"Jonathan, wake up," a familiar yet distant voice whispers closely in my ear. Soothing and gentle, it causes me to toss and turn in my cosy and ever-so-welcoming bed. "Jonathan, wake up," the voice says much more demanding this time. It is a woman's voice, my mother's, and I open my eyes with a start as I'm shaken awake like a maraca. Unwillingly, I open my eyes with a groan. Through hazy vision, I manage to recollect where I am. Instead of sailing the seas on a 16th-century ship on the search for lost treasure with Indiana Jones, I find myself in my bed. I turn my head around my dark, shadowy room to see my mum in her usual Mickey Mouse pyjamas, smiling down at me.

"Happy Birthday, my big boy!" she beams with a large grin stretching all the way to her amber eyes.

I reply with a grunt, rubbing the crust out of my eyes. "What time is it?" I ask, but she doesn't answer urgently enough and I painfully reach to my bedside table for my father's golden pocket watch.

With a roll of my eyes, I let my body fall limply back on my bed. "Mum, it's not even close to daylight yet."

"Whatever, just get up!" She pats the pillow beside my head urgently before strolling out of my room. "You'll love it," I can hear her shout down the dimly lit hallway.

Forcing my thirteen-year-old self (as of four hours ago) out of bed, I throw on one of the many long-sleeved shirts strewn around my room and dawdle outside into the living area. The second I step foot out of my room, the smell of burning candles coming from the kitchen attracts my attention. Chocolate cake at four in the morning, I do actually have the best mum ever. Invigorated with a sudden burst of energy, I rush over to the mud-cake masterpiece on the kitchen bench and examine it with lustful eyes. Gleaming milk chocolate glaze covers the round, circular cake decorated with delicious swirls of whipped cream around the edges. To my delight, Mum added a few touches of her own on top, with a fondant replica of my gold pocket watch, fondant telescope and books.

My mother pops her head around the sliding door, beckoning me over. "Jonathan, that can wait 'till later."

Filled with a sense of intrigue, I hurry outside, closing the sliding door behind me. It's awfully cold tonight and eerily quiet, I guess no one but my mother is crazy enough to wake up this early. I step out onto the cement patio that overlooks the rest of the neighbourhood below. Being slightly elevated on a hill, Mum and I always love looking out at the uninterrupted view of the night sky and the ocean during the day, that lies just beyond the neighbourhood. I look at my mother who sits giddily at the outside table but as I stroll towards her, she points behind me.

Wondering what could possibly be behind me, I turn around, and my breath is stolen away. In front of me is a magnificent, antique brass telescope. Equipped with a varnished wood tripod and all. It gleams in the moonlight and I can almost feel my eyes widening to the size of bowling balls.

"You couldn't have, really, mum?" I ask in astonishment.

All she does is nod hysterically.

"It's fine, sweety. It isn't like every year I get you a six-hundred dollar telescope. I know you've been engrossed with that Ancient Astronomers 101 book so I figured you could be one yourself," she says sweetly, however, I look straight through her.

The corners of my lips tug downwards as I realise the true meaning behind her present. The sudden change in my attitude almost immediately refracts onto my mother, as she too, begins to style a frown as her wide grin and happy-induced crows feet slowly fade away.

"This is about dad, isn't it?" I ask glumly.

As soon as those words escape my lips, I see the light drain from her face and I realise I have made a mistake. There's a prolonged silence and with a sigh, she sits herself down on the blue and green hammock behind her.

"Can you just tell me, why? Why did he leave us?"

"Jonny-"

"No," I interrupt with a stern tone, something I very rarely do. "You've constantly said that you'd tell me when I'm older. Now, I'm older. Thirteen years to be exact."

Hesitantly, she gives me a small smile and pats beside her. Obediently, I plop myself down.

"Well, where to start? Your father was an extraordinary man. He had a passion for history, very much like you. On one of his last expeditions to Greece, he made a discovery. Something about time travel, a 'godly' device. He came home blubbering like a madman but I could see the magic in his eyes and his words and I supported him nevertheless. Shortly after you were born and after many years of research, your father began to make 'assumptions' about subjects other historians thought they had all figured out. And well, he was widely criticised. You probably don't remember it, but the hate started to reflect on you and me. Eventually, your father just couldn't take it anymore and decided it was best for both of us that he left."

"Where did he go?"

"He never told me."

I furrow my eyebrows at the sky. "He was a coward."

Abruptly, my mother holds onto my shoulders with a firm grip, forcing me to face her. "No, honey. He was very brave, your father let his ideas out into the world. However, the problem with society is that people don't like believing in what they can't see," she sighs and pulls me into a hug, the sunrise just starting to display beautiful colours of flamingo pink, lavender purple and a particular shade of orange.

"Repeat it."

"What?" I ask, tilting my head up at her.

As I lay squished against her body, I can feel a large lump in her throat roll down her neck before what she says next. "Repeat what I said."

"The problem with society is that people don't like believing in what they can't see."

"Good boy."