"Brontide," by Deborah-Motunrayo Olaoye

Brontide

Deborah-MotunrayoOlaoye

Brontide

A Collection of Short Stories

by Deborah-Motunrayo Olaoye

To myself, because why not ;)

Acknowledgments

I feel it is important to acknowledge those who helped me in this process Thank you to Ms Clater for listening to complain about how stressed I was about this project Thank you to Ms. Binder for coming in late to the project but still helping out all that she could. And thank you to Mr. Charps, my collaborator, editor, and therapist, who played a large part in this coming full circle

Brontide (n.): the low rumble of distant thunder

Nyctophillia(n.):

beinghappyorcomfortableinthedark

“Here lies Jeremy Brontide. A brother. A son. A friend.”

That'saboutthefifthtimeI’vereadthetombstone.Thewordshaven’t changed,althoughIdon’tknowifIwasexpectingthemtoanyways.

Theairsurroundingmeisquietandcool,brushingmyfaceeverso delicatelybutleavinggoosebumpsinitswake.Thehighwayafewyardsbehind me,whichIcrossedtogethere,isnowempty.

“Howdidyouknowhim?”avoicesaysnexttome.Iturntolookupatthe hoodedfigure.Deepvoice,soIassumehe’smale.Thevoiceisslightlyraspyasif hehasn'ttastedwaterinyears.Hishandsbuncheddeepinhispockets,tattered jeans,anddarkhair;Ialmostexpecttoseeascytheinhishand.

Iclearmythroatandfeedhisquestionbacktohim.“Howdid you know him?”

Heturnstome,aneyebrowarched.Hehasniceeyebrows,anaturalshape mostgirlswouldbejealousof,butIdon’tvoicemyopinions;somethingI’ve learnedtodoafter17yearsoflivingunderthesameroofasmyfather.

Hegrinsatme.“Idon’t.”

AtightsmilegrowsonmyfaceandthenIshifttofacethestranger’s tombstoneagain.It’sadarkgraymarbleandasmallcrackononesidehasbegun toclimbitswaytothetop.

“Ibethewasacoolperson,”thestrangerspeaksagain.Iscrunchmynose butsaynothingandcontinuefacingforward.Hecontinued,“Ibethehadthisbig

groupoffriendswhoalwayslovedbeingaroundhimandwhenhewalkedintoa room,youcouldtellhewasthelifeoftheparty.”

“Actually,”Icuthimoff,“hedidn’thavemanyfriends.”

Isensetheboyshifttowardsme,theairarounduschangingwithhim.“I thoughtyoudidn’tknowhim?”heasks.

“Ididn’t,”Isay,“Imean,Idon’t.”Iclearmythroat.“ButifIhadtoguess, thenIwouldguessthathedidn’thavetoomanyfriends.”

Hesnorts.“Whatareyousomesortoffortuneteller?”

Itakeasmallsteptotheside,awayfromhim.“No,”myvoicehasgotten quieter.“I’mjustsaying.”

Silenceovertakesusagain.LightrainhasstartedtofallandIputmyhood upovermyhairandforcemyhandsintoitspockets,matchingthestanceofthe boy.

“Jeremydefinitelywasatapdancer,”hesays. Myheadswivelstotheside.“What?”

“Yeah,”theboysays “Imean,wouldn’tyouthinkso?JeremyBrontide:tap dancer.”Ashesaysthelastfewwords,hesplayshispalmsoutagainsttheairin frontofhimtwice

“Idon’tthinkhewasatapdancer.”

“Andwhynot?”

“Because,”Isayandslightlyturntowardshim,“Jeremyprobablyhadtwo leftlegsandcouldn’tdanceforshit”

Thatearnsachucklefromhimandmyshouldersrelax.“Yeah,”Icontinue, “hewassobadatdancingthatpeopleactuallypaidhimto not dance.”

“Okaythen,”theboyspeaks.“Sowhatwashegoodat?”

Itakeafewmomentstothink,myeyesflickingaroundinthedarkness. “Knitting.”

IheartheboyfacemeandIwanttoshrinkintomyjacket.

“Knitting?”hedeadpans.

He didn’t like that, did he?

“Nevermind,”Imumble.

“No,no,no.Itwasgood,itjust…caughtmeoffguard.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Istartkickingaroundapebblefromsidetosidewiththetipofmyshoeand watchasitrollsaroundinthedirt.Itnearlyrollsoverasmallbug,butIredirectthe pebblebeforeitcancauseanyharm.

“What’syourname?”

Ifreezeandlookup,squintingasmyeyesconnectwithhis.“WhyshouldI tellyou?”

Heshrugs.“Isitasecret?”

“What’s your name?”Iaskhim.

“Iaskedyoufirst”

“Iaskedyousecond.”

Herollshiseyes “Derek Myname’sDerek What’syourname?”

Idon’tspeak.

“Fine,then”Hestartstowalkintheotherdirection,awayfromme

“Wait!”Isay.“Whereareyougoing?”I’mnotsurewhyI’msuddenly curious;Ihardlyknowhim Hisactionsshouldhavenoeffectonme Butthere’san achinginmystomachthatyearnsforcompany.Ifheleaves,thenI’dhavetoleave.

I’d have to go home

“WhyshouldItellyou?”heshoutsback

“Wellbecause,”Istart,“Justcomebackhere!”Ikeepmyvoicebarelyover normalvolume;itfeltwrongtobeshoutinginagraveyard.

Buthejustkeptmovingbrisklythroughtherowsofdirt.“Idon’thaveto listentoyou.Idon’tevenknowyou.”

