As I strode out to the aeroplane, Susan burst out of the airport terminal buildings, shoes in hand, and sprinted across the tarmac. "Wait! I'm coming with you. We'll do this together. I love you! I'm not letting go of you.... I belong in your dream!"
Wonderful. Except it wasn't. On the way to the airport, from where a plane would take me to meet Caroline with a view to co-creating our child by artificial insemination, Susan had again brought up the prospect of us separating temporarily. So that I could go right ahead and - selfishly? - create my child outside of our relationship. Outside of her. So that she could clear her head. And deal with the difficult and draining stuff that swirls around her life. "Your wanting a baby is too big for me to deal with right now," she had said
I knew that Susan was finding it extremely difficult to come to a decision about the separation we had talked about on several occasions. I decided to make it easier. As we drove through the mountain passes to the airport and towards my child-destiny, Caro Emerald warbling of love and loss on the stereo, I gave Susan a stark choice. I wasn't being brave. Or cavalier. I was reacting to an instinctual demand that I rush towards my truth. And try to heal the wounds later.
It hurt. But I said it: "Susie, by the time we reach the airport, I would like you to have made a decision. When I get on that plane I want to know if we are in this thing together or not. I'm sorry but I need clarity on this. We need clarity. To go forward."
She fell silent, toyed with her hair a lot as she drove.
I played mock-happy, drumming the beat of the song on my knee. "Little girl, just keep on waiting, for that man to give you a life... you keep on hoping, so this prince can save you... keep on dreaming his scandalous lie..."
The airport was upon us. I pushed my luggage towards the check-in... to check out. Susan checked out. She sat on a stainless steel pipe, the myriad lights of a sterile airport bouncing off it, the sounds of comings and goings ringing in our ears. Her tears welled up. her beautiful face crumpled. "I'm sorry..."
It's OK, I said. I understand. You need to do this. And I need to do what I'm about to do. Journeys. I kissed her. And pressed into her hand the tiny brass buddha I wanted her to keep with her, come what may.
As the aeroplane sank into a bright, blue-eyed descent into the sweaty body of Durban, I felt a fire run wild across my forehead. It seemed as if the blood vessels across the top of my eyes were all bursting at once. I briefly considered asking the nice Muslim man next to me to alert a air hostess.
Instead, I sat back, breathed deeply as if in meditation and asked the burning to go away. It refused point-blank. Only once we had landed did this runaway forehead fire start to subside.
Then there were friends to meet. Humidity to envelope me. Memories to snake through my head and heart and shake my spine. Marriage. Death. Divorce. Collapse. Rebirth.
Two hours later, I had blood drawn from my body. Two large phials of it. HIV and Hep B. I was having my body approved to take the next steps to recreating my flesh and blood. Soon enough, when Caroline's ovulation reaches its peak, I will spurt semen into a small, transparent container. And hand it over. Over. Beginnings. Ends. Comings. Goings. I don't know whether I'm coming or going. I feel strangely calm. I am trusting.
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