Back to the Bay

When Toby and I ran out of specifically Yukon-related things to discuss, we moved on to more regular topics, family, origins, hobbies, ya-da-ya. Sitting down on the pebbles on a cloudy day when they weren't literally burning hot, he told me he had an older sister and an older brother, and that he lived in a sleep-out on the back of his sister and brother-in-law's section. "Lucky for us Laura and Tom like dogs," he said, tugging on Yukon's ears, "because it'd be tough to find a regular landlord who wanted one of these drooling all over everything and digging up the place." He told me his parents had a farm up at Rangiahua, on the Waikaremoana road, "So, Napier's like, the big smoke, for me."

I laughed. "I can just imagine you turning up as a wide-eyed eighteen-year-old!"

He frowned at me. "I was a wide-eyed thirteen-year old, actually. I mean, I went to Boys' High - there was nowhere else to go."

"You boarded?" I asked.

"Yep," he confirmed, throwing a pebble. Yukon dashed off after it, but couldn't distinguish it from the several million others of the same shape and colour, and slunk back disappointed.

"What was that like?" I prompted.

"It was alright," he said thoughtfully, "I mean, apart from all the obsession with freaking sport all the time! I was growing, like, an inch a month or something, and I never knew where my hands or my feet were, so it made me phenomenally un-co. How about you? You have a good time there, city-slicker? I guess if you were sporty, you would've."

"I wasn't," I replied, "but I coxed the fours. Perfect job for a scrawny kid. You get to perch up the back of the boat saying, 'stroke, stroke, stroke', while other people do the actual work!"

Instead of laughing at my weak joke, he looked puzzled. "You're not scrawny!"

"I was," I assured him, "very scrawny. I bulked up a bit once I got to uni and started living at the gym."

Toby draped an arm around Yukon's neck, and leaned into him. "I was supposed to go to uni," he muttered, looking out toward the waves.

"What happened?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Oh, nothing. I didn't mean something prevented me. I meant, I wasexpected to go. Parents, teachers, deans, so on. You're clever, Toby, you should do a degree." He sighed loudly. "But I'm not ambitious. I don't care about career paths, I don't want loads ofthings, I don't want tobe someone. I like my life the way it is. I like doing what I'm doing."

Maybe that's it, I thought, as I ran back home, maybe that's the indefinable something I'm yearning for. That aura he gave off - it was contentment. He was complete in himself somehow, he had a calm about him, because he wasn't striving for a whole load of shit that'd remain forever just out of reach. Instead, he was swimming against the stream, ably, with a smooth gliding stroke, doing his own thing, in his own way. It made me like himeven more.

——

Early May, on a Wednesday afternoon at work, Dianne called out to me from the front desk. "Adrian? Are you there?"

"Uh-huh," I replied from behind the partition, not getting up.

"There's someone here for you," she said. I left what I was doing and went out the front, and there was Toby, hands in pockets, marooned in the middle of the reception area. For a fraction of a second, I was actually a tiny bit annoyed that he'd show up here. Then I looked at him properly. He was pale and hunched, blinking rapidly, kind of checked-out looking. Shocked. My thoughts jumped immediately to, Yukon's been stolen, hit by a car, choked on his collar...oh, no...

I started forward. "Toby? What's wrong?"

He blinked again, several times. "Um, uh, sorry, but...I, um, you know that accident that was on the news this morning?"

I did. A milk tanker took out a car on a bend, somewhere near Te Puke, broke it into pieces - I'd seen the photo, on the StuffNews website - total carnage. I nodded dumbly, knowing this was gonna be bad.

He nodded back at me. "Yeah...I just found out, it was my Auntie Karen...it was her car..."

Well, she's definitely dead... "I'm really sorry, man," I whispered. "Do you want to sit down?" indicating one of the chairs by the wall.

He shook his head. "No, I have to go - I'm heading up to Tauranga with Mum and Dad, but Tom and Laura are going too, obviously, and...I don't know when any of us'll be back. I was wondering," darting a quick glance at me, "could you...would you look after Yukon while I'm away?"

"Totally!" I said, relieved to be able to do something, "it's not a problem at all! What do you want me to do?"

