=><=
[[START GAME->Jacob staring at ceiling]]You've been lying here for hours. The bedsheets, creased and thrown to one side, no longer feel comfortable. You've forgotten a time they did. You're staring, lips parted and eyes stinging, at the bedroom ceiling, taking note of the weird pattern the clumps of paint make, like stalactites in a cave. You never liked the ceiling until he described them like that.
YOU: (mouseover: "YOU:")[
A) [[Roll over and try to get comfortable.->Background on Dad]]
B) [[Start crying at the thought of that memory.->Background on Dad]]]
On the second Monday of June, your Dad died. You know that because every week you'd moan that it was the worst day and he would remind you not to make Monday feel bad for something it can't change. It was somewhat sudden in that you received the news a month before. There was nothing that could be (link-reveal:"done.")[
Terminal.] (mouseover:"Terminal.")[
You remember how your Mother grabbed his hand but he grabbed yours. He looked into your eyes in a way that said "I'm fine" even though the results in his lap contradicted [[him.->Today...]]]==>
(colour: #855555)[Stacks of dinnerware plague your desk;]
plates, bowls, glasses and cutlery sit
festering on the desktop,
holding the remnants of
meals half finished.
Some of it's started to go mouldy.
You don't care.
You've taught yourself
to ignore it.
Mum has tried to
come in and
take the plates away
a couple of times.
You've taught yourself
to ignore her too.
YOU:
[[Look at the plant->desk 2]]
(set: $Left to true)<==
(colour: #ba3f47)[Your record player.]
<==
You bought it with your first paycheck a
couple of years ago because Andy had one and
you got jealous. It sits proudly atop the
mahogany stand Dad built for you, humming away
a tinny rhythm from the same album you've
played all week because it was his and the
only one you can bear to listen to. That's the
only reason you've started using it again;
You had to brush the dust off the needle
before you put the record on. A sad irony, really.
<==
You hardly hear the knock at the door over
the music. (mouseover:"music.")[
YOU:
(if: $Left is false)[[[Look to your left.->desk]]]
(if: $Left is true)[[[Turn off the record player and
tell whoever it is to piss off.->Mum]]]]
(live: 20s)[{
(stop:)<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/kk9i7krwn9/door_knock.wav" autoplay>}]
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/soa92syoro/12_No_Distance_Left_to_Run.mp3" autoplay>
(set: $Right to true)
Today it's July. You don't know the exact date because you've been looking at the ceiling and not your calendar. Your Mum has asked you three times if those clothes need washing and you've said no each time because there's no good way to say you don't have the energy to change. You're sick of the ceiling. (mouseover:"sick of the ceiling")[
YOU TURN YOUR HEAD TO THE:
[[A) Left->desk]]
[[B) Right->record player]]]
(set: $Left to false)
(set: $Right to false)"Jacob?"
Your Mum's muffled voice, despite being so heavy with concern, manages to worm its way through your door. "Look, sweetheart, I know you'd rather be alone but this is important." She sounds soft, but stern.
Other than this, she's only really bothered you for laundry. Outside, you hear her feet shuffle along the carpet, maybe pacing. She's not going to leave. You wonder what she's on (link-reveal:"about.")[
YOU:
[[Tell her to come in.-> Handing box over]]]<==
The door slowly creaks open, just so
it's ajar. From behind it,
Mum's head peers round and looks down
at you collapsed on the mattress,
still staring at the ceiling.
Her perfume smells fresh,
swells in the room as though trying to
purify the air. You haven't smelt it in
a while. It's nice.
"I've got something for you." The door
shuts and you hear her feet approach.
The end of the bed sinks as she
perches on the edge. "It's from Dad."
Your heart stops. That's the first time
she's mentioned him to you since he---
The first time something has peaked your
interest in a (link-reveal:"month.")[
YOU:
[[Sit up.->box]]]
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/n3dwwgv34v/door_creak.wav" autoplay><==
It takes some time. You
haven't moved for so long that your
joints feel like they've seized.
Every time you try to prop yourself
up, it feels like you're sinking
further into the mattress. Eventually
upright, you lean against a pillow and
let the metal of the headrest sit in
the nape of your neck. She waits until
you're settled, then looks at the box
in her lap.
"I haven't opened it," she says, placing
it on the bed in front of you, "Just
found it in his flat. The wardrobe with
the last of his stuff when I was---" Her
voice cracks and she blinks away the
[[beginnings of tears.-> Box continued]]
<==
"Um, well..." Her forehead
creases and she shifts in
her seat. You see her
response slowly forming in her
eyes. After a pause, she looks
back up at you.
"I can do, my love,
but I didn't know anything about
this," she places a hand on your
shin, "that tells me it's private."
It makes sense, you think. It's the kind
of thing he'd do. "Tell me later, though?"
You nod.
She slaps her knees as she stands
up, making sure to grab your toe and
make a funny noise so she sees you
smile before leaving. She mutters
something about the plates before the
door clicks quietly closed. (mouseover:"closed.")[
Okay, you think:
A) [[Breathe.->Box description]]]
(Set: $Stay to true)<==
She pauses for a moment,
shifting in her seat.
You see the makings of a
reply in her eyes fade as
quickly as you had noticed them.
