TO RECOLLECT AND LONG FOR BY CEDAR ECKER
2. CHECKOUT ISLE
14. CARVING OAK TREES
5. PLEDGE YOUR ALLIEGANCE 6. A SMALL KINDNESS 8. WE DANCED IN THE LAUNDROMAT 9. HIRAETH
16. PLAYING CATCH UP
20. A SPOT TO END YOUR WORLD
CHECK OUT ISLE
In a grocery store1, in the checkout isle on a warm2 afternoon3, a man4 with balding hair placed his groceries5 on the sticky6 plastic conveyor belt. Behind him, at the next counter over, a woman7 in a sweeping long skirt8 was doing the same. Out of sync, they each waited for their groceries9 to be scanned by entirely separate but equally bored10 cashiers. When this was done, and cards11 swiped, both the man and the woman took their bags12 and headed for the exit. It was a quiet time to be shopping, and when they both reached the exit at the same time they exchanged brief words before the man let the woman go first and they parted ways to separate cars.
1. 4630 E Princess Anne Rd suite a, Norfolk, VA 23502. a. A Piggly Wiggly with a green overhang at the entrance. It leaked when it rained, and so did the isle with frozen pizzas and Annie’s Organic Microwavable Dinners. Two years later, one Tori Kurtz slipped on water from the leaky tiled ceiling. Fixing the leak became a higher priority after the court case. 2. 78 degrees Fahrenheit. 25.5556 degrees Celsius, if you went by the math. This was warm enough to the man but not to the woman. 3. 1:13PM, EDT. 4. He doesn’t have a name here, because no one has asked it of him at the Piggly Wiggly, and nor should they. The cashier sees a flash of it on his card at checkout but doesn’t recall it later— it is not a very exciting name. a. He is 58 years old, and his birthday was only around three months ago. He is haunted by that age, so close to 60 which may as well be at death’s door. He doesn’t feel there is anything else he can do in the decade until that executioner’s block. He’s had eight years to do something, so why would he manage it in the final two. b. He is married, and he has two children, both boys. He isn’t buying food for them. c. His wife likes to shop for herself. She doesn’t trust him to get the sort of food she likes. And she doesn’t like this grocery store. d. When the man was eight years old he went to the Piggly Wiggly too, in his home town. The cashiers always gave him and his brother and sister little coins with the store mascot on them. He doesn’t remember if the coins were for anything. He doesn’t remember where they went. He has brand loyalty though.
CHECK OUT ISLE
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. Almond milk, eggs, frozen broccoli, frozen peas, sugar free orange juice, Hungry Man Selects BONELESS FRIED CHICKEN AND HAM (34g protein), Hungry Man HOME-STYLE MEATLOAF (22g protein), diary free chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, and a bag of pre-washed baby spinach. 6. Spilled Sprite, a little bit of the pink liquid that seeps out of plastic packages of raw chicken. 7. She does have a name, but it makes her uncomfortable when people call her by it to her face. She is used to using it to sign off on company emails and medical forms and occasionally hearing it from a barista with her drink in hand. a. Caramel macchiato with almond milk. She likes them hot. i. Neither of them drink dairy. It makes her break out. It upsets his stomach because of the ulcerative colitis. ii. They both prefer almond to soy. Funny. b. She is 34, and she doesn’t think about it much. She is also married, also has children, but she and her husband still sleep in the same bed. Sometimes her daughter sleeps in between them, which she thinks is sweet but her husband doesn’t like because their daughter kicks. c. She is having a nice day. She often has nice days that still leave her feeling, inexplicably, rather empty. Later, she listens to the radio on the way home and the song makes some overwhelming emotion swell in her chest so she changes it to This American Life. 8. It’s a style her mom wore. When she died, a decade after her husband, the woman went through her mother’s closet and found all the old skirts she clung to as a child. She also found ratty brassières and sleep pants and party dresses that looked out of date even in the 90s and lots of socks, all of which had matches because her mother detested having any unmatched socks in the house. A whole wardrobe from a life that happened largely out of the woman’s sight. a. She didn’t particularly like her mother. She didn’t keep the skirts. Her own is unrelated. 9. Sour dough bread, hot dog buns, salami, green grapes, strawberries, raspberries, mandarin oranges, salmon, pork chops, bell peppers, two bags of pre-washed baby kale, preservative free hot dogs, sweet potatoe chips, dried mango, cashews, Brooklyn Brewery Bel Air Sour, frozen lasagne, frozen chicken nuggets, frozen Brussels sprouts, frozen green beans, milk, almond milk, eggs, orange-pineapple-mango juice, eggs, and short grain jasmine rice. a. The bell peppers go bad in the fridge, uneaten.
