Chapter Text
Min had insisted he rest in bed when they returned to the farm. He'd protested. He didn't need a nap like a baby. Still, the jet lag and the exhaustion of the day crept up on him, and he conked out with his clothes mid-sprawl on the duvet.
When he woke up, he flexed his foot, checking tentatively. The ankle was fine. It had just given out, a one time thing, and Shane had gotten scared. Well, more scared than he usually was.
He cozied up next to his mom on the couch. Yuna stroked his hair.
"You've fallen before and been fine," she said. "Remember? Falling isn't bad. You're okay. We all fall sometimes."
"I know," he said. "But it would have been here, and…"
"It's not home," Yuna said.
Shane leaned into her more, pressing his weight up against her. Yuna was wearing a cashmere cardigan, and when he pressed his face into it, vanilla took over.
He closed his eyes. In the darkness, he could pretend that he was back in Ottawa.
"I don't think we should wallow," she said. "Come on, let's go see what Fa is doing."
Yuna gently pulled back and cupped his face. "I'm sure he would be glad to have your company. You're a lot more useful around the farm now than you were at five."
Shane rolled his eyes, but he followed her out to the yard.
Fa was wearing his work overalls and sturdy brown steel-toed boots. He'd pulled his curly long hair back into a low ponytail. His breath heaved as he split logs. A hefty pile of wood rested at his feet. He was drenched in sweat.
"Kjære, there you are! Have you come to help me? Finally. It is impossible to get help over here."
Yuna pointed at a smaller stack of wood. "I'm pretty sure that was David's help earlier."
Fa grinned. "Ja, but he is obligated."
"I can help," Shane said.
"I know you can," Fa said. He passed the axe over and Shane gripped it carefully with both hands. Fa stood beside him, adjusted his finger positioning on the handle, and stepped forward with him to the next waiting log. They lifted the axe together. The wood cracked evenly, splitting sideways to join its brethren.
They continued for a few minutes. Yuna strolled over to the garden to join David and Min in watering the veggies.
"Come on, kid," he said. "Let's go for a walk."
The forest seemed less intimidating with Fa there. The birch trees wrapped around them. Sunlight streamed through gaps in the foliage.
They walked in silence. Shane didn't feel the pressure to say anything. He just listened to the soft rustle of branches.
"I ny og ne, it's best to appreciate Mother Nature. IF you forget to apppreciate her, she may nudge you in a way you do not like so much."
"You mean like punishing us with a storm?"
"Not a punishment. A reminder. The torrents are a release, a gift. Without that release, the energy would roll in on itself, sucking in all life and compounding until it exploded outward. Without that release, we could not keep living as we are. They let the pressure out, slowly, like the seal on the rice cooker after it chimes done. Pressure is not a bad thing. We can prepare for it.
Some people live with that pressure. The internal monlogue of not good enough. It rages inside you constantly, the background noise of a booing crowd. When I was a young man, I tried to ignore it. This fog inside my head, this noise, this storm, I wanted to hide from it. I thought that to thrive, my interior should be sunny. So when the clouds crackled with power, alight with lightning, I thought sequestering it inside would make me stronger. I roped it off, harnessed that power, put it in a penalty box. I instructed it to obey.
And it did. For a time. I skated with intensity. I felt swifter, cracked the puck with more power than before. I felt driven in a way that felt new, and addictive. But that kind of power has no limits. The storm became a multiplying force. Every time I shut my eyes, it engulfed another corner of the penalty box. It spilled over into my real life, the fog rolled forward without physical boundaries, and instead of channeling the power, it seeped out of me as anger and as of pain and I felt a million cuts inside. To try to lessen it, I cut out at other people. I cut other people from your life. Min foreldre, min kjære. I felt like I was gasping for air, smothered, the storm thick in my throat, and I was so terrified of it consuming others, that I pushed them away. The fog had blinded me."
"That's horrible," Shane said.
"My mind became dark, enchained, with no way out. Min kjære tried to take my hand, to grasp me tight and yank me out of the darkness, but there is no saving a drowning man without a life preserver. I would only pull her under, you understand? I did not want that. I saw her, and I treaded water rather than take her with me. But she stayed. She became a beacon for me. A waypoint."
"Like on my compass?"
"Ja, like that. The storm ripped through me and I wanted so badly to surrender. I was scared, but I was more exhausted than scared. I felt it in my bones. The anxiety bit at me and tore at me until I felt it all over. I wore myself out, through the fear, the anxiety, the intensity of the storm. When I let go, I thought it was the end. That I would drown, lost in myself forever.