She nods. After patting your knee
and sniffling slightly, she takes
a deep breath and wills herself to
stand up, making sure to grab your
toe and make a funny noise so she
sees you smile before leaving.
She shoots your desk a sideways glance
and mutters something under her
breath about plates, then exits
the room as cautiously as she had
entered. She pulls the door quietly
closed behind her and it clicks shut.
Okay, you think:
A) [[Breathe.->Box description]]
(Set: $Go to true)<==
It's a box. Just a box.
You trace your finger over your name,
taking note of how the ink has begun
to peel away at the fibres of the
cardboard. No dust. Can't be that old
then. Either that, or the rest of Dad's
crap in the wardrobe buried it. (mouseover:"it.")[
You lift it. Something clatters around
inside as you tip one end up. It's heavy.
A label on the top, faded and dirty,
shows your first football shoes. He bought
these for your first match, said that the
orange stripes would make you dribble
faster. You smile. More likely that
the neon colours blinded anyone who
tried to tackle you.
Either way, you won. That was 10 years ago
and he kept the box? Wow.] (mouseover:"Wow.")[
For the first time in a while, sunlight spills through
the gap in your curtain onto your bed and it doesn't hurt your eyes.] (mouseover:"eyes.")[
YOU:
[[Open the box.->Postcard]]]
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/xea5wdvidj/deep_breath.wav" autoplay>
A postcard. A cartoon of the White Cliffs of Dover overlooking the sea sits nestled among some tissue paper in the box. One of your first holidays as a family. (mouseover:"family.")[
YOU:
[[Flip it over.->back of postcard]]]
<audio src = "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/g11oarpx3a/seagull.mp3" autoplay>
His handwriting.
"Dear Jacob,
I wish I could make this like the movies and do all that "by the time you read this" bollocks but, well, this isn't really about [[that.->postcard continued]]
How do you like the postcard? I know the drawing's a bit shit but the holiday wasn't. That's why I chose it. Well, //that// and it was the only one I could find when I got the idea.
I'm not sure if //you// will, but I remember you staring at the ocean like it would eat you. You looked up at me and frowned, asking why you had to do it and I said "because it's a skill everyone has to learn." You didn't like that answer, but you took my hand anyway and walked with me to the waves until they lapped at our necks and (link-replace:"not just our feet anymore.")[
Then I [[let go->postcard continued 2]]]
Not completely at first, just enough so you were learning. I remember a couple of times you panicked because you couldn't feel me support you. You'd lose confidence, lose control (splash me like nothing else!), but I'd always put my hand back underneath you and we'd try again. It was like that every day that holiday until you were swimming circles around me. It may have taken being swallowed by waves and almost drowning to get there //but// my point is: (mouseover:"is:")[
(text-style:"underline")[[[You did it.->Postcard continued 3]]]]
That's what this is. This box is the ocean and I'm afraid I'm asking you to get in again. Why? Because it's a skill everyone has to learn.
You might forget how to float for a bit and you might feel something pull you under, but I assure you even though you can't feel my hand, I'm supporting you.
I hope this helps one way or another.
[[Love, Dad->P.S.]]<==
(if: $Stay is true)[P.S. I know Mum probably won't be snooping right now, so please give her all my love when you can."]
(else:)[P.S. I know you probably wanted to look at this alone, so please give Mum all my love when you can."]
[[NEXT->Into the box]]<==
You hold the postcard in your fingers
for longer than you need to, rereading
that final paragraph. Somehow, it feels
like you both completely understand and
don't have a clue what he means.
You put the postcard down on the bed and
carefully peel away the tissue paper to
see what's [[underneath.->Objects]]<==
(live: 8s)[7 objects.
Most of these, you haven't seen before.
Some of them are better kept than others;
You can see traces of dust and areas
where the colour has faded on some of
them, yet others seem to shine unnaturally.
Each one has a bit of paper that's tightly
folded and tied to it with your initials
scrawled on one side.
[[YOU EXAMINE...->First trio of objects]]]
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/dbugy9nr8t/151730_eakoontz_ruffling-tissue-paper.wav" autoplay>
<==
[[Object 1->Graduation photo]]==>
"Graduation: Class of 1993.
I dug this out of that box of Nana's
old stuff so sorry if it's a bit musty.
If I'm honest, this is way better kept
than the copies I have.
I don't think Nana (or anyone that
knew me then, for that matter)
thought I would ever have a
graduation day. That's where you
take after your Mum, I reckon. See,
I wasn't like you //at all//
in school; I didn't care,
I didn't try, I barely went, if
I'm honest with you.
One day, I remember clearly I had
skipped a whole day of lessons to
go to a friend's house and play
The Legend of Zelda (it had just
come out, cut me some slack),
but when I got home that evening,
Nana was [[fuming.-> graduation continued]]
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/h2v8jddozx/unfold_paper.wav" autoplay>==>
Think the kind of angry Mum got
when we broke that window and then
double it. //That// angry.
What she'd done was, that morning,
she'd crept out the door not long
after I'd left to check if I
was walking down the road to
school like I should have been.
Needless to say, the jig was up.
Nana never laid a hand on me but I'm
telling you, if there was ever a moment...
You see the point I'm making (they
didn't just give E's out to anyone!). I
left school too eagerly to do a diploma
at college (electrical engineering as
you know) and at the end, managed to bag
a half decent grade (though for me that
meant just about scraping a pass).
