cosmic connections to short stories
From The Stars
One thing that usually discourages a bully is to make eye contact.
So I did--I stared back at each and every one of them. The giggling died. Some of them looked away. Some of them smirked. I memorized their faces. Best to know who to avoid.
I could have tried to make a better first impression to a room full of 15-year-olds. But once you get tired of pretending, you get eaten alive. Or left alone. Hopefully the latter, because I’d given up on the possibility of friendship.
I mean, I didn’t have to wear my socks--black with bright green alien faces among nylon stars. But at the same time I did. If not to establish myself as a space nerd, than to weed out the bullies. ‘Cause there’s nothing easier to spot than a bully passing judgement on your fashion taste. I liked those socks, and as a bonus they clashed horribly with my shirt--a colorful striped short-sleeved button-up taken straight out of the 80s. I had a hard time keeping a straight face when I saw the looks of horror as I walked in through the door. I mean, it was funny, but I genuinely liked my style. I didn’t care that it made me look like a great target--which all 110 lbs and five-foot-one-and-a-half-inches of me was.
“Frankie, go sit next to Lee. Lee, raise your hand.” Lee, a pale freckled emo kid (He even had a streak of his hair dyed white. Or at least I thought it was dyed.), raised his hand, with the most dead look on his face. I guess the teacher felt sorry for me, which was why he sat me next to the least threatening-looking kid. Not that Lee looked entirely harmless, but I was pretty sure he didn’t care enough to start anything.
I guess Mr. Alston wasn’t looking because some kid stuck out his foot and I almost fell. I got more giggles, some pitiful stares. Lee didn’t even look at me--I took it as a good sign.
School was fine. Yeah, I got teased, tripped. My lunch was stolen. Whatever outfit I was wearing was ruined a couple of times. But they couldn’t really get a good enough reaction out of me, so they stopped for a while.
It got boring, to be honest. So I turned my attention to the one interesting thing at this school--Lee Solomon. There was something up with him, and if I didn’t know better I’d swear it was paranormal.
For one, he always wore his hood: especially when it was sunny, and 100 degrees out. He never wore shorts, always a long-sleeve or a jacket. (Usually black, but I don’t judge.) He also wore sunglasses outside--on account of his eye sensitivity. I mean, if it was just his aversion to the sun, I couldn’t say anything, because I’ve seen people get pretty nasty sunburns. And Lee was so pale he could be dead, so I guess it was natural. No one else seemed to mind.
But I was also pretty sure he was also allergic to garlic or something, because everyone eats the garlic bread. Not Lee Solomon. Actually, I never saw him in the cafeteria whenever they served garlic bread. It’s not like garlic allergies are non-existent, but still.
On that note, he never ate much, either. I’d only ever seen him drink from his thermal. I hoped it was water.
Naturally, I came to the conclusion that Lee Solomon was a vampire.
Well, not quite. It was an amusing thought, but I assumed he was just strange, in his own way. I mean, it got weirder, but there was nothing concrete.
Once I got a nosebleed in class and tapped him on the shoulder to ask if he had any tissues. He took one look at me and walked out of class, looking paler, if that was possible. That was when the teacher looked up and saw me, blood dripping all over my face down my shirt. He sighed. “Adams. Nurse.”
Yessir.
The nurse advised me to throw out my shirt, and gave me a clean one. Obviously, I didn’t. I stuffed it in my backpack with my crumpled math homework. It was one of my favorite shirts (multi-colored, multi-patterned, and looked like it was from the 80s, obviously) and I’d rather risk bleaching it. Well, I’d heard hydrogen peroxide gets the stains out, so first I’d ask Dad if we had any in the garage.
On my way back to class I stopped by the bathroom to wash my hands. Lee was in the far stall, I assumed he was throwing up in the toilet. I felt bad for the guy, but also by this point, he made me uneasy.
Another time he borrowed a pen from the kid in front of him, ‘cause he forgot his own'. I guess he wasn’t paying attention, and his pen started leaking everywhere. He had a mini freak-out and recoiled like his hand had been burned. He immediately ran to the bathroom. I didn’t think that much of it, I’d assumed he was probably trying to get the ink stains out of his sweater.
Later, I walked on him scrubbing his hands frantically--they were stained a greenish-yellow where the ink had touched his skin. His sweater was on the counter--from what I could see it still had a large stain down the front--a blue one. We made eye contact, he shifted to hide his hands but it was too late.
After that day he wore gloves for a week--and he kept scratching at them. He claimed it had something to do with a rash, which I suppose probably wasn’t far from the truth, but rashes aren’t yellow. He didn’t look me in the eye that entire week.
I’m still not sure if that makes him a vampire. I started reading up on some lore, just in case.
The latest history partner project provided an interesting opportunity. I’m pretty sure he frowned when our names were called together, but he wasn’t about to raise his concerns to the teacher.
“Whose house?” I asked. Once we stepped outside, he pulled his hood up.
“Yours.” I realized this was the first time I’ve heard him speak. His voice was ordinary enough, just quiet.
I looked at the fence, then back at the parking lot. Since moving here, I took a shortcut through the woods to avoid surprise confrontations. They were relatively easy to navigate in the daytime, so I never had any trouble. The people I wanted to avoid most always hung out in Macmillian’s lot--which was directly on my way home. I never wanted to go around ‘cause that’d mean an extra block--unless I was willing to be persecuted by old man Wilfred’s “No Trespassing” rule.
I debated whether I wanted to risk getting beat-up--on the off-chance that Lee was not as in with the cool crowd as I thought he was. Or on the more likely chance that’d he leave me to the wolves because he didn’t care. Or, I could take him around, like I didn’t know anything at all--
“We can just take the shortcut. I don’t mind the woods.”
Oh. “Yeah, sure thing.” Well, that was one thing solved.
Lee lingered in the doorway. More proof that he was a vampire? Maybe if I invited him in, he’d just eat me. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want me getting beaten up. I wouldn’t wanna eat someone with a black eye either.
“You can come in.”
He was very careful in the way he moved. He set his shoes neatly next to mine, and treaded softly to the kitchen where my dad was doing taxes at the kitchen table.
“This is Lee,” I said. “History project.”
He looked up. “Ah. Hello. Frankie, didn’t hear you come in.” He went back to his taxes.
“Nice to meet you,” Lee said softly.
My dad didn’t hear him, so I dragged him upstairs to my room. He marveled a little at the plastic stars on the ceiling and walls.
“What are those for?”
“They glow in the dark.” I was quite proud of my arrangements, actually. Mom and I managed to fit all 88--well, 86 of them.
Lee flipped off the light switch. “Ah.” He flipped the lights back on. “Two of the constellations are missing.” I wasn’t sure how he realized so quickly. “Aquila and…”
“Vulpecula. Yeah, I was...gonna get around to it, but I never did.”
He was still staring at the empty spot, then he turned to me. “We could add them.” He looked more eager than I’d ever seen him, and I felt bad.
“Well...probably not today. We’ve still got work to do, remember?”
He nodded, but I wondered if he could see through me.
We finished half of it, and by that time it was late. Turns out he knew his stuff, better than I did--I usually fell asleep in history. He insisted I do the drawings (after trying, and failing, to draw a patriot uniform, and after discovering my old sketchbook. I was really into insects as a little kid, before I moved on to the sky.)
“You should stay for dinner.”
He tried to decline at first, but I insisted. “Call your parents. Can they pick you up? Or maybe my dad can give you a ride?”
He gave in. I learned that he was vegan, so fried rice it was.
I was about to add garlic when he appeared behind me. “Please, no garlic.”
I set the clove down good-naturedly. “You a vampire or something?” I was only half-joking.
He smiled. “No, I just hate how it smells.”
Well, I’m not sure what I expected.
“Anything else I should know, food-wise?”
He paused. “I’m allergic to bananas.”
I wasn’t really sure what to say to that. I noticed he was watching me carefully. He saw my questioning gaze and smiled sheepishly. “My parents can’t cook, and I didn’t see cooking shows much when I was a kid.”
“Wanna try?” I handed him the spatula.
“I don’t know how--”
I grinned. “Fried rice is easy. Just don’t let anything burn.”
I lifted myself onto the counter. “You’re the first person I can talk to in this town, so how do you like it?”
“Like what?”
“Living here.”
“Oh. Well, it’s… good, I guess. People leave me alone. I mean, I wouldn’t really know what anywhere else is like. I’ve lived here my whole life.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. My parents moved in when I was just a baby.”
“Where were you born?”
“Somewhere far. I don’t remember what my parents told me. What about you?”
“I’m from California.”
“That’s…” He frowned like he was trying to remember where California was. “That’s far. How’d you like it?”
“I think it was hot. I dunno, we moved away when I was little. Then we lived in Arizona for awhile. We moved to Ohio when I was 10. I lived in New York for two months with my uncle. I hated it. Dad was getting settled with work here and my mom didn’t wanna leave Ohio yet. I started high school there, then we moved in with Dad.”
“Wow. You guys moved a lot.”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t as fun as you’d think. Didn’t get to make a lot of friends.”
There was a pause.
“We can be friends,” he said quietly.
I stared at the back of his head. He’d caught me off guard.
“We can talk about the stars.” He meticulously stirred the rice.
I walked over and turned the stove off. “I’d like that.” I didn’t think Lee Solomon was so bad after all, vampire or not.
We ate in comfortable silence. I think he was just lonely. We both were. Things were better after that, I think.
Once I found him in the woods.
We walked home together often, because that’s what friends do. We looked at the stars from his backyard, and from mine. I hadn’t looked at the stars in a long while, and I’d forgotten how much I’d missed them. I remembered the telescope I’d been saving for but never bought. I think I had more than enough by now.
This time I was stuck in detention until it was dark--it was my third “fight” this semester and the vice principal thought my time would be better served doing community service. So I had to help the theatre club. When I was free, I still didn’t want to take my chances with the lot. So the woods it was.
