Author’s note: I wrote this a while back when I was still in University, and found myself thinking of it today as I jogged around the East Coast Lagoon aimlessly with a depressed heart.

A mild wind is blowing southwards. It whips my messy hair sideways and sends dried leaves circling. I glance at my wristwatch, and it tells me that it is nine in the morning. It is only nine, I say to myself, smiling like a child with a secret. Another semester in University had just ended and the headache of examination preparations was subsiding fast. And here I am, sitting on the front steps of my house, facing the main road that runs like a vein in this neighbourhood, and I allow myself to breathe in the slowness of the day.

Days like these are always lost on me.

A year ago, I would wake up to skies melted white in December. I remember just lying in bed and staring at the windows to see an empty canvas. These days, it is just blue skies with specks of cloud. Maybe last year was a miserable year. It had all the usual heartaches and worries. I think I simply careened through the moments without much thought. Or maybe last year was no different from this year. It’s just that I changed my mind about the heartaches and worries. Maybe I changed my heart as well. I simply gave up the burden of pining for love and decided to wait until a real man showed up. That, or sail away to London. Or both.

But today would not be wasted on reflecting on the past. Today was for walking and breathing slowly, and spending a few hours with a cute boy.

A cute boy who happens to be almost five years old. He also happens to be my nephew. We are separated by seventeen years, which I find rather awkward. For the past three years, my older brother Michael and I had been spending some time with our little nephew David by taking him out for walks. David was diagnosed as being mildly autistic at the age of two, after exhibiting a number of the common behavioural symptoms.

It broke his parents’ hearts. My cousin Sharon and her husband Jim blamed themselves, as parents naturally do. I don’t know the complete story, because I am not the sort who likes to sit down and listen about peoples’ troubles unless they themselves talk about it. My brother Michael is like that as well. He says if we spend less time gossiping, and more time actually doing something helpful, then maybe we can shoulder each other’s burdens better.

9:30am and David is sitting in the passenger seat of the car as I drive to the coast.

‘Michael…’ he says slowly, eyes glued to the glove compartment for some strange reason.
‘Michael is away, my dear. He’s gone to serve for his National Service,’ I say calmly. (Re-service, but service was easier for him to comprehend.)

Minutes fly past. David sits completely still.

‘Michael…’ he repeats.
‘Where is Michael, David?’ I ask.
‘National Service…’ he drawls.
‘That’s right,’ I say. ‘Do you know what people do for National Service?’

Silence.

We arrive at East Coast Park. The sun is already rising midway, but the air is still cool. I park the car, and guide David out. We come to the ECP most of the time, and he enjoys throwing crumbs at turtles in the large pond. Sometimes we take off our sandals, and walk along the wet part of the shoreline.

Today, we eat an ice cream each. His hands become streaked, and his mouth is smeared all over with dried brown ice cream. I carry him off to the toilet and point him to his reflection in the mirror. He squeals with delight at his new image, and then gazes shyly at his face.

‘Look at me, David,’ I say. He doesn’t. He hardly looks at anyone in the face.

‘David, I am going to put my hand on yours. Can you hear me?’ He doesn’t respond, and continues to study his ice cream marked face.

I put my hand over his tiny hand gently. He does not flinch, for he is aware of my intentions. I take his hand and place a wet wipes piece in it.

‘I am going to wipe my face David. Look.’ And I demonstrate wiping my face, and then hands. I don’t look at him, because that makes him uncomfortable, but in the corner of my eye, I know he can see me.

And then he takes the wet wipes piece and starts to wipe his face, just as he learnt from the countless times before. He looks at himself after, and satisfied, he gives a loud yell and screams ‘ALL CLEAN NOW!!!’ I grin at him, and he shields his eyes away from my gaze. Something in my heart wants to reach out and heal this boy, but I know that everything has its time and purpose.

We spend the rest of our time cycling down ECP. He’s getting heavier for the baby seat, and I make a mental note to start teaching him to cycle. He clutches to the soft fabric of my t-shirt, and traces indecipherable words between the folds on my back. I point out the sea to him, and birds, and people walking past with their dogs.

Sometimes he screams ‘COCONUT TREES!’ when we pass them. And I say ‘yes that’s right, coconut trees’ and he laughs as if it were a joke.

‘Who made those trees, David?’

Silence. He doesn’t answer. Sometimes he seems not to be able to hear anything.

‘Who made the birds, David?’

Still no answer.

‘Did I make the sea, David?’
‘NO!!!’ he screams immediately.
‘Oh? Did Michael make the sea, David?’
‘NO!!!’ he screams, with ferocity.
‘Did you make the sea, David?’
‘NO!!!’ and he starts flailing his arms about.
‘So who made the sea, David?’
He doesn’t waste a second to think.

‘GOD…’ he whispers, almost inaudibly.

By noontime, the sun has already come out in full force, so we retreat to the shade of palm trees and we eat sandwiches cousin Sharon packed. David only eats triangular sandwiches, with a slice of cheese and two slices of ham, and tomatoes – no cucumbers. Then I repeat the whole routine of letting his clean his mouth by himself. David likes routine.

‘Michael…’ he drawls.
‘Where’s Michael?’ I ask him.
‘National Service…’ he breathes heavily.
‘Do you miss him, David?’ I ask.
His eyes are glued to the sea. And we sit there in silence.

I drive him home after that. He has fallen asleep, and looks like an angel with his long eyelashes and floppy hair. He is my silent angel. My silent beloved angel.

Sharon is waiting for him.
‘Did you both have a good time?’ she asked.
‘We had an excellent time. He’s been making progress with the whole cleaning up routine,’ I smiled. Sharon laughs, and carefully prise the sleeping silent angel from under the seat belt.
‘Thank you, my dear,’ she says and waves goodbye.

I smile, wave and drive off. I switch the radio on. It’s Jars of Clay playing. I think about today and about who made the sea, and smile. And tomorrow is going to be a brand new day with my silent angel, a brand new day.

And the radio plays –

‘They say that I can move the mountains
And send them falling to the sea
They say that I can walk on water
If I would follow and believe
With faith like a child’

Tomorrow will be even better.

Even with my fractured heart, I know tomorrow will be even better.