FOREVER NOW – Chapter 1 – by UltimateSin

FOREVER NOW – Chapter 1 – by UltimateSin

I never knew my mother. The mother who gave birth to me, at least. Despite modern medicine, the low child mortality, the fact pregnancy and birthing procedure was far safer than even fifty years ago, women could still have complications that resulted in the death of one or even both during the birthing process. Unfortunately, my mother was one of the unfortunate few. They could save me, but they couldn’t save my mother. She passed away on the operating table.

The woman I called ‘Mum’ obviously wasn’t my birth mother, knowing from a young age that we looked rather different when I saw photos of the family. My father raised me alone for the first couple of years of my life before he met who I called Mum. But I guess I should explain just a tiny part of our homeland’s history. Looking back at it now, it’s causes many to cringe with embarrassment.

Until 1973, Australia had in law what it called the ‘White Australia Policy’. It was basically an immigration restriction act that gave preference to British people during the first half of the twentieth century. After World War II, immigration was opened up to white, non-British people, mostly Italians and Greeks, with restrictions against most of the globe remaining, though through to the sixties, things did slowly change. It was only with the Whitlam Government in 1973 that race was no longer to be regarded as a component for immigration, and in 1975, the ‘Racial Discrimination Act’ made selection based on racial criteria illegal.

Since that day, Australia has become an incredibly multicultural society, though in those early years, those immigrating from Asia still suffered horrific racism. The first mass immigration of non-white people was from Vietnam, escaping at the conclusion of the Vietnam War, but people were soon arriving from all over Asia and beyond to take the opportunities that were offered as the country finally opened itself up to the world.

And that’s how my father met my mother. She arrived with her family from Japan in the late 1970s, and met my father only a couple of years after I was born in the early 1980s. There was a slight age difference, no more than five years between the pair, but father often told me he was smitten with Mum the first time they laid eyes on each other. My father had been left a single young father after my birth mother died, a difficult proposition in early 1980s Australia, though thankfully he had his parents to help.

I was two when my father and woman I’d later call ‘Mum’ met. Her name was Noriko, and even when I was two or three, I thought she was a very pretty lady, and I liked her immediately, simply because she smiled all the time, she always smelled nice, and she was simply friendly with me. I think she liked me as I immediately liked her in return. My father slowly introduced her into my life, aware that she became a regular fixture in the house. By the time I was at primary school, they had married, she had adopted me as her own child, and we lived as a happy little family in the western suburbs of Sydney.

Mum and Dad had their own child when I was six years old, a daughter they christened Hanako, though everyone eventually just called her Hana. My sister looked like my mother, and as I grew up, she taught my sister about her homeland, and the day I sat down and asked to do the same as my sister, it made Mum cry, and I was soon bilingual like my Mum and sister. It was always amusing, later in life, when I’d break out into fluent Japanese with people… My father tried, but he found it a little more difficult, though Mum loved the fact he simply cared enough to try.

Having a six to seven year gap between children wasn’t too awkward. In fact, I think it made life easier for my parents. Once I was a teenager, they asked if I didn’t mind the occasional babysit of my sister so they could escape for a night. I didn’t mind, as my sister was a gorgeous little kid, well-mannered and polite, and she loved me to bits. I helped her with homework, walked her to and from school every day, and generally made sure she was never bothered by people, particularly narrow minded dickheads who couldn’t accept the subtle changes to society thanks to immigration. Even in my later teen years, when most older brothers might have been annoyed by it, I never let it show if she did get on my nerves slightly. She was always greeted with a smile, and the one real joy in the household was hearing her giggle. Giggling would be mixed with squealing if I caught and tickled her.

“Your sister loves you a lot,” Mum would tell me often.

“I love my sister, Mum. She’s the cutest little thing in the world.”

“But you still want to leave?”

I’d told my parents that, once I’d graduated high school, I was going to go work. And with the resources boom starting to take off in the late 90s into the early 00s, going into the mining sector was almost a guarantee at making plenty of dollars. “I’ve done a lot of research, Mum. I go work hard for a few years, then I can look into something else. And I know going into this sector, while doing further study and certificates in other fields, will really open up further opportunities. Maybe or even hopefully overseas.”

