“It’s not about the movies,” said Graham.

  He held the cassettes in his hands as if they were scripture.

  “Ohhh-k.”

  “No, it’s more than that,” he said. “It’s the experience. It’s entering this world where you’re surrounded by adventure and action, and suspense and horror and….”

  “I get it,” said Mary.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. You’re turning forty-five. You’re feeling old. You want to reminisce on your youth. This and the karate. It makes sense...”

  “What, you think I’m having a midlife crisis?”

  “It’s fine, Graham. Everyone does. At the very least I should be thankful you didn’t buy a motorcycle.”

  “It’s not that. I’m not having a bloody midlife crisis.”

  “It’s ok if you are. Just promise me you’re not gonna try and pick up a twenty-year-old student.”

  “Really? You think I’d cheat on you?”

  “I didn’t say you’d be successful.”

  “You’re fucked. I’m trying to be serious here and you’re being a jerk as usual.”

  “That’s the thing, Graham; you’re always being so damn serious. You need to lighten up more. It’s only life. Not to mention you’re already halfway through so…you know…be a glass half full guy.”

  “You know when dad was my age he’d already paid off his mortgage, he had his boat, and – I don’t know – he knew what he was doing.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “No, I don’t. I’m renting a house I can barely afford, I don’t have a penny saved – let alone anything set aside for retirement. Don’t even get me started on the kids. I can’t afford medical or dentist, let alone school material and trips and new shoes, and what the hell are we gonna do when it comes time for university? Hell, I can barely keep the fridge filled. I’m scared to death about everything all the time. I think about them having accidents and I freak out. Then I think, ‘What if I have an accident?’ What if I die in a plane crash? What will they do without a father?”

  “When are you ever in a plane?”

  “That’s not the point,” he said, almost crying in frustration. “I can’t get any sleep at night. I’ve been having these panic attacks constantly.”

  “About the kids?”

  “About everything. Then I wonder if I’m being too strict with the kids or not strict enough and whether I should be giving them more or less attention.”

  “Why would anyone want to give their children less attention?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. Validation is everything, right? It’s what pushes us to strive to do more than we are capable of. It’s what makes humans do great things. Trying to get their father’s attention. And by all accounts, he should never give it.”

  “That seems cold.”

  “I’m not saying I’m gonna stop giving the kids attention. What I’m saying is, if every time the kids do something average I give them high fives and cartwheels, they’ll never strive to be better, so they’ll never get anywhere near their potential.”

  “Ok. But they will be happy.”

  “Anyone can be happy, Mary. I want our kids to be great. They have to be better than us. They have to be smarter, more emotionally centred, more courageous, and bolder. They need to take more risk and be better than us. They need to be better people to be a part of a better world.”

  “It’s ok to be average too, Graham. I’d rather be average and happy than pushing a rock up a hill all day to prove some stupid philosophical point.”

  “Aren’t you scared of dying?”

  “No, Graham, I‘m not.”

  “It’s all I’ve been thinking about. I mean, you said it. The race is halfway over. I haven’t even tied my bloody shoelaces. It’s like I just blinked and all of a sudden I’m old. Our youth is gone, you realize that?”

  “Yes, Graham. I realize.”

  “We’re never gonna get it back. Everything is slipping through our hands. And none of it we can get back. The kids are getting older. I can’t remember what either of them was like when they were babies.”

  “That’s normal.”

  “I can’t remember what they were like a week ago. They’re constantly changing, becoming new versions of themselves. We should be grieving more.”

  “Grieving? That’s a little melodramatic don’t you think?”

  “One day I’m not going to exist.”

  “Yes, Graham, it’s called death, it happens to everyone.”

  “One day you’re not going to exist.”

  “Jesus, can we talk about something else?”

  “Think of all the people who have ever lived and died. All of them had a sense of meaning and importance. All of them existed. But now none of them are thought of. Not one of them matter. And you don’t even have to go back far. Just two generations and you slip into the void.”

  “Should I be calling someone, Graham?”

  “I have to get published,” he said. “I have to do something that matters.”

  “Being a great father is not enough?”

  “Pedro’s dad arrests bad guys.”

  “Who the fuck is Pedro?”

  “Some kid in Nathan’s class.”

  “And?”

  “The kids don’t want to be scientists; they want to be cops and pilots. They wanna be cool like the other dads. All the other dads are heroes while theirs is just…..”

  “Their father. And yes, their hero too. I’m glad you’re not out there trying to catch bad guys. I don’t want to be getting a phone call in the dead of night. Fuck Pedro’s dad. You’re a good father. No, you’re a great father. And that’s all that matters. Sure, one day we will be dead and nobody will have ever known that we existed. That, if anything, is why we should just have the time of our lives every day, right now, together. Everything that matters is right here, right in front of us.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Of course I’m bloody right. I’m always right. That’s why you love me.”

  “Let’s go?”

  “Go? We’re here; we may as well get a few movies. Besides, you’re right, it’s kind of neat. It’s like being in a time machine.”

  That was when she saw it.