After pissing about in a crappy pub
job for a year or so, I admitted it
was worth throwing my hat in the ring
again and [[trying for University.->graduation continued 2]]==>
I don't know if it was the lousy paycheck
or having to mop up sick more times than
I care to mention, but I applied the night
I had this epiphany. Whether it was dumb
luck, my application actually had
something to it, or Nana had gone down
there and scared them into accepting
me, I don't know, but I got offered a
place. Quit that job a fortnight later.
I'd like to say University changed my
attitude but I think you would know
I'm lying, even in a letter. I think
being away from Nana's wrath may have
spurred me on in some ways. I remember
(and indeed, //don't// remember) going on
nights out more than going to lectures.
Just like everything before that point,
I scraped by doing the bare minimum, or
whatever [[would keep me on the course.->graduation continued 3]]
==>
That was all until my final year. (mouseover: "year.")[
One evening, my friend asked if I wanted
to meet him on campus while he was
studying. I had nothing else to do so
I agreed. When I got there, he was with
someone else: a coursemate. I'd never
met her before. She was this blonde,
unassuming, intelligent type. The kind
of girl I would actively try to avoid
in case they started talking politics
or tried to recruit me in their society.
But //this// girl, well,
I hung on her every word because (and I
hate to admit this was the reason) she
was beautiful. Truly beautiful. It was
like some scene from the films I hate;
We talked until the library kicked us
out, talked all the way home, talked long
after my housemate went to bed. We
became inseparable. We hung out together,
went drinking together, even studied
[[together.-> graduation continued 4]]] ==>
This girl more or less
single-handedly made me care about my
degree. My grades over the next couple
of semesters just kept creeping up and
I liked how it felt. I think I jumped
up something like two classes. I owe
my degree to her, definitely.
That doesn't mean I completely changed.
I still drank too much and made countless
mistakes.
Im pretty sure if you
[[look closely...->graduation continued 5]]==>
You can see the faded mark of a
stamp on my hand where I went out
the night before my graduation.
Spent most of the day trying to
convince Nana I wasn't hungover
every time she pestered me (you
have all this to look forward to).
I don't think she bought it.
The reason I'm showing you this
picture is because my days at
University were full of surprises,
whether that stemmed from the shock
of ever getting in or not believing
how lucky I must have been to have
met your Mother in a library
of all places."
[[BACK-> first trio of objects 2]]=><=
[[Object 2->ring]]
<==
"Obviously, I wish this was a happier letter. I don't know if Mum still has hers or not but I could never bring myself to throw it. As much as I probably needed the release of lobbing it in a lake, it just felt too much like acknowledging the end to actually do it. Felt too much like letting her go when I wasn't ready. (mouseover: "ready.")[
I want you to know I loved her until the end. The end of my life as much as the end of our relationship. So much so, I don't need to remind her of it anymore. Not like I had done when it finally happened, pleading her to remember how I felt. As I write this, she's still the one I would have wanted to spend all my days with. I suppose 'almost all' ain't bad.
I know that might be a lot to take in but you've always been quite mature. I remember, once, your Mum and I got in a big shouting match and when I was in the garden trying to cool off, you told me to apologise to her because [["it meant more to her".-> ring continued]]]
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/h2v8jddozx/unfold_paper.wav" autoplay>
<==
You were right. I think you were only about 9 when you said it, yet you could tell Mum wanted me to listen but I just wanted to win the fight. Anyway, I wish I'd've had that kind of insight when we finally separated but you can't burden your 16 year old son with your own heartbreak. I mean, it's not like parenting has a rulebook but if it did, that would definitely be in there. (mouseover: "there.")[
I miss you both every day. I know we saw a lot of each other towards the end but it wasn't enough for me; I still found so much time to miss you. I miss waking up and hating packing your lunches. I miss coming home from work, giving you dinner, and then waiting for Mum to get back from the night shift to eat mine. I miss going anywhere but a hospital ward with you. And absolutely [[nowhere at all.-> ring continued 2]]]
<==
You'll always be my son. I am so grateful every day that that's one of life's certainties. Knowing that someone infinitely better than me in so many ways came from me to begin with continues to amaze me. That knowledge has pulled me from some horrid places to remind me how lucky I am. Sadly, it goes that Mum was not always going to be my wife. Well, at least by law; My heart is and always will be hers. (mouseover: "hers.")[
That's why I've kept it all this time and why you now have it. Though I may have never properly faced our divorce how you're meant to, I have healed in my own way (worked a treat, clearly!). For me, this ring served as a reminder of who to devote my life to, whatever's left of it: my family. Screw moving on. I hope this ring reminds you too of what, and indeed who, is important in your life. Be the man I couldn't be. Make sure she's okay."