“You are desperate to leave?” Mum asked softly.

She dabbed at her eyes. I hugged her immediately. “Not desperate, Mum, but I have to make my own way in life. You know what I mean?”

“I understand, Mark. We will miss you, your father and I, but your sister…”

“I’m not sure how to explain it to a soon to be twelve-year-old girl who seems to worship her older brother.”

Mum took my hand. “Just spend as much time as you can with her before you leave.”

“I promise, Mum.”

She smiled. “You’re a good boy. I’m proud, and I know your mother would be too.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

Mum always made sure a picture or two of my birth mother was placed around the house. Though my father had re-married and the grief was long in the distant past, Mum made sure she was always remembered in the house. We would celebrate her birthday, remember the day she passed away, and she made sure I would go see her grave at least once every so often. She would go with me every time, and we took my sister once she was old enough to explain who my birth mother was and what happened, at least in gentle terms.

No wonder my father loved her so much, and it’s why I didn’t just love but adored the hell out of her in return. The first time I’d called her Mum, before she’d even adopted me, she’d smiled and cried at the same time, because that was the sign of what I thought of her and what she meant to me. I’d been her son for as long as I could remember.

Graduating high school, I’d made plenty of applications for jobs in the mining sector and was eventually hired by a firm in Western Australia. If you wanted to go mining, that’s where you needed to be. Mum and Dad knew it was coming, so when I sat them down and told them where I was going, when I was starting, and what I’d be doing, Mum hugged me tightly, Dad looked proud and shook my hand, then I had to go tell Hanako.

Her bedroom was what you would expected a young girl at twelve years old, verging on turning thirteen, though you could see the influence of our mother, her heritage and culture. “Hanako-chan?” She looked up from the book she was reading, no doubt busy studying. My sister was almost ridiculously intelligent already. She closed her book as she could read my face easily. “Can we talk?”

She moved to sit on the edge of her bed, sitting down next to her. I was just a smidgen over six foot. My little sister hadn’t even reached five foot yet. And she knew what was coming, she knew what was happening, as she just leaned into me, feeling her arms around my waist as she cried. Damn near broke my heart hearing her cry. Picking her up was easy, feeling her limbs try and surround my broad frame, as I carried her out into the living room where my parents were. Rubbing her back lightly, I just whispered how much I’d miss my adorable little sister, that I’d call, write and email as often as I could, but that her big brother needed to spread his wings and fly.

Eventually settling down, I held her for as long as she wanted, not wanting to show her that I was crying as well. Dad eventually took her from my arms so I could go splash water on my face. That had been far more difficult than I imagined. Walking into my bedroom, everything was packed, ready to leave the next day.

Driving to the domestic terminal the next day, I sat in the back with my sister, who sat in the middle and cuddled me the entire time. I’d miss Mum and Dad, but I knew leaving was going to hurt my little sister most of all. Hell, I spent half the time just staring out the window, feeling my own emotions bubbling up. But I had my own life to lead, and I had my own ambitions. Money didn’t buy happiness, but it would certainly make life easier. I planned on working my arse off for a while before I would then decide on what to do next.

Dad shook my hand one last time, stating he was proud of me, and made me promise to keep in touch with home. I assured him I’d do the best I could. Mum just hugged me tight, amused that I’d started towering over her by fourteen. I spoke in Japanese when I told her how much I loved and adored her. That made her start sobbing, saying she was proud to call me her son.

Then little Hanako. This time, she saw me cry. She kissed my cheek and wrapped her arms around my neck as I got down on a knee to hug her. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too, Hanako-chan. I’ll do my best to come home soon.” I never had a problem telling Dad, Mum or my sister I loved them. Mum made sure I was comfortable with my emotions and, more importantly, expressing them.

“But you will be busy?”

“Very busy.”

“You will call?”

“Of course.”

“Email?”

“Definitely.”

“I’ll miss you.”

That’s when I pulled back and took the wallet from my pocket, showing her the photo I’d carry with me. “So I’ll always remember home,” I said softly.