Like I said, the woods are fairly easy to navigate. In broad daylight. It was a full moon, but it didn’t help much.
I stumbled into a clearing, where Lee Solomon was standing in the middle, just staring at the moon. Clouds were beginning to roll in. I edged closer. He turned his head like he had heard the leaves crunch beneath my feet--we were more than twenty feet apart. He smiled, and beckoned me closer.
We laid down in the soft grass. With the clouds it was hard to see the stars but I tried anyway. In the moonlight his cheeks and ears were dusted with yellow, and his freckles practically shone. I never noticed before but his eyes were like the moon--pale and round and shiny. He looked alien, almost.
“Are you even human?” I whispered. He was too pretty to be real.
He looked a bit startled. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re glowing.” Very faintly, but his body was emitting light.
“Oh.” His cheeks flushed a brighter yellow. The clouds covered up the moon again, and the effect was gone. He tugged me gently to my feet.
I had known for a while now that he wasn’t quite normal. Here was my proof, and I was a little surprised but not really, because Lee Solomon had always been the same.
I guess what he wanted to tell me was not something he could say in words, because he brought me deeper in the woods. Probably--hopefully--not to kill me. Eventually we were crossing the creek--which made him not a vampire, at least. Maybe. He would not let go of my hand, nor look me in the eye. He didn’t say a word until we stopped at the ravine--which I’d only seen on maps. He slid down first--it was not that steep, and helped me down.
He led me to a crash site. It was not obvious until he brushed away some of the overgrowth, and revealed what was clearly the wreck of a ship. A spaceship, one that had crashed here 15 years ago.
I faced him in shock. “I thought you were a vampire.”
He looked at me funny. “What?”
I was staring, open-mouthed. “But you’re from the sky.”
He nodded, his cheeks were yellow again--I assumed his equivalent of blushing. “I’m from the sky,” he whispered.
“Why’d you bring me here?”
“I didn’t think you’d believe me.” He stared down at his feet. Suddenly dirt seemed very interesting.
“You’d have wanted me to?”
“We’re friends.” He looked shyly at me through his bangs. “Right?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you angry?”
“No. Can we go home?”
“Okay.”
Things didn’t really change. Except I think he was happier, freer. We watched the stars, and we finally put up Aquila and Vulpecula. I was happier. Freer.
For his birthday--he told me he didn’t really celebrate (I guess birthdays really were just a human thing)--I bought him a telescope. He looked just like a little kid, eyes round as the moon.
I saw Jupiter for the first time that night.
We laid in the grass and he told me about the planets past our solar system. He’d never seen them--or at least, if he did, he doesn’t remember--but his parents would tell stories.
He told me that they named the planets with letters and numbers, but they used a different language he didn’t speak. He called his planet AR-1257. He couldn’t tell me much because his parents didn’t talk about it often.
One night I was able to spot galaxy NGC-4791. I pointed it out to him. “That’s where you’re from, isn’t it?”
He looked starstruck.
We didn’t always talk, but when we did we talked a lot about the universe.
“What does anything mean? If we’re just stardust and everything is stardust what do we matter?” (Lee asked these questions a lot when he was in one of his Moods.)
“Lee, you don’t believe in a God, do you?”
“I think I’m what you’d call agnostic.”
“Ok, well, I think--I’d like to think that, even after we die, there’s some part of us that has to live on, somehow. I think that life must be infinite, and we all have to be connected some way or another in this cycle of life and death--”
“You think that if we were born from stardust we die as stardust?”
“Yeah. I think the universe lives in us. Our bodies, our souls. We belong to the sky, to the stars, Lee. Don’t you--Don’t you think?”
Lee was quiet. “I’ve never heard you say anything like that.” He smiled. “It is a comforting thought. That we belong somewhere.”
“We belong somewhere,” I repeated.
It felt like I belonged, for once. Here. Lee, the stars, and I.
I was happy. I think if I could have lived infinitely in that moment, I would have.
Until I found him in the woods again.
It wasn’t because of another detention. It was the start of a three-day weekend and I had just wanted to see the woods. I wish I hadn’t.
I came to our clearing, and Lee Solomon was there.
I witnessed him kill a bird. He held the struggling creature by the neck, and in one fluid motion he snapped it. I stood there for a good two seconds, watching him stomp the poor thing into the ground.
Then I turned and ran, and I felt eyes on my back. I don’t know if he ever called my name because my heartbeat had been pounding too loud in my ears.
I was dreading Monday because I did not know how to think about Lee Solomon without simultaneously wanting to throw up. My palms got sweaty and my heart would beat like it’d explode.
I tapped my pencil until my redhead neighbor, I think her name was Laura, told me to shut up. Then my leg would not stop bouncing. I couldn’t concentrate on anything.
When he asked to borrow my eraser I thought I’d have a heart attack. I set it on his desk without looking at him.
After school I headed straight for the woods. But a hand--his hand--grabbed my arm and I couldn’t react. He leaned down and whispered, “Let me show you.” He released his grip and I was still frozen.
He tried to take my hand and I pulled away. I think he looked sad but I couldn’t bring myself to be concerned with anything other than calming my heartbeat. Would he ever hurt me? He was certainly capable but Lee? My Lee? Was he even the same Lee?
“Calm down,” he said soothingly as we walked. I hadn’t said anything out loud, had I? “I’m worried your heart is going to burst out of your chest.” He tried to smile but I could not say anything. I had never realized how good his hearing was.
He led me to the same clearing. I spotted the bird’s corpse and I stopped.
“Come on.” He tugged my hand gently.
I shook my head. I might’ve thrown up.
“Frankie,” he coaxed. Like a fox would a rabbit. “Come here.”
No.
“Please.” He looked and sounded the same as he always would, except maybe sadder. I hated it, because he scared me and I wasn’t sure if I should have been scared from the beginning.
“Don’t--Don’t make me.” I think I was going to cry.
He looked sorry.
“Lee, please don’t make me.” I could have run. Maybe. Maybe he’d let me go. If he chose to pursue, he had longer legs. I was frozen as he grabbed my wrist. “Lee!” I tried to tug free but he was stronger than he seemed capable. “Stop. Please, stop. You’re scaring me.”
He looked a little hurt. “It’s not real, Frankie. I’ll show you.”
“No!”
“Don’t you trust me? Isn’t that what friends do?”
I burst into tears and he hugged me.
“I’m sorry that I’m scaring you, but you have nothing to be scared of, okay? I would never let anything hurt you.”
“No no no no Lee please--”
He was dragging me towards the corpse. He didn’t let go even when we were standing in front of it, and I threw up all over his shirt. He patted my back and used his sleeve to wipe my snotty face. He hid his disgust so easily and it scared me.
“If I look will you let go?” I whispered once I’d composed myself.
“Yeah.”
I looked. The thing looked fresh, like it had only died a few moments ago. There was a host of wires sticking out of its neck. Otherwise it looked eerily real.
“What is it?” I still couldn't bring myself to raise my voice above a whisper.
“A spy.” Lee picked it up and hurled it into the undergrowth. He frowned at the ground. “Let’s go home.”
He took my hand and I let him. He took me home first, and he didn’t stay. I didn’t see him again for a while.
Lee didn’t come to school, his parents didn’t show up at work (one worked as an auto mechanic, one a stores clerk, and one was a custodian). No one knew why.
I tried to visit their residence. I remember him telling me how his house was supposedly haunted. The previous family moved out because of it, but he had never recalled having any issues with the house. The lights were off, all was quiet. Their car was there--keys in the ignition. I rang the doorbell anyway.
When no one answered I sat on their doorstep. That was the routine for quite a while, actually. But the house was always empty, and it was growing cold.
After a while, it was like nothing happened. Like Lee Solomon and his family never existed. Nobody cared. Things were the same as they had been, even for me. I kept my head down, stayed out of trouble for the most part.
And I was alone. I’d forgotten what it was like before Lee.
I remember making a wish on a star. When I was a kid, I wished real hard for a friend. Mom and I sat late out in the yard once, like we always did, like Lee and I did, and we spotted a shooting star.
“Make a wish, Frankie, and make it a good one,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and made a silent wish of her own.
I wished that after she was gone, I wouldn’t be so lonely. It was stupid, but I’d thought Lee Solomon was the answer to my prayers.
Dad was never around anymore. Every morning he drove all the way to the city for work. Usually he came back late. It wasn’t like we were terribly off. But the house was empty now that Lee was gone.
One night I sat at the kitchen table. It was almost morning when Dad came home. He saw me at the table and we sat together. Neither of us knew what to say and nothing had to be said. I realized that Dad was lonely too. We could have been the answers to each other’s prayers.
Dad came home earlier now, if he could help it. I waited for him. We sat together. Now he’d tell stories about mom. Once he asked about Lee and I cried. Dad and I started watching the stars together. I’d point out the constellations and he’d tried to name them. I’d correct him when he was wrong, which was most of the time. Eventually he learned all 88 by heart.
It’d been at least a month before Lee came back. Sort of. He just showed up one day, right beside me, like he’d never left. People asked, they swarmed around him. He kinda shrunk back in on himself. Didn’t say a word. Afterwards I took his hand, and he led me silently into the woods. When we got to the clearing he hugged me and I guess he missed me too because he didn’t want to let go. We sat in the shade until nightfall. Then we laid down in the middle of the clearing and looked at the stars.
I watched him glow softly in the full moon, arm over his eyes. “Frankie,” he said, uncovering his face--I realized he’d been crying, but his voice was even and his face calm. “I think I’m lost.”
“Why?”
“They took my parents.”
“Who?” I couldn’t hide my alarm.
“Them.” He gestured vaguely at the sky. “I can’t remember what they’re called.”
“You’re--You’re still here. You’re back.” I was glad, but I ached for him.
“I never did anything wrong.” He didn’t wait for me to ask. “My parents were war criminals.”
