Maybe I can be some famous guy who walks. I can see the headlines now: “Local Boy Walks Around the Country for Charity.”
The pep talk turned into self-loathing.
Nation inspired by his endurance and powerful ambition. Come see the boy who has to walk everywhere because his feet were unable to stop a car from crushing an elderly grandma. Also, don’t forget this young man is raising money for pets who have lost their lives unjustly due to inept drivers!
Ethan started running down the sidewalk, trying to escape his thoughts.
Let’s not forget the other headline! “Young man marries crippled elderly woman he hit with his car as reconciliation. Together they walk across the country as a powerful lesson to American drivers everywhere!”
The burning sensation in his hand made him stop, the pain emanated through his muscles. The back of his hand was bright red and bubbled with tiny blisters. He touched them and his eyes watered like he had pulled out a nose hair. All he could remember was that the lady wouldn’t let his hand go. She was insane, but she didn’t burn his hand.
A young man receives hand cancer from an unwashed elderly homeless beggar. Her putrid smell and poor hygiene literally ripped a light pole off its hinges. In other news, world’s most unloved driving examiner died as a result of the accident. The President of the United States declares his death a holiday of celebration.
He passed many street blocks and many store chains until he made it to a residential neighborhood along the busy street. A series of poorly painted houses lined up to shun his newest misfortune. All the while, vehicles passed by, mocking the boy who walks everywhere.
Rhiona will never notice me now. She’d never date a loser—
Ethan stopped and looked at the house to his left. It was a brown with grated shutters, nothing special. But there was something different about the house now—it was quiet.
He looked over at the neighbor’s dog It was tied on a chain that was attached to the garage. He remembered now. It would usually be barking up a storm, slobbering its sharp teeth, and straining against his chain every time Ethan passed. He had read that those dogs are very loyal and gentle, great with kids, but could be territorial when strangers passed by. Perhaps the neighbors only fed it espresso beans. He was usually thankful that the dog had a chain because it would surely eat him if it had a chance.
The dog was silent and its chain hung loosely now. It stared at Ethan with its glossy blue marble eyes. Ethan walked two steps forward and the dog’s eyes followed him perfectly. He walked two steps back and the blue marbles followed him back. The dog perked up his ears as if he sensed danger nearby. Its jowls were open slightly and the tail was stiff as a board.
Maybe that old lady is still around.
Ethan started walking away, still keeping his gaze on the dog. He was only a couple houses away until the burning feeling returned. He fell, knees first, to the ground. It felt like a fire was engulfing his hand. He clutched it and started to shake.
What is wrong with me!
Ethan heard the leash snap and the furry beast hurled toward his face with ferociously open jowls. He hit the ground with force and held back the dog’s face as it snarled and thrashed its teeth, begging to rip into him. Ethan moved his legs frantically up and down. The dog was in control. He was just a twiggy adolescent; no match for a guard dog. It could rip him open in seconds.
The dog snapped its teeth closer and closer, nearly grazing the boy’s neck. White spit splattered from its mouth, drizzling Ethan in the foam of crazy dog juice.
“I didn’t mean to kill the cat!” Ethan screamed.
The dog lifted his head, momentarily exposing its stomach. Ethan positioned his feet directly under the dog and kicked out. The carnivore yelped and nearly somersaulted in the air. It skidded against the sidewalk and staggered onto the street with a confused look.
An uneasy silence enveloped the area. Ethan spun around. The dog started running in circles around the road and passed in front of a car. The driver slammed on the brakes and swerved towards the middle of road. The car started to power slide over the line and into oncoming traffic; a large semi blared its horn.
The truck driver made an emergency blind crank on the wheel. The semi tilted, tripping onto the passenger side tires as the weight shifted. It became a monstrous tidal wave of metal as it headed for the curb. The large hunk of metal shadowed over Ethan and he realized he didn’t have time to run. He just stared with eyes and mouth agape. He saw the sunlight peeking from the top, followed by darkness. The truck heaved downward, squealing metal.
Time seemed to stop and a tightness squeezed around his waist as he fell backwards. It was as if a wrestler had suplexed him to the ground. The rebounding shock of the pavement wretched his body to incompetence. His head fell in view of the oncoming danger, now, miraculously out of reach. The truck fell with a mighty crash, the steel scarring the pavement with an eerie hiss.
The semi lay in a crumpled heap next to him. A cacophony of horns blared, drowning the sounds of drivers cursing the air. Ethan was overwhelmed with suburban chaos and could only watch from where he lay.
His hand stopped burning.
“There exists a world where the men of beige and dark beige built concrete and metal shrines on the grasses and trees. They call it Earth.”
– Wolfian Theory of Earth
II : What It Takes to Move Onward
Ethan bolted the rest of the way to his periwinkle house. The physical exhaustion blurred his surroundings, making his neighborhood impossible to recognize. He tripped over cracks in his driveway as he plummeted towards the front door. He slammed the door behind him and collapsed.
He laid face down in his foyer. Thoughts of excruciating pain, vicious dogs, violent trucks, and driving failure swirled in his head like a tornado in a fragile mobile home park. His heart was escaping out of his chest as he basked in the welcome silence of the morning. Sweat began to pool on the hardwood floor.
It seemed like hours had passed before he had regained enough strength to find water. He pounded his fist against the wall as he got up. The dread of facing his parents made the walk to the fridge seem like miles.
Hi mom, do you want to know a fun fact about truck fatalities?