Mum saw that and burst into tears again, hugging my father. But my little sister’s face lit up with a smile when she saw that, hugging me even tighter if possible. Only reason she let me go was the fact they started calling my flight for boarding. They walked with me to the gate, one last brief hug with everyone, before I boarded and disappeared from their lives.

It was the turn of the millennium when I left home for the first time. For the first five years away, I was working the mines in Western Australia. I made good money from the start. The mine was miles from anywhere, so I barely had anywhere to spend my wage, and I was constantly working extras shifts and overtime, saving as much money as I could. When I wasn’t working, I was getting all the extra training I could, soon filling my CV with numerous certificates, while I started to pursue other avenues outside of mining.

I kept in touch with the family via phone calls and emails, I rarely made it back home to visit as I was intent on working as often as I could. Mining is a 24 hour, 7 days a week operation, not stopping for any reason, and for those willing to work, the benefits in regards to wage was immense. My parents understood what I was doing, particularly once I asked to open a secret account for my sister to help fund her university education. It is technically free at the time, but you pay it back through taxes later. I wanted to ensure she was educated without paying a cent. They loved that idea, and assured me the secret would be safe until I told her. I was soon transferring a fair chunk of change into that every month.

But I was done with mining after five years, looking for a different challenge, and that’s how I ended up on a flight to, of all places, the Middle East as I had transferred my skills into working in the oil industry. After five years of back-breaking work in the mines, I was now in a suit and tie as I worked out of an air-conditioned office. Again, it felt like I was miles from everywhere, but as much as I’d learned a language to honour my Mum and sister, I learned Arabic so I could at least converse with locals. Considering the state of the world after 9/11, and what was going on nearby in Iraq, I figured anyone doing the same certainly helped somewhat integrate themselves.

Life was even more droll than near the mine, though. We did abide by some of the strict local laws and customs. No alcohol. No pork. We lived on a compound for westerners, kept separate from the local population. Whether they viewed us with suspicion or not, I wasn’t sure. More than a few of us were a little concerned about shit kicking off, but I never felt in specific danger the entire time I lived there. But I made friends with plenty of Yanks, while the Saudi’s were also ever present around the compound. I made sure to befriend plenty of people over the years.

I was 28 years old when I received that phone call nearly every child dreads to receive. It was early morning, Middle Eastern time, when my phone started to ring. Picking it up, I mumbled a hello.

“Mark, it’s Mum.”

That had me wide awake in the next second, sitting up in bed. “Mum, what’s wrong?” I asked, immediately speaking Japanese. Didn’t even think about it. But she never called at this time in the morning. I heard a sniffle and asked softly, “Mum, is it Dad?”

“He’s in the hospital, Mark. He’s had a heart attack.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s alive, but he’s not well. I’m not sure…”

“Fuck.” I took a breath. “Sorry, Mum.”

“Can you come home, Mark? It’s been a long time.”

It had been too long since I’d been home, but I’d been far too wrapped up in my own life. Considering where I was in the world, trips to Europe were far more convenient. Paris. Rome. Berlin. London. Amsterdam. I was a young Australian with money to burn, and being honest, I enjoyed the company of a few young women during my weekend trips away. I was tall, tanned from years in the sun, dark hair, dark eyes, kept myself fit. I didn’t beat them off with a stick, but I was practically celibate while at work, so I let loose while on my occasional trip away.

But I’d been away from home for a decade by now. I had more than enough money, more than enough to live comfortably by doing something less stressful. I had no desire to do the job for the rest of my life. It had been a means to an end.

“I’m coming home, Mum. I’ll book the next flight out to Sydney. I’ll let you know when I get home. How’s Hanako-chan?”

“Beside herself with worry, but she wants to see her big brother too. She definitely needs you, at least in person this time. She figured out everything you’ve done for her since you left though.”

“Always was a smart girl. Okay, let me make some calls, and I’ll let you know.”

