Can I Rewind

• Morgan Herlihy, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2011

If I had known the outcome, if there was a way to predict the ending of the story, would I have changed anything? I’d like to think I would, if I could reach back into the past and grab hold. But the pain would still be there, the grief would still be present, like the plague. And the tears, they would still fall down my face. Although the reality of it all was: I could change my actions in those last few hours, but regardless the ending… it would always remain the same.
4326, the best score of the day, after pushing little buttons and bending in my chair for half an hour I’d had to restart multiple times when the screen flashed the devastating words: GAME OVER; snake, the oldest and the most addictive mobile game ever. However sad it was that I had been playing the silly little game on my Aunty’s phone over and over getting worked up over the death of my snake, it was far better than the depressing scene in the room across the hall. Every time my snake crashed into itself blinking the end of its life, I looked up towards the door, as casual chatter flowed towards me, beyond which stood my family around a bed. Within this bed lied sickness, pain, regret, suffering and sadness. I just couldn’t bring myself to pass over that threshold, into the intensely negative atmosphere.
“Right, common sweetie, time to go” the words fell out of dads fake plastered smile, he tried to keep his tone light but the strain in his eyes was obvious. A course of emotions ran through me, I could feel it making its way to the surface; creating a giant lump in my throat I tried to breathe around. Finally I peered into the poorly lit room, as my aunty passed I handed her the phone, and shuffled towards the cot.
Riding home felt good, knowing that everyone was still at school, suckers! Mum had picked us up early. At the time I didn’t fully understand what that meant; maybe it was just a surprise trip, that’s all. I didn’t recognise the need for worry, but looking back I realised my brother did.
Sitting in the lounge room for dinner, strange my parents allowed it, but I got to eat in front of the TV so who cared? The call came loud, dad turned the TV to mute, I was so mad, and why couldn’t he just take it outside. “Okay… yeah… no we’re coming.” Phone in the cradle, I reached for the remote as mum send dad a knowing glace “Let’s go, you can bring your dinner in a container, we’re off”
The miserable environment hadn’t changed in the last 4 hours, it was still bleak, stuffy and too cold. Walking down the corridor, passing room after room featuring differing scenes of emotion and levels of health, it all faded when I reached the doorway: 87. Placing my hand on the nob, I twisted clockwise to reveal a room full of family; they glanced over at us as we entered. There were frowns, tears, red noses, puffy eyes and lots of tissues. I surveyed their faces, as the same horrible feeling hit me like a tidal wave; full of punch, my stomach clenched. I weaved my way through the impressive number of bodies in such a small space; finally I found the railing surrounding the mattress.
That night, as I sat in my bed reading my English book, wishing I could be with dad and the rest of my family. The phone rang loud and clear, but was swiftly cut off after two rings. Confusion and denial engulfed me as mum came into my room, took my hand and lead me to her bed while my brother trailed behind me. She sat at the head of the bed, her back to the wall facing us, when she spoke I grew numb, frozen, unable to think. Then the rain started, the rivers began to flow, the waterfalls crashing down my cheeks, under my chin, soaking my shirt.
My mothers voice like a broken record in my mind: “Gramps has died.”