[[BACK->first trio of objects 3]]]==>
[[Object 3-> plectrum]]<==
"On my 18th birthday, Nana bought me a guitar. It took me saving up half of the money for it in that shitty pub job and 2 years of begging her to pay the other half but finally I owned a Fender. Now, before you start asking if it was that dusty one in the garage missing a string, yes, okay, it was. //But//, it used to be a hell of a lot cleaner and I used to make it sound a hell of a lot better. Was only self-taught, mind you, but I had so much time from not going to lectures that I got pretty good. (mouseover: "good.")[
I found out at the pub one night that one of my coursemates had a duo thing with one of his friends and so (might have been the alcohol in hindsight) he asked me if I wanted to play guitar for them. At 19, that's the dream! I'm sure you can agree. I think I was probably more in it for the 'sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll' kind of scene (which obviously didn't happen, I should clarify) but I accepted and we started rehearsal soon [[after.-> plectrum continued]]]
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/h2v8jddozx/unfold_paper.wav" autoplay><==
I remember it not being as fun as I thought it'd be. Not sure why. I think it wasn't quite the kind of music I'd anticipated and a lot of the first few weeks were spent just memorising guitar parts to songs they'd already written. That's what happens when you're late to the party, I guess, but 19 year old me didn't get that.
We played a fair few gigs, actually. Nothing mind-blowing just local pubs, open mics, University events, that sort of thing but eventually, like everything, I lost interest. I stopped going to rehearsals and returning calls. Still crammed and practised whatever they prepared for shows but that's the only time they'd ever see me. Looking back, I don't know what I thought would happen, [[really.->plectrum continued 2]]<==
It took a couple months, but one day they were at my door and told me I was out. Considering how much of a liability I was, they were pretty nice about it. Though by how I'd reacted, you wouldn't think so. Even now, I don't know what I missed more: having a reason to play or the glory that came with being in a band.
We'd all stopped speaking. Just created another reason why I wouldn't go to lectures just on the off chance I saw them. I was pretty hostile with them actually. Couldn't touch that guitar for weeks either. It probably started to look how you remember it. (mouseover: "remember it.")[
This plectrum was the first one I ever owned and I used it when I was playing in that band. Couldn't touch it after I was out. Suppose it felt [[cursed.-> plectrum continued 3]]]<==
The low point came when I'd hit the pub earlier that day and had too much with lunch. I got it in my head that the only way to get back in was to crash their rehearsal and fight my corner. In reality, of course, I think I just fell through the doors and started shouting. Again, they were fairly nice about it; They just wanted me to go home and sleep it off, pulled me up each time I fell and everything. I wouldn't listen. Arguing soon turned to pleading. I guess I missed it more than I let on to anyone, even myself. I said I would do anything to be back in. I'd go to more rehearsals, organise extra ones, book gigs, practise more, go out less, write better riffs. They just had to [[name it.-> plectrum continued 4]]<==
I woke up the next day with a note from the drummer and one of the worst hangovers I've ever experienced. It wasn't one of my proudest moments."
[[BACK-> second trio of objects]]<==
[[Object 4-> Darth Vader]]<==
"Duncan Wheeler. I don't expect you to recognise
that name. We were friends for as long as primary
school lasts, I suppose. He was Nana's colleague's
son so it was one of those friendships that just
happened by association, really. Nana and his Mum
would meet us at the gates after school and we'd
always go to theirs for a bit since they lived
nearby. I didn't mind. Duncan was alright even if
I hadn't had much to do with our friendship and
their house was proper nice. They definitely
did alright for themselves, the Wheelers.
Duncan was their only son. I'd never known a kid
to have so many toys. His room was filled with all
the newest, most expensive crap you could think of.
It was awesome. Nana would be occupied downstairs
talking to his Mum over a cuppa so for that hour
we'd go crazy. His birthday month (February?) was
always the best because we'd unbox whatever hoard
of [[new stuff he got.-> Darth Vader continued]]
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/h2v8jddozx/unfold_paper.wav" autoplay><==
The only set I cared about was his collection
of Star Wars action figures. They were all first
release and he had the lot of them. All the
spaceships and vehicles as well.
You name it, he had it.
He was always Luke because "they were his" so I
was always Vader. I tried to fight him for
Solo once and he threw a lightsaber at me.
We spent a full month trying to reenact A New Hope
start to finish. Never got the voices right, though.
I was pretty much the whole crew: director,
producer, even cueing Duncan on his lines in a lot
of places. Often, when we were changing sets,
I'd quiz him on any trivia I knew. He never knew
the answers but I kept doing it. I was probably
quite annoying now that I think about it.
Packing those toys away to leave was the worst part
of my day. It bugged me so much that I liked
Star Wars more than he did yet //he// got to have
all the stuff [[I could only dream of.-> Darth Vader continued 2]]<==
We'd put them back in their box (he had the
Falcon and everything. Honestly, Jacob, if you
could've seen it!), slide it under his bed, and each
time I just had to accept that they wouldn't see the light of
day until I was back. I hated how unfair that was.
He didn't appreciate them like I did. How they
//deserved to be.//
Later that year, after we'd recreated every epic
fight scene we could think of, I remember one morning
Nana said we wouldn't be walking back with the Wheelers
for a while as Duncan was going away with his music
group. That day, he snatched his stuff from the
cloakroom and waved goodbye before dashing out of
school, saxophone case in hand. I waved goodbye back
before turning to grab my own stuff and
there it was. (mouseover:"there it was.")[
On the floor below all the hooks, about a foot to my
left, was Darth Vader. He lay staring at the ceiling,
amongst the dust and dirt of the [[cloakroom floor.->Darth Vader continued 3]]]<==
Even through the helmet, it felt like he was
staring at me. I stared back, already knowing
what I was going to do. I checked out the door
but Duncan was long gone. All the other kids
were too by this point. I thought //if Duncan had
let it fall out of his bag or pocket or whatever,
then surely he wouldn't notice it was missing.
