by Amy Reed
“Good for you,” I say.
“Aren’t you worried?”
“About what?”
“About Sadie? About how she has strep? She’s on antibiotics.”
“That’s good, right?” I say. “That’ll make her better.”
Skyler stares at me like I’m speaking Swahili. She can’t understand why I haven’t dropped my plate of food and started weeping over Queen Sadie.
“You can’t visit her,” she says. “She’s sleeping. The doctor says she needs to sleep.”
“Okay.” I grab a fork and put it in my pocket.
“Don’t you even care?” Skyler says.
“Of course I care.”
“You’re acting like you don’t care.”
“I’m tired, Skyler. I’ve had a long day.”
Her face wrinkles into a mask of confusion. It relaxes in a moment of recognition, then turns into a triumphant smile. Skyler has just realized I have surrendered my position as Sadie’s attendant, that it’s all hers.
“Bye, Skyler,” I say.
Maria and Joseph invite me to have dinner with them, but I tell them I want to be alone. I actually say it—I don’t lie, I don’t come up with some excuse. I just tell the truth, my truth, and they say okay like it’s no big deal, like it’s perfectly reasonable to want to be alone sometimes.
I eat quickly, balancing the plate on my lap while sitting at the door of my yurt. The sky is perfectly clear tonight, as it is most every night. There are so many stars here, more than I’ve ever seen, and they reflect off the lake. If I squint, I can almost believe I’m surrounded. Sadie’s windows are dark, and I can almost believe she’s not there.
I hear footsteps. No one ever comes this way. This is the end of the trail. No one ever comes out here except me and Dylan.
He appears, lit blue with moonlight. His head is cocked to the side, his footsteps unsure. “Hey,” he says, holding up two bottles of beer in one hand, a flask in the other.
“Hey,” I say.
“Don’t tell me you’re turning antisocial like me,” he says, slurring a little.
“Are you drunk?”
“ ‘Drunk’ is a relative term.” He sits next to me in the doorway, his leg brushing mine. He hands me a bottle of beer. “Here,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say, taking it. “Do you have a bottle opener?”
“Watch this,” he says, grabbing the bottle from me and taking a lighter out of his pocket. After a few clumsy maneuvers with the bottom edge of the lighter, the bottle cap pops off. “Ta da!”
“Congratulations,” I say, smiling. As much as I don’t want to be around people tonight, I guess I still want to be around Dylan. Maybe because he’s so mysterious, because there’s so much still left to know. Or maybe because he’s incredibly hot.
He passes me the flask. “What is it?” I say.
“Whiskey,” he says. Sadie’s favorite drink. I take a swig, and it burns just like I remember. I hand it back, swallow some beer to wash the taste away. But it’s still there, branded into my throat.
We sit there for a while in silence, looking out at the lake. I’m afraid to look at him, so I stare at the water, waiting for something to change, waiting for something to break the stillness. Nothing happens.
“I got to help deliver two baby goats today,” I finally say. “Doff let me name them.”
Dylan takes a big swig of the whiskey. “Oh yeah?” he sputters in that choking way people talk after they drink a shot. “What’d you name them?” He takes a swig of beer to wash the whiskey down.
“The first one is Artemis.”
“Artemis!” He spits out the beer. It sprays out of his mouth into the darkness. I hear it splat against the dirt. “Are you a lesbian?”
“What?” I say, trying to hide the hurt in my voice with anger. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Artemis is a pretty dykey name,” he says, passing me the flask. I swat it away with my hand.
“I can’t believe you said that,” I spit. “You’re such a dick.”
“What’d I say?”
“ ‘Dykey’?” I can hear my voice rising. “Just because we’re in Nebraska doesn’t mean you get to be a homophobic asshole. It’s not just some word. It’s not like saying ‘pop.’ ”
He laughs like drunk people laugh. “Oh my God, you’re so mad!” he says.