2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. Neither, technically speaking, were bored. One of them was extremely hungry, and was looking at the groceries as they scanned them with an intense longing usually reserved for lovers or large houses you pass when driving a different route than usual to the dentist. The other was dreading having to finish their shift and rush a bike ride home to get online for their second job at an insurance call center. But to the man and the woman, the two cashiers blank gazes merely seemed bored. 11. Chase Bank VISA Debit. American Express. 12. The woman loaded up paper bags into her cart and rolled it out to her car. On the way out it caught on the curb and jostled the bags. The man, with fewer groceries, carried his bags out in his arms and wondered for how much longer he would be strong enough to do so.
CHECK OUT ISLE
PLEDGE YOUR ALLEGIANCE
Six years old and fidgeting in a church pew you never told me it was a move in a war I didn’t know yet was being fought You’re asking me to pray to your temple of hellfire and empty words when you couldn’t handle my God. So starved for true tradition and history So crippled by fear of your façade being questioned that you have to force an empty oath on tiny children’s bodies
A SMALL KINDNESS
Some Wednesday afternoon, or maybe Friday, I made my way to the bakery. It’s my favorite place— before I lived in the city, when I only visited on occasion to see Antonia, I’d make her bring me by because it’s near her house, but just far enough away to be a little inconvenient. It closes at 4 so I always wanted to get there early, but I used to be so terrible with the trains. I’m still terrible with the trains now, but not for lack of practice. It took me months to figure out what uptown and downtown meant. Down from where? Now I just need to figure out what all the letters and numbers mean. I ride the same bus daily and I always try to ride the same train. 1 train. I took the 1 down, probably, because I had to make the longer walk past Stonewall. If I was doing it right I would have taken the L and then the C, but I rarely do it right so it doesn’t matter. I like sitting in the park by Stonewall. The statues make me cry. I got to the bakery and picked out my food. Pork bun, sausage roll, and two sticky rice wraps. I always get the same thing unless they’re out. They go in the fridge at home and I eat one a day, drawing out my bakery visit for four days, which is almost a week. A week at of favorite place. I was planning to get lychee iced green tea too. Lychee tea tastes like a childhood I have no other memories of. Wisconsin or something, probably, but I like to think it's Seattle because my parents and sister talk about bubble tea and the east coast. But I was a baby then, and I feel pretty but not completely sure I couldn’t have been drinking lychee bubble tea, the kind with the tops that you have to punch the straw through. Everyone has those here, but boy, before I got here that was a precious and secret joy I didn’t think you could find outside of happy kidslurping and parents passing your drink. I didn’t get the tea this time though, because while I walked up to the counter to pay the person in front of me turned around, looking nervous. They clasped their hands and announced, a little breathless, “I’ll pay for your food.” I’m not great outside the house. I wear headphones everywhere and when people talk to me it freaks me out, so I tend to freeze like a startled goat or I pretend the person talking to me doesn’t exist out of self-defense. I stared at them, and they repeated themselves. “There’s a card minimum, and I don’t have cash, so. I’ll pay for your food!”
A SMALL KINDNESS
I made the appropriate quiet comments— Are you sure? In all its variations. They waved me off. They were much taller than me, some flavor of trans, which was funny because I knew I was really passing besides the short hair. Meeting other gay kids in public is always funny, because we look at each other and think ‘oh, okay, yeah. Alright.’ I didn’t think they were clocking me, but I still got to have that thought. Their retro bead jewelry and bright aqua letter-man crop top and crazy-curly hair and lip-gloss, I got their whole thing and felt good to be included. Ops and frontline fighters, sharing cheap buns and milk bread. I waited awkwardly while they paid and we walked out together. I thanked them, they laughed and said no worries. They had that sort of bold energy I literally could not dream to match, but I could compliment their jacket so I did. We parted ways and I headed across the street and then remembered I was going to go back to the 1 train even though the ACE was right there. But I get nervous with people, so I waited on the other side of the street before crossing back up and heading back towards Stonewall. It was nice. I’m glad I met them for a second. I guess buying someone $10 worth of buns isn’t such a big deal, but it's my favorite place. A place I can always go by and get my favorite things (I love food that’s round or food that has other food in it— like buns and hot pockets and donuts and dumplings) and that childhood-memory tea I get even though it’s too sweet. And it was an ally in the fight, a kindred spirit except in all the ways there were outgoing and I was silent-stepping. So it was good.
