The Sound a Cuckoo makes

Staring at my son is a favourite pastime of mine. Not because he is a particularly pretty boy, his scruffy hair and thin limbs make him look rather farcical. Nor is it because I feel a father’s love for the boy. I’m used to his presence and his habits to the point of familiarity; but I do not feel great affection for him. Even now watching him bend his pinkie and thumb away from his other fingers until they are parallel with his wrist, he’s double jointed which is supposedly fascinating, no warmth bubbles in my chest at his simple smile. Instead I feel a heavy heat pressing against my skull.

Sitting on the dusty couch in our lounge room I am suddenly struck by how quiet the house is, there should be some noise, there should be creaks and groans from the wood and metal that hold up this little world of ours. The toy transformers he’s playing with don’t report their movement along the floorboards. There should be a hum from the fridge, a dog barking in the distance. Even the cuckoo clock, hanging on the wall opposite the boy with its pendulum constantly swinging, is silent. There should be more noise in this space. It’s like we are in a pocket of nothing. An empty vacuum at the edges of the universe. Just me and him, me staring and him ignoring me staring.

With a frustrated yelp I leapt up from the couch. I began yelling and screeching at him. The gist being Why won’t you look at me, Why, why, why. He looks up and I feel a rush of excitement, until I realise he’s looking over my shoulder. I twist my spine around grotesquely to see he is looking at the cuckoo clock. That stupid clock, that stupid boy, stupid clock and stupid stupid boy. I turn around again vigorously to see that he has begun to eat the PB&J sandwich I had made for him. The boy is always hungry and conversely, ever since he came along I had lost my appetite. Like he had stolen my hunger right out of my belly.

He had arrived six years ago on the 21st of June at exactly midnight. He tore our lives apart and Melissa had fallen through the hole he had left. Sometimes I wonder if- no stop thinking, stop the suspicions, stop the doubts, just stop. Melissa, my wife did make me feel warm inside. A wonderful and brilliant woman who brought light with her everywhere she went. Until that light was snuffed out, until he stole the oxygen the light depended on. Then it was just him, me and an emptiness. I still had to work so I got a job as a taxi driver, then a job as a night assistant at the local deli. After the deli I applied for a cleaner job at the local hospital that I didn’t get, they said I needed experience. I showed them pictures of my house which was very clean back then. The pictures of my cold sterile house did not warm them to dirty little me. Right now, I make wooden dolls and sell them at the local market. I also receive financial assistance from the state, otherwise known as the dole. I even qualify for a larger stipend because I look after a dependent.

Looking at him I can’t see it as dependant, well maybe dependant in the way a parasite is to its host. Maybe that’s what he is, a hungry alien lifeform that has attached itself to me? It would be better if he talked, if he acknowledged my presence in any way. Once I thought he said dad to me; but it was a little girl who was on the bus as well. She was talking to her father and she had a big smile to match her big eyes. Eyes that were looking straight at his face. He was looking back so softy which belied his hard, bearded face. The girl was asking him if he would like a bite of her PB&J sandwich. I almost fainted when I saw that, it was lucky for me that I was holding on tightly to the pole next to me with one hand. The other hand was being held by it. In public was the only time he even seemed to realise I was there and would grip on to me tightly. I sometimes wonder if he’s scared that I’ll try and run away. As I was distracted by trying to keep myself upright he stepped forwards whilst still gripping on to me. This jerked me forward and in my dizzy state almost ripped me off my feet. It took all my strength to resist and I pulled him back towards me more roughly than I had intended. He still said nothing; but the other occupants looked at me disapprovingly, as if I was the alien one.

With a miserable sigh I stood up and left the room feeling like a failure. I went into the kitchen and jammed my head into the fridge looking for something, I don’t really know what. As I walked down the hallway back to the lounge with a two-litre bottle of milk to my lips I paused in shock, my feet coming to a silent stop because I was wearing socks instead of my slippers, I lost them yesterday. I’ve been losing things a lot lately, like my own house was hiding things from me. I stopped because of a noise emanating from the lounge-room. It was a voice talking very matter of factly to Optimus Prime. The voice was telling him that the Decepticons had defeated him and his Autobots and it was time for him to go away forever. The thing was talking, I win, finally finally finally I win. I barge into the living room trembling from the victory. As I enter the clock struck eight and the cuckoo springs forward mouth agape, ready to scream.