Besides, it wouldn't be getting played with here
on the floor.// I couldn't stop myself.
Even after Duncan got back, he was so obsessed
with telling me about his trip that I don't
think he realised that Darth Vader was gone.
I played with it every evening once I was home.
Even made a cardboard Luke and Leia so I could
recreate scenes myself.
We started walking back with the Wheelers
basically as soon as Duncan was home again.
He had gotten tons of new stuff for his birthday
by that point so we were unboxing toys for
days. He didn't mention Star Wars once. I
thought I'd gotten away with it. It kind of made
me wish that he'd dropped the whole set down
[[there.-> Darth Vader continued 4]]<==
Until one day, he dragged the box out from
under his bed and rifled through it for ages.
I tried to convince him to play something else
but he had me tear the room apart to help him
look for Vader. I didn't say anything, I just
did what he asked. I pulled off his mattress,
removed drawers, my tiny arms even pulled away his
wardrobe from the wall as much as they could. I
knew I should've just said something. Should've
told him it was in my room and I'd bring it to
school the next day. I just didn't have the guts.
I couldn't play with it after that. Didn't take
it to school anymore either. It just felt too
much like returning to the scene of the crime.
I remember staring at it one night propped
against the end of my bed frame trying to figure
out what to do. I wanted to stop feeling like
this, wanted to absolve myself of what I'd done
but still keep it. I didn't have an answer.
Instead, it lived in a box under my bed for
[[months.-> Darth Vader continued 5]]<==
Obviously, I never did give it back. That's why
it's yours now. I just never found the courage
to admit to him what I'd done and, I suppose
in some sense, admitting the same thing to
myself. Eventually, it just felt too
late to mention it as well. I know in the
grand scheme of things it's not that bad.
People have done worse, sure, but what I'm
saying is, at that point in my life,
//I// hadn't. This was a turning point. It
probably doesn't even look like it was worth
nicking now, yet it still reminds me of the
guilt. It's just lived in various boxes over
the years and never been touched. Irony is
cruel in that way, I suppose."
[[BACK->second trio of objects 2]]=><=
[[Object 5-> flyer]]==>
"Before finding my graduate job, or realising that
I had to start my life now that University was
over, I decided to have another year or so to
save up some money and go travelling. Thankfully,
this time my paychecks didn't come from selling
my soul to the local pub (I had officially left
those days behind me and to this day I will not
set foot in that place). Instead, I worked for a
small electrical company doing call-outs. Nana
didn't like it because the hours were long and
unsociable but it paid good money so I kept at it.
There weren't many of us working there so I got
to know everyone pretty quickly. (mouseover: "quickly.")[
One guy called Nathan started about the same time
as I did. He'd always bring the same thing for
lunch: cheese ploughman's sandwich and a Ribena
without fail every day that we were in the office.
I left him to it for the most part, just nodded by
way of a greeting for weeks until I //had// to ask
him why. Why //that// was his [[lunch of choice.->flyer continued]]]
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/h2v8jddozx/unfold_paper.wav" autoplay>==>
Even after I'd come back with burgers, subs,
and wraps from all the food shops that
surrounded the place, he'd still come in with
that same spread each day. He'd barely
stopped eating to reply to me, just between
mouthfuls said "if it ain't broke."
We talked a lot more after that.
Became (link-reveal:"good friends.")[
I told him I was thinking
about going travelling which is why I took
the job and, surprisingly, he decided he
wanted to join me. We both booked our flights
together and went once our year was up.
Nana didn't like the idea at first. I think
she had mixed feelings about it. She was
probably worrying because it was the first
time I was //that// far from home, but
also pleased I was doing something worthwhile.
Plus, she really liked Nathan. He was the only
friend she had ever really approved of. We were
opposites in a lot of ways so I think she
thought he'd [[balance me out.->flyer continued 2]]]==>
We were in Amsterdam walking from one club
to the next at about 2am one morning. I
couldn't tell you how much we'd had to drink.
Put it this way, I say "walking", but I have
a hazy memory of looking up at a streetlamp
in rain-soaked jeans so I must have fallen
over at some point. I vaguely remember
laughing for ages at a shop sign that
sounded like it had the word 'cock' in it.
We were young and drunk so I'm cutting
myself some slack with that (link-reveal:"one.")[
You've probably guessed by now that Nathan
is Uncle Nate. The longer we were travelling
and the better friends we became, the more
comfortable he grew with expressing his
sexuality. In all manner of ways, really,
that's how I noticed it at least. He became
more open with his family, more open with me
and more open with himself too. I think he
finally allowed himself to be comfortable
with [[who he was.-> flyer continued 3]]]==>
As we were walking down that highstreet,
a group of guys at the side of the road
started shouting. At first, I thought
they were drunk too and just being rowdy
amongst themselves. Until I saw where
they were looking or rather //who// they
were looking at. (mouseover: "who")[
They were imitating his walk, miming
painting nails and doing hair. Pointing
at his outfit. Sniggering. I asked him
if he'd seen them. He just told me not
to look. The boys must have heard. They
started trying to mimic him, turning
their voices shrill to get under our
skin. It was torment. (mouseover: "torment")[
The rest is blurry, I must admit. Nate
told me that I'd started shouting back
at that point, charging across the road
to get up in their faces. They joked
that we were boyfriends, called us "a
pair of fucking faggots". [[I lost it.-> flyer continued 4]]]]==>
Nate said I saw red, he'd never seen me
so angry. He tried to hold me back after
I shoved one of the guys. He says he got
thrown to the floor at that point.