“What...What’d they do?”
“Dunno. They never told me anything other than it was bad.”
“And...how are you feeling?”
He laughed a little. “Frankie, I don’t think you could understand, if I told you I’m fine and I meant it.” He sat up.
I did too. “I don’t believe you.”
“See?” He shook his head. “Frankie, me and you aren’t the same.”
“We’re not that different. We both like the stars. And...roller skating. And tofu.”
“Frankie, you like the stars ‘cause they make you curious. They make you wonder what’s out there. I like the stars ‘cause they make me feel safe. They let me pretend that this is home.”
I didn’t understand. “This is your home.”
“Is it? We’ve got different DNA.” He pointed to a part of the sky. “You were born from a different galaxy, a different kind of star dust.” He dragged his finger across. “I was born from a galaxy all the way across the universe. Your DNA belongs here. Mine doesn’t.” He let his arm drop.
“I don’t think it matters,” I said quietly. “If you’re here, it’s ‘cause you belong here.”
He seemed to digest that for a moment. “What if I just belong in this moment, Frankie? Maybe I belong here now. What if I went back? If I end up there is it ‘cause I belong there? Is it the universe or is it me?”
Tears started rolling down my face. I wasn’t sure why.
“Frankie?”
He looked over and I was staring angrily at the stars. What right did they have to take him away?
“Frankie, why are you upset?”
“Don’t go back.”
He smiled. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could.”
“You don’t? Want to, I mean.”
“No. No one’s waiting for me out there.”
“I would.”
“I know.”
So I did--I stared back at each and every one of them. The giggling died. Some of them looked away. Some of them smirked. I memorized their faces. Best to know who to avoid.
I could have tried to make a better first impression to a room full of 15-year-olds. But once you get tired of pretending, you get eaten alive. Or left alone. Hopefully the latter, because I’d given up on the possibility of friendship.
I mean, I didn’t have to wear my socks--black with bright green alien faces among nylon stars. But at the same time I did. If not to establish myself as a space nerd, than to weed out the bullies. ‘Cause there’s nothing easier to spot than a bully passing judgement on your fashion taste. I liked those socks, and as a bonus they clashed horribly with my shirt--a colorful striped short-sleeved button-up taken straight out of the 80s. I had a hard time keeping a straight face when I saw the looks of horror as I walked in through the door. I mean, it was funny, but I genuinely liked my style. I didn’t care that it made me look like a great target--which all 110 lbs and five-foot-one-and-a-half-inches of me was.
“Frankie, go sit next to Lee. Lee, raise your hand.” Lee, a pale freckled emo kid (He even had a streak of his hair dyed white. Or at least I thought it was dyed.), raised his hand, with the most dead look on his face. I guess the teacher felt sorry for me, which was why he sat me next to the least threatening-looking kid. Not that Lee looked entirely harmless, but I was pretty sure he didn’t care enough to start anything.
I guess Mr. Alston wasn’t looking because some kid stuck out his foot and I almost fell. I got more giggles, some pitiful stares. Lee didn’t even look at me--I took it as a good sign.
School was fine. Yeah, I got teased, tripped. My lunch was stolen. Whatever outfit I was wearing was ruined a couple of times. But they couldn’t really get a good enough reaction out of me, so they stopped for a while.
It got boring, to be honest. So I turned my attention to the one interesting thing at this school--Lee Solomon. There was something up with him, and if I didn’t know better I’d swear it was paranormal.
For one, he always wore his hood: especially when it was sunny, and 100 degrees out. He never wore shorts, always a long-sleeve or a jacket. (Usually black, but I don’t judge.) He also wore sunglasses outside--on account of his eye sensitivity. I mean, if it was just his aversion to the sun, I couldn’t say anything, because I’ve seen people get pretty nasty sunburns. And Lee was so pale he could be dead, so I guess it was natural. No one else seemed to mind.
But I was also pretty sure he was also allergic to garlic or something, because everyone eats the garlic bread. Not Lee Solomon. Actually, I never saw him in the cafeteria whenever they served garlic bread. It’s not like garlic allergies are non-existent, but still.
On that note, he never ate much, either. I’d only ever seen him drink from his thermal. I hoped it was water.
Naturally, I came to the conclusion that Lee Solomon was a vampire.
Well, not quite. It was an amusing thought, but I assumed he was just strange, in his own way. I mean, it got weirder, but there was nothing concrete.
Once I got a nosebleed in class and tapped him on the shoulder to ask if he had any tissues. He took one look at me and walked out of class, looking paler, if that was possible. That was when the teacher looked up and saw me, blood dripping all over my face down my shirt. He sighed. “Adams. Nurse.”
Yessir.
The nurse advised me to throw out my shirt, and gave me a clean one. Obviously, I didn’t. I stuffed it in my backpack with my crumpled math homework. It was one of my favorite shirts (multi-colored, multi-patterned, and looked like it was from the 80s, obviously) and I’d rather risk bleaching it. Well, I’d heard hydrogen peroxide gets the stains out, so first I’d ask Dad if we had any in the garage.
On my way back to class I stopped by the bathroom to wash my hands. Lee was in the far stall, I assumed he was throwing up in the toilet. I felt bad for the guy, but also by this point, he made me uneasy.
Another time he borrowed a pen from the kid in front of him, ‘cause he forgot his own'. I guess he wasn’t paying attention, and his pen started leaking everywhere. He had a mini freak-out and recoiled like his hand had been burned. He immediately ran to the bathroom. I didn’t think that much of it, I’d assumed he was probably trying to get the ink stains out of his sweater.
Later, I walked on him scrubbing his hands frantically--they were stained a greenish-yellow where the ink had touched his skin. His sweater was on the counter--from what I could see it still had a large stain down the front--a blue one. We made eye contact, he shifted to hide his hands but it was too late.
After that day he wore gloves for a week--and he kept scratching at them. He claimed it had something to do with a rash, which I suppose probably wasn’t far from the truth, but rashes aren’t yellow. He didn’t look me in the eye that entire week.
I’m still not sure if that makes him a vampire. I started reading up on some lore, just in case.
The latest history partner project provided an interesting opportunity. I’m pretty sure he frowned when our names were called together, but he wasn’t about to raise his concerns to the teacher.
“Whose house?” I asked. Once we stepped outside, he pulled his hood up.
“Yours.” I realized this was the first time I’ve heard him speak. His voice was ordinary enough, just quiet.
I looked at the fence, then back at the parking lot. Since moving here, I took a shortcut through the woods to avoid surprise confrontations. They were relatively easy to navigate in the daytime, so I never had any trouble. The people I wanted to avoid most always hung out in Macmillian’s lot--which was directly on my way home. I never wanted to go around ‘cause that’d mean an extra block--unless I was willing to be persecuted by old man Wilfred’s “No Trespassing” rule.
I debated whether I wanted to risk getting beat-up--on the off-chance that Lee was not as in with the cool crowd as I thought he was. Or on the more likely chance that’d he leave me to the wolves because he didn’t care. Or, I could take him around, like I didn’t know anything at all--
“We can just take the shortcut. I don’t mind the woods.”
Oh. “Yeah, sure thing.” Well, that was one thing solved.
Lee lingered in the doorway. More proof that he was a vampire? Maybe if I invited him in, he’d just eat me. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want me getting beaten up. I wouldn’t wanna eat someone with a black eye either.
“You can come in.”
He was very careful in the way he moved. He set his shoes neatly next to mine, and treaded softly to the kitchen where my dad was doing taxes at the kitchen table.
“This is Lee,” I said. “History project.”
He looked up. “Ah. Hello. Frankie, didn’t hear you come in.” He went back to his taxes.
“Nice to meet you,” Lee said softly.
My dad didn’t hear him, so I dragged him upstairs to my room. He marveled a little at the plastic stars on the ceiling and walls.
“What are those for?”
“They glow in the dark.” I was quite proud of my arrangements, actually. Mom and I managed to fit all 88--well, 86 of them.
Lee flipped off the light switch. “Ah.” He flipped the lights back on. “Two of the constellations are missing.” I wasn’t sure how he realized so quickly. “Aquila and…”
“Vulpecula. Yeah, I was...gonna get around to it, but I never did.”
He was still staring at the empty spot, then he turned to me. “We could add them.” He looked more eager than I’d ever seen him, and I felt bad.
“Well...probably not today. We’ve still got work to do, remember?”
He nodded, but I wondered if he could see through me.
We finished half of it, and by that time it was late. Turns out he knew his stuff, better than I did--I usually fell asleep in history. He insisted I do the drawings (after trying, and failing, to draw a patriot uniform, and after discovering my old sketchbook. I was really into insects as a little kid, before I moved on to the sky.)
“You should stay for dinner.”
He tried to decline at first, but I insisted. “Call your parents. Can they pick you up? Or maybe my dad can give you a ride?”
He gave in. I learned that he was vegan, so fried rice it was.
I was about to add garlic when he appeared behind me. “Please, no garlic.”
I set the clove down good-naturedly. “You a vampire or something?” I was only half-joking.
He smiled. “No, I just hate how it smells.”
Well, I’m not sure what I expected.
“Anything else I should know, food-wise?”
He paused. “I’m allergic to bananas.”
I wasn’t really sure what to say to that. I noticed he was watching me carefully. He saw my questioning gaze and smiled sheepishly. “My parents can’t cook, and I didn’t see cooking shows much when I was a kid.”
“Wanna try?” I handed him the spatula.
“I don’t know how--”
I grinned. “Fried rice is easy. Just don’t let anything burn.”
I lifted myself onto the counter. “You’re the first person I can talk to in this town, so how do you like it?”
“Like what?”
“Living here.”
“Oh. Well, it’s… good, I guess. People leave me alone. I mean, I wouldn’t really know what anywhere else is like. I’ve lived here my whole life.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. My parents moved in when I was just a baby.”
