by Phoebe North
I don’t know how to get home, I tell her, and for a moment I wonder if recognition sparks behind those familiar eyes. But she only shakes her head, and when her mouth opens again I see how many teeth she’s missing now, so many teeth, so many crimes, so many tithes paid to an unjust King, and I see something tethered to her rope belt, a knife, surely not mine, but one much like mine, and that’s when fear stabs at me
we are not Real People we are not Normal People
that she isn’t real this is a trap a trap a—
and the boy slips off to pee
I dash out of the dark hovel, away.
He’s standing by the kitchen table taking off His coat and i’m on my feet in a flash
My sister, my ghastly sister, ancient and shrunken, stumbles past her rough-hewn table but is on her feet, knife in hand, in a flash.
hey, i whisper, what the fuck?
Traveler, she snarls, what the fuck?
What? He asks, smiling at me with his Yellow Coffee Teeth like i don’t know what’s going on. He’s my coworker’s son. He’s a little confused. He needs someone to talk to
She’s following me through the forest of the white pines, but my boots are an echo of my racing heart as I dive deep into the mouth of a waiting cave and pull a trapdoor shut behind me.
Not you, i say, and i’m getting angry, not fucking you
This isn’t my sister, I tell myself, trembling in the mossy dark.
He looks bruised, his stupid round boy face with his stupid patchy beard, and i have never found Him attractive it was all about the way He spoke to me and looked at me and touched me and the way it made me feel
Her footsteps make the wood overhead creak and groan.
Why not me? Why, have you ever wanted for anything? Sometimes He talks like that, like a Sacred Pilgrim or something, and it makes me want to hit Him but we both know i won’t but i have a gotcha in my pocket, i’ve been saving it for a Long Time, What about my fucking drum kit? i ask Him, and He looks at me for a Long Time, considering me even as we hear the toilet flush in the bathroom now, He says, his voice very low, remember what will happen if you don’t behave. They’ll all know that you asked for this. You came with me willingly. And all those moments we enjoyed ourselves together. You don’t want your father to know about those, do you? Or your sister?
Traveler, she says in a singsong voice, and that’s when I hear something strike the boards. It’s only after I flinch back that I see it: the knife’s blade burst through ancient wood. There is one last rustle of sound, a sigh. My heart is a bird and there are crows calling overhead and then she walks away and all that is left is their noisy silence.
once i swallowed his poison but now, in this moment, an impasse, Two Dogs, one fully grown and one nearly, snarling at one another, their hackles raised, and while once this den was big enough for Two Dogs, we both know i’ve outgrown it and now . . .
I crawl out of the cave, my hair laced with leaves.
the boy, ten or eleven, opens the bathroom door
She wasn’t my sister. She was a trap, I assure myself, closing the trapdoor to examine
hey, thanks, the boy says, then he stands in the kitchen and offers me his hand almost like it’s an After Thought but the nervous line of his smile tells me it’s not, that i’m the one he’s really wondering about and not Him, a thirtysomething man with a doughy Boy Face, I’m Marco
i hesitate and in a moment that is too long for an outstretched hand i’m considering all of my names, James and Jamie and Michael and [Redacted] but what i tell him when i finally take his hand is, i’m Jack
Want something to drink, boys? He asks, too eager, and i don’t answer but Marco nods and this kid is so skinny he looks like he could be starving and my own stomach growls but i don’t answer and He gets the cheerwine out of the fridge and i’m holding my breath
When Jack came to live with me, He begins, handing Marco a bottle, he’d never had cheerwine
They don’t make it in New York, i say, but then He shoots me a look, like i’ve said too much
That’s where Jack lived with my sister, He says, which i guess is the Story Today, that i’m His nephew and of course it’s a Story He’s told Before, but one of, like, six, and i’m never sure what page we’re supposed to be on and He reaches down and unscrews the cap and there’s a short fssssssszzzzzt! and
there is a familiar knife hilt buried in the door, with the poorly drawn face of a boy and a girl and a bearded King and the ruby stone buried in the white bone and it’s mine and it’s mine, my drawing and my old weapon, my old friend. And I should have trusted her, because she kept it for me, and now the curved, strong blade has cleaved the wood but there’s something else there, a pinned scrap of paper, and I bend close, squinting, fixing my hand around the hilt, and see writing in
soda
my
explodes
sister’s
everywhere
hand.
