Under the Surface
Part 4
They walked for a long time, but they had given up counting the hours. Time didn’t seem to exist in the long, winding caves. They felt no lethargy from walking and their feet didn’t ache. Their mood of perseverance did not deteriorate, although each looked out for the other, feeling that either one might soon burst into tears.
A tense atmosphere fell onto them, each on tenterhooks as to which memory would ambush them next.
Ethan was to be the next victim.
He felt his own mind stir; thinking back to what he usually avoided thinking about, opening the locked doors, finding the keys to his past.
His mind managed to find the memory he wanted to forget the most.
The cave disappeared in a blur to leave his own kitchen in its midst. It was a small, dark, dirty place that still made him shiver when he saw it. The small fridge was buzzing; its open door the only source of light in the room, and the light flickered maliciously. On, off, on, off.
A boy, the fourteen-year-old image of himself, was sitting at the small kitchen table with his head sunk into his sleeves, resting on the tabletop. His black hair merged into his dark jumper sleeves and his face was completely hidden. His shoulders rose and fell shakily with his uneven breathing and sometimes a small sob broke through the barrier he had hidden himself into.
A man entered the room, ungraceful and staggering, his dead eyes bulging and his stomach protruding over a baggy pair of stonewashed jeans. His shirt was stained with something yellow and Rose felt herself cringe as soon as she saw him. He was drunk and dangerous looking.
He loomed over the boy, breathing heavily through an alcohol soaked throat, and he laughed hoarsely. Then, swaying, he grabbed the back of the boy’s unprotected neck and wrenched his head up, forcing the boy to look into his sneering grimy eyes.
‘Tryin’ to block me out, eh?’ He said roughly and laughed again, each sharp bark of laughter making the boy cringe.
‘Tryin’ to get rid of me, eh?’ He nearly repeated himself, his rancid breathing growing louder and louder. He was angry and unpredictable. Rose wanted to reach out and take Ethan away from the drunken man. Ethan wanted to run, to get away from the memory, to get away from his past.
His father was now too inhibited and too angry to see where he was going, but still managed to throw the boy to the ground. He landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.
‘You ’effing nancy-boy! Get up and fight back!’ he bellowed, his voice throaty and raw, and spat at him. The boy, his head still hidden in his hands, did not move. It was as if he had died on impact.
Ethan’s father gave one more derogatory look through his swollen red eyes to the boy and then left the room in an uneven-gated lope. The door slammed behind him, bathing the kitchen once again in the uneven, flickering light of the open fridge.
Only when he had left did the boy lift his head. His face was pale and frightened. He looked vulnerable and half dead with fatigue and wariness. He curled his legs up into his chest and wrapped his hands around them. He didn’t move from where he was, tightly bundled on the floor.
Ethan closed his eyes, not wanting to see any more. When he opened them again, he was once more in the cave. It felt like the safest place in the world, a small paradise of dim light and damp walls. Rose hesitated, not knowing what to say.
‘Let’s go.’ Ethan said in a flat, solemn voice, and took off in strides down the passage. She ran to catch up with him but he got faster and faster.
‘Ethan, wait, wait…’ she said, out of breath, and he slowed down to a halt. His knuckles were clenched white and his breathing was uneven. Rose put one hand on his shoulder.
‘It’s all right, Ethan. You’ve seen my memory and I’ve seen yours. You don’t have to talk about it at all.’ She reassured him, dodging the subject of what his memory contained.
They both exchanged a glance and then turned away from each other awkwardly. Ethan set off in a stride and Rose followed behind anxiously at a jog. She forgot how fast he could walk; seeming as for the main part of the journey he had been supporting her.
Time came and went as it pleased, for nothing visible changed within the depths of the caves. Slowly their noses got used to the dank smell and their eyes had already adjusted to the lack of light.
A tense atmosphere fell onto them, each on tenterhooks as to which memory would ambush them next.
Ethan was to be the next victim.
He felt his own mind stir; thinking back to what he usually avoided thinking about, opening the locked doors, finding the keys to his past.
His mind managed to find the memory he wanted to forget the most.
The cave disappeared in a blur to leave his own kitchen in its midst. It was a small, dark, dirty place that still made him shiver when he saw it. The small fridge was buzzing; its open door the only source of light in the room, and the light flickered maliciously. On, off, on, off.
A boy, the fourteen-year-old image of himself, was sitting at the small kitchen table with his head sunk into his sleeves, resting on the tabletop. His black hair merged into his dark jumper sleeves and his face was completely hidden. His shoulders rose and fell shakily with his uneven breathing and sometimes a small sob broke through the barrier he had hidden himself into.
A man entered the room, ungraceful and staggering, his dead eyes bulging and his stomach protruding over a baggy pair of stonewashed jeans. His shirt was stained with something yellow and Rose felt herself cringe as soon as she saw him. He was drunk and dangerous looking.
He loomed over the boy, breathing heavily through an alcohol soaked throat, and he laughed hoarsely. Then, swaying, he grabbed the back of the boy’s unprotected neck and wrenched his head up, forcing the boy to look into his sneering grimy eyes.
‘Tryin’ to block me out, eh?’ He said roughly and laughed again, each sharp bark of laughter making the boy cringe.
‘Tryin’ to get rid of me, eh?’ He nearly repeated himself, his rancid breathing growing louder and louder. He was angry and unpredictable. Rose wanted to reach out and take Ethan away from the drunken man. Ethan wanted to run, to get away from the memory, to get away from his past.
His father was now too inhibited and too angry to see where he was going, but still managed to throw the boy to the ground. He landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.
‘You ’effing nancy-boy! Get up and fight back!’ he bellowed, his voice throaty and raw, and spat at him. The boy, his head still hidden in his hands, did not move. It was as if he had died on impact.
Ethan’s father gave one more derogatory look through his swollen red eyes to the boy and then left the room in an uneven-gated lope. The door slammed behind him, bathing the kitchen once again in the uneven, flickering light of the open fridge.
Only when he had left did the boy lift his head. His face was pale and frightened. He looked vulnerable and half dead with fatigue and wariness. He curled his legs up into his chest and wrapped his hands around them. He didn’t move from where he was, tightly bundled on the floor.
Ethan closed his eyes, not wanting to see any more. When he opened them again, he was once more in the cave. It felt like the safest place in the world, a small paradise of dim light and damp walls. Rose hesitated, not knowing what to say.
‘Let’s go.’ Ethan said in a flat, solemn voice, and took off in strides down the passage. She ran to catch up with him but he got faster and faster.
‘Ethan, wait, wait…’ she said, out of breath, and he slowed down to a halt. His knuckles were clenched white and his breathing was uneven. Rose put one hand on his shoulder.
‘It’s all right, Ethan. You’ve seen my memory and I’ve seen yours. You don’t have to talk about it at all.’ She reassured him, dodging the subject of what his memory contained.
They both exchanged a glance and then turned away from each other awkwardly. Ethan set off in a stride and Rose followed behind anxiously at a jog. She forgot how fast he could walk; seeming as for the main part of the journey he had been supporting her.
Time came and went as it pleased, for nothing visible changed within the depths of the caves. Slowly their noses got used to the dank smell and their eyes had already adjusted to the lack of light.