“Where were you born?”
“Somewhere far. I don’t remember what my parents told me. What about you?”
“I’m from California.”
“That’s…” He frowned like he was trying to remember where California was. “That’s far. How’d you like it?”
“I think it was hot. I dunno, we moved away when I was little. Then we lived in Arizona for awhile. We moved to Ohio when I was 10. I lived in New York for two months with my uncle. I hated it. Dad was getting settled with work here and my mom didn’t wanna leave Ohio yet. I started high school there, then we moved in with Dad.”
“Wow. You guys moved a lot.”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t as fun as you’d think. Didn’t get to make a lot of friends.”
There was a pause.
“We can be friends,” he said quietly.
I stared at the back of his head. He’d caught me off guard.
“We can talk about the stars.” He meticulously stirred the rice.
I walked over and turned the stove off. “I’d like that.” I didn’t think Lee Solomon was so bad after all, vampire or not.
We ate in comfortable silence. I think he was just lonely. We both were. Things were better after that, I think.
Once I found him in the woods.
We walked home together often, because that’s what friends do. We looked at the stars from his backyard, and from mine. I hadn’t looked at the stars in a long while, and I’d forgotten how much I’d missed them. I remembered the telescope I’d been saving for but never bought. I think I had more than enough by now.
This time I was stuck in detention until it was dark--it was my third “fight” this semester and the vice principal thought my time would be better served doing community service. So I had to help the theatre club. When I was free, I still didn’t want to take my chances with the lot. So the woods it was.
Like I said, the woods are fairly easy to navigate. In broad daylight. It was a full moon, but it didn’t help much.
I stumbled into a clearing, where Lee Solomon was standing in the middle, just staring at the moon. Clouds were beginning to roll in. I edged closer. He turned his head like he had heard the leaves crunch beneath my feet--we were more than twenty feet apart. He smiled, and beckoned me closer.
We laid down in the soft grass. With the clouds it was hard to see the stars but I tried anyway. In the moonlight his cheeks and ears were dusted with yellow, and his freckles practically shone. I never noticed before but his eyes were like the moon--pale and round and shiny. He looked alien, almost.
“Are you even human?” I whispered. He was too pretty to be real.
He looked a bit startled. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re glowing.” Very faintly, but his body was emitting light.
“Oh.” His cheeks flushed a brighter yellow. The clouds covered up the moon again, and the effect was gone. He tugged me gently to my feet.
I had known for a while now that he wasn’t quite normal. Here was my proof, and I was a little surprised but not really, because Lee Solomon had always been the same.
I guess what he wanted to tell me was not something he could say in words, because he brought me deeper in the woods. Probably--hopefully--not to kill me. Eventually we were crossing the creek--which made him not a vampire, at least. Maybe. He would not let go of my hand, nor look me in the eye. He didn’t say a word until we stopped at the ravine--which I’d only seen on maps. He slid down first--it was not that steep, and helped me down.
He led me to a crash site. It was not obvious until he brushed away some of the overgrowth, and revealed what was clearly the wreck of a ship. A spaceship, one that had crashed here 15 years ago.
I faced him in shock. “I thought you were a vampire.”
He looked at me funny. “What?”
I was staring, open-mouthed. “But you’re from the sky.”
He nodded, his cheeks were yellow again--I assumed his equivalent of blushing. “I’m from the sky,” he whispered.
“Why’d you bring me here?”
“I didn’t think you’d believe me.” He stared down at his feet. Suddenly dirt seemed very interesting.
“You’d have wanted me to?”
“We’re friends.” He looked shyly at me through his bangs. “Right?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you angry?”
“No. Can we go home?”
“Okay.”
Things didn’t really change. Except I think he was happier, freer. We watched the stars, and we finally put up Aquila and Vulpecula. I was happier. Freer.
For his birthday--he told me he didn’t really celebrate (I guess birthdays really were just a human thing)--I bought him a telescope. He looked just like a little kid, eyes round as the moon.
I saw Jupiter for the first time that night.
We laid in the grass and he told me about the planets past our solar system. He’d never seen them--or at least, if he did, he doesn’t remember--but his parents would tell stories.
He told me that they named the planets with letters and numbers, but they used a different language he didn’t speak. He called his planet AR-1257. He couldn’t tell me much because his parents didn’t talk about it often.
One night I was able to spot galaxy NGC-4791. I pointed it out to him. “That’s where you’re from, isn’t it?”
He looked starstruck.
We didn’t always talk, but when we did we talked a lot about the universe.
“What does anything mean? If we’re just stardust and everything is stardust what do we matter?” (Lee asked these questions a lot when he was in one of his Moods.)
“Lee, you don’t believe in a God, do you?”
“I think I’m what you’d call agnostic.”
“Ok, well, I think--I’d like to think that, even after we die, there’s some part of us that has to live on, somehow. I think that life must be infinite, and we all have to be connected some way or another in this cycle of life and death--”
“You think that if we were born from stardust we die as stardust?”
“Yeah. I think the universe lives in us. Our bodies, our souls. We belong to the sky, to the stars, Lee. Don’t you--Don’t you think?”
Lee was quiet. “I’ve never heard you say anything like that.” He smiled. “It is a comforting thought. That we belong somewhere.”
“We belong somewhere,” I repeated.
It felt like I belonged, for once. Here. Lee, the stars, and I.
I was happy. I think if I could have lived infinitely in that moment, I would have.
Until I found him in the woods again.
It wasn’t because of another detention. It was the start of a three-day weekend and I had just wanted to see the woods. I wish I hadn’t.
I came to our clearing, and Lee Solomon was there.
I witnessed him kill a bird. He held the struggling creature by the neck, and in one fluid motion he snapped it. I stood there for a good two seconds, watching him stomp the poor thing into the ground.
Then I turned and ran, and I felt eyes on my back. I don’t know if he ever called my name because my heartbeat had been pounding too loud in my ears.
I was dreading Monday because I did not know how to think about Lee Solomon without simultaneously wanting to throw up. My palms got sweaty and my heart would beat like it’d explode.
I tapped my pencil until my redhead neighbor, I think her name was Laura, told me to shut up. Then my leg would not stop bouncing. I couldn’t concentrate on anything.
When he asked to borrow my eraser I thought I’d have a heart attack. I set it on his desk without looking at him.
After school I headed straight for the woods. But a hand--his hand--grabbed my arm and I couldn’t react. He leaned down and whispered, “Let me show you.” He released his grip and I was still frozen.
He tried to take my hand and I pulled away. I think he looked sad but I couldn’t bring myself to be concerned with anything other than calming my heartbeat. Would he ever hurt me? He was certainly capable but Lee? My Lee? Was he even the same Lee?
“Calm down,” he said soothingly as we walked. I hadn’t said anything out loud, had I? “I’m worried your heart is going to burst out of your chest.” He tried to smile but I could not say anything. I had never realized how good his hearing was.
He led me to the same clearing. I spotted the bird’s corpse and I stopped.
“Come on.” He tugged my hand gently.
I shook my head. I might’ve thrown up.
“Frankie,” he coaxed. Like a fox would a rabbit. “Come here.”
No.
“Please.” He looked and sounded the same as he always would, except maybe sadder. I hated it, because he scared me and I wasn’t sure if I should have been scared from the beginning.
“Don’t--Don’t make me.” I think I was going to cry.
He looked sorry.
“Lee, please don’t make me.” I could have run. Maybe. Maybe he’d let me go. If he chose to pursue, he had longer legs. I was frozen as he grabbed my wrist. “Lee!” I tried to tug free but he was stronger than he seemed capable. “Stop. Please, stop. You’re scaring me.”
He looked a little hurt. “It’s not real, Frankie. I’ll show you.”
“No!”
“Don’t you trust me? Isn’t that what friends do?”
I burst into tears and he hugged me.
“I’m sorry that I’m scaring you, but you have nothing to be scared of, okay? I would never let anything hurt you.”
“No no no no Lee please--”
He was dragging me towards the corpse. He didn’t let go even when we were standing in front of it, and I threw up all over his shirt. He patted my back and used his sleeve to wipe my snotty face. He hid his disgust so easily and it scared me.
“If I look will you let go?” I whispered once I’d composed myself.
“Yeah.”
I looked. The thing looked fresh, like it had only died a few moments ago. There was a host of wires sticking out of its neck. Otherwise it looked eerily real.
“What is it?” I still couldn't bring myself to raise my voice above a whisper.
“A spy.” Lee picked it up and hurled it into the undergrowth. He frowned at the ground. “Let’s go home.”
He took my hand and I let him. He took me home first, and he didn’t stay. I didn’t see him again for a while.
Lee didn’t come to school, his parents didn’t show up at work (one worked as an auto mechanic, one a stores clerk, and one was a custodian). No one knew why.
I tried to visit their residence. I remember him telling me how his house was supposedly haunted. The previous family moved out because of it, but he had never recalled having any issues with the house. The lights were off, all was quiet. Their car was there--keys in the ignition. I rang the doorbell anyway.
When no one answered I sat on their doorstep. That was the routine for quite a while, actually. But the house was always empty, and it was growing cold.
After a while, it was like nothing happened. Like Lee Solomon and his family never existed. Nobody cared. Things were the same as they had been, even for me. I kept my head down, stayed out of trouble for the most part.
And I was alone. I’d forgotten what it was like before Lee.
I remember making a wish on a star. When I was a kid, I wished real hard for a friend. Mom and I sat late out in the yard once, like we always did, like Lee and I did, and we spotted a shooting star.
“Make a wish, Frankie, and make it a good one,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and made a silent wish of her own.
I wished that after she was gone, I wouldn’t be so lonely. It was stupid, but I’d thought Lee Solomon was the answer to my prayers.
Dad was never around anymore. Every morning he drove all the way to the city for work. Usually he came back late. It wasn’t like we were terribly off. But the house was empty now that Lee was gone.