First thing that morning, I spoke to my boss about what was going on. He knew, once I’d left, I wouldn’t come back. Thankfully, the company I worked for, while they didn’t have offices in Sydney, they did have subsidiaries that did operate out of the city where I could possibly transfer. But I had a great relationship with my boss, so he told me to go home, take care of my family, and the rest would sort itself over time. Considering I’d barely taken a holiday in ten years, I’d earned plenty of time off since starting in the oil business so I could almost go on indefinite leave.

Flying home business class, simply for comfort as, even though I wasn’t as tall as some people, I still wanted the leg room, I landed in Sydney rather bleary eyed only three days later, having spent two days sorting out my life and the likely transfer of my life finally back to my homeland. After passing through customs and immigration, my passport barely earning a glance compared to certain parts of the world I’d travelled, I grabbed my bags and wandered out into the arrivals hall.

Mum was generally reserved from what I remembered, but seeing me appear led to a call of my name, a fifty-year old Japanese-Australian lady running towards the tall, tanned Australian. I opened my arms, hugging her tightly. “Hello, Mum,” I whispered. She just cried, barely able to get a word out otherwise. Closing my eyes, I just enjoyed feeling her in my arms for the first time in more years than I cared to remember. She still smelled the same too. Kissing her forehead, she leaned back and smiled, still unable to stay anything.

Then she let me go, standing to my side, and I saw Hanako in the flesh for the first time in years. She was… the most gorgeous human being I’d ever seen in my life. I’m fairly sure I stood there, jaw gaping, and I think she did start to blush.

Hanako was now 22 years old. I would turn 29 before her next birthday, so there was around six and a half years between us. She had raven-black, incredibly straight shoulder length hair, gorgeous brown eyes, an almost flawless complexion and an entirely innocent expression on her face and in her eyes, something she’d kept from when she was knee-high to a grasshopper. I took the picture from my wallet, the one I’d carried with me since I left. It had faded, but I held it next to her face. “Someone’s all grown up,” I whispered. That made the smile widen but the tears start to fall. “Still as pretty as I remember, Hanako-chan,” I whispered in fluent Japanese, before I held her in my arms.

“Marko-san,” she whispered. She rarely called me that. I was just ‘Mark’ to the family.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I am worried about father, but now that my big brother is home, I suddenly feel all is right in the world.”

She was barely five-five, lifting her chin to greet my eyes. Hers were so expressive, I felt my heart beat slightly faster in my chest. Leaving a soft kiss on her forehead, she sighed, seemingly happy to simply have me home again. Mum appeared at our side, a beaming smile. “She missed you,” she said.

“I know, Mum. I… should have come home sooner. Can we go see Dad?”

“You’re up for it now?” I returned a firm nod. “Okay, the car is parked outside. We’ll head there straight away.” I glanced around to see a few glances at the obvious westerner speaking fluently in another language. Even at that time, few Australians would speak anything other than English. I happily spoke Japanese with Mum and my sister, easily switching between that and English with barely a thought.

I sat in the back as the flight had been long, and even in business class, I found trying to sleep quite difficult. Adding to what was on my mind, and little wonder I didn’t exactly have a lot of shut-eye. Just like the journey to the airport nearly a decade earlier, Hanako sat in the middle of the back seat and cuddled next to me, though she wasn’t the same size, no longer the little girl I remembered fondly, now a woman. Mum would look in the rear-view mirror when stopped and see her cuddling me, meeting my eyes and smiling.

“She really missed her big brother.”

“Are you staying?” she asked softly.

I wrapped my arm around her, giving her a gentle squeeze. “I am this time, Hana. I’ve been away long enough.” Hearing that earned a very wet kiss on the cheek before she snuggled back into me.

Arriving at the hospital, though I was ever so weary, I had to see my father. Mum led me towards his ward, my sister holding and squeezing my hand. I glanced to see her wiping her cheeks more than once. I could only imagine the whirl of emotion she was experiencing. The fear of losing our father but joy in my return.

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Also in this series:

• FOREVER NOW - Chapter 2 - by UltimateSin
• FOREVER NOW - Chapter 3 - by UltimateSin
• FOREVER NOW - Chapter 4 - by UltimateSin