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Short Story: Walk On

It started off as a minor inconvenience, something to perhaps delay his endeavours for a week or so. The significance of the moment, a painful tug of the wrist during a weightlifting manoeuvre, was lost on Teo. He didn’t realise until much later, that this moment would come to define the next two years of his life.
Australia, that was the plan. The dream had always been to move overseas, and now Teo had secured a job planting trees in the outback. What a welcome change of pace it would be, with the scorching hot Australian plains to warm his soul. Perhaps even, a bit of writing out in that wild expanse, where anxious dispositions could not only focus, but breathe.
You see for Teo, physical exertion was usually preferable to the overwhelming stressors of the mind, which he had encountered so often in his career path of investigations. What a joy to have finally resigned! A quick stop back home to Auckland, and then, onward.
The car was sold, the plane tickets booked, but a simple one-month pit-stop was not to be. A series of lockdowns postponed the move out of Auckland, though the company was understanding enough.
‘No worries darlin’ we can hold the job. We’ve always got work out these ways and ya know the money’s great out here too,’ drawled the thick Aussie accent over the phone.
But it soon became clear that the wrist, this darned left wrist, would not heal.
After hearing enough physios say, ‘Just a few more weeks of rest and you’ll be right as rain,’ an MRI scan finally revealed what the specialist said was a ‘TFCC tear, the cartilage will never heal unfortunately, but the injury should become asymptomatic.’
The best thing about being back home, was of course, Teo’s four-legged brother Rolo. Small in stature, he was as cute as a button, but armed with both the trot and heart of a lion.
If one were to go looking for Teo and Rolo during those months of solitude, the best course of action would be to walk down the skinny alleyway at the end of Rukutai Street, to arrive at Teo’s favourite place on Earth, Bastion Point.
Teo and Rolo would trapse across Bastion’s valleys at the end of the gentle peninsula, often escorted by the musical thrum of tuis and fantails. Care was always taken to dodge the vibrant garden and WW2 bunkers during tourist hours of course. The pair preferred to soak in the panoramic magic spied from Bastion’s mountain top. To the right lay Brown’s Island, Waiheke Island, and in the far distance the shadow of the Coromandel Peninsula. Panning left with the sailboats sprawled across the glistening harbour, the volcano Rangitoto loomed over Auckland, the City of Sails.
After basking in this marvel of Bastion’s splendour, the brothers would press on to one of Bastion’s more secluded secrets, ‘The Tree’, as it was commonly referred to amongst Teo’s comrades. There was no finer spot to languish away an afternoon than under that great oak, calmly gazing upon the Auckland waterfront which spanned across the horizon.
You may well be thinking, is this not all rather pleasant and you wouldn’t be wrong. To have no responsibilities, the company of little Rolo, and the blessing of some quality time with his parents again, there was indeed much to be thankful for.
However, with time, Teo became restless. At the age of 26 there were dreams to be realised, gyms to pillage for self-esteem, career opportunities to embark upon, and financial conundrums to solve.
Unable to wait any longer for his wrist to heal, Teo secured the position of ‘Senior Technical Writer’ with a leading FinTech firm. It was all very exciting, providing global banking infrastructure for the unbanked. The only problem being that the CEO was a complete menace. In fact, menace did not even begin to describe the man, Reece Tipler was more of a hardliner than half the sergeants Teo had encountered in the army. Still running marathons in his sixties, Reece operated like a well-oiled machine, adorning a crew cut at all times, expensive round glasses, and even more expensive suits.
An exciting career opportunity quickly spiralled into what can only be described as misery. Ten-hour days were now of standard practice, overtime unpaid of course. Teo had made the mistake early on of impressing the CEO with an excellent research report, which unfortunately dragged him into the inner circle of the board room. A place one should always try to avoid.
Tyrannical rants were chased up by angry fits of ‘fuck this’ and ‘fuck that.’ Even worse, were the expectant silences where Teo was expected to laugh at Reece’s inappropriate jokes. After a few months of practically living at the office, poor Teo’s nerves were on the verge of collapse. One Monday morning, Reece targeted a particularly fierce episode of rage at young Teo.
‘Why the fuck is this not done, you could’ve worked the weekend! I’ll tell you why not, cause you were fucking about, like a fucking amateur!’
Teo, who could no longer even type without a wrist brace to keep pace with the demands of his workload, decided in that moment, he would leave. Salary and upcoming mortgage be damned, he was getting out. Where were the quiet hills he longed for? If only he could escape this merry-go-round of capitalism.
Through it all had been Elif, a Stewardess who shone brighter than the stars. To both Elif and Teo’s surprise, their brief encounter on a train the year prior, had blossomed into daily phone calls of laughter and understanding from half a world apart. Having saved every penny from the trenches of Tipler’s dictatorship, the time was right for Teo to venture forth to Elif’s homeland. Teo sought clarity for this feeling awakening inside his chest.