“Canyoujust–”Iquickenmypace,havingtotaketwostridestokeepup withhisone.“Canyoujustslowdown?”WhenI’mfinallyabletograbholdofhis jacket,Iyankhimbackwithasmalltug.

HecomestoahaltandItakethetimetocatchmybreath.

“Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”Isaythroughhuffs. ~

copious,butmeaninglesstalkorwriting

HeyDerek!

I know it’s been a whilesincewelasttalked.That’sbeenmajorlymyfault.I don’t want you tofeelneglected‘causethat’swhatyou’llendupthinking.Promise that is not my intention. So I’m writing this to make up for it. Did you know I’m in the school’s newspaper now?Yea,thepicturetheychoseofmeturnedoutOkay, but there areprobablybetteroptionstheycould'vechosen.Iaskedtochangeit,But the lady told me no since it was already printed out. Anyways, my flight has Just landed. I hadn’t planned on going on vacation for so long, but there’s lots to Do; things far too complicated to explaininaletter.Anyways,IheardthatyouareOne ofthefinalistsforthatwritingthingyouentered.Congrats!Writing’snotmyThing. Maybe teach me some writing skills like they do at that prep school of yours. For what it’s worth, I’ve thought youcoulddobetter.Lotsthinkyou’rebetterthanMe, so why not just keep on? Drop out of school and do something. Win a prize. Go invest in a business, cure cancer, start a band, idk. I think there’s lots of things To do. But no pressure. I’ll support anything that you choose to do. I only want The best. And try to smile more? I remember you always walk around with thatGrave look on your face. DoyourememberaskidsweplayedSpiesinyourmom’sYard? Think of times likethose.GoodluckwiththerestoftheyearandI’llseeyouwhen Ican! From, Colson

Phosphenes(n.): thecolorsor“stars”youseewhenyourubyoureyes

Therewasthislinemymomalwayssaidtome:“Somepeoplesurvivechaos andthatishowtheygrow.Somepeoplethriveinchaosbecausechaosisallthey know.”Shesaiditwasfromthispoemsheloved,andsuggestedIlookatitone day.ButI’veneverbotheredtoreadit;justhaven’tfoundthetime.

IthinkofthataspiecesofashflutterpastmeinthewindandIwatchtwo firetruckshastilypullintoourotherwiseemptydriveway.Abouteightmenin bunkergearscrambleoutofthetrucksandgrabthefifty-foothosewrappedaround theside.Theyopenfire,beginningtodousetheignitedhome.

Ican’thelpthesmallsmilethatcreepsalongmyfaceandwhenIlookover atmysisterSinge,Itakenoteofhersmilingaswell.

“Itwasalongtimecoming,”shesays. ––

Idon’tknowhowlongthenoisewentonbeforeitregistersinmyhead.It’s thesoundofgentlewaveswashingupontotheshore,advancingandretreating everynowandthen.It’sthesoundofmybrotherslowlyflippingthroughthepages ofhisfavoritepoetrybook, Leaves of Grass,everysooften.

Butthat’simpossible.

Imakemywaydownthehallandstopinfrontofmybrother’sdoor, listeningforthesoundagain,andsureenough,itcomes.MybreathhitchesasI placemyhandonthehandleandopenthedoor.

Therestandsmysister,herbackturnedtowardsme,slightlyhunchedover thebed,readingsomething.

“Whatareyoudoing?”Isay.

Shequicklyshoveswhatever’sinherhanddeepintoherpocketasshespins tofaceme.“Noneofyourbusiness.”

“Whyareyouinhere?”Imarchovertothebed,lightlypushingheroutof theway.There’saboxontopofit,itscontentsscatteredalloverthesheets:aCD player,headphones,ajournal,twogoldrings,andazippolighter.

Ifeelmyfacegrowhotandblinkawaythebeginningtearsforminginmy eyes.IfaceSinge.“Whyareyougoingthroughhisstuff?Whyareyoumessing withhisthings?”

“Willyouquityellingatme?”shesaysandgoestopickuptheheadphones, butIsnatchthemfromherhandandshovethemintotheboxalongwithallthe otherartifacts.

“You’renotsupposedtobeinhere,”Isay.

Sherollshereyes “Yeah,andneitherareyou”

“I’monlyinherebecauseIheardanoisecomingfromhere.”

Shechucklesandplopsontothebed,theboxbouncingwiththeimpact I feelachordtwingeinsideme.“Yeah,Iknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.Hewas theonlypersonthatevermademebelieveitwaspossibleforsomeonetoread loudly.”

Singelaysherbackagainstthesheetsandcloseshereyes ––

“AreyougonnacallMom?”Singeasksme.She’sstillstaringattheburning house,watchingthewaterfromthehosejetoutandtrytocalmtheroaringflames.

“No,”Isay,“Ileftmyphoneinthehouse.”Buttheweightofmyphonein mypocketfeelsalittleheavierasthelieexitsmymouth.

“Interesting,”Singesays,“Ifiguredsomeonelikeyouwoulddoallthey couldtothestufffromhisroomfromburning.”

Icockmyheadtotheside.“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”

“Nothing,”shecontinues,“it’sjustthatbackinthehouse,youfreakedout onmeforlookingthroughthebox.”

“Ididnot‘freakoutonyou’.”

Atthispoint,thefireroars,andtheflamesemergingfromthehousegrow immenselyinsize.Thefiremenshieldtheireyesfromthebrightglarebutcontinue chargingintothehousetotargetthesource.