One night I sat at the kitchen table. It was almost morning when Dad came home. He saw me at the table and we sat together. Neither of us knew what to say and nothing had to be said. I realized that Dad was lonely too. We could have been the answers to each other’s prayers.
Dad came home earlier now, if he could help it. I waited for him. We sat together. Now he’d tell stories about mom. Once he asked about Lee and I cried. Dad and I started watching the stars together. I’d point out the constellations and he’d tried to name them. I’d correct him when he was wrong, which was most of the time. Eventually he learned all 88 by heart.
It’d been at least a month before Lee came back. Sort of. He just showed up one day, right beside me, like he’d never left. People asked, they swarmed around him. He kinda shrunk back in on himself. Didn’t say a word. Afterwards I took his hand, and he led me silently into the woods. When we got to the clearing he hugged me and I guess he missed me too because he didn’t want to let go. We sat in the shade until nightfall. Then we laid down in the middle of the clearing and looked at the stars.
I watched him glow softly in the full moon, arm over his eyes. “Frankie,” he said, uncovering his face--I realized he’d been crying, but his voice was even and his face calm. “I think I’m lost.”
“Why?”
“They took my parents.”
“Who?” I couldn’t hide my alarm.
“Them.” He gestured vaguely at the sky. “I can’t remember what they’re called.”
“You’re--You’re still here. You’re back.” I was glad, but I ached for him.
“I never did anything wrong.” He didn’t wait for me to ask. “My parents were war criminals.”
“What...What’d they do?”
“Dunno. They never told me anything other than it was bad.”
“And...how are you feeling?”
He laughed a little. “Frankie, I don’t think you could understand, if I told you I’m fine and I meant it.” He sat up.
I did too. “I don’t believe you.”
“See?” He shook his head. “Frankie, me and you aren’t the same.”
“We’re not that different. We both like the stars. And...roller skating. And tofu.”
“Frankie, you like the stars ‘cause they make you curious. They make you wonder what’s out there. I like the stars ‘cause they make me feel safe. They let me pretend that this is home.”
I didn’t understand. “This is your home.”
“Is it? We’ve got different DNA.” He pointed to a part of the sky. “You were born from a different galaxy, a different kind of star dust.” He dragged his finger across. “I was born from a galaxy all the way across the universe. Your DNA belongs here. Mine doesn’t.” He let his arm drop.
“I don’t think it matters,” I said quietly. “If you’re here, it’s ‘cause you belong here.”
He seemed to digest that for a moment. “What if I just belong in this moment, Frankie? Maybe I belong here now. What if I went back? If I end up there is it ‘cause I belong there? Is it the universe or is it me?”
Tears started rolling down my face. I wasn’t sure why.
“Frankie?”
He looked over and I was staring angrily at the stars. What right did they have to take him away?
“Frankie, why are you upset?”
“Don’t go back.”
He smiled. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could.”
“You don’t? Want to, I mean.”
“No. No one’s waiting for me out there.”
“I would.”
“I know.”
Artist: Frankie Owens
Statement from the Artist:
No matter how intrinsically different we may be, if allow ourselves to be drawn to each other by our shared loneliness, together we can revel in the moments we are no longer so alone.
Statement from the Artist:
No matter how intrinsically different we may be, if allow ourselves to be drawn to each other by our shared loneliness, together we can revel in the moments we are no longer so alone.
Gabriel
At the city square early in the morning, Gabriel walked out with a hand in his pocket.
Elena stood at his side, tapping her foot.
“I’m going to go grab a coffee, Gabe,” she said at last.
“Go ahead.” He looked away to the street lamp. He could hear her walk off.
In a short wait, he pushed his hair back and checked his phone reflection. Good. He tilted his head. Today wasn’t a bad day at all, he thought. His watch glistened nicely on his wrist. He knew Elena had the same brand, a women’s model. That was their little touch, but he more often wore it for compliments.
When Elena returned, it had been a few minutes.
“Took you a while—” Gabriel said, straightening his back.
But Elena slapped his face.
Stunned, Gabriel touched his cheek, feeling the heat tingle. “What the–!”
“You jerk!” Her eyes were blown wide, creases of anger all over. “You cheated on me! Last week! The waiter said he saw you with another girl! I’m so embarrassed I even mentioned you!”
Gradually, more and more heads turned. The people who didn’t even slow for each other started to drink in the scene.
Gabriel blinked, too shocked to speak. “We’re just friends!” he said.
But she started to cry. “Liar! I’m going home!”
Feeling his indolence drip back into him, he softened his features and watched as she walked off, loud taps of her heels.
Gabriel pulled up his calendar on his phone.
“....no more than four months,” he muttered.
Turning away, he walked down the street, and the people slowly began to part again as well.
He wouldn’t refund the watch. He had no reason to. Looking over it, he tilted his wrist. Somehow, it seemed to have lost some value.
Going about his day normally, nothing had particularly changed since the day before. But by sunset, as he walked home after eating lunch, he received a business call.
“Gabe? Gabe, thank goodness.”
“...Alex, what’s up?” Gabriel asked.
“Sorry, this is a really badly timed request. I know you have a lot of work to do.”
Looking at the water, Gabriel felt his face drop in disinterest. “...okay.”
“....sorry,” Alex sensed his displeasure, “But my grandma just passed away like last night or something. I think she had heart problems? I don’t know. Really sad. But yeah, I need to go to the funeral. Do you mind if you cover my half of the project?”
“....can’t you just ask for a sick leave?”
“Yeah, but the project still needs to be done. You can’t just skip because I’m not there. Why are you being selfish right now? Someone just died.”
“Alright.” Gabriel pulled the phone away.
“You’re the best, Gabe–”
“Goodbye.” He hung up before Alex could finish.
Looking at a traffic mirror on his left side, Gabriel pushed the hair away from his face. At least he looked good today. He fixed his bangs a little. Hesitant, he stared a little more at his reflection before he kept walking.
“Today,” he said quietly under his breath, “Seems like a good day for the beach.”
He went by impulse. On a dock, he sat down and let one leg dangle over.
The seagulls flew around in indolence. They went about in half a large circle, and then settled for the rocks and sand, picking at everything even if they had no clue what they were.
Gabriel looked further out. He tried to look as far as he could. Far, far into the horizon, into the ocean. His hand trembled at his side, but he couldn’t tell if it was the cold or something else.
When he turned his head at last, eyes a little strained, he saw a little boy crying. He had tripped over something, and now his parents ran to his aid. Carefully, they crouched and talked to him in soft tones. His father seemed to make some joke, and then his mom.
Gabriel stared closely. The boy’s smile was huge. Glowing, even.
When they turned his way, he tried to hide it, turning his cheek, but his eyes quickly darted back.
The boy wore a little bracelet. A thread one.
Suddenly, Gabriel felt his hand fly to his wrist. The watch. He hesitated. What did he want to do?
Snapping it off, he shot up to his feet and hurled it far, far into the water. It glittered and fell with a plunk.
He huffed, standing alone. His eyes threatened to blink, but he wouldn’t let them. He watched the sky, throat stinging like he would cry.
Then, lowering his head, he stared at himself at last.
A rippling reflection.
“....Gabriel.”
He stopped. He looked
Behind him, he saw a woman with a black mullet, her eyes steady on him. All her features had a natural calmness, a little sharp, a little cold.
“....Eve.”
“Wasn’t that your girlfriend’s watch?” Eve asked, walking towards him.
“....we broke up.” He didn’t care even as he said it.
“Why?”
Wiping his eyes, he looked away as dismissively as he could. “She heard about you. She thought we were dating.”
“Did you tell her?”
“....no. For some reason, I just don’t care anymore.”
Eve sat next to him then. He hesitated, and then sat down too. She seemed to ignore his slightly messy hair, his slight creases, his red eyes.
“....this thing here.” Looking at the edge of the dock, Eve said, “Don’t even think about it, Gabriel.” She touched his head.
He didn’t look back.
“...Don’t you ever think about it?”
“I don’t.” She looked out at the ocean. “I know who I am. I can be good, I can be bad. People are like that. You know too, don’t you? Everyone turns on you like a switch. One minute, I need you, I love you, the next minute, you’re big, bad, and ugly. Do they know who you are, Gabriel? Are you what they say you are?”
She leaned on her knee, looking at him closely. He felt embarrassed by the mess he was in, he wanted to cover up and run. But he couldn’t. His legs wouldn’t move.
“Are you good? Are you bad? Are you the worst, the best, the most selfish, the most selfless?” Eve reached over when Gabriel started to cry, wiping his cheek. “Are you an idiot, are you a genius?” Her voice softened. “Are you loved or are you hated?”
No matter what reflection he looked into, he could never tell.
“Are you Gabe? Or are you Gabriel?” Eve’s eyes did not falter even once. “Which one do you want to be?”
Gabriel cried. He felt just like a little kid, but he couldn’t help it anymore. In his throat, something burned, and his whole chest lit up with it. Even next to the ocean, he felt like his heart had been scorched.
“Which do you choose?” Leaning back, Eve looked straight at him. The wind flickered straight through them.
As he slowly gathered his breath, he finally stared back at her through his tears.
“Gabriel,” he choked out, “I want to be Gabriel.”
Carefully, Eve took off her threaded hairband. Gabriel watched for a moment, curious as she carefully rolled it over his hand, then onto his wrist.
"Then be Gabriel."
Elena stood at his side, tapping her foot.
“I’m going to go grab a coffee, Gabe,” she said at last.
“Go ahead.” He looked away to the street lamp. He could hear her walk off.
In a short wait, he pushed his hair back and checked his phone reflection. Good. He tilted his head. Today wasn’t a bad day at all, he thought. His watch glistened nicely on his wrist. He knew Elena had the same brand, a women’s model. That was their little touch, but he more often wore it for compliments.
When Elena returned, it had been a few minutes.
