Light…too much…it aches
The whole world is light… and pain.
Sunlight glances off the water and shatters against the glass. Even though I’m squinting, the brilliance is painful. I try staring at the stones rushing past beside the train but I start to feel sick.
The folder is lying on the seat beside me. I haven’t even opened it since it arrived in the mail last week. As the train pulls into the station I pick it up and hold it against my chest.
White ceiling, white walls… pale faces… so bright… Heaven?
No. Surely heaven doesn’t hurt like this.
I make my way through a maze of corridors and lifts, shoes squeaking over the lino. Then a waiting room. I’m early. I find a chair in the corner, and flick through a pile of magazines. I’m hoping for a Reader’s Digest; the funnies might help me relax. No luck, they’re all Women’s Weekly or Time.
I don’t know if I want to go through with this. My whole world could disintegrate in a few minutes. I could disintegrate. I hold the folder tightly closed.
I already know what it says.
You’ll call the child Mahu.
Mahu? He doesn’t need a Maori name, he’s white.
You’ll call the child Mahu.
His name’s Jamie. I’ve already decided. Mahu can be his second name.
Write it down. The child’s name is Mahu.
Alright. Jamie Mahu. What does it mean, anyway?
A door opens and someone comes towards me. My heart tries to make a break for the exit - I feel as though the world is tilting and I can’t get my balance. As I stand up, the folder slips from my hand and papers slide across the floor. I’m shaking.
I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to know.
Now the world is the colour of blood
and the sound of a small child screaming.
*
My name is Mahu.
In Tahiti, it means two spirit person. My grandmother gave me this name, because even when I was a baby she knew who I was.
In Aotearoa, it means “Healed.”
I whisper my name over and over.
Like a promise.