“YouandMomalwaysloseyourshitifIeverbringuphisnameinsomuch asaprayeratthedinnertable!”Singeexclaims.

“That’snottrue!”Itellmysister,“Andwouldyoupleasegetoffhisbed?”I reachforherarm,butshestandsupabruptlybeforeIgetthechance.

“That!ThatrightthereiswhatI’mtalkingabout”Sherunsherhands throughherhairandexclaimsinfrustration.“It’s a bed,not his bedanymore.Our brother Is Dead,Sage!”

Ithinkthat’sthefirsttimeI’veeverheardsomeoneputwhat’shappenedinto words Iwasathisfuneral,Iwatchedtheemptycasketasitwasloweredintothe ground,andhenowsitsinanurnbehindmeonhisbedsidetable.Buthisdeath neverfeltasrealasitdoesrightnow.

“Hello?”Singesays,snappingherfingersinmyface.“Areyoueven listeningtome?”

“Youneedtoputhisthings–”

Singegroansandgrabsattheboxonthebed,andpullsouthisthingsone byone,wavingtheminmyfaceasshedoesso.

“This,”sheholdstheCDplayer,“is a CDplayer.Itbelongstonoone.”

“Putthatdown,Singe.”

Sheputsitdownbutimmediatelygoestopickuptherings.“Thesearetwo unclaimedrings.Infact–,“sheslidesthemontofingersofherown.

“Stopit.”

“–they’re my ringsnow.Andthistoo,”shetakesoutthelighter.

“Stoptouchinghisthings!”

Sheswitchesitonandwavesitinfrontofme,theflamedancingbackand forth,laughingatme.“ItaffectsnooneifIdothis.Youknowwhy?Becauseit belongstonoonesinceJeremyisdead!Move!On!”

Ilungeather,tryingtograbthelighteroutofherhand,butshetakesastep backandthesuddenmotioncauseshertodropit.

Rightontothebed.

Theflameslookbeautifulagainstthesky Theorangesovibrantandthe yellowsweaveinandoutofitsofreely.

StandingshouldertoshoulderwithSingemakesmerealizehowtheheat fromthehousewasn’ttheonlyheatIcouldfeel.Mysisterhasherownenergy radiatingoffofheraswell

I,ontheotherhand,amatpeace.Theashesslowlyflittertotheground, buryinganythingtheycould.Thefirefighterscontinuedrowningwhatisleftofthe house,anditisnotlonguntilthereisbarelyanythingthatremains.

“Yeah,itwasalongtimecoming,”Isay. ~ 10 ~

Habromania(n.): delusionsofhappiness

Oneofthefirstrulestheytellusinpsychiatrytrainingistonevertake anythingfromthepatient,thatitmakestherelationshiptoopersonal.Ipersonally neverlikedthatrule.Wasn’tpartofyourgoaltogetyourpatienttotrustyou?

Mymostrecentpatient,ayoungmale,hadbeenhavingsomefamily troubles.Hecomplainedthathishousewasalwaysloudandthathecouldnever getanyworkdone,whatwithhissistersalwaysinsistingonbeinglouderthanthe radio.

Ipassedhimajournal,darkbluewiththeword“journal”engravedingold acrossthefront.Ihadanoldstackoftheclassicblackandwhiteones,butI decidedtobuyonethatIfeltsuitedhimbest;mypatientsdeservethebest.That’s whytheyhaveme.

AsIhandedhimthejournal,hereachedoutanenclosedfistandtoldmeto holdmyotherhandout,whichIdid.Ifeltsomethingsmallandcolddropintomy palm.

Itwasasimplegoldband,aring.

Ifinishtheendofmybraidandwrapasmallelastichairtiearoundit.When Iletgo,thebraidslidesoffmyshoulderandrestsinthemiddleofmyback, straightdownmyspine.Ihavemymothertothankformyhealthyhair;she’dspent everyotherdayofmychildhoodoilingitandputtingonallkindsofotherhealthy

concoctionsshedreamedup.Iusedtodreadtheprocess,butnowthatI’molder,I wouldn’tchangeathing.

Ifeelmyhusbandcomeupbehindme,hischestpressingagainstmyback. Heplaceshishandsonmyshouldersandrunsthemdownmyarms,causing goosebumpstoappear.Heleavesasmallkissonmyshoulderblade,ontheright first,andthenoneontheleft.

“Youknow,”hestarts,andIfeelhimpickuptheendofmybraid,“I’ve alwayslovedyourhair.”Inod,keepingmyeyesonourreflectioninthemirror beforeus.“It’sbeautiful.”

“You’vetoldmebefore,mylove.”

Heplacesanotherkissonmyskin,towardsmyneck,buthislipslingerfora momentlongerthanthefirsttime.Asmallhumescapesme.

“Youshouldbemorecareful,though,sweetheart.Wewouldn’twantsucha beautifulthingtodisappearsoquickly.”Hepicksupacoupleofstrandsofmyhair thathadfallenoutfrommybrushingitandplacesthemintothewastebinbeside me Hehastoldmebeforethatitdoesn’tpleasehimwhenIdothat,towhichI’ve toldhimthatIcannotcontrolwheremyhairfalls.Iturnmyselfaroundandtake oneofhishandsintomyown

“No,wewouldn’t.Andbytheway,darling,oursontellsmethatyou sometimesdon’tfeedhimdinnerthedaysIcomebackhomefromworklate”I takethisopportunitytoslidemyhandtothebackofhisneck.Istrokethatareaa fewtimesbeforeIsinkmyfingernailsintoit “Isthattrue?”Hesucksinasharp breaththroughhisteethandcloseshiseyes.Iletitrestforamomentandthen harshlypullmyhandaway,walkingoutofthebathroom.Ihearhisfootsteps followmeoutaswellasasmallchuckle.Itakethestairsthatleadtothefirstfloor ofourhome,directingmyselftothekitchen,andIbarelyreachthecounterbeforeI

amyankedbackwardbymyhairandagain,intomyhusband’schest,hishand wrappedtightlyaroundmybraid.

