OLIVIA KEEGAN
My mother lives on a cloud. Her home is fluffy and white and so far above me. She watches me, always.
She has not always been on the cloud. We used to play in the grass. She would sprawl out on the ground, pink and sweaty in the sun, staring up at me with a smile on her face. I wonder if she misses the coolness of dirt against her skin. If she ever felt gravity so heavy and the ground so hard, like I do.
*
Summer never seems to end. I move slowly through the thick sticky fog of heat. It’s so bright I can barely see the path in front of me. Then, I am in the embrace of a cool dark shadow. It’s her, of course. I don’t need to look to be sure. My mother is hanging over the edge of her cloud. She has rallied a cluster of them around her own to provide me shade. Leaning over even further, she waves at me. Even from the ground I can see her wide smile. Her hair dangles in golden tendrils, reaching towards the ground like outstretched hands. I jerk forward, as if to catch her.
‘Be careful!’ I call out to her. She’s too far to hear me. I knew she would be. Still, I yell. She wiggles further towards the edge, to hear me better perhaps, and begins to wave more insistently and smile even wider. Quickly, I wave and smile back. Satisfied, she disappears from view as she rolls back to lay fully on her cloud. Encased in the shadow she made for me, I walk to work.
*
I remember we used to play a game together. My mother would chase me and I would run then hide until she found me. I had a few hiding places I would cycle through: behind the biggest tree in the backyard, in the tunnel of my sun bleached play-place, and under the legs of our old picnic table. I would sprint and hide. My chest would rise and fall in the erratic rhythm of panic. I would be scared that she would find me and I would lose our game. Then, as time bloated and filled my hiding spot with the cold dread of uncertainty, I would be overcome with a terror so large it could only be cured by one person. Would she ever find me? Yes, always, she would.
*
My work day starts and ends in a blur of small talk and Zoom meetings. I don’t remember anything about the day in particular. My old friend Heather got me the job. She complained all day that the office was freezing but never bothered to get up and grab a jumper. I haven’t felt the sun on my face for hours. I think my mother was above the building and providing me shade even in the cold air of my office building.
I feel the sun on my face now. I step out of the office and onto the pavement, setting off at a quick pace. Not too quick. Just fast enough to slightly outpace my mother’s cloud but not so fast she will notice. My steps are small and quick, like an eager dog trying to pull ahead without tightening its lead, as I make my way to the park. Just for a little bit, I want to feel the sun. From the edge of the pavement the park spills out like a dark green pool. I slow down once I reach it and when I step in I am plunged into cool shade. When I look up, my mother is peering over the edge of her cloud, smiling and waving down at me. Relief fills me like a sudden flood until my heart is bloated and bursting with it. I jump up and down as I wave back, just to get a little closer to her. Yes, she’s still there.
*
My neighbour, Heather, would come play our game in our backyard. My mother would chase us both and I would drag Heather to one of my hiding places. I remember thinking that we were very fast; my mother would rarely catch us. I realise now that it’s not just little girls who like to play pretend.
*
The park is mostly empty grass with only a few trees that sway in the wind. It reminds me of our old backyard and the big old tree I used to hide behind. It would sway in the wind too. I would copy its movements and pretend that the tree and I were dancing together. I begin our afternoon routine. I sit down on our bench. I pull out my book and begin to read, or rather, pretend to read. Once I finish the chapter I look up at her. She shrugs down at me. She’s asking me what I think of the book, I think. It’s hard to be sure if that’s the gesture she is making from so far away. Even with her cloud pulled as close to the ground as she can manage, it still sits several metres above the tallest tree. I give her a thumbs up and a big smile. I can see her smile but not the details of her face or the lines of age I imagine are there. From far away she looks as young as the image of herself in my mind, rolling in the grass and looking up at me with a giddy grin. Maybe she hasn’t changed at all.
*
Heather never liked my hiding places. I liked them. I liked knowing that I couldn’t be seen but I could still be found. Heather said my hiding spots were boring. One day she got fed up. She took my hand and pulled us out from behind the big tree and started climbing up its branches. I shouted at her but we were already too high and I was too scared to let go of her hand. I remember Heather saying it was the perfect hiding spot, that we’d never be found. Mostly I remember the way the wind whipped my mother’s hair around her face as she climbed towards us. That, and the expression on her face: stiff with a desperation so big that it seemed to corrode through space and time and burn me, even now. My mother shouted at us to come down and she outstretched her hand. I was too scared that if I reached for her, we would both fall. The wind thrashed against us until a strong gust forced my mother from her grip on the tree trunk. She wasn’t falling but flying. Up, up, up until she was so high that she never came down again.