WE DANCED IN THE LAUNDROMAT Your hand in mine Pressing my fingers to your thigh, your lips Just as you pressed our hands together Yellow light buzzing out a melody Dryer beating a dim chorus When you picked me up And set me on top of the washer Stood between my legs Pressed my forehead to yours Smelling humid Sweat and cheap detergent
Whispering so we wouldn’t be overheard The applauding of crickets When I reached for my heart and held it
Thumping, open metronome
And when it began to stain I gave it to you So you could press it Gentle to your own
HIRAETH
“… Jarah, isn’t it? That is your real name.” The breath caught in Julian’s chest. Lord Marrik met his eyes, and the smile on his face was indulgent. It wasn’t narrowed in malice, as Julian always imagined a great villain’s would be, but smooth and sympathetic. It seemed to say, I’m sorry that you think you have the upper hand in this. It must be difficult, living as such a fool. It tore at him, and made something hot and irrational strike in his gut. Lord Marrik’s smile widened at whatever he saw on Julian’s face. He turned to address the crowd. “Of course, we all thought it was odd when the second Prince emerged from the war and his long period of absence, having acquired a young son. I was aware my king was caring for the child during those years, and never pressed him for information. I trust my king implicitly. Besides, even the impeccable Prince Lyndon is human; A bastard would not be so unusual, a war orphan even less so, even if the timing was odd.” Heads nodded. The courtiers of the crowd seemed hooked, even those who never approved of Lord Marrik's courtly scheming somehow always seemed to end up eating out of the palm of his hand. Now, they were eating up Julian’s story with hungry mouths and hungry eyes. His rage turned to nausea, and he searched for his father’s gaze among the crowd. It was a struggle to keep his sword up and steady; raised towards Marrik, for all the good a blade could do against far more cutting words. He would stand tall, if this was all to come out. He wished he could at least see his friend’s faces, and not just feel their stares burning at his back. “I would never suspect the heir apparent of having any sort of suspicious origins. Our royal family are, after all, known to be the most noble leaders we could hope to put our trust in, how could I suspect them? More than that, the king is my dear friend, and I know how fond he is of his nephew. But I should have known, even the most righteous leader has weaknesses. Our king loves his younger brother deeply, as all of us love our siblings and wish to protect them! Why would he question his brother’s motives, when he loved and trusted him so? And just the same, even a paragon of justice can fall.” Lord Marrik turned his gaze to fix on Prince Lyndon, and then slid it to King Elyan and turned even softer. Julian’s fists clenched.
HIRAETH
“I’m so sorry, my king. But these noble men and women gathered here must know the truth. You know no one blames you for being blinded by your love, it’s a sign of your good character that you’ve assumed the best.” The king looked gutted. His voice was faint when he spoke. “Marrik, don’t. Please, Lyndon and Julian aren’t--” Marrik cut him off. “When I realized how deeply affected by the Dark Mage Prince Lyndon was, I began to realize where this slip in justice had come from. You see, while I and the rest of the nobility believed that Prince Lyndon had been absent during the war due a wound he received fighting that cursed sorcerer, the truth is much the opposite.” Why aren’t you stopping him? Julian didn’t dare take his eyes off of Lord Marrik, too afraid to catch a glimpse of the expressions on the faces of the court. But even without looking, he willed his uncle to understand. If anyone could end this before they passed the point of no return, it should have been the King. But King Elyan didn’t protest further. Lord Marrik continued on, voice growing in mock-determination. “Prince Lyndon was imprisoned by the late King, his own father, for siding with the Dark Mage at the battle against the last Cynnian mage army. All along, these famed enemies had secretly been allied.” Lord Marrik shook his head, expression deeply sympathetic even as the nobles of the room began to turn to Prince Lyndon. Hands went to swords, only remaining undrawn due to the thick tension in the room that had yet to break. Prince Lyndon stood immovable through it all, flawless as marble and cold as ice. “I believe the Dark Mage must have altered his mind, and had been using his dark sorcery to corrupt the second Prince as far back as the first border wars. Now, with the feared Mage dead, it seems this would no longer be an issue.”