“Of course I’m fucking mad!” If I were a cartoon, there’d be steam coming out of my ears. I want to punch him. But I also want to jump in his lap and stick my tongue in his mouth. I don’t know how I’m supposed to have these two feelings at the same time.
“Chill out!” he gasps, sucking in air to catch his breath. “My sister’s a dyke. That totally gives me permission to say it.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I say, but I sigh inside with relief that maybe I don’t have to hate him.
“I call her a dyke all the time,” he says. “She loves it.”
I can’t decide if I should pretend to still be mad at him. Will I lose something by giving up this easily?
He leans over and bumps my shoulder with his. A wave of electricity burns through me. “So, are you?” he asks. “A dyke?”
“I’m bi,” I tell him, and I’m surprised by how easily it comes out. I turn to look at him. He’s smiling. Something inside me turns soft.
“That’s cool,” he says.
“Don’t get all pervy on me.”
“I’m not! Jesus, you don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you?”
I shrug, trying to act cool, but I can’t stop the smile creeping onto my face.
“My ex-girlfriend was bi,” he says.
“Yeah? What happened to her?”
“She dumped me for a chick.”
“Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “I would have dumped me for that chick too.”
“What was so great about her?”
“Who?”
“The girl she dumped you for.”
He looks me in the eye, smiles a sad kind of smile I have never seen on his face. “She wasn’t me,” he says.
“Oh.”
The air is charged with something new.
“So what’d you name the other one?” he says. “The other goat?”
“Penelope.”
“Is that some feminist icon I should know about?”
“It’s my mom’s name,” I say.
“You named a goat after your mom?” He laughs. “That’s kind of cold.”
Something inside me twists up again and closes.
“Hey,” Dylan says. He reaches out his hand and wraps it around my cheek, gently turns my face toward his. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry.” He drops his hand, puts it back safely in his lap.
I want to tell him. I want to tell someone. It’s dark and quiet and we’re at the end of the world, and maybe if I say it here, in the middle of nowhere, it won’t be so real in my head anymore.
“She hasn’t been doing too well lately,” I say. His sudden kindness eggs me on. “She got in an accident about a year ago and shattered her spine. She’s in a wheelchair now, and the doctors say she can get around if she wants to, and we even got the car all customized so she can drive it.”
Dylan says nothing. He just waits. It is up to me if I want to speak or be silent.
“She could work now if she wanted to. She could have a lot of her old life back. That’s what we keep telling her.” I look at Dylan and he’s still there, still listening. “She was on a lot of medication.” I stop here. I don’t know where else to go.
“What kind of medication?” he says.
“I don’t know.”
Across the lake, Sadie’s trailer is still dark. I have an urge to jump in the lake with all my clothes on and let the water wash all of this off me. But all of a sudden a white light slices across the sky, like God cut the night open just for us.
“Holy shit!” I say. “Did you see that shooting star?” I point at th
e sky even though it’s long gone. I look at Dylan, at his signature half smile. “Did you see it?” I say.
“How cliché.” His eyes pierce into mine. “Talking to a pretty girl and seeing a shooting star.”
I’m glad it’s dark, because I know my face is red. But the night is so quiet he can probably hear my heart pounding in my chest. I want to pretend he didn’t say what he just said. I want to tuck it away to think about later, when it is safe, when he’s not sitting right here beside me.
“Why is everything always cliché with you?” I whisper. I think my lungs have deflated. I can’t get any air.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Nothing surprises me anymore.”
The moon sparkles in the dark pools of his eyes. Stars are falling all around us, little sparks, little shocks of electricity.
“So, you want to be surprised?” I say. I am leaning in. He is leaning in.
“Yes,” he says. “Surprise me.”
My mouth on his. The taste of beer and whiskey. The first thing in my head is this is what Sadie’s mouth must taste like to all the boys she’s kissed.
I push the thought out. She does not belong here. This is not about her. Nothing has to be about her anymore.