“Took you a while—” Gabriel said, straightening his back.
But Elena slapped his face.
Stunned, Gabriel touched his cheek, feeling the heat tingle. “What the–!”
“You jerk!” Her eyes were blown wide, creases of anger all over. “You cheated on me! Last week! The waiter said he saw you with another girl! I’m so embarrassed I even mentioned you!”
Gradually, more and more heads turned. The people who didn’t even slow for each other started to drink in the scene.
Gabriel blinked, too shocked to speak. “We’re just friends!” he said.
But she started to cry. “Liar! I’m going home!”
Feeling his indolence drip back into him, he softened his features and watched as she walked off, loud taps of her heels.
Gabriel pulled up his calendar on his phone.
“....no more than four months,” he muttered.
Turning away, he walked down the street, and the people slowly began to part again as well.
He wouldn’t refund the watch. He had no reason to. Looking over it, he tilted his wrist. Somehow, it seemed to have lost some value.
Going about his day normally, nothing had particularly changed since the day before. But by sunset, as he walked home after eating lunch, he received a business call.
“Gabe? Gabe, thank goodness.”
“...Alex, what’s up?” Gabriel asked.
“Sorry, this is a really badly timed request. I know you have a lot of work to do.”
Looking at the water, Gabriel felt his face drop in disinterest. “...okay.”
“....sorry,” Alex sensed his displeasure, “But my grandma just passed away like last night or something. I think she had heart problems? I don’t know. Really sad. But yeah, I need to go to the funeral. Do you mind if you cover my half of the project?”
“....can’t you just ask for a sick leave?”
“Yeah, but the project still needs to be done. You can’t just skip because I’m not there. Why are you being selfish right now? Someone just died.”
“Alright.” Gabriel pulled the phone away.
“You’re the best, Gabe–”
“Goodbye.” He hung up before Alex could finish.
Looking at a traffic mirror on his left side, Gabriel pushed the hair away from his face. At least he looked good today. He fixed his bangs a little. Hesitant, he stared a little more at his reflection before he kept walking.
“Today,” he said quietly under his breath, “Seems like a good day for the beach.”
He went by impulse. On a dock, he sat down and let one leg dangle over.
The seagulls flew around in indolence. They went about in half a large circle, and then settled for the rocks and sand, picking at everything even if they had no clue what they were.
Gabriel looked further out. He tried to look as far as he could. Far, far into the horizon, into the ocean. His hand trembled at his side, but he couldn’t tell if it was the cold or something else.
When he turned his head at last, eyes a little strained, he saw a little boy crying. He had tripped over something, and now his parents ran to his aid. Carefully, they crouched and talked to him in soft tones. His father seemed to make some joke, and then his mom.
Gabriel stared closely. The boy’s smile was huge. Glowing, even.
When they turned his way, he tried to hide it, turning his cheek, but his eyes quickly darted back.
The boy wore a little bracelet. A thread one.
Suddenly, Gabriel felt his hand fly to his wrist. The watch. He hesitated. What did he want to do?
Snapping it off, he shot up to his feet and hurled it far, far into the water. It glittered and fell with a plunk.
He huffed, standing alone. His eyes threatened to blink, but he wouldn’t let them. He watched the sky, throat stinging like he would cry.
Then, lowering his head, he stared at himself at last.
A rippling reflection.
“....Gabriel.”
He stopped. He looked
Behind him, he saw a woman with a black mullet, her eyes steady on him. All her features had a natural calmness, a little sharp, a little cold.
“....Eve.”
“Wasn’t that your girlfriend’s watch?” Eve asked, walking towards him.
“....we broke up.” He didn’t care even as he said it.
“Why?”
Wiping his eyes, he looked away as dismissively as he could. “She heard about you. She thought we were dating.”
“Did you tell her?”
“....no. For some reason, I just don’t care anymore.”
Eve sat next to him then. He hesitated, and then sat down too. She seemed to ignore his slightly messy hair, his slight creases, his red eyes.
“....this thing here.” Looking at the edge of the dock, Eve said, “Don’t even think about it, Gabriel.” She touched his head.
He didn’t look back.
“...Don’t you ever think about it?”
“I don’t.” She looked out at the ocean. “I know who I am. I can be good, I can be bad. People are like that. You know too, don’t you? Everyone turns on you like a switch. One minute, I need you, I love you, the next minute, you’re big, bad, and ugly. Do they know who you are, Gabriel? Are you what they say you are?”
She leaned on her knee, looking at him closely. He felt embarrassed by the mess he was in, he wanted to cover up and run. But he couldn’t. His legs wouldn’t move.
“Are you good? Are you bad? Are you the worst, the best, the most selfish, the most selfless?” Eve reached over when Gabriel started to cry, wiping his cheek. “Are you an idiot, are you a genius?” Her voice softened. “Are you loved or are you hated?”
No matter what reflection he looked into, he could never tell.
“Are you Gabe? Or are you Gabriel?” Eve’s eyes did not falter even once. “Which one do you want to be?”
Gabriel cried. He felt just like a little kid, but he couldn’t help it anymore. In his throat, something burned, and his whole chest lit up with it. Even next to the ocean, he felt like his heart had been scorched.
“Which do you choose?” Leaning back, Eve looked straight at him. The wind flickered straight through them.
As he slowly gathered his breath, he finally stared back at her through his tears.
“Gabriel,” he choked out, “I want to be Gabriel.”
Carefully, Eve took off her threaded hairband. Gabriel watched for a moment, curious as she carefully rolled it over his hand, then onto his wrist.
"Then be Gabriel."
Artist: E. Goldeen
Statement from the Artist:
People often try to define others. We define people more often than ourselves, using adjectives freely. But a person is not the sum of everyone else's point of view. Only the individual truly knows who they are. When two people can be certain and authentic in that aspect, true connections made.
Statement from the Artist:
People often try to define others. We define people more often than ourselves, using adjectives freely. But a person is not the sum of everyone else's point of view. Only the individual truly knows who they are. When two people can be certain and authentic in that aspect, true connections made.
Let’s Talk
Every day was exactly the same.
He woke up, ate the same bread with the same jam, went to the same workplace early, and greeted the same superiors first and foremost before making the same small talk with the same colleagues.
He was sick of it.
How’s the wife? How are the kids? When are you moving into your new apartment?
Such tasteless conversation, he thought, and what an idiot he had to be to land himself into that kind of neighborhood, with the suspiciously tall brick walls and cats that left their feces in other people’s yards, with the obvious sound of sprinklers hitting the sidewalk more effectively than the grass, with the quiet, awkward “Hey” and “How are you.”
But there was nothing he could do about it. He was just an ordinary person, and it seemed he had completely trapped himself in this strange neighborhood, living the same every day.
Yet today, he saw something different. Someone had left a sticker sheet on his desk.
Staring, he couldn’t process it for a moment. Where did it come from? Who would have or even leave such a thing at work?
“August.”
August looked up from his desk. He saw his manager.
“Good morning, Manager,” he said.
“Good morning,” she said. “How’s the day looking from here?”
“From here? Perfect. Just about perfect.” He looked away dully. “Like every day.”
“Good.”
“...and you? How are you?”
“Good.”
August hesitated. This was strange. Where would he normally go from here? Something about the sticker sheet had completely thrown him off somehow. Even without looking, he thought about it. Little cartoon bears and rockets and spaceships.
“Working hard, I assume?”
“Oh, of course,” August said quickly, covering the sticker sheet.
“I’m counting on you today too.”
“Of course.”
As she left, he peered once again at the stickers.
Just a little bit, it made him smile.
Later that day, on his way home, August saw an old toy-vending machine. He hesitated and looked in. Everything was faded, promotional pictures stripping away into fuzz, dust and rust gathering. It didn’t even look like anyone attended to it. He hesitated.
Looking into his bag, he searched for a quarter. But feeling ridiculous, he decided against it and instead took out the sticker sheet. Carefully, he looked around, and then peeled one off and stuck it directly on the glass. A cartoon bear. He smiled.
The next few days were the same. August went to work as usual, and on his way home, he added a sticker. In two weeks, he ran out.
Impatient to do something, he bought some more.
Then, on the third week, something even stranger occurred--
Someone else had placed a sticker.
He couldn’t believe it at first. No one paid attention to this vending machine before. In awe, he crouched and stared.
A big, puffy sticker, cartoon flowers with smiley faces.
“Incredible,” he whispered.
August almost laughed. Something like pride started in his chest. It was just a single incident, though, he reminded himself, and quickly brushed it off.
But the days continued, and even when he ran out of his new sticker sheet, more stickers appeared.
The old vending machine started to look like a strange work of art.
People seemed to understand him. They were communicating with him, these stickers, in a visual alphabet or language of sorts.
Without any words, they were having a real conversation. He knew it because someone placed a rabbit on his planet, and someone else placed a rainbow over those flowers. Maybe they were children, he thought. But it didn’t matter.
By now, people knew. They would watch him sometimes, and other times, August would make it in time to someone else coming or going.
“Are you the one placing these stickers?” someone would ask from time to time.
“I like this vending machine,” an old woman said once.
“Did you see the one I put down?” someone else said.
Ever so slightly, his days grew brighter as the vending machine refurbished itself with color.
Finally, August bought a sticker sheet of the alphabet.
He sat in front of the machine, breathing in. It was like a collage. He touched the space in the middle of the glass, left blank for some of the capsules inside.
He lowered his head, thoughtfully staring at his letters. Carefully, he started to “write.” He only had so many. Breathing in, he felt his hand shake just slightly.
What did he want to say?
What was the right thing to say?
He sighed a bit.
There must have been something he wanted. Or something they wanted– maybe something everyone wanted.
Then he knew. He started immediately, pasting them down one by one in an arc.
When he finished, he stood and stepped back.
It looked so childish, so cartoony, the entire toy-vending machine. August felt pride flow into his chest like a warm river. He smiled.