HIRAETH
At last, his eyes met Julian’s again. “But the Dark Mage left one final plan even after his death, a failsafe to bring ruin to the allied kingdoms once again even when he was long gone, and he entrusted that plan to Prince Lyndon before his death.” Julian’s mouth tasted electric, the buzz of the room crashing into him in waves even as it narrowed just to himself, his uncle at his back, his father, and the man before him. He inhaled through his nose and straightened, perfect posture and the silver circlet marking him as a prince of his realm proudly on display. He narrowed his eyes back at Lord Marrik and did not drop his gaze. Lord Marrik smiled, a flicker of amusement, before he regained his expression of earnest concern to address the crowd. “I found proof in the records of the Cynnian work camps, and writings recovered from the capitol. You see, Julian, ward of Prince Lyndon and heir apparent of Abria, was neither a war orphan nor a poorly concealed bastard, but instead a child smuggled out of the capitol before the siege.” Lord Marrik swept an elegant arm over Julian’s group. “Honored members of the court, I stand before you to reveal the surviving heir of the vanquished Kingdom of Cynn. Called Julian, allowed to live as the ward to the second Prince, but born Jarah of the House Kier, the son of the warlord Prince Hadrian and his first wife. The last heir to the Cynnian empire, already beginning the work of reviving the dark magic we wiped out 16 years ago.” In a smooth motion, Lord Marrik stepped cleanly past Julian's blade. Too stunned by this secret being spilled before the whole court, Julian barely resisted when the shorter man grabbed his free wrist in an iron tight grip and lifted it, pulling down the sleeve of his shirt and exposing the skin beneath. King Elyan lurched in his seat on the throne, but did not rise to approach them. No one did. A condemning brand, the faintly glimmering mage-mark that proved Marrik's words stood out starkly on Julian's skin. In the chaos that followed this pronouncement, only one voice could cut so bitingly through the noise. Calm and cold and sure, Julian latched onto it with all his heart. Anything to avoid looking behind him, at the friends he had lied to.
HIRAETH
“So you admit it.” Prince Lyndon said, unmoving from his spot amidst the court. Lord Marrik blinked wide eyes at him. “I’m sorry?” Prince Lyndon stepped forward. Even with his name being almost literally dragged through the mud, courtiers still parted around him with automatic deference. “You admit you knew children were being tortured in the mage camps, after Cynn’s conquest.” Lord Marrik’s mask was uncomprehending, offended, indulgent . Their audience cried out, dismissing this, but Prince Lyndon’s reputation and unflappable demeanor were clearly enough to garner at least some attention. People were watching them, and both men clearly knew it. Julian held his breath. “Whatever do you mean, your highness? Is this your attempt at a justification? We were not torturers, whatever that sorcerer may have told you.” Prince Lyndon nodded, placid. “You found mention of Julian, of Jarah, in the registry of the camps. He was less than three years old when he was captured there. Even mage-marked children cannot weave magic so young. The allied kingdoms agreed they would not be killed for the crimes of their parents.” He didn’t approach Julian. Instead, he stood opposite both Julian and Marrik, pulling the gazes of the room to him magnetically. His eyes were flinty, and he didn’t bother to touch the sword at his side as many were now doing. “I saw him the day he left,” Prince Lyndon said coolly. “Starved and clinging to a dying woman. A child and a commoner, coated in dirt and blood as they fled. If your records told you who his parents were, surely they too told you his age.” Lord Marrik scoffed lightly. “Of course they did. We kept families together, and allowed them to live in villages by the camps. You make it sound so barbaric!” Prince Lyndon turned his head, right to left and back again, an exaggerated
HIRAETH
and mocking searching motion. Despite the rye action, his expression remained serious when he faced Lord Marrik again. “And yet, I don’t see any of those children now. The Dark Mage’s final stand had less than fifty of the remaining sorcerers; our own knights saw that themselves the day of the last battle. Their magic was devastating, but their forces were small, and they were the last mages in or out of the camps. Of those, Julian was the only living child. So where did all of those children go? What did they grow up to do?” Prince Lyndon’s gaze was piercing when it swept the room slowly. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe they simply disappeared into thin air?”