Oh crap, He says jovially, there’s Blood Red Soda stains all over His button-down and His stupid beard and even on His glasses, Marco rushes forward to find our paper towels and starts trying to sponge up the soda right from His shirt and He is looking at the kid like a Hungry Wolf and suddenly i realize who Marco reminds me of, it’s Elijah, Elijah who was seven when i left but must be nine now, Elijah whose paws were too big for his body, my little brother my fucking Shadow my Soul Elijah
Fewmets, I say to myself, tugging hard and hard again on my beloved knife, until finally I fall backward, knife in hand, and the paper is free and flying and reaching out, I must scramble to catch it. There. On one side, equations. A name: Annie [Redacted], period six. But there is a shadow of something on the other side. Curling lines. Dark ink.
and panic grips my body, i could vomit again but i close my mouth and swallow the bile down i won’t i won’t i need to be here and Be Good for Something damn it
I turn it over and find one of my sister’s maps. On the top, in her awful calligraphy, The Land of Gumlea, and below, every creek and tree and town and on the bottom, a shadowed line, the graphite crosshatched and heavy. The Veil, my sister has written there in her loving hand
Maybe you should go get changed, i suggest to Him, and He looks at me, a Question in His eyes, but i know how much He hates to be dirty so He stands up again and unbuttons the top button of his shirt
Might as well jump in the shower, He agrees, which was exactly what i was hoping He’d say but i’m careful not to smile too too wide. Make yourself comfortable, boys
and He disappears into the bathroom
and now I know where I must go.
but the water isn’t running yet and i need to be careful. Marco is still sopping the soda off the tabletop and he looks at me with New Moon Eyes
Your uncle told me you like boys, he says and he’s watching me, waiting for me to react, but i don’t because there have been times when i liked boys and times when i liked girls and right now i tell myself it’s mostly girls when He’s at work and i’m jacking off alone, thinking of Vidya, her perfumey Wild Body a field i can wrap around myself like a blanket but this boy is waiting for something so i shrug
I leave the cave behind, and I walk and I walk until there are no more pines, the snow biting and bright all around, I walk until I find a field blanketed white.
Yeah, i guess, i tell him, because i sense he wants help and maybe he really does need someone to talk to, maybe that’s why he’s here, maybe that’s why i was so desperate to talk to Steve’s Friend who was always hanging around with him, watching us boys like He could give us the Secret of the Universe, maybe we were Hungry Boys, wanting answers and someone to tuck us under their Wing and He had a fucking Wing all right, back then, making me feel like i was a man
Beggar’s Graveyard, I read off the map, and my eyes take in the dunes rippling beneath the snow, every hill and lump a body, and my mouth forms the Laws for Beggars: 1. Never borrow, always steal and 2. Don’t get caught. I wonder if the King’
s justice was swift or if he cruelly lingered over the beggar children, plucking their eyes out, pulling out their teeth one by one, peeling their skin away. Once, I wondered what sort of King I’d be. No longer. My footfall crunches over snow, or bone, I’m not sure which.
I do, too, Marco says, my dad would kill me if he knew
It doesn’t matter, I tell myself, I’m leaving now . . .
i’m holding my breath because the water still isn’t running in the bathroom and He is probably holding His breath, too, listening to us and waiting for Something to Happen and if He thinks Something is Going to Happen between me and some kid He’s got another think coming
but I still hold my breath as I pass through the field, ignoring how my boots sink deep, and I hold it tight until I see the edge of the town in the distance.
Hey, where do you sleep? Marco asks, peering past me to the only bedroom and the one King-sized bed and my answer comes without thinking because we’ve practiced this
It’s the first of many on the eastern edge of my sister’s map, Old Town, where shadows rule, and I find on its outskirts an inn, candlelit and cozy. The door is open and my body, so, so tired.
