Matthew

From the moment I arrived in Dumfries, she raved about this pub called Queen of the South. I never had any reason to leave the hills. Earnestly speaking, the hills were even more gorgeous than Emilia herself. I joked with her about that one time and she agreed; so I don’t feel too bad writing it.

Half past seven, we took the bus down the winding city roads. The darkened glow of the city lights and elderly brick buildings charmed my eyes. The city’s peaceful vibe allowed my body to feel loose and limber as we walked through the shops. With a rich history, it reminded me a bit of Quebec City, although that’s probably an unfair comparison. Dumfries was far more gentle and quiet than the vibrancy of Quebec, or my hometown of Vancouver. In fact, I realized Dumfries might just be the perfect place for me to live. There was never any trouble, but although very quiet, it never felt empty inside. The sky was also peacefully and practically permanently grey – kind of a reminder that life was never going to be perfectly sky blue. “We’re almost at the pub,” She declared. I felt lucky to be walking alongside her.

As we neared closer, I saw a man, wearing an eye-catching pair of yellow pants, running for the bus. His wallet dropped out of his pocket, but he didn’t notice. I ran after him, grabbing the black wallet that sat in the intersection of the road. After not even twenty seconds of running I keeled over, gasping for air. Just as the bus arrived at its stop, the man realized he hadn’t his wallet to pay for the bus and turned around. I held the wallet up and gave it back to him just as Emilia caught up and helped me to my feet. They say exercise can actually do wonders for people with cancer, but that small dose of adrenaline proved to be the moment I truly grasped my grave situation. No pun intended.

She hardly said a word as she ushered me toward the bar, her hand down my back. We stepped inside and I tried my best not to hurl. She found us two seats next to the TV where they were showing a replay of a football game from earlier – Celtic vs. Rangers. My fondness for football had grown thanks to Emilia and her love of the sport. I never played growing up, nor did I come from any sort of sport background, but we always enjoyed watching together. Emilia first introduced me to Scottish football back in Vancouver. She said the Scots liked it ‘rough and tumble’, and that there was a lot of ‘end-to-end stuff’, ‘specially’ because of the wind. I asked her to demonstrate and she knocked me into a bush. It was the most I ever liked someone. Every weekend she would turn on the ‘telly’ following lunch, most often shepherd’s pie or fish and chips, and two teams would be playing. Her favourite team, she told me, was Hearts because she liked the name, the colour of their uniforms and their rugged style of play. Every Scottish team I had seen had a rugged style, but I didn’t bother to comment this to her. She said in Scotland even if you liked another club you also had to be a either a Rangers or Celtic fan, because those were the only two clubs that ever had a shot at doing anything in European competitions. Football was always something that seemed to oddly bond us together, despite neither of us ever having played.

We sat at the bar and a waitress, who knew Emilia by name, asked us what we wanted. We both ordered hamburgers and Emilia topped hers off with a Carlsberg. It surprised me that she seemed to know everyone in the bar, despite not having been in the month and a half I lived with her. Late into the evening, the band even shouted out “This one’s for Emilia!” before playing a song even I knew – Franz Ferdinand’s Do You Want To. She grabbed my hand and bopped her way to the non-existent dance floor. We danced the entire song to the amusement of everyone in the bar. I didn’t know how to dance, but luckily the song ended faster than I could make a fool of myself. When we sat down, she told me it was unfair that cancer had robbed me of my nice hair. I could see the look beaming in her eye, suggesting she was either going to cry or do something drastic. I warned her not to do either of those things, especially because I really liked her current hair: wavy and black.

She didn’t listen. “Do you like it?” She asked the next day; her hair short and blonde.

Emilia

I thought it was unfair for someone so full of life to have to go without one of the body’s most defining characteristics – hair. I thought about shaving my head to match, but he said not to do anything drastic. So I got some dye and cut off four inches instead. I knew he liked my hair black. But I also knew he liked it auburn. So how much damage could I do? As it turned out, heart-throbbing levels of damage. Blonde had a completely different look. It kind of suited me! The few freckles I had still popped in the light; and the waves turned into cute little curls. ‘Course that wasn’t the blondness, but the way I cut it. But still. 

“Do you like it?” I asked as he awoke from the couch and threw off the blankets.
“I liked your hair black. But I like it blonde even more.” He smiled. I was awestruck. Even in a terrible state, he didn’t let his mood affect him. Even in the most terrible of circumstances he still found a way to make me smile. Even if we had both been drowning in the middle of the ocean, he still would have found a way to make me laugh. He always knew exactly the right thing to say. The exact right thing to make me jump for joy, or even worse, bite my lip. I worried that one of these times he’d catch me and think me a total dork. Luckily, I don’t think he ever noticed.