“Youcanchoosetobelievethebrat,”hewhispersintomyear,“orme,your betterhalf.”Hemoveshisotherarmaroundmywaist,pullingmecloser.Hewraps meupinhisscentandItakeadeepinhaleandbaskinthesmellbeforeIdigmy heelintohistoesanddrivemyelbowintohisgut.

“I’dbelievemysonoveryouanydayoftheweek,”Isay,andthenIgrabhis faceandkisshimwithalltheloveforhimI’vegot.Butthen,Ifeelasuddenpain inmylipandthetasteofmetalinmymouth.Ipullbackandtouchafingertomy lip;itcomesbackred.“Youbitme.”Hewalksaroundmeandgrabsapeachfrom thebowloffruitonthecounter,ignoringme.“Whywouldyoubiteyourwife?”

“Wouldmywifeliketojoinmeoutsidetowatchthesunset?”hesimply asks,openingtheslidingdooratthebackofourhouse.“Whilewe’reoutthere, youcantellmethestoryofyournewring.”Ourhousesitsattheedgeofasmall river,surroundedbyagroveoftrees.

Ifollowhimoutthedoorandcontinuetowalkasheleadsustoourfavorite placetosittogether:aroundedboulder.Hetakeshisspot,ontheright,andItake mine,ontheleft “Youleftthedooropen,again,”hesays,hiseyesforward Ileanoverandsnatchthefruitfromhisgrasp.“IhateyouandIhopeyou knowthatfortherestofyourmiserablelife”

Wesitontopoftherock.Idigmythumbsintothecenterofthepeachand tearitintwo,offeringhalfinhisdirection,makingsuremyringcatchesthefading lightofthesun.Hesmilesandreachesahanduptomymouth,lightlywipinghis thumbacrossit,andwhenhepullsback,there’sasmallspotofblood.Hetakeshis thumbintohismouth,suckingit,andthentakeshalfofthepeachfrommyhandas webothstareoutattheopenriver.

Scintilla(n.):

Atiny,brilliantflashorspark;asmallthing;abarely-visibletrace

Interview:

Colson comes into the camera frame and sits on the chair.

Colson

I got off the plane about 2 hours ago. It was a long flight but it’s in the past. So, I get off the plane and I’m trying to find a mailbox ––––––

Derek

I’m not sure why he sent me that letter. I haven’t heard from the guy in forever and all he kept talking about was himself; he didn’t even really ask about me.

Colson

And I’m just thinking to myself that I’m in one of the biggest airports in the country, but can’t find a single mailing site. Isn’t that weird?

*He chuckles*

But thankfully, I finally do and I slipped the letter in and carried on with my day. ––––––-

Derek’s Mom

Okay, so I know I wasn’t supposed to open the letter. But he’s my son! I should have every right to. And since I work for the post office, it’s my job, technically...

––––––

Singe

So yeah, I was hanging with my boyfriend Derek this one night in the middle of this field and he hands me this letter from one of his friends, Colson. Derek kept telling me how he missed said friend but didn’t really care for what he had to say in the note.

Derek

He kept blabbing about how long his flight was and his picture in the school newspaper. I didn’t care for it.

––––––

Singe

So I’m reading this letter and then out of nowhere, a cop car shows up and starts flashing its headlights at us. Did I forget to mention that the field was private property? Minor detail. So anyway, I get psyched out and shoved the letter into the pocket of my jacket.

And then, he mentioned this game we played when we were little kids, Spies. We would make up these codes for certain things we couldn’t just say out loud.

––––––Singe

A few days later, I'm getting dressed to go out with my sister, Sage, to run a few errands. I pick up the jacket I had worn that day with Derek. But when I put my hands in the pockets, I realize the letter was missing.

–––––Derek

I don’t have the letter with me anymore. I think I forgot to grab it from my girlfriend this one day. But I do remember this strange thing from it: certain words were emphasized differently. Like…the last word in each line? The first letter was capit – Wait. Could we actually cut for a second?

––––––Colson

I hope that letter reaches where it needs to be. It’s extremely important to me that it arrives safely and is untampered with. I need my message to be received.

––––––~

Singe

But yeah, that’s all I remember. Am I free to go now? ~

Súton(n.): theperiodoftimerightbeforetheendoftheday,dusk

October 24th, 2022

IlaughedatthedoctorswhentheytoldmymotherthatIwas“goingthrough aphase.”ThatitwasbecauseI’mateenagerthatI’mnowexperiencingthese “certainfeelings.”WhenIaskedthemtoclarifywhattheymeantbythat,one doctorsaiditwasnothingIhadtoworryabout,butthenpulledmymotherasideto speakwithherprivately.TheythoughtIcouldn’theartheirwhispersorhowthey talkedaboutmelikeIwasn’teventhere.

ButIcouldhearthem;Icouldhearthemloudandclear.Especiallywhenthe doctorincorrectlydiagnosedmewithdepression.Why,ifoneofthemhadjust stoppedandaskedme,Iwould'vetoldthemthatdepressedwasn’tthewordthey werelookingfor.