  “Holy crappers,” she said, grabbing the video. “Videodrome.”

  “Haven’t seen that in donkey’s years. I told you this place was good.”

  “Alright, as long as we’re getting all nostalgic here,” said Mary. “How about we get some tequila, some Type O Negative, and make a night of it like the old days?

  Her face was shaped like cotton candy.

  “Done,” said Graham. “I’ll stop by the bottle shop after Wu-Shin.”

  “You’re doing karate tonight?”

  “I have to. I can’t miss it.”

  “I don’t want you to – just to know. You remember the last time we drank tequila?”

  “Yeah,” said Graham.

  Both of them stared at their son.

  “You really want another baby?”

  “I don’t know,” said Mary. “I don’t know what I want anymore. I mean, look at him.”

  Nathan was pretending he could fly, flapping his imaginary wings, which to him were the span of a dozen jumbo jets, and practicing flybys on racks of cassette tapes, pretending they were air traffic control towers; but unlike in the movies, he crashed into everyone.

  “Pretty soon he’ll be in a car doing the same thing.”

  “God help his passenger.”

  “But that’s the thing; he won’t be a passenger in ours anymore. And I miss that.”

  “But he hasn’t grown up yet.”

  “I know,” said Mary. “But he is and he will, and I already miss him. I already miss me.”

  “You’re you. Nothing’s changed and nothing will.”

  “They grew inside me, Graham. I gave birth to them. Now every day they need me a little less and every day I need them a little more. I have no idea how to be me anymore – without them. I don’t remember who I was before them and it scares me thinking who I’ll be without them.”

  “So you want another baby?”

  “No,” she said. “Are you not listening?”

  “So you don’t want another baby?”

  “That’s what I’m saying. I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know if you want a baby?”

  “Forget it,” she said.

  “No, I’m serious. I wanna have this discussion.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss. It’s just a stupid feeling.”

  “No feelings are stupid,” said Graham, ignoring the danger.

  “Ha!” shouted Mary almost falling back into a shelf herself. “Oh you were serious?” she said. “Yeah, of course, all feelings matter. I didn’t know you had gone new age, that’s all.”

  “Fine, fuck it,” said Graham.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, bubby.”

  “No, it’s fine,” sounding as if it was most certainly not fine. “I don’t care. I was just trying to be supportive. To be an open ear.”

  Mary had to hold herself back from laughing again. Some jokes were not meant to be funny. She could see on his face that his sincerity was cut from a fairly fine cloth and were she to edge this any further, in a second he would either hit something or cry.

  “I prefer you how you are, Graham. I don’t want someone who understands me. Where would be the fun in that?”

  Then, from the darkness came Isabel, walking on her hands and looking, as if at any second, she might go tumbling into the giant racks.

  “I know what I want for my birthday,” she said, her upside-down smile still looking like a smile.

  “Your birthday is not for another eight months,” said Graham.

  “I know, but I know what I want.”

  The girl righted herself, collapsing on the ground as she did, and laughing as she struggled to pick herself up off the floor. Graham offered a hand but she wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, she used this as a chance to show a trick she learned at school – getting off the ground with no hands.

  “Hold on,” she said, after the seventeenth attempt. “This one will definitely be the one.”

  “Ok, what is it?” said Graham. “What do you want for your birthday? A cell phone? A unicorn?”

  “Nope. That was last year. I don’t want those anymore. Besides, Pegasus is better than a unicorn.”

  “Ok, so what do you want now?”

  “I want to be on America’s Got Talent.”

  She danced manically as she spoke.

  “I saw this girl yesterday, and she could tell a whole story, and she did it all in sand.”

  “What do you mean? Like a ‘once upon a time’ story?”

  “Yep. And she did it in the sand. It was awesome,” she said, still swinging her arms with enough vigour to light up a small city.

  “I can write my name in the sand,” said Graham.

  “You’re not funny, dad,” she said, still dancing.

  “So what would you do, then? What would be your talent?”

  “Probably handstands. I’d have to practice a lot though. Or I could do The Floss. I’m not the best at my school, but I’m pretty good. I bet if I was on TV I’d be better, though.”

  “That you would. I can help you if you like. I can try to do them with you.”

  “No way; dad. You’re too fat. You’ll hurt yourself. You’re too old to do handstands. That’s kids’ stuff. But you can watch me to make sure my legs don’t touch the wall. You can be like my coach.”

  “Deal,” said Graham.

  Isabel was ecstatic. Her face was shaped like a wildfire.

  “Seriously though,” she said. “Imagine if I was on that show. I’m kind of nervous just thinking about it.”

  “You’re doing fine,” said Mary, patting Graham’s back and whispering in his ear.

  “And when I’m older I want a pet horse. We don’t have to keep him in our house. That would be silly,” said Isabel, laughing at the obvious absurdity. “We wouldn’t have the room. But we can keep it in a stable. My friend at school. Well, she’s not my friend friend. But she’s like my friend. She’s two years older and she waved to me once. She has a horse and she keeps it in a stable and its name is Cinnamon but if I had a horse I’d call it Kitty, cause I think it’d be funny having a horse that’s named after a cat and we could ride it to the….”