On the sofa, and then, just as i say that, the water starts running, a slow steady hisssssssssssssssssss and just as Marco is saying cool i lower my voice and look at him with eyes made of Bone Flints
I need to stay. How much? I tell the lad behind the counter and when he turns, my breath catches in my throat. He has flaxen hair, a pinched face like a fox, and strong, curved muscles beneath his shirtsleeves, and I know those arms. I have slept in those arms.
We need to leave, now
No charge for Winter Watchers, m’lord, he says.
Marco laughs, a nervous laugh, squeaky, like a little kid
I laugh because it is absurd.
What are you talking about?
I’m no Winter Watcher. Don’t you remember me?
We need to get out of here. If you stay . . . and for some reason i still can’t bring myself to say it but then i look at the paper towel he’s still holding wadded up in his hand, Wet Red with cheerwine and Something Else and i swallow hard and it’s like the lump in my throat is a spiky horse chestnut Look, we need to get out of here now
I don’t, m’lord. But I’ll show you your room. He leads me to a windowless chamber, dark as a ship’s cabin, and as he lights a candle for me i watch the familiar curve of his neck, which i have kissed, and think, How did we ever lose each other? But then he turns and a look of horror crosses his vulpine features.
No! and that’s when i realize that Marco is a Wolf Pup himself because his lower lip trembles. Look I don’t know what’s going on with you and your uncle but I’m not going with you
M’lord, are you all right? I feel a green wave wash over me and I realize that I’ve been ensorcelled. My body sways; he rushes forward, then catches me against his chest, exhaling: No!
He smells just like he always did and before the world goes black around me I taste his mouth on my mouth, kissing me and breathing me back to life
shit i hide my face in my hands and laugh-weep at him because he thinks i’m the one who is trying to Steal Him Away or but god the water is still running but for how much longer we need to go go go
and when I wake up I’m in the narrow bed in the narrow room, his lithe body tangled up in mine and mine all spent.
and just like that i have my answer, fist my hands, hold my head up high
I feel the fine fur of his thighs, his chest’s rise and fall. I feel my own intoxication. For strong, cunning boys and their strong, cunning bodies—a love I’d trade away, if I could, but I’ve never quite been able to work the spell out right.
Fine, i say, stay but whateveryoufuckingdo don’t you dare drink that soda
What? nervous giggles. Why?
He put roofies in it
before Marco can answer me i turn and Walk Swift to the front door Wait, what? he’s saying and in the bathroom i hear the tap squeal as He turns the water off and i don’t look back at that little apartment but i don’t have to, i know every single inch, the cracks in the plaster beneath the posters where i chipped away at the walls with my Knife when He was at work not for escape but for boredom and i remember every word in every book on the shelf the ones i wrote and the ones i read until the pages fell out and the curve of the blade of my Knife fuck I’ll have to leave my Knife in my flesh or in my mind i know that there’s a cobweb in the southwest corner of the bedroom and the way the light looks through the trees at every season and i will almost miss it but i also know what His arm feels like pressed across my back and the way the pills taste my own fear rising like bile and the guilt and all the Awful Things and when i look back i only look at Marco who watches me with Hard Eyes and does he even know what roofies are? Would Elijah? i don’t fucking know
Our bodies enjoyed each other, he says, and an icy chill cuts through me despite the warmth of that little room and his naked thighs beside me. Drunkenly, I try to amble up from his warm arms, his warmer bed, and he’s watching me with eyes like pools of melted honey and I’m pulling on my trousers, clumsily reaching for my shirt and fixing my leathers over my shoulders and stumbling around for my boots and trying to ignore the slithy hissing in my brain and the throbbing in my throat.