My eyes are closed, but I can still see the stars. I am floating. The stars swirl around us. They light upon my body, and I can feel each and every one, millions of them. I can feel the softness of hands searching my body, the pressing of fabric, fingers searching for a way under, then warm skin on mine.
Stars everywhere, but something like a dark blankness in front of me, a thick, impenetrable cloud attached to my lips. Something doesn’t feel right, like Dylan is only half here, like an important part of him is missing. Maybe because he’s so drunk, half of him is already passed out. As soon as I realize this, the stars dim and I pull away. He’s still there, eyes closed, lips parted, like he hasn’t even realized I’m gone, like he fell asleep midkiss.
“I’m tired,” I say. It takes him a moment to register my voice, then he nods.
“I’m going to bed,” I say. His eyes open to drowsy slits.
“Going to bed,” he says.
“Alone.” Even though I’m hot and melted, even though my skin is still stinging, waiting for his hands.
He stands up, wobbly, like Lulu’s babies when they took their first steps, like being drunk has made him forget how to walk. He knocks over the beer bottles, and the clinking glass is shockingly loud in the darkness. “Oops,” he says, and continues walking to his cabin. He leaves the spilled bottles for me to clean up. He does not say goodbye.
Part of me is still buzzing, pained at his absence, wanting to follow him into the night. But part of me is relieved he’s gone. This is the part of me that wants to breathe, that wants things to stay manageable, that knows he is trouble. But sometimes the body is stronger than the mind. Tonight the mind won, but just barely.
Ἀφροδίτη
APHRODITE
Born of sea foam, she came to Earth surfing a shell. Born of castration, she was perfectly aware of what she did to men.
She was born already a woman—already wanted, already claimed. She already smelled of sex. Tiny cupids circled her like flies, drawn by the fishy scent.
She never tasted a love which did not require her naked. Perhaps this is what made her so bitter, what made her search for love so crazed and desperate. The hole of her childhood filled with fury, and she punished those who did not love her enough. Anything less than worship was blasphemy. Her vanity spun tornadoes; her yearning planted wars.
A goddess can still be wounded. In the middle of battle, she can wince in pain and run off in fear. She can become just like the ones she scorns, abandoning those she claims to love, leaving them on the battlefield to fight for her, alone.
Was it she who cursed Medusa’s hair? Was Medusa beautiful before she became a monster? Is jealousy strong enough to make snakes?
Of course, the goddess claimed that famous apple, the trophy that named its owner most beautiful. She was the original wicked stepmother.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?
I float through my days, watching Artemis and Penelope grow stronger. Doff convinced Old Glen he needed me full-time at the barn, so now I am spending my days with the animals, and they’re the best company I’ve had in a long time. I feed them. I milk Bella. I collect eggs in a cushioned basket hanging from my arm. Doff doesn’t say much, and neither do the animals. We’re comfortable in each other’s company, peaceful in our silences.
Some of it is hard work. I have to clean the pens and shovel manure into a wheelbarrow, then drive it out to the giant compost bins that turn garbage into fertilizer for the farm. I end the day covered in shit, my muscles burning. But there is a weird satisfaction in being part of this cycle, of doing my job to ensure nothing is wasted. It’s not lonely like being out in the fields. The animals keep me company, taking turns walking over to sniff me and rub against my legs. They don’t demand anything, don’t suck me dry with their insecurities and dysfunctions. They are so much less complicated than people, so much more forgiving. All they need is food and water and some space to walk around in. Like people, they make messes that need to be cleaned up, but their messes are so simple, so honest, so much less taxing than the ones people make.