Remembers little (link-reveal:"else.")[
I woke up in hospital early the next
morning. Broken rib, black eye, countless
stitches. I don't remember the details.
Nate was at my bedside when I woke up. He
made sure I was feeling better before he
berated me about it. Apparently, I had
started hurling my fists around like I
could take on those 6 guys on my own. I
was in there for 4 days while they
patched me up.
This is an odd thing to keep, I know. I
just found this in my suitcase when I was
going through my stuff; It's the flyer for
the place we never got to that night."
[[BACK->second trio of objects 3]]]==>
[[Object 6-> brooch]]<==
"You were only young so I don't suppose
you remember much of this. When her Mum
died, Nana was given this brooch. It
wasn't expensive or much to look at, just
costume jewellery: bronze with a few
semi-precious stones. I don't think she
would have been too fussed about it if her
Mum hadn't worn it every day. She then did
the same. I never really liked it that much.
I always thought it was ugly but, as you
can now see, it's really not that bad.
She used to keep it on her bedside: next to
the lamp, on top of a coaster. In the top
drawer, she had a sewing kit, and the
drawer below used to be where she kept any
things she had taken off of [[me.-> brooch continued]]
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/h2v8jddozx/unfold_paper.wav" autoplay><==
Once, when I was trying to jimmy open
the bottom drawer to get my spud gun
back (I'd accidentally shot Duncan in the
eye with it so she took it from me), I
shook the thing so much that I knocked
the brooch on the floor, stood on it
and broke it. The clasp wouldn't close
and some of the stones fell out. I
panicked. I fumbled around in her sewing
kit for superglue and smothered the loose
jewels in it until they stayed in the
brass. I left it on the side hoping that
by some miracle she wouldn't notice. She
did, of course. Didn't stop her from
wearing it though. She found ways to have
it on her cardigan every day. Safety pins
and stuff. Don't think I ever got my
spud gun back either. (mouseover:"either.")[
I don't think you got to see her much
towards the end. I wish it was natural
causes but, mainly, she just got [[too feeble.-> brooch continued 2]]]<==
Being the stubborn woman she was, we
knew she'd push herself to try and
keep up with you if you had seen her.
We couldn't risk that.
She had so many ailments by that point.
On countless pills as well. We did what
we could; Ferried her to and from all
appointments, reminded her to take her
cocktail of meds every day and so on.
Eventually, though, it's not quite
enough, is it. She died when you'd
not long turned 8, I think. (mouseover:"I think.")[
For all of our differences, we were quite
close, Nana and I. It was only after
having you, I suppose, that I started
to understand why she'd always done what
she'd done and acted how she'd acted with
me. It just took becoming a parent to realise.
That's when our relationship became its strongest,
I reckon. I know by the end she struggled to recognise
me and told the same stories every time I saw her but
I felt like we were finally at a point where we
understood [[one another.-> brooch continued 3]]]<==
I think that's what made it harder
when she finally [[passed.->brooch continued 4]]<==
Your Mum gave me a couple of interventions
during the time that followed. I'd started
smoking again, I think that's the thing
that bugged her. I wasn't in a good place,
admittedly; I'd disappear from work on the
few days I went in. Mum would be left
worrying for hours about where I was. I
wasn't there for you how I should have
been and the saddest part is that I
couldn't see how wrong that was. I was
completely numb. I had it in my head that
only kids could cry when someone died. When
you're an adult, you're meant to have it
together. You're meant to expect this to
happen and prepare yourself so you don't
feel it. I didn't cry, not even at
the [[funeral.-> brooch continued 5]]<==
Aunt Lou and I helped clear out her
house a couple of days later. A lot
of it was just charity stuff: old
clothes, dinnerware sets, beaten up
furniture etc. The wardrobe pretty
much collapsed as we tried to move it
so that had to go to the dump. Her
bedside table had seen better days by
that point too. The legs had been
repaired a couple times and the
drawers didn't quite shut anymore.
As we picked it up, Lou tipped the
back too high and the top drawer slid out
and onto the floor. Her sewing kit was
still there, as it had always been,
but next to it in the corner of the
drawer, on top of its coaster like it
used to be, was her [[brooch.-> brooch continued 6]]
<==
It was smaller than I remembered now that
I was holding it in adult hands. A bit
more scuffed too. Remnants of dried glue
still remained around some of the stones
I had "fixed" all those years ago (guessing
Nana might have had to do the same a couple
times since). Some were missing. The clasp
still hung loosely, as broken as it ever
was (link-reveal:"thanks to me.")[
I broke down. Couldn't
stop. Cried so much I couldn't see anymore. (mouseover:"see anymore.")[
Lou drove me home and I took the brooch
back with me. I couldn't seem to put it
down. It just felt like this was our entire
relationship: Broken in places, yes, largely due
to me, but patched up as best as we could overtime.