Istanbul, they call it the heart of the world. Lygos, Byzantium, Constantinople, the city had lived through many names while perched upon the continental edges of Europe and Asia. The Roman Empire had thrived for over a millennium here, with Constantinople even becoming the capital after the fall of Rome. Then came the Ottomans for nigh on half a millennium. Now the Turkish Republic had stood for just over a century. After a 36-hour transit, and not knowing what to expect, Teo stepped out of his shuttle into another world.
That same evening, the ezan resonated throughout Taksim Square under the gaze of a magnificent mosque, one of many splashed throughout the ancient landscape which absorbed the call to prayer’s reverberations. Streams of people flowed through the streets, the very streets through which Elif existed in this other world. Stalls of chestnuts competed with the smell of simit straddling the air. The marble square itself had a few trees dotted here and there, allowing some room to breathe - and there she was! Elif was beaming away in a white puffer jacket, her dark hair flowing around her, while equipped with a sturdy pair of boots to accompany her on this starry night towards Teo.
Teo could sense her own nervous energy amongst the shy pleasantries, which somehow drew confidence out from his own hidden well. They walked the famous İstıklal Ave, bobbing in and out of shops amongst a strong sea of bodies. As the crisp night grew darker, Teo blew hot air into the palms of Elif. The pair began to warm to each other.
The next three weeks danced by in a blur. Even on days when Elif had to fly, Teo would often be found accompanying her amongst the various metro stations. The pair of them would be wrapped in scarves, savouring every moment they had.
On their second date, Teo had prepared a romantic picnic upon the highest point of Istanbul, Çamlıca Hill. Though to both their dismay, the ascent now appeared rather ominous given that Elif had just caught a cold. Yet she was determined to power through to the top, where chilled glasses of her favourite iced tea were unveiled, as well as the welcoming companionship of chocolate strawberries, and decorative flowers stolen from Teo’s Airbnb.
The two lovebirds reconvened, their pinkie fingers discreetly holding each other, upon a morning bus ride to the ancient landscape of Kapadokya. When the hot air balloons were cancelled due to weather, it was but an opportunity to fall asleep in each other’s embrace again.
Teo was enraptured, not just from the travel, but something deeper. It was the way Elif’s face lit up while indulging upon pistachio ice-cream, and her caring smile when Teo lay his weary head upon her lap. It was how one morning, when Teo felt overwhelmed by the scope of Istanbul, sweet Elif led him to where she knew he would be at home, a park full of green trees and soft grass. Or when Teo’s left hand began to shake, unable to hold the weight of his own phone, she had gracefully taken the heavier weight of their bags upon herself. It was the love in her chestnut-coloured eyes that mirrored his own.
Istanbul was over in a flash. Teo had even cried during their final farewell, something he had not done for many a year. They stayed in touch as before, never running out of things to say.
Life went on, back in Auckland Teo now typed one-handed at his new job, where he could just get away with it. Teo’s grandmother passed away in March of 2022, followed by Rolo a month later. Without the gym as an outlet, years of hard-fought sobriety began to dance along the cliff’s edge. Even swimming and running became too taxing on Teo’s wrist. Looking at himself in the mirror one day, Teo saw the muscles in his back had simply wasted away.
After nearly two years of western medicine having failed Teo, from numerous physios and specialists through to steroid injections, and even a surgery having amounted to nothing, Teo was consumed by despair. One evening Teo slumped into the car with his father Peter.
‘Tell me boy,’ Peter piped up, ‘Why are you looking so down tonight?’
‘Just tired,’ grunted Teo.
‘Tired, that’s what you always say, yet I see you feeling your wrist for inflammation, feeding that loop of anxiety. Has anyone ever told you, that if you do the same thing and expect the same results, that it’s the definition of insanity?’
My god he’s right, thought Teo, and so began a more unorthodox approach to healing. Teo was prodded with needles and heated herbs in acupuncture. He underwent cryotherapy, standing in a chamber of freezing nitric oxide, week after week. Cold showers, meditation, and qigong stretches were regimented into a daily ritual. When healthy eating netted no results, a nine day cleanse of raw fruit and vegetables helped to turn the tide of chronic inflammation.
While he could not yet return to the gym he was so desperate to reunite with, there was for the first time in two years, progress. Teo’s furrowed brow began to relax, just a little, as he could wash the dishes using both hands again. When Teo managed to pull his jeans on with the ease awarded to two hands, he would let slip a small smile.
Every cent not spent on healing, was stored away for a move to Istanbul, to his Elif.
‘My darling you’re swimming again, that’s amazing!’ exclaimed Elif one morning.
‘Well perhaps that progress is thanks to what a wise lady told me in a letter once,’ Teo replied fondly.
‘Oh yes?’
‘Yes, the letter you handed me when we parted ways at the airport, what you focus on is what will manifest, remember?’
‘You know recently it’s like you’ve found a part of yourself that was lost, a semblance of peace from learning to accept where you are, instead of focusing on what you can’t control,’ Elif gently smiled through the phone.
Hope began to arise within Teo. He began to believe that health and happiness were possible, that he could lift his darling Elif into his arms one day. He knew not when, he knew not how, but he would heal and return to the land of Türkiye, to the arms of the woman he loved.

Copyright © Matthew Sell, 2024

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