As he turned, he found himself face to face with his manager. The two of them had yet to change out of uniform, seeing one another exactly as they always had.
“August,” she said.
Surprised, August blinked a few times. “Manager. I… don’t normally see you here.” Slightly flustered, he tried to think of something to say, turning his cheek a little. He looked at the vending machine quickly. “...Oh. Someone started this… thing, and I– I was bored, so I–”
Her smile grew a little bigger, eyes gleaming. “Did you like it?”
He paused.
“The bear astronauts,” she said. “Did you like them?”
August stopped entirely. His mind drew a blank. With a gasp, he looked up. “You. You gave those to me?”
She nodded almost smugly.
For whatever reason, he felt a blush start on his cheeks. Maybe it was the stickers. “....thank you.” He surprised himself as he spoke. He gathered the strength to look her in the eye. “...I did like them, actually. I really liked them.”
“I like this vending machine,” she said. “What does it say?”
“....well, it says a lot of things, I think.” August felt calmer, a little more natural, a little more confident.
“But what does that say?” She pointed vaguely to the middle.
“‘Let’s talk.’” He stopped. Turning, he looked at her. Just her smile said it all. He hesitated, and then said, “Manager.”
“Lucy.”
“....Lucy,” August said for the first time.
Reaching out her hand, she waited for him to take it.
“August,” Lucy said, “Let’s talk.”
He woke up, ate the same bread with the same jam, went to the same workplace early, and greeted the same superiors first and foremost before making the same small talk with the same colleagues.
He was sick of it.
How’s the wife? How are the kids? When are you moving into your new apartment?
Such tasteless conversation, he thought, and what an idiot he had to be to land himself into that kind of neighborhood, with the suspiciously tall brick walls and cats that left their feces in other people’s yards, with the obvious sound of sprinklers hitting the sidewalk more effectively than the grass, with the quiet, awkward “Hey” and “How are you.”
But there was nothing he could do about it. He was just an ordinary person, and it seemed he had completely trapped himself in this strange neighborhood, living the same every day.
Yet today, he saw something different. Someone had left a sticker sheet on his desk.
Staring, he couldn’t process it for a moment. Where did it come from? Who would have or even leave such a thing at work?
“August.”
August looked up from his desk. He saw his manager.
“Good morning, Manager,” he said.
“Good morning,” she said. “How’s the day looking from here?”
“From here? Perfect. Just about perfect.” He looked away dully. “Like every day.”
“Good.”
“...and you? How are you?”
“Good.”
August hesitated. This was strange. Where would he normally go from here? Something about the sticker sheet had completely thrown him off somehow. Even without looking, he thought about it. Little cartoon bears and rockets and spaceships.
“Working hard, I assume?”
“Oh, of course,” August said quickly, covering the sticker sheet.
“I’m counting on you today too.”
“Of course.”
As she left, he peered once again at the stickers.
Just a little bit, it made him smile.
Later that day, on his way home, August saw an old toy-vending machine. He hesitated and looked in. Everything was faded, promotional pictures stripping away into fuzz, dust and rust gathering. It didn’t even look like anyone attended to it. He hesitated.
Looking into his bag, he searched for a quarter. But feeling ridiculous, he decided against it and instead took out the sticker sheet. Carefully, he looked around, and then peeled one off and stuck it directly on the glass. A cartoon bear. He smiled.
The next few days were the same. August went to work as usual, and on his way home, he added a sticker. In two weeks, he ran out.
Impatient to do something, he bought some more.
Then, on the third week, something even stranger occurred--
Someone else had placed a sticker.
He couldn’t believe it at first. No one paid attention to this vending machine before. In awe, he crouched and stared.
A big, puffy sticker, cartoon flowers with smiley faces.
“Incredible,” he whispered.
August almost laughed. Something like pride started in his chest. It was just a single incident, though, he reminded himself, and quickly brushed it off.
But the days continued, and even when he ran out of his new sticker sheet, more stickers appeared.
The old vending machine started to look like a strange work of art.
People seemed to understand him. They were communicating with him, these stickers, in a visual alphabet or language of sorts.
Without any words, they were having a real conversation. He knew it because someone placed a rabbit on his planet, and someone else placed a rainbow over those flowers. Maybe they were children, he thought. But it didn’t matter.
By now, people knew. They would watch him sometimes, and other times, August would make it in time to someone else coming or going.
“Are you the one placing these stickers?” someone would ask from time to time.
“I like this vending machine,” an old woman said once.
“Did you see the one I put down?” someone else said.
Ever so slightly, his days grew brighter as the vending machine refurbished itself with color.
Finally, August bought a sticker sheet of the alphabet.
He sat in front of the machine, breathing in. It was like a collage. He touched the space in the middle of the glass, left blank for some of the capsules inside.
He lowered his head, thoughtfully staring at his letters. Carefully, he started to “write.” He only had so many. Breathing in, he felt his hand shake just slightly.
What did he want to say?
What was the right thing to say?
He sighed a bit.
There must have been something he wanted. Or something they wanted– maybe something everyone wanted.
Then he knew. He started immediately, pasting them down one by one in an arc.
When he finished, he stood and stepped back.
It looked so childish, so cartoony, the entire toy-vending machine. August felt pride flow into his chest like a warm river. He smiled.
As he turned, he found himself face to face with his manager. The two of them had yet to change out of uniform, seeing one another exactly as they always had.
“August,” she said.
Surprised, August blinked a few times. “Manager. I… don’t normally see you here.” Slightly flustered, he tried to think of something to say, turning his cheek a little. He looked at the vending machine quickly. “...Oh. Someone started this… thing, and I– I was bored, so I–”
Her smile grew a little bigger, eyes gleaming. “Did you like it?”
He paused.
“The bear astronauts,” she said. “Did you like them?”
August stopped entirely. His mind drew a blank. With a gasp, he looked up. “You. You gave those to me?”
She nodded almost smugly.
For whatever reason, he felt a blush start on his cheeks. Maybe it was the stickers. “....thank you.” He surprised himself as he spoke. He gathered the strength to look her in the eye. “...I did like them, actually. I really liked them.”
“I like this vending machine,” she said. “What does it say?”
“....well, it says a lot of things, I think.” August felt calmer, a little more natural, a little more confident.
“But what does that say?” She pointed vaguely to the middle.
“‘Let’s talk.’” He stopped. Turning, he looked at her. Just her smile said it all. He hesitated, and then said, “Manager.”
“Lucy.”
“....Lucy,” August said for the first time.
Reaching out her hand, she waited for him to take it.
“August,” Lucy said, “Let’s talk.”
Artist: E. Goldeen
Statement from the Artist:
In my daily life, my conversations have changed since I was a child. People seem to no longer be interested in small forms of happiness like stickers and gachapon capsules, but I think they're actually just all very shy and afraid of rejection. In the meantime, the modern world is turning these things obsolete as well. There are really many ways to connect beyond verbal language.
Statement from the Artist:
In my daily life, my conversations have changed since I was a child. People seem to no longer be interested in small forms of happiness like stickers and gachapon capsules, but I think they're actually just all very shy and afraid of rejection. In the meantime, the modern world is turning these things obsolete as well. There are really many ways to connect beyond verbal language.
A Boys Discovery
Once upon a time there was a small quaint town known as Whispering Willows where not much new was to be found...although what has been unknown will soon be revealed in this tale. One cloudy night, a little boy named Charlie was told by his mother to take the garbage out back. Charlie did what he was told, but as he was walking back towards his house he heard a small pitter-patter coming from the trees nearby. Charlie spoke in a gentle voice asking who was there. When he got no response, he slowly but surely made his way towards the noise and found a flashing light that led him to the Woodland Willows. They startled Charlie by popping out of what looked like a pile of sticks but was actually their home. Charlie jumped with fright not knowing what these creatures were and whether or not they were kind.
Charlie took another glance at the Woodland Willows and saw that they had short silky hair, and what looked like glitter for skin. Each and every one of them also had two different colored eyes. They seemed to have a sweet and diligent demeanor. Now that Charlie's heart was finally coming back to a somewhat normal pace, he asked “What are you?”. He once again got no response and Charlie realized that they didn't know how to speak. He heard his mom calling him to come back inside for bed, and swiftly promised he'd be back at the crack of dawn. The next morning just as Charlie had promised, he came back to visit the Woodland Willows, but this time he came out fumbling with books, a chalkboard, pens, and paper. He wanted to try his best to teach the Woodland Willows so that they would be able to communicate with each other soon. As many days passed, the Willows and Charlie grew very fond of each other and shared an abundance of joy. Over time and with much patience they eventually began to make small conversations, with hope to have many more as their friendship will only grow stronger.
Charlie took another glance at the Woodland Willows and saw that they had short silky hair, and what looked like glitter for skin. Each and every one of them also had two different colored eyes. They seemed to have a sweet and diligent demeanor. Now that Charlie's heart was finally coming back to a somewhat normal pace, he asked “What are you?”. He once again got no response and Charlie realized that they didn't know how to speak. He heard his mom calling him to come back inside for bed, and swiftly promised he'd be back at the crack of dawn. The next morning just as Charlie had promised, he came back to visit the Woodland Willows, but this time he came out fumbling with books, a chalkboard, pens, and paper. He wanted to try his best to teach the Woodland Willows so that they would be able to communicate with each other soon. As many days passed, the Willows and Charlie grew very fond of each other and shared an abundance of joy. Over time and with much patience they eventually began to make small conversations, with hope to have many more as their friendship will only grow stronger.
Artist: C.F.
Statement from the Artist:
My inspiration connects to the theme through my short story speaking about mystical creatures.
Statement from the Artist:
My inspiration connects to the theme through my short story speaking about mystical creatures.