The hair change didn’t seem to affect him much, although he did this awkward thing where he thanked me and said he understood what it represented. I didn’t fully understand myself if dying my hair blonde made any bit of a difference in showing my support. But I was happy he felt that way! He just went about his normal business, calling in the sheep for food and water. In the weeks that followed, Matthew and I formed the perfect work partnership. He didn’t like sitting for long periods of time (it made his blood clot). So I’d go on the tractor and mow the grass while he guided the sheep. He was quite good at helping them avoid the tractor, even if I was an utter disaster the other way around. The best moments were always when we could work as a team. Sometimes I’d scare the sheep a bit, the loose ones anyway, by clapping my hands or making myself big like a monster. Then they’d hurry into the herd and Matthew would do the rest. He told me he’d always worked in outdoor settings, so it made sense why he found it so easy to have control over them. Nonetheless, he always managed to impress (even the stubborn ones listened!).

Everything was perfect. Matthew and I, together, on the farm. Just like I dreamt about for three years. But being around him everyday was becoming dangerous. I couldn’t help but get more and more attached to him with every conversation. One day, I couldn’t take it any longer. We sat inside drinking pumpkin tea and I asked him if he wanted to experience what it was like to get drunk, since he had never done it before. He said he didn’t think alcohol and cancer went too well together and so I put the bottle of rum away and poured him a glass of water.
“I guess we can get drunk on water instead,” I told him. He clinked my glass against his and downed the drink in one go.
“Sorry,” He said. “I always feel like I’m ruining your fun.”
“You’re not. You’re the only fun thing about this place!”
“Are you kidding me? Dumfries is amazing. I wish I lived here all my life.” 
She gushed and rubbed my back. “I liked Vancouver more to tell you the truth.”
“Really? Maybe we’re fantasizing.”
I paused, taking in his words and trying to figure out what he meant. “Don’t know if it’s a fantasy. Think we just get stuck in a rut – wishing and hoping for new experiences, different from the mundane in life.”
“Are you bored of life in Dumfries?”
His speech had stopped being nervous and anxious about a week prior. It was nice, but I was afraid he had accepted his fate. 
“Not since you got here. Although, I must admit there’s plenty I still want to do while you’re…well…”
“Like what?” He interrupted, stopping me from saying anything foolish. I didn’t answer. Instead, I leant forward, closed my eyes, and kissed him. Remarkably, he kissed back. Even more remarkably, he was a good kisser; just as good as I always imagined him to be. He would even beat out my grade five crush Dean Max, and a random guy I snogged at the pub one time; no question. Quite incredibly, we had sex that night.

‘Course I didn’t have any condoms. Wasn’t like I was expecting the Hemsworth brothers to walk through the door at any moment or anything (what an adventure that would be). But we didn’t care. Cancer was non-transferable, he told me. Plus it was the first for both of us, so we knew the risk of anything else was low. Still, it was the best sex I’ve ever had. ‘Course it’s the only sex I’ve ever had. But I woke up feeling so much more connected to him. As if that was possible. 

Matthew

I woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee. She never had coffee in the hut; only tea.
“What’s this?” I asked as she danced around the kitchen in pink slippers.
“Coffee. Found it the other day hidden behind some tea. Didn’t even know we had it all this time.”

The coffee was pleasant. Neither of us were particularly accustomed to the taste, but I always thought change to be a good thing. The previous night we had done something I never thought I would experience. Of course in running to the only girl I’ve ever truly been attracted to, I guess I might have hoped something like that might happen. But I didn’t think it actually would. Emilia’s never been one to initiate things. I remember one day in B.C., she forgot to pack a lunch. When I offered to give her some of mine, she refused. She said she’d walk to a McDonalds, but didn’t want to go alone, so she never ended up going. I always knew she was attracted to me, it was pretty clear by the way she looked at me sometimes. She would often make subtle jokes and statements that were a lot less subtle than she thought. There was even one time when I swore I saw her biting her lip. But I had no idea she was really, truly, interested like that.

I think I was five when I told my parents I wanted to get married. They told me to wait at least fifteen years. I asked them all about marriage and if a baby came right after. They said yes. I think that was the moment I realized not only did I want to get married, but I wanted to have a child. A mini Matthew Nortel. That never changed as I grew older and when I found out I had cancer, it became one of my most devastating concerns. At least being here in Scotland with Emilia, I could fantasize about things like that.

We started work that day around eight-thirty. Emilia’s grandfather had already been out for a couple hours, weeding and tending to the cattle. The sheep were antsy and restless, so Emilia set them free for a few hours. Later, Emilia’s grandfather called us over. It poured rain the night before, so there was quite a bit of work to do in restoring the soil and patching up the grass. As Emilia and I worked that day, we couldn’t help but laugh and smile at every single thing the other one said. I think that’s when I realized I liked her more than I ever knew.

Emilia

About a week went by and he was getting weaker by the day. I was having a harder time looking after him, not that he ever needed it before. But I felt horrible and hopeless when he sat on the couch, coughing his lungs out. I myself, wasn’t feeling too well. I was hungrier than a hippo, but I couldn’t keep keeping any of it down. I left him alone for a couple hours on a Thursday and went to the store. Thought it’d be best if I picked up some food and supplies. When I returned, I found him laying on the couch, breathing deeply. His eyes opened at the sound of the refrigerator opening like a fishing vessel. 
“You went to the store?” He asked, looking drowsy.
“Yes. Needed to get something.”
“That’s nice. I don’t know why I’m so tired.” He yawned, and fell back asleep. That’s when I began to worry. Not once in the three months had he napped that long. Then I remembered. Three months. 