Itwassuicidal.

November 12th, 2022

TodayIwasthinkingaboutmyappointmentswithDr.Fraiser.Ivoluntarily setupmyownmeetings;I’vebeenseeinghereveryTuesdayandFridayfornearly ayearnow.Nooneinmyfamilyknowsaboutit.WhenIleavethehouse,they mainlyassumeI’mgoingtothecommunitypool,thetimesthattheydonoticeI leavethehouse.Idon’tswimcompetitively,butIcouldifIwantedto.Ipractice swimmingwheneverIfeelstressedorwheneverIfeelatall.

Dr.Fraiser’sofficesitsonthefourthfloorofarelativelyoldbuilding.The cityclaimsthepropertywasjustbuiltorattheveryleastrefurbished.ButItake noteofthedryceilingpaintflakesthatfallintomyhaireverytimeIcloseadoor andthelightthatconstantlyflashesintheemptyhallwayonthesixthfloorisa giveawayonitsown.

IknockfourtimesbeforeIhearafaint“comein,”andItwistopenthedoor. Likeclockwork,asDr.Fraiser’seyesmeetmyown,shenot-so-discreetlyslipsoff herweddingringfromherfingerandslidesitintoherpocket.Shedoesthisevery meeting,sometimesforgettingtodosountiloursessionsarealmostover,and sometimesit'soffbeforeIevenentertheroom.AlthoughIdoubtsheknowsI know.

“HelloJeremy!”shegreetsmeandmotionstothefamiliarseagreen cushionedsofapositionednexttoher.However,Iheadtowardsthewhiterecliner acrossfromherandslideitinherdirection.WhenIsitdown,itwouldn’ttake morethanaslightshiftforourkneestobetouching.

“Goodafternoon,Dr Fraiser”

Andthenwebegin.Forthenext60minutes,Dr.FraiserandIdiscusswhat’s newinmylife,thegoodpartsandthebad Sheasksaboutmytwosistersand motherathome,towhichIrespondwith“Nexttopic.”Atonepoint,Ishiftthe conversationtoherhomelife,solelyoutofcuriosity,andshespitsmyprevious responsebackatme:“Nexttopic.”Butasshesaysthis,sheshiftsthecollarofher sweateruptoconcealasmallportionofherneck

Interesting.

Theclockonthewallbehindherindicatesthattherearelessthanfive minutesleftinthemeeting.Dr.Fraiserjotsdownherlastfewnotesinhernotepad andthenflipsittoaclose.Irubmyhandsoverthepocketsofmyjeansandfreeze

whenIheartherustleofpaper.Theletter.Atthesametime,myphonebuzzesfrom mypocketandlightsupwithatextfrommysister:

Singe: I know you took the letter. Give it back.

“Jeremy.”

IsnapmyeyestowardDr.Fraiserandrealizeshe’sholdingoutadarkblue journal.Sheshakesitoutinfrontofme,signalingformetotakeitfromher.

Ismileatherandtakeit,runningafingeroverthegoldletteringonthe front.It’sthenthatIrememberthetworingssittingonmyfingers.They’rejust plaingoldbands,butthey’retheonlytwoI’vegot.

Islideoneoffmyringfingerandtoywithitinthepalmofmyhand.I’mnot surewhatovercomesme,butIholditoutbetweenFraiserandI.Shelooks confusedatfirstandhesitatestotakeit.ButaftersheregistersthefactthatIwon’t putmyhanddownuntilshetakesit,sheplucksthesmallobjectfrommeand smiles.

December 15th, 2022

To-dolist:

- Google:

- HowfastisthePearlRivercurrent?

- HowhighistheWadeDellBridge?

January 8th, 2023

3:30intheafternoon.Anaffluentsuburb.64degreesandcloudy.Those werethewordsthatflashedvarioustimesacrossmycomputerscreenasIwatched themusicvideo.Amellowguitarrifffloodsthroughmyearphonesandissoon followedupbyasteadyguitarriffandthecroakyvoiceofEddieVedder.Andthen thebasskickedinandIfoundmyselfentrancedwiththemusic.

January 16th, 2023

Iwenttoseeheragaintodayatthepoolandshelookedbeautiful,asalways. IlearnedhernameisMíra.

January 29th, 2023

To-dolist:

- Google:

- Dobodiessinkorfloat?

February 1st, 2023

IstoppedgoingtoseeDr.Fraiser.Atfirst,shewasemailingmeaboutit nonstop,aboutfouremailsaday I’veneverresponded,butastimewenton,the emailsgotlessfrequent.Andnow,Inolongerhearthe“ping”ofmyinbox.

February 10th, 2023

To-dolist: - “Walk”theDellBridge

J. ~

~

Part2:

“Allwaterhasaperfectmemoryandisforevertryingtogetbacktowhereitwas.”

ToniMorrison

Laconic(adj.): sayingmuchinfewwords

I’mneverthelastpersonattheswimmingpool.

I’mthereeverydayunderthewater,strokeafterstrokefeelingthewater glideacrossmyskin.Igomultiplelapsatonce,gettingcarriedawaywithmy techniqueandmyhead’sunderthewaterforwhatfeelslikehoursonend.My lungsonlygettighterastimegoeson,butthatdoesn’tstopmefromswimming.

Butthenfinally,whenmyheadcomesup,Iexpectnoonetobethere,saveforthe foursecuritycamerasateachcorneroftheroom.

Yet,everysingletime, he’s there.