My First Love
I look into the eyes of my former lover and muse and marvel at how they haven’t changed. His eyes are a swirling brown with the smallest tint of red, an autumn leaf moving with the wind, refusing to meet the ground. He laughed when I told him that all those years ago, remarking that it was too poetic for something like brown eyes. I told him it was only the truth.
I comb my hand through his graying hair. He smiles as he peers back at me. His smile hasn’t changed either, sharp canines and one tooth near the back a tiny bit misaligned. His lips are chapped thanks to his damn insistence to never carry around balm. He starts to flirt as he pulls me in and asks me to make it better with a kiss. I laugh and say that saliva would only make his lips more chapped. Then there's a soft chuckle as a response before he leans in.
“You haven’t changed a day, Constance,” my former lover says, his voice croaky and dry.
He’s sitting up on the hospital bed, his bottom half completely covered by a warm blanket. I sit right by him as he devotes his full attention to my presence. There was always a way his gaze spoke and it seemed to say I am here now and so are you. I never fully understood how it worked. A heart monitor connects to his other arm, chiming in to remind us it is there.
“Neither have you, Martin.”
He laughs, full of heart, and throws his head back. I know he thinks it’s a joke, but it’s true. He’s far from the copper brown—the color of tempered chocolate—haired man with barely a stubble on his face. His arms, once taut and strong, sag and cling to his bone like crumpled fabric. But, truly, I know it is him despite the years. When his laughter dies down he holds my hand. A gentle smile lays on his face.
“See?” he asks, bringing my hand up to make a point, “not a wrinkle on you. If you said I was dreaming I’d believe you.”
A bittersweet exhale leaves me. I guide his hand to my face and lean on it. I can still imagine sunlit days on the pier by his side. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine the smell of the ocean and the honey-gold light peeking through my eyelids. He was the type to talk with eager fever and I would listen blissfully to his voice. Martin made the blandest things as exciting as revolution. It’s all too easy to dream.
“If it were a dream, where would you wake up?” I ask, a whisper.
He closes his eyes and relaxes into his pillow. He grins as he says, “You know where I’d love to wake to, Constance.”
I don’t, but I know what I’d want. A cold morning in bed where we cuddle by each other for a little longer. Or waking to see him already making breakfast and mixing up measurements to create an absolute mess. But I know it must be different for him now. Instead, he’d wake up to his old wife after watching a movie together. Or his wonderful daughter shaking him so they’d play. Sometimes, I wished I could have given him all those things.
It’s been so long since we’ve been together. But first loves are first loves, aren’t they?
I bring his hand down to his side again and he wakes from whatever daydream he wandered into. His brow furrows only slightly, whether, in annoyance or confusion, I haven’t a clue. How strange to think that.
“I'm sorry, love.” It’s a farewell to a dying man.
He furrows more. “You don’t have a thing to apologize for.”
My breathing becomes rapid and the smell of antiseptics almost becomes too much. I should have left after saying that, let it really be a farewell, but my limbs fall asleep and I stay in place. Martin has concerned eyes on me and, once again, holds his hand in mine. Only then does the heart monitor become a beat too quick.
“You won’t agree with me,” I say, “but I’ve taken so much from you.” He nearly says something of his own but I continue on. “Love, I took so much of your younger years. You say you don’t regret it, but I misled you into thinking you could spend your life with me. You could’ve met Lauren sooner, could have used the little time you had left with someone equally precious. I… I stole that from you.”
The familiar smile returns. “Steal? If I remember, you dreamt of that life as much as I did.”
A minor flinch. Days where I deluded myself with childish dreams. My selfish thought of staying with Martin on a sandy beach with our arms wrapped around each other. But he still found Lauren afterward. A beautiful, Asian girl with star-scattered black hair. A kind girl who grew and loved him as much as I did. They’d raise the most adorable sprout of a daughter who shared her father’s eyes. Even with my selfishness, I knew I could not indulge in another day with him. Though, if I had, I do not know if I would release him. That would be unfair to his daughter. To Lauren.
I was there on her deathbed too.
Lauren told me she had been jealous of me, despite it being our first meeting. I’d learned that Martin talked of me. Never more than a few words but she knew he loved me. As she laid in her hospital bed, she said that it took years to understand that his love for her would always exist, but so would his love for me. Like a widow will love their late spouse, she said. For a while, we only talked about Martin. We laughed and cried together. In the end, when I stayed far longer than I should have, she whispered, “I think I know why he loves you.” I told her just the same.
“Don’t think of them as thefts,” Martin spoke up, “those years were gifts to you, my Constance. What’s mine is yours. Do a dying man a favor and know that, even if we were to restart my life from the beginning, I would always want to meet you again.”
So badly did I want to argue and shout, but at the same time I wanted to hug him and cry. This was the man that the world was to be deprived of? And I would be the one that would never be taken? The birds will continue to chirp and the trees will grow, but not for me. They won’t sing in his awful singing voice. Their vines won’t wrap as warmly around me. To think that was cruelty. Not to watch him grow away, but to see him wither with the autumn breeze.
I comb my hand through his graying hair. He smiles as he peers back at me. His smile hasn’t changed either, sharp canines and one tooth near the back a tiny bit misaligned. His lips are chapped thanks to his damn insistence to never carry around balm. He starts to flirt as he pulls me in and asks me to make it better with a kiss. I laugh and say that saliva would only make his lips more chapped. Then there's a soft chuckle as a response before he leans in.
“You haven’t changed a day, Constance,” my former lover says, his voice croaky and dry.
He’s sitting up on the hospital bed, his bottom half completely covered by a warm blanket. I sit right by him as he devotes his full attention to my presence. There was always a way his gaze spoke and it seemed to say I am here now and so are you. I never fully understood how it worked. A heart monitor connects to his other arm, chiming in to remind us it is there.
“Neither have you, Martin.”
He laughs, full of heart, and throws his head back. I know he thinks it’s a joke, but it’s true. He’s far from the copper brown—the color of tempered chocolate—haired man with barely a stubble on his face. His arms, once taut and strong, sag and cling to his bone like crumpled fabric. But, truly, I know it is him despite the years. When his laughter dies down he holds my hand. A gentle smile lays on his face.
“See?” he asks, bringing my hand up to make a point, “not a wrinkle on you. If you said I was dreaming I’d believe you.”
A bittersweet exhale leaves me. I guide his hand to my face and lean on it. I can still imagine sunlit days on the pier by his side. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine the smell of the ocean and the honey-gold light peeking through my eyelids. He was the type to talk with eager fever and I would listen blissfully to his voice. Martin made the blandest things as exciting as revolution. It’s all too easy to dream.
“If it were a dream, where would you wake up?” I ask, a whisper.
He closes his eyes and relaxes into his pillow. He grins as he says, “You know where I’d love to wake to, Constance.”
I don’t, but I know what I’d want. A cold morning in bed where we cuddle by each other for a little longer. Or waking to see him already making breakfast and mixing up measurements to create an absolute mess. But I know it must be different for him now. Instead, he’d wake up to his old wife after watching a movie together. Or his wonderful daughter shaking him so they’d play. Sometimes, I wished I could have given him all those things.
It’s been so long since we’ve been together. But first loves are first loves, aren’t they?
I bring his hand down to his side again and he wakes from whatever daydream he wandered into. His brow furrows only slightly, whether, in annoyance or confusion, I haven’t a clue. How strange to think that.
“I'm sorry, love.” It’s a farewell to a dying man.
He furrows more. “You don’t have a thing to apologize for.”
My breathing becomes rapid and the smell of antiseptics almost becomes too much. I should have left after saying that, let it really be a farewell, but my limbs fall asleep and I stay in place. Martin has concerned eyes on me and, once again, holds his hand in mine. Only then does the heart monitor become a beat too quick.
“You won’t agree with me,” I say, “but I’ve taken so much from you.” He nearly says something of his own but I continue on. “Love, I took so much of your younger years. You say you don’t regret it, but I misled you into thinking you could spend your life with me. You could’ve met Lauren sooner, could have used the little time you had left with someone equally precious. I… I stole that from you.”
The familiar smile returns. “Steal? If I remember, you dreamt of that life as much as I did.”
A minor flinch. Days where I deluded myself with childish dreams. My selfish thought of staying with Martin on a sandy beach with our arms wrapped around each other. But he still found Lauren afterward. A beautiful, Asian girl with star-scattered black hair. A kind girl who grew and loved him as much as I did. They’d raise the most adorable sprout of a daughter who shared her father’s eyes. Even with my selfishness, I knew I could not indulge in another day with him. Though, if I had, I do not know if I would release him. That would be unfair to his daughter. To Lauren.
I was there on her deathbed too.
Lauren told me she had been jealous of me, despite it being our first meeting. I’d learned that Martin talked of me. Never more than a few words but she knew he loved me. As she laid in her hospital bed, she said that it took years to understand that his love for her would always exist, but so would his love for me. Like a widow will love their late spouse, she said. For a while, we only talked about Martin. We laughed and cried together. In the end, when I stayed far longer than I should have, she whispered, “I think I know why he loves you.” I told her just the same.
“Don’t think of them as thefts,” Martin spoke up, “those years were gifts to you, my Constance. What’s mine is yours. Do a dying man a favor and know that, even if we were to restart my life from the beginning, I would always want to meet you again.”
So badly did I want to argue and shout, but at the same time I wanted to hug him and cry. This was the man that the world was to be deprived of? And I would be the one that would never be taken? The birds will continue to chirp and the trees will grow, but not for me. They won’t sing in his awful singing voice. Their vines won’t wrap as warmly around me. To think that was cruelty. Not to watch him grow away, but to see him wither with the autumn breeze.
Artist: Kiara Chanille Sikat
Statement from the Artist:
This story between a mortal and an immortal shows the natural separation of two people. Despite the cosmic sort of love they had for each other, they could never truly be together.
Statement from the Artist:
This story between a mortal and an immortal shows the natural separation of two people. Despite the cosmic sort of love they had for each other, they could never truly be together.