I was in a dark place for a quite a while over it, but
just as this brooch had thrown me in,
it dragged me out [[again.-> brooch continued 7]]]]=><=
[[Object 7->baby bracelet]]<==
"//Early June, 2001.// I'd left work after lunch because we were in the middle of a heatwave and the office was unbearable. Mum was sitting at the dining table, her hands together, staring at her drink. I asked what was going on. She looked at me for a while before answering. Then, smiling, she put the pregnancy test on the table and slid the glass of wine over to me.
We had talked about having kids but didn't plan for it to happen when it did. I was overjoyed don't get me wrong (my cheeks ached from smiling so much and I broke down in tears when I hugged her!) but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about things. Our house was not fit for a family, nor were our finances, really. But, you know what they say, there isn't ever really a "good time" for these things. We were just [[so happy.-> baby bracelet continued]]
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/h2v8jddozx/unfold_paper.wav" autoplay><==
The next 9 months were a blur. I changed jobs, we moved house, baby-proofed the place, filled it with all the furniture and supplies we could find etc. Of course, it was worse for Mum but many sleepless nights and busy days took their toll on me too (I made sure she agreed with that before writing it, don't worry).
Mum nearly broke my hand when she was in labour. She squeezed it every time she had a contraction so it only got worse the closer she was to having you. (mouseover:"you.")[
I'd never paid much attention to the idea of fatherhood in my life. I didn't meet my own until I was 20, so had little idea growing up what they were meant to be like. I think, with how reckless I used to be, I doubted I'd ever be one. I went to all the classes with Mum but, even then, a lot of my preparation there was making sure //she// was ready. I had no idea what to [[expect.-> baby bracelet continued 2]]]<==
I was in the room when you were finally born. 36 hours she was in labour and yet, once you were in her arms, she looked into your eyes like she'd forgotten every second of it. All 9 months of discomfort, every contraction, it was all worth it. She kept trying to hand you to me but I couldn't take you. I was so tired, I was worried I'd drop you. You looked so calm held against her too, I didn't want to interfere. I felt like holding you would be a turning point, like I'd be condemning you to having me as a Father by doing it. I didn't want to do that to you. You deserved more. (mouseover:"more.")[
But then] (mouseover:"But then")[
you grabbed my finger. I mean, //really// [[grabbed it.->baby bracelet continued 3]]]<==
Your whole fist, no bigger than my knuckle, wrapped right round my finger and just squeezed. So tightly. It was like you couldn't bear to let go. Funny, really. From that moment on, it was me who wouldn't be able to let go. I think that's when I understood: (mouseover:"understood:")[
No book or class or stern talk with myself could have gotten me ready to be a Dad. Only you could have done that.] (mouseover:"that.")[
To this day, I am as happy, grateful and (when I look at how I used to be) as astonished that you are my son as I was the day you were born. You are the most intelligent, grounded and talented person I have ever met and, if that weren't enough, by some miracle, you're //my boy.// I may have helped make you but, I promise, you did more to make something of me.] (mouseover:"something of me.")[
[[Thank you."->final envelope]]]==>
That's it, you think. That's all of them.
But how can that be---
Huh? (mouseover:"Huh?")[
A letter at the bottom of the [[box.->envelope]]]<==
It's a cardboard box with the logo of
a shoe brand on the side. Nothing
special until you consider your name
scrawled on the lid in a thick, black
pen, almost illegibly so.
(link-reveal:"Dad's handwriting.")[
YOU:
A) [[Ask her to stay with you while you open it.-> Stay]]
B) [[Tell her you want to be alone when you see what's inside.-> Go]]]
(set: $Stay to false)
(set: $Go to false)==>
It's not the one from before, is it?
No, that was a postcard. You carefully
pick it up between your fingers.
Like the other notes, it's addressed
to you, though in slightly more legible handwriting
this time. So he'd bothered to put effort into it
//and// bothered to put it in an envelope?
How's this one so (link-reveal: "important?")[
You flip it over. It feels like there's
something else in--- (mouseover:"in---")[
Above the seal, he's written:
"To be opened only once all items viewed".
You think he probably put this letter at the
bottom because he's the kind of person to
ignore a message like that. It makes you smile.
It doesn't stop you from shaking.
YOU:
[[Open the letter.-> Letter]]]]<==
(live: 7s)["Dear Jacob,
Theatrics were never my thing. I remember overhearing my drama teacher saying one parents evening that "I couldn't convince the sky it was blue". Says it all, really. I don't know, I could never get on board with it. I was too critical of what they gave us and too aware of myself. "Romeo finding love age 12 (or whatever)? Please!" It might have been a classic but I would've argued the point to no end at that age. Didn't believe a word I was saying when I had to "act" it. Suppose that was the problem.
But I don't have to act here and I want to stress that. I believe every word of what I'm about to say even if [[you don't.-> letter continued]]]
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/4sazq52d1k/open_letter.wav" autoplay>
<==
I don't suppose you get what this was all about but that's okay. It wasn't just some unprompted tour of my life or a way to get you to remember the parts of it I will no longer be able to.