so i leave that world behind without a coat or a name and take off it’s evening it’s november and my breath is a cloud in front of me and the door slams behind me and i walk and walk and don’t stop walking and then i think i hear someone calling out behind me Jack? Jack! and suddenly i’m not walking anymore i’m running between the apartment complexes but fuck i’ll never make it to downtown this way not before he catches me and that’s when i see a girl’s bike, streamers on the handlebars dark like Seaweed in Water, not chained but who needs to chain bicycles here? it’s a safe neighborhood, just leaning against the brick of the building, and i know it’s wrong and i know it’s stealing but i can make reparations later because if something happens to Elijah i mean Marco i’ll have bigger apologies to make
He watches me with puzzled eyes, his lips soft with sex, but I know what will happen again if I stay there, because it’s happened before. So it’s down the creaky stairs and out through the back kitchen and into the night. It’s gray-black winter and it’s cold and I walk off-kilter with one eye gone and I run into the streets of Old Town, beggars reaching out their spindly fingers toward me and I shake them away, rushing through the city, my steps loping, and that’s when the church bell rings and that’s when I see it in the moonlight: the King’s three-horned stag, one hoof lifted, and I know what he’s doing here, and I know that I’ve lingered here, with these temptations, for too long. He’s waiting to take me to the Veil.
i grip the handlebars the streamers tickling my wrists and it’s been two years since i’ve ridden a bike but it’s true what they say you know and if i wasn’t so scared, my Heart throbbing on my Tongue, it would almost feel
I grip his gold coat, perfumed with pipe smoke and freedom, and I dig my heels into his ribs and he gives a cry like shattered glass and as we ride away I think, if I wasn’t so terrified, this would almost be
e x h i l a r a t i n g
e x h i l a r a t i n g
i ride and i think He might be following me in that big Blue Truck of His and i remember the first time i sat with Him in it, my feet on the dash, i thought i was pulling Something over on Someone, probably my dad, because here was this Guy, a fucking adult, who treated me like one, too, and i remember all the texts we traded, talking about philosophy and sexuality and my stupid fucking Wet Dreams and He understood me and He thought it was ridiculous that i couldn’t be in a band with my girlfriend because clearly i was talented even if He’d never heard me play before so when He said He’d drive me to Pennsylvania to get a drum kit from His brother and He’d have me back in a few hours and that we could lie and say i was at Neal’s i thought it was a pretty good idea and He was always touching me a lot, like put
ting his Hand on my Knee and squeezing in a weird way but fuck part of me thought it felt good, to be touched, and another part thought, Steve’s a pretty good guy and if he’s okay with hanging around with this Guy well then it must be Okay and in the back of the car there was a bottle of soda thirsty, James? He asked me, it wasn’t until later when i was two weeks sleep deprived and my body sore under the ropes and my body a Raw Weeping Thing that we came up with the Jack stuff because a Jack is Every Man and i could be Anybody
I ride for a long night and a day through towns and cities and over cobblestoned streets and there are children who lay flowers at our feet, ditch lilies and dandelions. Boys wave their diaphanous banners and women lift their skirts as we pass so I can see what’s underneath but I don’t lean in to touch their curling hair and I don’t stop to write my name in anyone’s book and I don’t dismount, ever. I know what might come from lingering too close to human flesh, how I might give in to my baser proclivities. Finally we stop by a riverbank beneath a grove of pines. The air is different here, sharper and clearer, and I pull my sister’s map from my pocket. I draw in a breath; it trembles within my lungs but the stag nudges me with his leathery nose, so I get back on, my movements still uncertain, close my eyes and brace myself for the ride and the future to come. Home, please, home. And the family that was lost to me, long, long ago.
(can you believe it was my suggestion?)
(Will they even remember me?)
that Blue Truck, not a dark blue but a Bright Clarion Blue shining like the Sky Right Now a Sky Right After Sunset and Before the Stars Come Out but now it feels like a Dark Cloud full of Lightning coming after me and i ride and i ride and that stupid girl’s bike hugs the shoulder and goes faster than i thought was possible, my legs are burning and it starts to drizzle cool and miserable and my whole body is Smoke and Steam and Heat and i ride and i ride off the shoulder and downtown