I held back tears as I walked into the bathroom. When I walked out, I nearly knocked the coffee table over in hysteria. My mother wouldn’t be pleased, but I didn’t care. A rush of happiness and sadness flowed through my veins at once as I triple-checked the pregnancy test. I wanted to burst back into tears. But I stayed quiet. I didn’t want to disturb Matthew’s nap. So I waited.

The next day, I took him to the top of hill, holding his hand. He hadn’t put in a day of work in over a week.
“Sheep are looking healthy.” He said as I propelled him up the hill. “Where are we going?”
“To the top of the hill.” 
He giggled, for the first time in days. “That’s my favourite spot.”

We reached the top and I grabbed both of his hands, holding them with a softer grip than ever before. He looked at me, smiling bravely. He then abandoned my grip to push a strand of hair that had been blowing in the wind behind my ear.
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to explode into tears.
“You said you had something to tell me?” His eyes looked solemn and weak.
“Yes. I’m…I’m…I’m pregnant!”
Stunned, he clutched his face and nearly fell to the floor, until I caught him. A tear rolled down his cheek.
“I’m pregnant.” I repeated, as I bent down to hold him. I couldn’t see him from the angle of our hug, but I could sense he was over the moon. As was I, but I tried to stop the tears from swarming my eyes. I didn’t want to get him wet. After he was done hugging me (I wasn’t done hugging him) he felt my stomach. “So it’s there right now?” He asked. I laughed.
“Yes. We’re going to be parents.”
“I’m not. But you will be.” He touched my chin, probably to make sure I was looking at him. 
I looked him up and down, struggling to find the right words to say. He spoke again, so luckily I didn’t have to. “And you’ll be the best mom this baby could ever ask for.”

The tears were becoming harder and harder to keep inside.
“You’ll always be a part of this, Matthew. You’ll always be here.” I pointed to my stomach and then to my heart. He had never been one to initiate things. So I was surprised when he held my face and kissed me. It was the first time he’s ever initiated anything with me. I absolutely loved it. It was the best and most passionate moment we ever shared.

Hours later, he fell ill. I felt it would be best to take him to the hospital. My grandfather said he couldn’t come, for he had to look after the cattle. But he wished us, Matthew in particular, all the best. I sat next to his hospital bed for over an hour, trying not to cry.

Matthew looked happy; far too happy as he left the earth. I gripped his hand so tight and for so long that I lost all feeling, not just in my hand but everywhere else. His hands were like ice. His bone-chilling temperature seemed to transfer over to mine and even the tears rolling down my eyes couldn’t warm up his hands. I was just about to let go when the room went fuzzy and I forgot to breathe.

I woke up in the next room. The doctor told me I fainted. A psychologist of sorts was there too, asking me questions about how I felt. I didn’t know exactly how to answer her. Even though Matthew told me three months prior that he had just three months to live, I never accepted his death as a formality.

“Where’s Matthew?”
The doctor and the psychologist shared a look. I remembered. I always hoped he’d get better. I always hoped it would would work out – that we’d somehow end up together.
“It seems like in a way, you did end up together.” The psychologist said.
“You should visit your family doctor. They’ll refer you to an OB.” The doctor said.

They left me alone, but I didn’t feel truly alone. I held my stomach and thought about the the baby. The baby that I hoped would one day develop into a person as great as Matthew himself.

Weeks later I found his journal sitting in my desk drawer. I blew off the dust and opened it to find pages upon pages about his experiences on the hills. He wrote about me and my many shades of hair and all he adored about it. He wrote about the sheep, the hills, his disease, my grandfather, he even wrote about how strongly he felt for me. ‘Course I cried for hours on end at every word – an emotional wreck I was. I combined his writings with mine from my diary, so that I’d never forget our story. But I tried not to dwell too much. ‘No point in dwelling on those that are no longer with us,’ mother said rather grimly after the death of my father. In a way, she was right. I had to focus on all still to come. Soon, I would have a child.

Nine months went by. This time, my grandfather accompanied me to the hospital.
“The cattle can wait.” He said. Although ironically, I was unsure if this was true. One of the cows was due to give birth that same day.

It was the longest day of my entire life and I hardly slept a wink. But when it ended I felt an immense sense of joy and relief. The doctor handed me my baby, wrapped up in a tiny blue blanket. I couldn’t help but cry. My grandfather stared back at me and for the first time ever, I saw him with emotion on his face. ‘Course he was only smiling, but that was good enough. I stared down at my adorable little baby and gave him a kiss on the forehead. I finally had a male in my life who I loved as much as Matthew…and my grandfather.

“What are you going to name him?” My grandfather asked, trying to hide his smile.
“B.C.” I said happily.
“What does it stand for?”
“Everything good that’s ever happened in my life.”
There was silence for a few moments as I clung onto my child.
“Wouldn’t that be Egtehiml?” My grandfather asked, and I laughed.

I kissed the baby on the forehead again, snuggling it close to my face. I stared up at the ceiling, knowing Matthew was right there with me.
“I love you Matthew. Happy Birthday.”

THE END

King of the Hill
written by Rhys Desmond