*
‘Fancy seeing you here! What are you reading? Any good?’ A voice says from behind me. It’s just Heather. For a moment I forgot that it’s not just me and my mother, a world of our own between cloud and earth.
I look down at my book. I can’t think of anything to say about it. Heather is looking at me with a wide smile and big eyes. I’m meant to be saying something. Is my mother smiling? I can’t look while I’m talking to Heather. I haven’t even finished the chapter yet.
‘It’s not bad. What are you doing here?’ I ask. It comes out wrong. The words come out biting and gnashing. Heather doesn’t falter.
‘Just going for a bit of a dilly-dally,’ She says through a laugh. I laugh too. The sound of her laughter permeates the air like a wet humidity, covering me so completely until I feel some hidden part of me thawing and cracking open. I hear another sound, distant but there. I think my mother is laughing too. I still don’t look up to check. I hope she is laughing too.
Heather looks up for a second. I know Heather sees her. She knows my mother is there. Heather doesn’t like to talk about it. Heather laughs often and freely. She is young but I can still see the beginnings of lines around her mouth. I picture myself reaching out and tracing the lines. I think Heather knows why I am here, that I am spending time with my mother. I am overcome, suddenly. I must look up.
At first I think she’s gone. I feel sick. There’s a terrible swirling in my stomach and I feel as though I am trapped inside myself. I’ve been compressed into my gut and thrown around the churning storm within it. No, there’s still a shadow covering Heather's face. She’s still here. My mother has poked holes through the frothy white of the cloud so only her eyes are seen.
‘Wait, that cloud totally looks like a bear balancing on a ball. Classic bear stuff,’ Heather says while pointing to the sky. Heather is pointing at my mother’s cloud. I want to go back to laughing but Heather seems to want to play a different game of pretend.
‘No, like, I could totally do that. I was a gymnast in another life.’ Heather laughs, suddenly jumping up. Heather tries to balance on one leg and nearly falls. I don’t understand why my mother is hiding. I wish she wouldn’t. There is a shape in the clouds that only Heather and I can see but Heather refuses to really look. Heather is doing cartwheels now and skipping around the bench. I want to grab her by the face and make her look at my mother but the desire congeals in the icy grasp of apprehension. Heather’s gesturing at me to copy her. I can feel my mother’s eyes on me. I don’t know how I am meant to act. I look up at her but there is nothing to see but her peering eyes.
I do a cartwheel. The world spins and blurs around me. Everything folds into one another until the entire world is just colour and shapes and the feeling of blood rushing to my head. The ground is the only real thing. Dirt, cold despite the day's heat, burrows under my nail beds. Then, that’s gone too. I’m flying through the air. I imagine myself spinning out like an umbrella caught by a wind and ripped from its owners hands, spiraling towards the clouds. The ground slams against my back as I plummet. Heather asks if I’m okay but she’s still laughing. I’m laughing too, I sprawl out even further and tug out some grass with the tips of my fingers. The cool ground feels good against the stinging skin of my back. When my fit of laughter ends I open my eyes and my gaze meets my mother’s. She’s right there, just above me.
I leap up and start running. Heather seems taken aback but only for a moment. She runs after me. We pass a tree with a low branch. Heather grabs it and swings to propel herself forward. I grab it too. I pull myself up until I'm standing on the branch with my back against the trunk. There’s another branch above me. I do it again. Heather is still running and she feels so far below me. I don’t feel like I am getting higher but that she is getting lower, like a rock sinking down to the ocean floor. A few more branches now, I’m nearly to the top. Heather has noticed I’m no longer behind her and it takes her a few moments to realise where I am. For the first time, I see her frown.
‘Hey! Be careful up there!’ She shouts. I can barely hear her. I can’t tell how high I’ve climbed until I push aside some leaves and the sun hits my face. Where is she? I thrust my hand out and close my eyes. A cool shade cradles my face and a warm hand takes my own. I am being pulled up, up, up. The solidness against my feet transforms into nothing at all. I look down and smile at Heather. She is so small now, everything is. I am pulled up onto the cloud and I fall breathlessly onto my back. A face appears above me, wrinkled and smiling.
Olivia Keegan is a writer from Sydney, Australia who has a passion for books and cats. She is currently studying English and Creative Writing. Her short story, ‘An Ode To the Long Drive’, was previously published in Journals of Love and Literature magazine.