"Well, the main thing is that he knows you," he replied, digging around in his pockets, coming up with a key. "Here, this is for my place, and I'll write down the address for you. He's there at the moment, obviously, and if you could take him for a run after work - it hasn't happened today, with all the..." he trailed off, then squared his shoulders and said, "and you'll see his food, once you get inside. Then, I guess, take him back to yours overnight if you're happy with that. If you're not, or if he's not handling being somewhere new, then crash at my place. And I'll...stay in touch, let you know where I'm at." We swapped phone numbers and addresses, and he shuffled away.

I had a text from him the next day. 'Are you guys doing okay?'

'We're managing fine,' I replied.

Half an hour later, I got, 'Thanks.' Then nothing.

I figured I shouldn't contact him unless there was a real need - and there wasn't. Yukon and I were hobbling along alright. He was his usual idiotically energetic self when we were out for a run, but he was definitely kind of...apathetic otherwise. He ate, but not much. He did a lot of flopping and sighing. Eventually, I lay down on the floor beside him.

"You're feeling pretty bummed, aren't you, big guy? So am I. So am I." He just looked at me. I wonder...I got up, moved around behind him, lay down again and spooned him. He sighed again - this time a good sigh. But lying down on a floor isn't a long-term proposition for a human. They're not only hard, they'recold, if you aren't covered in a thick blanket of fur. I got up, brushed my teeth and headed to bed. Yukon sighed and flopped on the carpet alongside, and I reached out a hand and tangled it in his neck-ruff. We fell asleep like that each night.

Saturday, I planned to spend as much time as possible outside, running about, exploring, to keep Yukon occupied, keep him from moping - but I knew he'd tire me out, rather than the other way round. I decided to run up to Toby's place and borrow his bike to give myself an advantage. I was a bit concerned Yukon might sit down and refuse to leave, but he didn't - he wanted the company, he wanted the adventure. About lunchtime, I had a look at my phone and saw I'd missed a text from Toby at 9am. It said, 'Funeral today. Probably coming back tomorrow.' I replied, 'Okay, we still doing fine.' We stayed out for hours - fortunately it was late enough in the year that there was no worry about getting burnt.Unfortunately, I wasn't accustomed to biking, and I could hardly stand upright on Sunday morning, and I figured I was looking at another day of the same. Oh, well - working through the ache was the fastest way to get rid of it.

Toby texted before we left the house, 'Driving down today, will be there about three probably.'

I acknowledged, adding 'At my house. I have your bike btw,' and we went out.

The weather was a bit shit though. Bands of drizzle were coming through one after another, and a lot of wind. Come lunchtime I was so cold I needed to go home and have a hot shower. Yukon obviously had a really water-repellent coat, because he was completely dry by the time I was showered and changed.

"Well, what're we gonna do now for the next two hours?" I asked him, stroking his back.

Quite a few hairs came away and clung to my hand. Okay, I thought, I'll brush you. I'm sure I have some kind of implement that'll do the job. I didn't, really - I ended up just using a large comb, but the tines reached only partway through his pelt. It did half a job though, and I discovered that brushing a malamute is something you should really attemptbefore having a shower, not after. And before vacuuming. I could-not-believe the amount of hair that was strewn, piled, and floating about the place when I was done. I took a photo with my phone, then I vacuumed the floor, the couch, my clothes, and finally, Yukon himself. He was clearly used to that, and rolled about luxuriating in it, tongue lolling.

"Anyone who enjoys vacuum cleanersthat much is definitely a pervert," I told him, before putting it away and flopping down beside him to watch some third-division rugby on the TV.

Which was how Toby found us an hour later. "Hey guys," he said quietly, peeking round the doorframe, a millisecond before Yukon crash-tackled him to the floor. He laughed, and the two of them wrestled for a little while, but once Toby was upright again all the enthusiasm drained out of him. He looked pale, with really dark shadows under his eyes, and his clothes were all wrinkled. I felt desperately sorry for him. I wished there was something more I could do.

"How did it go?" I asked gently.

He shrugged. "Mmh. Funerals aren't the best kind of family reunion, but yeah, it was okay."

I looked at him standing there all crumpled in on himself, distractedly petting a very excited Yukon. "What you mean is, it fucking sucked, and you never want to have to do anything like that ever again?" I prompted.

He nodded slowly. "You're right. It fucking sucked and," drawing in a sharp breath, "I never want...to do any-thing-like-that-ever-a-gain." His voice had dropped to a whisper by the end of the sentence, and he spun on his heel, turning his face away. "C'mon, Yukon, let's go."