You're hurting, yes, but that's just the start of it. Underneath, I know you have so many emotions that you're trying to understand and deal with. Some you're probably not even aware of. I know that may sound condescending but I hope you don't think that. I just know it's true. I know because I felt the same when I read my diagnosis for the [[first time.->letter continued 2]]<==
I know because you have the same way of handling pain as I do: burying it, making jokes, at least until everyone's gone and only //then// can you finally release. I really do get it. This box is as much about helping you realise that as it is a way to confront loss. (mouseover:"loss.")[
[[For both of us.->SHOCK]]]=><=
[[''Shock,''-> DENIAL]]=><=
[[''denial,''->BARGAINING]]=><=
[[''bargaining,''->GUILT]]=><=
[[''guilt,''->ANGER]]=><=
[[''anger,''->DEPRESSION]]=><=
[[''depression,''->HOPE]]=><=
[[''and hope.''->letter continued 3]]<==
I have experienced all of those in my life. I have felt them separately, and I have felt them one by one when Nana passed. (text-style:"underline")[But] I didn't want this box to be about death because, well, I'm taking care of that on my end. All this is about what comes next. When all's said and done, flowers by the gravestone etc., I need to know you're going to move on.
This box is to show you how, despite everything you're feeling, (mouseover:"feeling,")[
[[it //will// be possible to do just that.->letter continued 4]]]<==
Lastly, I need to thank you again. It must be odd knowing that the biggest favour you've ever done for me is merely existing but there we go. I know you looked in here for some kind of solace and, of course, I hope you find it. Just promise me that the next time you want to open the lid to look for it, that you look inside yourself first. After all, that's where I always found mine. (mouseover:"mine.")[
All my love,
[[Dad-> letter p.s."]]]<==
P.S. You probably noticed because I was hardly subtle about it, but the envelope has some letter tiles in it. They're the first letter of each of the notes you've just read. Tip 'em out and see what you can make. You always liked scrabble. (mouseover:"scrabble")[
Your clue: [[I couldn't say it."-> Jacob's eyes]]]<==
(colour: black)[You fumble around the bed, scrambling under all the objects and piles of paper that surround you to try and find that envelope. Once you grab it, you shake out the tiles and turn them upright, wanting nothing more than to solve this final piece of the puzzle. //No---// (mouseover:"No---")[
Wanting nothing more than to understand him how he understood [[you.->anagram]]]]
=><=
(set: $answer to (prompt: "What's he trying to say?","") )
(if: $answer.toLowerCase() is "goodbye")[
''Oh...''
(live: 3s)[[[//I see...//-> final goodbye]]]]
(else:)[
//No... that can't be it. I can get this. I'll [[try again.->Enter the password]]//
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/5zo8lb4edn/male_sigh.wav
" autoplay>]
<==
(live: 5s)[Through the gap in your curtain, the sun spills onto your lap.]
(live:7s)[(text-style:"blur")[Your vision] (text-style:"blurrier")[grows cloudy.]]
(live:9.5s)[(text-style:"blurrier")[The record plays on.]]
(live:15s)[(text-style:"blur")[[[END->End]]]]
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/soa92syoro/12_No_Distance_Left_to_Run.mp3" autoplay>=><=
(colour:"black")[Thank you for playing.]
[[PLAY AGAIN->Title Page]]
(link: "QUIT")[<script>window.close()</script>]
Written and illustrated by:
Katherine Gomes==>
It never flowered no
matter what you tried,
anyway. Now the leaves
are dried and brown,
curling at the ends as
they bow their heads,
desperate to be watered
and for the curtains
to be opened again.
There's a knock at the door. (mouseover:"door.")[
YOU:
(if: $Right is false)[[[look to your right->record player]]]
(if: $Right is true)[[[Ignore it and say nothing->Mum]]]]
(live: 6s)[{
(stop:)<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/kk9i7krwn9/door_knock.wav" autoplay>}]
(set: $Left to true)==>
(colour: #5b854e)[He never said what it was called.]
Came back with it from work one
day because his colleague had
green fingers and one too
many of these
"whatever-they-are"s.
He handed it to you
under the premise
"it might actually
make you open the
curtains for once".
He was right.
You did quite well
remembering to water
it up until he--- (mouseover:"he---")[
[[//stop it//->desk 3]]]
(set: $Left to true)<==
It's looking in pretty good nick, now.
I got it properly fixed after she died,
had the guy scrape off the glue that
I'd slathered on it and put in the
missing stones that I found in her
sewing kit. I think she deserved
that at the very least.
Remembering Nana became less painful as
time went on, especially as it now felt
like I had a part of her that meant
something to [[both of us."-> last object]]=><=
(set: $answer to (prompt: "What's he trying to say?","") )
(if: $answer.toLowerCase() is "goodbye")[
''Oh...''
(live: 3s)[[[//I see...//-> final goodbye]]]]
(else:)[
//No... something's not right. I can get this. I'll [[try again.->anagram 2]]//
<audio src= "http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/5zo8lb4edn/male_sigh.wav
" autoplay>]
<==
The letters lie scattered on your bed. You stare at them.(mouseover: "them")[
After a moment, you:
start ''rearranging the letters, changing their order.'' Trying to spell out his (link-reveal:"thoughts on your duvet")[
until you think: (mouseover:"until you think:")[
[[''you've worked it out...''->anagram 2]]]]]