I refuse to give Dylan’s kiss credit for my mood. I don’t want to believe he’s that powerful. Yes, maybe I woke the next morning giddy. Maybe my stomach jumps every time I think of his mouth on mine, his warm hands under my shirt. Maybe I’ve been searching for him in the three days since that night, showing up on his porch every afternoon like clockwork, looking for him in the house at every mealtime, knocking on his door every night. But it’s like he disappeared into thin air. One night, he’s kissing me; the next morning, it’s like he never existed. The green truck has been missing too. When I realized this, I had a moment of panic. Maybe he left. Maybe he’s gone for good. But then I climbed a couple of milk crates to peek into the window of his cabin, and it looks like his stuff is still there.
Is this normal? To sneak around looking for a boy you kissed once? Sadie always says you know you’re doomed if you find yourself thinking about someone when they’re not there. That means they have the power. That means you’ve made them more important than yourself. She says that’s when you know you have to get rid of them.
But what does she know about love?
Sadie’s fever has finally gone down and I’m going to visit her. I am thinking of telling her about Dylan. The morning after we kissed, I suddenly missed her; I missed having a best friend to tell things. That’s what I’m telling myself anyway. But maybe part of me wants to show off. Maybe part of me wants to hurt her. Maybe I’m not as good as we’ve always thought I was. I’ve always lived in comparison to her, and she was always the wild one. But since she’s been gone, I’m starting to wonder if maybe I’m a little wild too.
But when I get to the trailer, I lose my nerve. Lark is there, doting on Sadie way too enthusiastically, like she’s making up for all those years of lost time. It’s a cacophony of “Can I get you this?” “Can I get you that?” and Lark flitting around the cabin like a tornado of guilt. Sadie’s upright, her eyes so much more alive than they’ve been since she got sick, watching her mother’s inspired performance. Her hair is still a mess, and she’s as pale as she gets during the winter in Seattle, but she seems oddly content, like she is finally being rewarded for her suffering.
When Lark runs up to the house to get some more tea, Sadie starts weeping. She grabs my hands and hugs them to her chest. Her skin is cool for the first time in weeks.
“Oh, Max, it’s so wonderful!” She is like something out of a Victorian novel, with her sickbed swooning.
“What’s wonderful?” I say, shocked by the coldness in my voice. “Being sick?”
“My mom,” she says. “She’s been so great. We had a really good talk on the way to the clinic, and she was crying and I was cr
ying, and she apologized for everything and promised to make up for it and be a better mother.”
“Wow,” I say, unimpressed.
“It’s everything I wanted.”
“What about Skyler?” I say. “Wasn’t she there too? Wasn’t that kind of awkward?”
“Oh, Skyler.” Sadie laughs. “We just ignored her. She was fine.”
She is holding my hands, but I feel no connection to her. I have a strange feeling like my hands are just a prop.
“It’s kind of fun having someone worship you,” Sadie continues, so much like her old self. “It’s like having my very own slave. She’ll do anything I tell her.”
I draw back my hands. I suddenly have no desire to touch her.
“Did I tell you about the crap her mom was giving me? Some stuff called flower essences where they put some flowers in water and pretend it’s a magic healing potion. Antibiotics are way better, believe me. I’m feeling better already. Seriously, Max. I’m coming back, like, really soon. Can you believe it?”
No, I can’t believe it. I want to cry, to scream, to punch a pillow, anything. I am furious. I am a terrible person. Evil. I don’t want Sadie to get better yet. I don’t want her to come back. I just started being okay without her.
“That’s great,” I say, but she is so enamored with herself she doesn’t even notice my half-assed lie.
“Where is Skyler, anyway?” Sadie says. “She was supposed to give me a massage tonight.”
“What’s that quote about power corrupting?” I say, grinding my teeth. There is gravel in my voice.
“Huh?”
“ ‘Absolute power corrupts absolutely,’ ” I say. “Who said that?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.”
Sadie laughs. “I think being alone has made you a little crazy.”
I will not tell her about Dylan. Let her think whatever she wants. Let her think I’ve been lost without her. I don’t care.
“You’re right,” I say. But I am lying. Being alone hasn’t made me crazy. If anything, it’s made me more sane.