CARVING OAK TREES
12, 16, 21 Sat in the back row on a wooden folding chair unable to see to the front past a sea of taller heads with faces I can’t read or hear and whose eyes will never look into mind My father’s brother, enemy of my mother and my mother an enemy of mine My mothers father and his mother’s mother crossing a sea of time but I am just too late at the shore to catch her when she makes harbor in the memories of others Busy falling down a staircase Someone took the steps away from When I wasn’t looking Expecting me still to climb How can I look at 30, 40, 50, 80 when those faces have always been blank to me or worse turned away and hearing but never looking behind to make sure I can catch up My mother’s daughter my elder sister only five years ahead but if I look to her Bright eyes meet hallows Both blinded by those faceless figures red tears dripping ink onto a map that no one is going to draw for us Dyke on New York streets My lover on Bank Street Greenwich Village But I have never seen that figure Someone wisened, sagging A home of their own and years stretching behind them Kiss another woman Or place their hands in the spots mine have been
CARVING OAK TREES
Does that mean that the only future for me truly is Death before 30, 40, 50 When my future has no face
PLAYING CATCH UP
INT. MORNING NEWS ROOM - DAY ANCHOR 1 (40s, M) and ANCHOR 2 (30s, F) sit behind the desk of a studio and look into the camera. ANCHOR 1 CHARLES CARTER, celebrated American novelist behind 'Camellia', 'Death of the Laughing' and 'To Eat Stone', passed away this week at age 87. On Anchor 1, GRAPHIC to his right. The graphic shows an older man holding a book on a small stage. ANCHOR 1 Carter died in his home on April 10th after what was reportedly an extended struggle with Alzheimer's. INT. ELIANA'S APARTMENT - DAY ELIANA'S APARTMENT sits open, and RACHEL (40s) carries a stack of EMPTY BOXES in through the door. Her appearance is unremarkable, but her eyes are notably red. A cat pads towards the door to greet her, and she touches the MEZUZAH before entering. ANCHOR 1 (V.O.) Carter was notably reclusive, making fewer than five public appearances throughout his career despite his books selling over 3 million copies. Rachel methodically moves through the apartment, which is nearly cleared out. Other boxes sit near empty shelves. She puts food in the cat's bowl, then pushes open the kitchen windows and lets light in. The apartment is BRIGHT. ANCHOR 1 (V.O.) Carter's best known work, 'Camellia', followed the lives of prostitutes in 1950s New York. It gained notoriety for the vivid, hyper-realistic, and at times taboo examinations of the working class. CLOSE UP OF THE REFRIGERATOR. The refrigerator is covered in cute magnets, a few children's drawings, and notes in English and Hebrew. The notes read things like 'DON'T FORGET YOUR
PLAYING CATCH UP
IMEDS!' and 'APPOINTMENT ON TUE' in Rachel's handwriting. One pink card reads 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOUBIE!' in a child's handwriting. ANCHOR 2 (V.O.) Carter's life has remained a mystery throughout his career. However, new information in the wake of his death might change that. INT. MORNING NEWS ROOM - CONTINUOUS News Anchor 2 is now in focus. A graphic appears to her left, of ELIANA (80s). ANCHOR 2 After Eliana Berenson passed away in her home in Brooklyn, her family discovered handwritten notebooks hidden in her home that match Carter's works. INT. ELIANA'S APARTMENT - CONTINUOUS CLOSE UP OF OLD, FRAMED PHOTOS ON TOP OF A SET OF DRAWERS. The photos feature Eliana, young and old, with various members of her family. Their clothing indicates a traditional orthodox community. At the center is one of Eliana and her three children. She has a pencil tucked behind one ear. Rachel continues to work through the apartment, out of focus, putting items into boxes. As we look at the photos, she begins taking them out of their places to put away. ANCHOR 2 (V.O.) Further investigation verifies Charles Carter to have been a pen name used by Berenson for the past fifteen years, under which she published eighteen novels and three poetry collections. INT. ELIANA'S BEDROOM - DAY In the bedroom, Rachel folds clothes into boxes. She then goes through her mother's jewelry, and holds up a few pieces to herself before packing them away. ANCHOR 2 (V.O.) In addition to the original drafts of Carter's manuscripts, Carter, or Berenson,