They left, and the house was empty again. Suddenly the noise from the TV was incredibly annoying, and I turned it off. Then it was too dim, too silent. I turned it back on again, but the only options other than rugby were fishing shows. My fucking god! Who wants towatch dudes fishing! I switched it off again, hugged my knees up to my chest, and dropped my forehead onto them, recalling the blankness in Toby's eyes, the confusion overlaying his usual sunny contentment, the dishevelled, defeated posture, all the colour, the radiance gone from him, seeming younger, thinner, smaller. And what could I do? Nothing. It hurtso much to see him hurting, and to know that however bad I was feeling, he was feeling worse... I started to cry. I hadn't cried in literally years, and apparently there was a backlog, because I sat there quietly weeping until I was all weak and shaky and there were two big wet patches on the knees of my jeans. I felt a bit more sane with all that out of my system. I went and splashed some water on my face, and told my reflection, 'There is one thing you can do. Be a good friend. Be around. Be available.'

I went for a run along the shore again next day, not knowing whether or not they'd be there, whether Toby would be feeling up to it, whether he'd have to be working instead to make up shifts. I was being available - and I was hanging out to see them again. It was getting to feel like three times a week wasn't enough. I wanted more. More time and more...things. But that was my problem to deal with. My problem to keep a lid on. All the same, as I ran northward up the concrete pathway, I had this sense of bubbling anticipation welling up alongside the nagging worry I wouldn't find them.

They were there. Yukon saw me first, and barrelled the two hundred yards separating us to rear up with his paws on my shoulders and pant in my face. Toby arrived ten seconds later, huffing and puffing. "Damn, no matter what I do, this guy stays fitter than me!"

I scrutinised him while dislodging Yukon. He looked much better today, more like his usual self. "How's things?" I asked.

He took off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. I loved his hair. It was short at the back and sides - probably a requirement for work - but the top was a mess of loose red curls that didn't seem susceptible to helmet-hair. "Yeah, better," he said. "I had a decent sleep last night at least. I barely slept while I was away - you know, strange beds, strange goings-on, but mostly, I was worrying about Yukon - missing him, that kinda thing."

I looked at him sideways. "He seems to've pulled through a few days of my tender loving care without sustaining any lasting trauma..."

I meant it as a joke, but Toby's face fell. "I really am grateful, Adrian. I know it's not a small thing, and...and I didn't realise until after I left yesterday, I never said thank-you, did I? That was totally lame of me. Sorry about that."

"It's okay," I reassured him, "it wasn't any kind of sacrifice. I love hanging out with Yukon. It's, like, its own reward. So you don't need to buy me flowers or anything!"

He rolled his eyes. "Still, I should've said thank-you. But...the thing is, I was...I left in a hurry like that because I could tell I was gonna cry again."

"I could tell too," I disclosed.

He sagged. "Oh, great..."

"You want to know what I did after you left?" I asked.

"What?"

"I sat on my couch and cried," I confessed.

He stared at me, unblinking, for a few seconds. "So...let me get this straight. I sat in my flat crying by myself, while you were sitting in your house, crying by yourself?" He looked heavenward, shaking his head. "God. Stupid."

"Guysare stupid," I said. "It's a well-documented fact." He laughed briefly, then shot a glance at me, and even though the light was failing, I thought he might be blushing. He was also grinning helplessly. I looked on as he dropped his chin to his chest for a moment, then raised it slightly, looking hesitantly up from under his lashes at me. When he saw I was still watching him, he broke out smiling again. I kept looking, unable to pin down my own grin. He took embarrassed refuge behind a hand, but the smile stayed in place.

It wasn't erotic, or even flirtatious, but it was...incredibly, astonishingly, intimate. I stood on the grass beside that path, five feet away from him, with the cold starting to seep into the small of my back where my sweaty shirt was clinging, and I wanted him more thananything else in the world.

And then he crushed me. He threw a ball for Yukon, and as we both watched him haring off after it, he said, "I'm gonna have to give this up pretty soon. It's just getting too dark to be out here at this sort of time. I'll probably switch to all mornings from next week until daylight savings starts up again."

At that moment - just that precise moment, I was grateful for the lack of light, for the fact that we were facing away from what little of it there was left, so he couldn't see my face. I can't handle it, I was thinking. I can't handle it, can't handle it, can't. Only once a week? How the fuck am I going to survive?

