A ROW OF BOTTLEBRUSH TREES

They let me sit out in the garden most afternoons. Once the medication rounds have been done there is no good reason to keep me cooped up inside. I sit out here for as long as I can. It won’t be long before I’m too sick to do this, so it’s best to enjoy it while I can.

I sit out here and enjoy the sunshine. There is a row of Bottlebrush trees forming a rough hedge around the garden. This time of year they are flowering. Tufts of crimson blossom stand out like explosions against the green leaves. Birds come and feed, Rosellas, honeyeaters, and others, adding more colour to the display. Nature showing off her vitality to us poor bastards dying in this grim old hospital.

I remember when I was a kid. The little beach town I grew up in had Bottlebrushes planted around the place too. They used to be planted between the street and the front of people’s houses. Every spring they’d flower and give the whole town a crimson glow.

I don’t recall paying them much attention when I was a kid. Young people don’t tend to notice things like that as much as old people. I remember we used to race past those trees, down those sleepy streets, in a hurry to get to the beach. Always in a hurry to get into the water. Heedless of the sun and the heat. Full of life and energy in a town that was permanently asleep in the long Australian summer.

There were Bottlebrush trees in the house I lived in when I first moved to the city now that I think about it. It was a share house, a bunch of us in our early twenties were living there, doing Uni or working the shitty jobs you get when you’re young and clueless. It was an old house, the owner didn’t maintain it very well, I think he was just sitting on it waiting for the prices in the area to go up. In the meantime he rented it out to us rabble. I wonder if it’s still there? Or has it been knocked down by some developer and turned into units for Chinese students?

There was a row of Bottlebrush trees out front, formed up along the fence in a raggedy line. I remember spewing up in them once. I’d come home so drunk I could barely stand, let alone walk, and the kebab I’d had an hour before decided to repeat on me. The things you do when you’re young and silly.

I remember when I was 28, Sarah and I had shacked up together in a little flat. There were Bottlebrush trees in the little garden out the front, pretty small things that barely flowered. Some guy used to come from the real estate agent to water them every week. The block of flats was basic and dull. Full of young working people trying to get ahead in life. The rent was cheap because the suburb wasn’t that great.

Sarah and I had plans, we were going to save money and get ahead, maybe put down a deposit for our own place. We were in love and full of hope for the future. Then she took the test.

She was late but hadn’t thought too much about it, she’d often been a little late, then she was a lot late. She got a pregnancy test from the supermarket and put it on the kitchen bench where it stayed for several days while she worried a little more. Finally, she did it. I sat in the lounge room of our little flat while she peed on the stick. A sudden shout “CHRIS!” and I raced to the toilet where she was sitting, pants around her ankles, staring at the stick. With a trembling hand, she turned it, so I could see the result. Positive. Pregnant. We were going to have a baby.

Sarah spoke in a quiet, terrified voice “I’m pregnant” telling me what I already knew. I walked outside, numb with shock, trying to process what was happening. I remember staring at those little Bottlebrushes and listening to the traffic in the neighbourhood, while I thought about what we were going to do.

I remember the Primary School our daughter went to. Nice enough place, the teachers actually cared and tried hard and I think that made a lot of difference. It had some Bottlebrush trees around the oval too, now that I think about it. I remember going for some school sports thing Hannah was in. All us parents standing on the edge of the oval watching the kids run around, applauding their efforts, and chatting amongst ourselves.

I remember when it was all done walking hand in hand with Hannah across the oval on our way back to the car. Her little voice asking me if I’d seen her run, just a little girl needing her father’s approval. We walked past those Bottlebrushes, if I remember right. The crimson flowers lighting up the day as we walked, content in our family happiness.

I don’t know how much longer I’ll be allowed to sit out here and enjoy this garden with its row of Bottlebrush trees. They used words like ‘aggressive’ and ‘inoperable’ to describe my cancer. When I asked for specifics and times they were less confident. Maybe six months, maybe four, they couldn’t say with any certainty. They were sure that I would never leave the hospital alive. That much is clear. So I sit and wait and watch this garden with its Bottlebrushes and birds. Enjoying the sunshine while I can.

Lewis Woolston is an aspiring writer whose fiction has previously appeared in Flycatcher and Tulpa Magazines. He lives in Alice Springs with his wife and daughter.