Eithersittinginoneofthefoldingchairsflippingthroughthisbookorsitting inoneofthefoldingchairswritinginthisbook.ButeverytimeIlookupandfind himstaringatme,hequicklyavertshiseyesandpretendsasifthetileflooringis suddenlythemostinterestingthingintheroom.

Ihopoutofthepool,lettingthewaterdripoffmybathingsuitandontothe ground.MyfeetslapacrossthetileasImakemywayovertoPeepingTom.

“Hey,you,”IsaywhenIreachhim.

“Hello,”hereplies.

“What'syourproblem?”

“Whatdoyoumean?”

Ihuffandcrossmyarmsinfrontofme.“Youkeeplurking.”

“Lurking?”

“Yeah,lurking.”

“HowamIlurking?” ~

Ishiftmyweighttoonefoot.“Becauseyouare.”

Hecloseshisbookandstandsup.He’stallerthanIexpected,myshoulders justbarelyreachinghisneckline.“Yourlegsaren’tkickinghardenoughonyour butterflystroke.”

“Excuseme?”

“Justanobservation,”heshrugsandbeginstowalkoff.

Iscoffatthis“observant”stranger.“Andjustwhatwouldyouknowabout swimmingtechniques?”

“Enough,”hesays.

“Enough?”

“Mhm.”

Irollmyeyes.Whowasthisstrangertointrudeandcritiquemyswimming?

“Look,Iappreciateyoubeingconcernedaboutmyskills,butIdon’tneed youcomingupinhereand–”

Allofasudden,hebeginsundressing.

“Whatareyoudoing?”Iask

“I’mgonnashowyou.”

“Show me?”

“Yes,showyou.”

“Showmewhat?”Isay Hetakesoffhisshirtandtossesitontothechair nexttous.Hereachestohiswaistlineandhookshisthumbsoverhispants.

Iquicklyslapmyhandsovermyeyes “Wait!Idon’twanttoseethat”

“Seewhat?”

Iwavemyotherhandfranticallyoverhiscrotcharea.“That!”Hechuckles andIhearmorerustlingbeforeIhearabigsplashandfeelawaveofwaterfall overme.

IslowlypeekthroughmyfingersandremovemyhandfrommyeyeswhenI seehe’sjumpedintothepool.Theboyhashisarmsstraightoutinfrontofhimat firstbutthenmovesthemtogounderthewater,around,andthenbacktothefront again.Hishipsbobinandoutofthewaterasheswimsandit’snotuntilhereaches theotherendthatIrealizewhathe’sdoing:

TheButterflystroke.

Aboutthirtymoresecondspassbeforehecomesbacktomysideofthepool andheholdsontotheedgetostabilizehimself.

Hewipesthewaterfromhisfaceandlooksupatmewiththemostinnocent smileonhisface.

“So,”Isay,onehandonmyhip.“Youswim.”

Heshrugs.“Idabble.”

IcrouchdownsothatIcantalktohimeasier.“Iassumeyouwereshowing methecorrectway ”Iputairquotesaroundthelasttwowords.“ tobutterfly?”

“Iwas.”

Ituckapieceofhairbehindmyear “Thanks,butIfeltnothingwrongwith thewayIwasdoingitsoI’llsticktomymethod.”

“Okay” “Okay.”

Inoticehimstaringdeepintomyeyesandshiftslightlyawayfromhim “What?”

“Youhavereallyprettyeyes,”hetellsme

IfeelmyfacegethotandIquicklystandupstraight.Idragmyhandsover myfaceandsuddenlybecomehyper-awareofthefactthatwearetheonlytwo peopleinthisbuilding,asidefromOfficerCollinsatthefrontdeskwholetmein.

“Um,it’sgettinglate.Ishouldprobablystartgettingreadytogohome,”I sayandbeginwalkingovertothebenchIleftmystuffon. ~

“You like beinghome?”heasks.

Istopwalkingandturntofacehim.He’snowclimbedoutofthewater, lettingtheremnantsdripoffhisbody.

“Yeah,ofcourse,Ido.Don’tyou?”

Iseetheexpressioninhiseyeschangeforasplitsecond,butthenrevert backtonormal.Idon’tthinkhemeantformetonoticeit,butIdid.

Hepicksuphisshirtfromthebench,slidingitoverhishead.Hedoesn’tsay anythingashecontinuesgettingdressed.Whenhe’sdone,hewalksovertopickup hisbookandthenmakeshiswaytowardtheexit.

Withhisbackstillturnedtome,hesays,“Seeyounexttime,Míra.”

Viridity(n.): naiveinnocence

Ithinkit’scompletebswhenkidsasktheirparentsiftheyhaveafavorite, andtheirresponseissomethingalongthelinesof,“Iloveallmykidsthesame.”

Bullshit.

Asateacher,youhavethosekidswhopurposelymakeittheirlife’smission tosabotageyourlessonwitheveryunnecessarydistraction,andyou’retellingme, “Youloveallyourkidsthesame.”

Yeah,okay.

IhitpauseontheremotethatcontrolstheTVtothesideofmeandsignalto anotherstudenttoturnthelightsbackon.“Alrightclass,that’stheendofthis period.”

Theroomfillswithexcitednoisesandmovementasthekidsimpatiently packuptheirbelongings.

“Well,don’talllook so eagertoleave,”Imumble.

Theyexithurriedlyoutthedoor,andsoon,theclassroomisempty.

Well,almostempty.

SeatedtowardsthebackoftheroomistheonepersonIexpect.

HereachesdownintohisbackpackandpullsoutaTupperwarecontainer andabottleofwater.Hesetsthetwoitemsonhisdeskandopensupthecontainer, pullingasandwichout.Andasifit’sthemostnormalthingintheworld,hetakesa biteoutofit.