PLAYING CATCH UP
kept detailed journals of her life. INT. ELIANA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT Rachel goes through her mothers cabinets, finding a bottle of wine and pouring herself a glass. The night sky is visible out the open kitchen window. ANCHOR 2 (V.O.) These journals give context to Carter's subject matter, which has been the source of controversy in the past. Still holding the wine, Rachel stands before a closed door and opens it with care. She steps inside. ANCHOR 2 (V.O.) His writing examines topics such as homosexuality, abortion, and fundamental questions about religion. This bold subject matter has placed his books on the ‘banned’ list in several school districts across the country. INT. ELIANA'S BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS Rachel opens the door to ELIANA'S BEDROOM. The room is DIM, and cluttered where the rest of the apartment is neat. A bed sits in the middle, and two bookshelves frame it. A desk sits opposite. Rachel stops and covers her face. ANCHOR 2 (V.O.) Berenson's own struggles are laid out in her personal writing. She describes her marriage at 19 and the death of her first husband, her brief time living alone on the streets of New York, and the cultural trauma of the Holocaust in her community. Rachel pads to the bed, sets down the wine, and picks up an OLD NOTEBOOK as she goes. She sits on the bed, then falls back to lie in it. ANCHOR 2 (V.O.) Only a few of the journals have been released by Berenson's family, as proof of authorship of Carter's works. A SMALL PENCIL falls from the notebook as Rachel lifts it. It's just a nub, short and wearing a rubber grip, clearly well used. Rachel tucks it behind her ear.
PLAYING CATCH UP
ANCHOR 2 (V.O.) When asked for comment on their choice to release Berenson's notebooks, and make public her authorship of Carter's works, her daughter, Rachel Hirsch, said this: Rachel holds the notebook open in front of her and cries. CLOSE UP ON THE PAGES OF THE NOTEBOOK, PARTIALLY VISIBLE WRITING IN ELIANA'S HAND. ANCHOR 2 (V.O.) “I always thought I was close with my mother. Reading her writing, which she hid from us her entire life, I realized I never met the woman she really was.” Rachel lets the notebook fall to her chest. ANCHOR 2 (V.O.) (CONT'D) “I guess I'm hoping that, by letting the world read these journals, someone out there might be able to tell me who that is.” END.
A SPOT TO END YOUR WORLD
You are not unfamiliar with ritual, but this one is your last. As you light the incense The good incense, from a bundle you bought years ago At some little boutique in Queens Because it smelled as close as you’d ever gotten to your mom’s incencense You should have had some of that too But when you looked around for the little pink topped jar you couldn’t find it Lost in some move along the way And there wasn’t a lot of time to dig. So as you light the incense, you think about how this is maybe somewhat anticlimactic Is a ritual really what you want to be doing at the end of the world? But there’s no one home with you Your dog is at your dad’s house for the summer And you family are all a state over And you don’t have a car to go anywhere exciting No time to mark anything off the bucket list Before it all ends. So you went out to the woods behind your house Somewhere pretty where fallen trees make islands over The vernal pools from the rain
A SPOT TO END YOUR WORLD
There’s a spot where the water goes two feet deep but You don’t go there. You go to a fallen tree trunk with mushrooms growing up the side And set out your materials Incense Crystal Dried herbs, lavender and mint and ginger and Passion flower and turmeric and holy basil and oatstraw and lemon balm and nettle and dandelion leaf and you wish you had some better herbs to be honest because these are mostly for tea to help your allergies and not really fit for magic. Is magic what you’re doing? It doesn’t really matter. Ceili didn’t pick up the phone, and you don’t really want to call your parents So you light the incense and set the little crystals next to it Crystals you got at the store by that dinosaur park Rocks and minerals exhibit was always your favorite till they closed it to be remodeled And you sit on the hard-soft wood of a fallen, rotting tree And you don’t close your eyes You don’t have much time left and you don’t want to miss any beautiful, breathtaking, intense moment of being alive.