  “Crashing plane coming through,” screamed Nathan. “Ahhhhhh. Everyone on board is gonna die. Engine’s on fire. We’re all gonna die. We’re all gonna die.”

  And for a second there, all of Graham’s fears and insecurities fell by the wayside. So too did the calamitous howling that normally accompanied them. He felt unhinged; not in a volatile manner, but divorced from the things that made him feel that way - so much so that he even managed a smile. He no longer felt as if tomorrow and the day after were urgencies that had to be thought about and resolved today.

  “You were right,” he said.

  “I know,” said Mary. “About what?”

  “Everything.”

  “Ok, so……”

  “Let’s get some ice cream and go home.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I mean, how would we even watch them?”

  And for that second, as he looked in her eyes, he felt like a kid ditching school to spend the afternoon with the girl he loved.

  “Best day ever,” screamed Isabel as she ran out of the shed and into the car.

  “At least someone enjoyed themselves.”

  “I love ya,” said Mary. “You just need to stop trying too hard.”

  “I know,” said Graham.

  He held her hand as they walked towards the door and it reminded him of how they used to hold hands when they were young – walking through the mall, on the way to the cinema, and back and forth in parks and on the beach. They were just as much in love now as they had been then it just took a bit of an effort for either of them to remember. Even their smile was shy and nervous as if one of them had been conspiring to kiss the other this whole time – and the other hoped it would happen.

  “Best day ever,” said Graham.

  “Yep.”

  “We didn’t really accomplish much but…”

  “Who cares? Not everything has to be something to mean something.”

  “I know. You’re right.”

  “Of course I am,” said Mary.

  She seemed proud of herself, and why shouldn’t she? Neither of them had felt this calm in years. Life, in all its complexity, had never felt so simple.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I know,” said Mary as if there was nothing to prove.

  “No, I mean it. I know I’ve been all over the place of late.”

  “Neurotic? Whiney? Annoying?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “I could go on if you like.”

  “Look…Fuck…What I’m tryna say is….”

  She found it adorable when he got frustrated, if only because it showed how much he cared. The words he used, no matter how gallant and impassioned, would never mean as much as the effort it took him to string them together. Behind every umm and ahhh, and neath all the frustrated stuttering was the vulnerability that he was courageous enough to let her see.

  “I know,” she said as if a single stutter could paint a thousand words. “And the kids know too. We love you.”

  Graham smiled and both kids wrapped themselves around his legs and squeezed as tight as they could – shutting their eyes too so that they could squeeze tighter. He stood there for a second, dumb with glee, as he was knocked over by a man running from behind the sheds. He fell backward almost taking Mary and the kids with him.

  “What the fuck?” he said, picking himself up off the ground.

  The Man, who had been sprinting, stopped and turned.

  “Let it go, Graham,” whispered Mary.

  His first instinct was to look for the children who had been clinging to his legs. Both of them, though, were fine; a little shaken – the fear was tantamount in their eyes – but neither had a bruise or a scratch.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” shouted Graham.

  “Graham, don’t.”

  “It’s fine,” he said, in a tone that left no cause to argue. “I’ve got this.”

  He sounded as if he did, too. He hadn’t sounded so sure of anything in his life.

  The Man, though, looked unfit for negotiation. His face was pale and gaunt with sickly hollow eyes as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. His clothes were filthy and ragged, just like his teeth, and they hanged loosely off his emaciated body. There were open sores all over his arms and his neck; his fingers were stained with all sorts of unnameable filth.

  “Apologise,” said Graham.

  He already had his feet in fighting position; he wasn’t gonna back down now. His heart was beating fast but his calm and steady breaths slowed it down.

  “Say you’re sorry,” he said.

  Then he turned quickly to his kids and gave them a wink.

  “Fuck you, man.”

  The Man’s voice sounded as decrepit as he looked.

  “Excuse me?”

  Then he looked once more at his children and he must have been made of out shiny gold or rocket propelled grenades because both Isabel and Nathan smiled back as if there was nothing at all to fear – as if there was no danger whatsoever. They looked like any child would in the presence of a bona fide superhero.

  “Look at you,” said Graham. “You’re a bloody disgrace.”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  “Hey, watch your mouth.”

  His words shot out like cannonballs.

  “There are children present,” he said.

  He sounded as if he were mouthing off to one of his students; he felt that same untenable power. Something had awoken inside him - an ancestral spirit.

  “A hero chooses to be a hero,” he thought. “In spite of his fear.”

  Then he stepped forward and puffed out his chest.

  “You will apologise,” he said.

  Mary pulled the children close, quietly hoping that Graham would be man enough to just walk away. Graham, though, wasn’t about to let his children down, not again. This wasn’t just about a damn junky; it was about every time he had ever conceded, every time he had ever let people walk all over him, and every time he had ever been too afraid to stand his ground. This wasn’t just about right now; this was about everything that ever was and everything that would ever be. This wasn’t just about redemption. This was about heroism.