"You couldn't change your route?" I asked, "You know, take him for a run somewhere where there's street-lighting?" But why would you? It's your dog, your life...

He winkled the ball free from Yukon's jaw and handed it to me. "Here, you have a go, you can throw further than me." I hurled it as far as I could, fuelling it's trajectory with a fair bit of impotent rage, as he replied, "The problem is, anywhere where there's street-lighting, he needs to be leashed, and it's...complex, biking along with him on a leash. He doesn't give a shit about whether I stay upright or not, unfortunately. So this really does work best." He turned to me. "I've kinda bummed you out, haven't I?"

I saw no point in denying it. "Uh, yeah." I was gifted a slobbery tennis ball again, and I dutifully threw it, watched him streak away, but somehow the evening was already sapped of its magic. You dumb shit! I told myself. Can't you just enjoy a thing for what it is - especially given there isn't gonna be much more of it - instead of sulking?

"Well, I don't know what your schedule is, obviously," Toby was saying now, "but we do come out every day, unless the weather's so bad the beach is actually unsafe - so there's always Sundays," nudging me, "if you want to get even fitter. And..." he paused, looking out into the murk, where the waves were melding with both the beach and the sky, "and I guess you can always come back to my place and hang for a bit, after. It's not like I do anything noteworthy in my weekends, and I don't leave for work until four."

I thought about it - for maybe a second. "Yeah, that could work...or you guys could come to mine."

"He'd need to be leashed on the city streets," Toby pointed out, "but I guess if you're running you can do that bit, so, okay, sure."

"I never leashed him when I was running home with him last week," I admitted.

"That's because I never mentioned it, eh?" Toby replied. "Too much else to think about at the time. You were just bloody lucky he didn't see a cat. He's terrible for chasing cats. Anyway, look, it's practically dark already. We should get going."

I started cycling through the stages of grief on my way back home, and by the time I got in the door I was around at anger again, and stuck fast. I fucking hate winter! There's nothing good about it - nothing! Too cold, too rainy, too fucking dark. No holidays, no cricket. Not enough daylight. Not enough Yukon. Not enough Toby. Fuck!

I was still angry when I finished in the shower, came out of the bathroom, and turned on the hallway light. Fuck this shitty wallpaper! Who puts lavender-coloured wallpaper up in a hallway? Oranywhere? God, I can't stand it! I stalked into my room and snatched up my phone, still wrapped in nothing but a towel.

"Hello, Adrian, love!"

"Mum. Is Dad there?"

"No, he's out playing cards."

"He'swhat? Since when does he play cards?"

"No,darts, darling."

"Oh, right. Can he wallpaper?"

"What?"

"Wallpaper! Does he know how to wallpaper? I need something to do over winter, or I'm gonna go mental! I can't stand looking at this friggin' purple wallpaper in my hallway a second longer! I need it gone, and the shitty green stripy stuff in my bedroom's not much better - I hate that too!"

"What's going on, Adrian?" Mum asked dubiously.

"I already told you!" I snapped. "I need to get rid of this wallpaper - I want to know if Dad can help me!"

"You don't sound so good, love," she said. "Did something go wrong at work?"

"No!" I practically shouted, "everything is completely fine! I just want to wallpaper, is all!"

"Why are you so agitated, though? Did you have a break-up or something, Adrian?"

Gah. Mothers. "I don't want to talk about it!" I hissed."I want to wallpaper! Get Dad to call me, okay?"

Dad called me about ten. "Adrian. What the hell did you say to your mother? She thinks you're having some sort of emotional crisis."

I sighed. "I'm fine. I'm just...there's so much to do on this house, and I don't know how to do any of it. It's frustrating. Can you help me with some wallpapering?"

"Sure," Dad replied, "when?"

"Soon," I said. "Like, yesterday. I'm so sick of this stuff. I hate it."

"Well, rip it off then," he said. "there's no skill needed for that bit. You just find a loose corner and pull the sheet away. The top layer usually comes off in one huge strip. Then there's sort of another layer underneath, that you need to wet to get it to come off. Use an old household spray bottle with plain water, and just pick at it. That underneath layer comes off in loads of tiny shitty little bits, and you have to get themall before you can hang anything over top. No reason not to start now. It'll take you a while. Call me when you're done, and I'll help you put up the new stuff. And be more polite to your mother."