“Jeremy,”Isay.

“Whatareyoudoing?”

“Eatinglunch.”

“Youknow,”Istart,takingmyglassesfromthetopofmyheadandplacing themonmynose,“thefirsttwoorthreetimesyoudidthis,Ididn’tmind.”

Jeremytakesanotherbiteoutofhissandwich,keepinghisheaddown. “But?”

“But,thishasturnedintoaneverydaything,now.”

Jeremytakesalongsipfromhiswaterbottlebeforeanswering.“What’sthe problemwiththat?”

Isighandplacemycheeksinmyhands.“Well,I’mjustwonderingwhyyou don’tevereatinthecafeteriawiththeotherkids?”

Jeremypauses,thesandwichafewinchesfromhismouth.Helockseyes withmebeforesettingthemealdownandpressinghislipsintoatightline.“The otherkidsdon’twanttoeatwithme,”hesaysquietly.

“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Nevermind,itdoesn’tmatter”

“Itseemslikeitdoes.”

Hetakesanotherbiteofhissandwich,hiseyesflickingaroundtheroomasif it’shisfirsttimebeinghere.

“Thatvideoyoushowedtousinclasstoday,”hesaysfinally “Onthe climatecrisis.”Inoticethatheignoresmypreviouscomment,butIdon’tsay anythingaloud.

“Didyouenjoyit?”Iask,hopefully.

“Ihaveaquestion.”

“Imayhaveananswer.”

“Thevideoexplainedhowglobalclimatechangecancausesealevelrise. Doesthatstandtrueforsmallerbodiesofwatertoo?”

Icrookaneyebrow.“What,youmeanlikeapondoraswamp?”

“Imeanlikeariver.”

Atthatmoment,anotherstudentwalksintotheclassroom.

IholdafingeruptoJeremy.“Onemoment,”andthenturntotheother student.“You’relate.”

Theotherstudentshrugsandshovesastackofpapersinmyface.They’re crumpledupandhaveatleasttwostainspercorner.

“Whatisthis?”Iaskhim.

“It’stheextracreditassignment,”hesays,avoidingeyecontact.

“Theonethatwasdueaweekago?”

Hesaysnothing,stillholdingoutthepapers.

“So,”IhearJeremysay,butIkeepmyeyeslockedonthesecondkid. “Abouttheriver…?”

“Look,areyougonnatakeitfrommeornot?”theotheronefusses,rolling hiseyes.

“I’lltakeitfromyou,”Istart,“whenyoubeginhandingintheassignments ontimeandwhentheydon’tlooklikethey’vebeentohellandback.”

Atthis,Jeremysnickers

“Mindyourbusiness.”theotherkidsnaps,beforeforcingthepapersback intohisopenbackpackandstormingoutoftheclassroom

IscoffandturnbacktoJeremy.“Canyoubelievethenerveofsomekids?”

“Yeah,um,soanyways.Theriver–”

“Imean,someparentsreallyneedtoteachtheirkidsaboutmanners–” “Sotheriv–”

“Andrespectandmaybeevenalittlebitof–”

“Mr.Howard!”Jeremyexclaims,slamminghishandsonthedesk.“Canyou pleasejusttellmeabouttherivers?Whatistheeffectoftheclimateontherivers?”

Theclockonthewalltickedloudly.

“Uhh,well.Itdependsonwhereyouare.”

“WhataboutthePearlRiver?”

“Ohwell,thatone’srightnearmyhouse.It’smostlikelythatifclimate changecontinuesthewayitis,freshwatersourceslikethePearlRiverwill decline.”

Jeremypauses.“Whatdoyoumeandecline?”

“Youknow,decline,”Isay.“Thewaterwouldstarttoevaporatebecauseof thehighertemperaturesanditwouldleadtoeventualdroughtandevaporation.”

Jeremyslowlyleanshisbackagainsthischairandapensivelookovertakes hisface.

Igazeathimskeptically.“Whyareyousointerestedinthepatternsofthe river?”

Hepicksuphissandwichagain.“Idon’tknow,Ijustkeepthinkingaboutthe videofromclass.Itreallystuckwithme.”

Icrackasmile ItmakesmehappytoknowthatthelessonsIprovidearen’t fallingondeafears.

“So,”hestartsagain,settinghislunchbackdown,“Ifonewantedto,let’s say,swimintheriver,it’dbebesttodoitsoonerratherthanlater?”

Ichuckle “Yes,Isupposeso Ifby‘later’youmeanafteritdriesup”

Hepicksupthesandwichagainandfinishesitoff.“Interesting.”

“I’mgladyou’vetakenalikingtomyteaching,Jeremy.Itmakesmereally happytoansweryourquestions.”

“What?Oh,yeah,”hesays,“Reallygreatstuff.”

Ileanbackinmyownchairandinterlockmyfingersbehindmyheadwitha smile.

Jeremywasmyfavoritestudent.

Lagom(n.): nottoolittle,nottoomuch.Justright.

“He’sbeendoingthatforthepasttenminutes,”ItellDorothy.

Thetwoofusstandbehindthehelpdeskoftheretirementhome,watching Jeremyscribbleonapaper.

“Whatdoyouthinkhe’sdrawing?”sheasksme,bracingherelbowsonthe surface.

“Mm,Isaylinesfromanewbookhe’spickedup.”

“Ithinkitmightjustberandomdoodles.”

Jeremypauseshispencilandlooksupatthetwoofus.“Icanhearyou guys.”

