head with a baby brother. 

Dad was on his way home. It was too late for me to visit Joan and Jagger so I had to wait until tomorrow. As I was changing into my pyjamas, I pulled a piece of pink chalk out of the pocket of my jacket (I guess my limbs were returning piece by piece.)

I turned the piece of chalk over in my hands, wearing a ridiculous, kooky grin on my face. My feet and legs and arms had returned but I was still floating. I placed the chalk on the shelf by Michael's painting and the Best Day Ever jar, and then floated away to the shower.

In the morning, Dad and I drove to the hospital after breakfast. Half way there, I had an idea. "We should stop off at that quirky little bakery and get Joan some of those croissants she likes."

Dad who looked exhausted, delirious and happy, nodded. "Great idea. I could use a coffee or ten, too." He took the next left and the one after that and then we pulled up to the little bakery. I couldn't tell you what it was about that place that Joan liked. It was the polar opposite to our house, which Joan had decorated to her taste.

The inside walls of the small shop had once been painted green, and then cream, and then cream again, though I suspected that last coat of paint had been added long ago. Small patches peeled away, revealing the original olive green underneath.

None of the furniture matched. In one corner sat a few velvet armchairs, and all of the wire tables were uneven, some with little pieces of paper wedged under a leg to keep them steady. The lady who owned the shop (I'd never asked her name) had an affinity for porcelain cats which were displayed on the counter and used as book ends on the shelf by the window.

There was hardly ever anyone in there. It made you wonder how they stayed in business. Dad ordered and I sunk into one of the velvet armchairs that sat next to a houseplant. There was a tiny wooden sign saying, 'Water Me' propped up against a copper watering can.

Ten minutes later, we walked out with half a dozen warm croissants and two black coffees. Dad waited until we were back in the confined space of the car to ambush me. "I was thinking... perhaps you'd like to have a chat with Charlie next week."

"Maybe I could go have a tooth extracted or stick my head in a beehive or anything else that would be equally unpleasant." I took one of the croissants from the bag.

"Alice," Dad warned. I rolled my my eyes and bit into the croissant. "Charlie is there to help you."

"Do you ever think that I'm taking up Charlie's valuable time, and that his time spent with me could actually be spent helping someone who needs it?" I took another bite of croissant and waited until I'd finished chewing to add, "Someone like Mum, maybe."

I looked out the window so I didn't have to see the look on Dad's face. Saying her name, I might as well have thrown a grenade at him. I never talked about her to him. He was big and burly, but one whisper of her and he seemed to shrink down to the size of an ant.

It was still silent when we pulled into the visitors carpark at the hospital and I couldn't take it a moment longer. 

"I'm sorry," I said, finally looking at his face. It was just as I knew it would be: pale and crumbly, not unlike the croissants we just bought from the quirky bakery. "I didn't mean to make you upset... Today is a good day." I really meant that. There was something indescribably joyful about new life. I bet it could even make Insomniac Ingrid smile.

He took off his seatbelt and grabbed the coffee tray. "Come on," he said with a closed-mouth smile. "Today is a good day."

Joan's hospital room looked more like a hotel room with the odd medical amenity. There were plush curtains and a two-seater linen couch on the far wall. Joan was sitting up in her bed, holding a bundle of white blankets. A little peach face peered out from one end.

Having never been around a baby so small before, I wasn't sure what I'd make of Jagger as I edged closer, that tiny little face seemed to dismantle me within seconds. I began dribbling hushed words that made no sense at all. "Oh my goooosh. Look at him! What is that smell?"  Did all babies smell like that? Like love and warm hugs and fluffy blankets? "And Joan, how are you? Are you okay?"

Joan laughed, tilting her head as if she was trying to get a better look at me. There were dark circles underneath her eyes and yet I'm sure she'd never looked so happy. "Do you want to hold him?"

Did I want to hold him? Of course I wanted to hold him. I wasn't sure what was washing over me but I wanted to hold him and sing to him and smell him, and make sure no one ever came to harm him. 

Instead of more dribble, I simply nodded, sitting down on the lounge. Dad scooped him out of Joan's arms and placed him in mine. Tiny harps inside of my heart began to play a soft lullaby as I gently swayed with Jagger in my arms.

I held Jagger while Joan ate her croissant and had a shower. Whatever guilt or sadness had been breaking through Dad's face before seemed to have dissolved. He sat beside me, gazing at Jagger like he was the most important person on the planet. I think I had the same look on my face.

"He's so beautiful," I whispered. "I was expecting a potato wrapped in a blanket, really."

Dad let out a watered-down laugh. "He does look a bit like a potato. All babies do."

"Well, he's the most beautiful potato I've ever seen." I touched the soft skin on Jagger's face. It was like warm butter.

Joan and Jagger had to stay another night in the hospital so when visiting hours were over, Dad and I left the hospital, stopping off for pizza on the way home. We needn't have bothered driving. I was still buoyant with giddiness, I felt like I could fly.

Dad was unlocking the front door and I stood by in a trance, wondering if maybe there was enough exhilaration coursing through my veins to get me to paint again. "Quickly," Dad said, breathing on his hands to warm them up.

Before I could walk through the front door, I noticed a piece of paper poking out from one of the garden bed rocks. Barely balancing the pizza boxes in one hand, I reached down to pull it out, tearing a corner of the paper in the process.

I blew off the dirt and unfolded it in one hand, recognising the writing straight away.

It's 2:30am and I'm drawing and writing and thinking about the cute freckles that cover your nose.  

Thanks for being my sidekick tonight.

MC

There's a handful of numbers which I guessed to be Michael's phone number. "Alice!" Dad said, sounding impatient. "Come on, it's freezing out here." (Was it?) I couldn't feel a thing as I sailed inside. The entire world could have frozen over and I wouldn't have known.

I was a floating being with a new baby brother, and a crush on a boy named Michael Clifford.