I accepted that it was over. I said, okay. I stopped fighting. And I waited for the fog to reach its tendrils out and not let go."
"But you never give up."
"I did then."
"But you're…the storm is gone now. You won."
He shook his head. "There is no winning and losing with Mother Nature. There is no winning with the storm. It is still here within me. It is only that I surrendered to the intensity, once I accepted it instead of battling back, that it became familiar to me. The raw power was my stubborn strength. The fears, the courage, amplified my strengths again. I felt the emotions ten times deeper when I did not try to contain them. Instead of consuming darkness, I saw it as my shadow. It was a part of me, just as I was a part of it."
"It scared you," Shane said.
"We all have our own internal storms. Some are rainclouds. Some, thunderstorms. Some, hurricanes. They can be scary, but you can be brave. They are not to be feared, because they are a part of you, and no part of you is bad. They are scary, but you can be brave.
I can see the way you fight your interior storm. I saw it flash through your gaze after you stumbled. It's strong in you, even though you are young."
"I thought something was wrong with me," Shane said. "Dad doesn't have…it. Neither does Mom."
"Not everyone does, but that doesn't make it wrong. It is a strength, to feel like this."
Shane made a face. "It doesn't feel like a gift. It makes me feel…crazy."
Fa reached out and placed his hand on top of Shane's.
"Internal conflict is not crazy. It is a part of the human experience. Some people feel it within them more than others. Being in tune with yourself is key. People who are not, who try to banish the storm, or worse, ignore it completely, they are…not good. It can be dangerous. They may externalize it on the ice, may drop gloves more in the hopes they can unleash it upon their opponents. Or they may try to mute it with liquor, with gambling, with compulsions that slap a gauze on the wound while it keeps oozing. The forces will compound it will overtake them. And not everyone has a beacon like I did. It can overtake them."
"I thought when you accepted it, it overtook you."
"It did not overtake me," he said. "It merged with me. I accepted it, and we began to co-exist. For some peple, the storm is a critical mass, only capable of engulfing someone instead of elevating them. It is a tragedy, and it is not their fault. We do not generate our own storms. They are born with us. I truly believe that.
I tell you this because your storm is not small."
"Oh," Shane said. "That's bad, right?"
"It is proportionate to your passion. You learned about Newton in school, right? Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Your will is strong, your storm is strong. It is not bad, when you know this. And we have caught it early. I did not have anyone to lead me. We will practice all the time, so you can live with your storm. We will breathe with the wind, listen to the quiet, clear our minds when the thunder rattles in our skulls with the not good enough of it all."
"What if I can't do it?"
"You will. I will help you."
Fa said that they would start right then. They shifted so they sat facing each other, knees touching, their hands behind them and anchored in the earth.
"Close your eyes."
Shane did. He immediately felt his stomach fold in on itself. His throat itched. His wrists felt achey. He shifted his weight. Fa put a hand on his knees.
"I know it's uncomfortable, but you have to sit with it. This is how you learn to co-exist. Breathe with me."
Fa inhaled with an exaggerated breath. Shane followed, dramatically, and with his chest full of air, he felt so full that he coughed.
"Again," Fa said.
Shane breathed over and over, thinking surely he had inhaled all of the oxygen he would ever need. That he would never need to breathe again, if building up such a surplus were possible. He felt focused on the need to do it right. He could do this. Fa believed he could, so he would. It was just breathing. He did it always without thinking. But his nose itched, and that made him think of how squishy the cartilage in his nose was, funny how cartilage was a bone, which. made him think of his ankle, which made him think of his ankle giving out….
Shane's breath hitched.
"Okay?" Fa said.
"I think I'm going under," Shane said. "I don't think I can do this."
"You can. Let's try this," he said. "Let's sit back-to-back. You press into me, and I'll press into you. Sometimes the pressure can feel grounding."
Fa counted him in this time. Their ribs pressed together on the inhale, released on the exhale. It was easier to match Fa's rhythm than to create his own.
The sound of the forest faded. Shane's scattered thoughts slowed, became passing thoughts, and then drifted away. He was not thinking. He was breathing, only existing.
He exhaled slowly. He was not crazy. He was in the eye of the storm, and so was Fa, and they were there together.
Shane lost track of how long it had been, but when he got up, he stumbled because his feet were numb from the blood pooling. He fumbled into Fa, who caught him.
"You did well," Fa said. "Now let's go make a bonfire, and celebrate midsommar properly."