DorothyandIlookateachotherandthenbackatthekid.

“Whatareyoudrawingthere,boy?”Iinquire,steppingaroundthedeskand approachinghistable.

“It’snothing,”hesaysandshutsthebookbeforeIcangetaproperlookatit andstandsup.“Isthereanythingyouneedmetodo?”

“No,Ibelieveyou’vedoneeverythingalready,”Isay.“Whydon’tyoujust comeandsitwithme?”

IcanpracticallyhearDorothyrollhereyesbeforeIhearherspeak.“No teenageboywantstositdownandtalktoanoldladywhoisclearlypushingsixty.”

Iwhipmyheadtowardsher.“Saystheonewithwrinklesthesizeofthe HooverDam.”ThatgetshertoshutupandIturnbacktofaceJeremy,butam disappointedwhenIseethatheisnowheretobefound.“Nowlookatyou,you’ve scaredhimoff.”

“Iain’tdonothin’,Bertha.”

Iturnagainandnoticeajournalonthetable.Jeremymusthaveleftitbefore hewanderedoff.Ipickitupandapencilfallsoutandrollsontothetable.Igrabit toreinsertitbackintoitsplace,butthat’swhenInoticewhat’sonthepaper.

“Dorothy,comehere.”

“Oh,whatnow?”shegrumblesbutmakesherwayover.Ifeelherpresence behindmeandholdthenotebooksoshecansee.“Oh.”

“Iguesswewerebothwrong.”

Suddenly,thebookgetssnatchedoutofmygraspandbothDorothyandIlet outastartledscream.

“Sorry,butthat’sreallyprivate,”Jeremysays,closingitshut.Heclearshis throat.“I’mgoingtogohelpMr.Walterwithhisbathnow.Excuseme.”

Andheleavesagain.

Dorothyisthefirsttospeak.“Itwasjustabunchofsemicolons.”

“Whyishedrawingsemicolons?”Isay,halftomyself,halftonoone.

Paroxysm(n.): anoutburstoremotionoraction

ItisalateSundaynight;darksaveforthemoon.Jeremyhastakenawalk aloneandhasfoundhimselfatthecommunityamphitheaternearthewaterfrontof theriver.Thereareafewpigeonspeckingatbreadcrumbsstrewnacrossthe ground,butotherthanthat,theareaandtheseatsareentirelyempty.

Heisalongwayfromhome,thewalktogetheretakinghimatotalofone hourandthirteenminutes.Thenightisquietandthemoonshinesbright.

Jeremystepsontothestageoftheamphitheaterandlooksoutovertheseats. Heclearshisthroatandbegins:

“Tobeornottobe?Thatisthequestion–Whether‘tisnoblerinthemindto suffertheslingsandarrowsofoutrageousfortune?Ortotakearmsagainstaseaof troublesand,byopposing,endthem?”

Hepausesandshakeshishead.Thatonedidn’tsoundright.Hewantstotry again.Somethingmore…original.

Heshakesthenervesoutofhishandsandtakesadeepbreath.Jeremy re-centershimselfonthestageandbegins:

“Itissaidthatinthedaysleadinguptothemomentbeforeonecommits suicide,theybegintogivesomeoftheirbelongingsaway.”

“ToDr.Fraiser,Igavemyring.”

“ToMíra,Igavemylove.”

“TomysistersSingeandSage,Igavemyspace.”

“Totheelderlyhome,Igavemytime.”

“ToMr.Howard,Igavemyinterest.” ~ 37 ~

“Andtomyself,whatdidIgive?WhatdidIgivetomyself?Perhaps,thatis whereitallwentwrong.”

“Notenoughjoy.”

“Notenoughfriends.”

“Notenoughlove.”

Heholdssilentforafewbeatsbeforecontinuing.ButthenJeremygoeson, hisvoiceechoingintotheseats.Itflowsthroughthebranchesofthetreesand flowsupintothesky.Ittouchesthestarsandeventually,theheavens.

Author’sNote

ThisprojectissomethingIhavetalkedaboutdoingsincemysophomoreyear.I rememberthefirstmomentthatIknewIwantedtodothisprojectquitevividly: Ms.Binderrushingthroughthedininghallwithafreshcopyofafellowstudent’s novel.Myeyesfollowedherthinkingthatthatcouldbemybookinherhandone day.Andnowhereweare.

AfewpartsofthiscollectionareinspiredbyPearlJam’ssong“Jeremy”whichwas basedonthetruestoryofJeremyWadeDell.Dellwasa15-year-oldstudentfrom Richardson,Texas,whocommittedsuicideinfrontofhisclassmatesatschoolafter beingbulliedcountlesstimesandsufferingfromdomesticissuesathome.

However,somebits,suchasmychoiceofthenameJeremyandthestory Habromania,werechosenpriortomyknowledgeofthelateWadeDell.

Additionally,Ifeelitisimportanttodiscusstheuseofthesemicoloninthis collection.I’drecentlylearnedthemeaningbehindonegettingasemicolontattoo. Justasasemicolonisusedtosignifythattheauthorcouldhaveendedthesentence there,butdidn’t,thetattoosymbolizesthefactthatsomeonecould’vechosento endtheirlifebutdidn’t.Inthestory, Súton,Jeremysignshisentrieswitha semicolon,butthenaperiod,signifyinghisstrugglewithsuicide.

ItisanhonortosharethisstorywithyouandIhopeyoumighttakethisasa glimpseintowhatgoesoninmymindwhenIzoneoutinclass;)