The kitchen was empty of all signs that anyone had lived there. It was like walking into a show home. It had sun-worshiping windows, a mahogany table that swallowed up most of the space, and a double-door pantry for snacking.
“Mom? Dad?” Ethan called out into the house, only to hear his voice echoing back.
He walked upstairs and slumped through the hallway lined with bookcases. All of the doors were closed. The silence wasn’t completely unusual, as both of his parents worked. They didn’t usually leave this early, but when they did, it always left Ethan with a strange emptiness. He was an only child, kind of; he was an adopted child.
His parents, the Miokos were a wonderful couple who found out that they couldn’t have any children on their own, so they borrowed one permanently from a Korean adoption agency. His first memory was of two unfamiliar arms dropping him off at a bus station and then leaving. It didn’t bother him that he was adopted, and he wasn’t interested in a thorough internet search to learn his past. He loved his borrowed mom and dad and that’s all that mattered. Adoption was just a thread of his life that was woven into his reality and he celebrated it. He was content. Plus, the story of how he “braved through abandonment” made great conversation with some of the females at school.
At least they’re not here to be disappointed.
Ethan rehashed his morning with great horror as the shouts of Mr. Fastardly pierced his brain. He kept his head down as he walked past family photos, hoping they wouldn’t stare back with disdain. He approached his room at the end of the hall, his shadow colliding with visions of the truck falling. Ethan gripped the doorknob to steady himself, and then remembered the invisible force that had grabbed him and thrown him aside.
I guess I really am a ninja,
or maybe I was a trained spy! It doesn’t matter now.
A feeling of surrender washed over him as he dragged himself to his bed that was shaped and painted like a racecar. He never bothered changing it even when his parents offered. He sounded economical in his excuses, but it was really because he still liked it. He rolled over. Posters of trendy bands and outdated memes hung on the wall. In a far corner of the room shelves spilled out with magazines leading to a closet filled with every fashion trend imaginable. He could attend any party, christening, baptism, or wedding and be dressed for the part. Yet, most of the clothes still had tags. Ethan’s main wardrobe was scattered around the floor or hanging out of laundry bins.
If I die today, this horrible day will end early.
Ethan threw his belt across the room and took out his leather wallet. He looked inside. There was a post-it note on it that read “insert driver’s license.” The license didn’t get to sit victoriously in his wallet, waiting to be shown to friends; nor would it be the topic of conversation at a fancy dinner with his parents. Without it, all he had to look forward to now was watching Bun-R-Sizer paid programming or Sunday news. He groaned at the ceiling, tossed his wallet, and decided to take a shower. The rest of the day was going to drag on anyway.
Ethan was welcomed by nearly boiling water and a comforting steam. He closed his eyes as the water plastered his hair onto his face. It felt relaxing until the water flowed onto his swollen hand, now blistering with small sores. He grabbed the soap and started to rub it on his hand. The slightest graze sloughed off his skin, exposing the murky “X” underneath. He dropped the soap and cursed.
What is wrong with me!
As he bent down to pick up the soap, his feet slipped on the suds. He stumbled forward and bashed his eyebrow on the tub nozzle. His eyes watered, his sight blurred, and excruciating pain permeated through his forehead. He tried to hold himself up on the tiled wall as he clutched his face. Suddenly, he turned on the cold water full blast. The frigid spray prickled against his skin. He was awake.
It seemed like the situation would not turn ugly. Ethan was going to turn the hot water back on. His hand burned again. His foot slipped again. His head hit the ceramic ground.White dots flickered in and out of sight until disappearing into the steam. “Bubble Boy Strawberry Shampoo” was pouring on him like blood. Gravity won the fight.
Ethan opened his eyes, his upper body laid on a bath mat.
I see only white.
He ran his fingers against the textured rug as water dripped down his arm and soaked through the synthetic material. The shower head dripped in the background.
What happened to the hot water?
Ethan’s plane of balance righted itself. The smell of soap drowned him. He looked up to the yellow light peeking from behind the shower curtain and recognized the open bottle of shampoo. The steam of a warm shower was gone, his upper body laid cold and frigid from the open air. He lifted his naked body and sat on the rug that now felt like a sponge, and tried to focus on the white tile walls.
Beyond another heaping pile of clothes, a window without curtains revealed how long he had been out. The sky was pitch black. He pressed his face against the window, creating smudges and fog on the pane. He thought he had only passed out for an hour or two at the most, definitely not all day.
“At least this day is over,” he mumbled in defeat.
He found a robe from his room and wrapped it around himself. The next step was to find his parents and ask them to take him to a guidance counselor. This day would surely be a blemish on his confidence. They had to be home; every light was on in the house.
Ethan opened their bedroom door to find it was empty. Strangely, the bed was still made from the morning. He scratched his head, it still hurt, and he wondered if he should walk to a doctor. The patches of small blisters on his hand now evolved into two glaring lines, forming an "X". He didn’t want to touch it again and walked around with it in the air like he was swearing on a bible. He made his way back to the bathroom, noticing something buttery and salty wafting from downstairs: popcorn.
Ethan rushed down the stairs, “Mom! Dad! You’ll never believe my day!”
He hoped they would comfort him, make him food, and give him Ibuprofen for his aching head. He trotted to the kitchen and noticed someone else was cooking popcorn.
Ethan squinted at the long golden hair facing him. He noticed the uninvited guest was also wearing a robe. It was purple and ornamented with pink ribbons.
Ethan took a step closer.
The strange visitor was a girl who looked around his age. She was in her own world, swaying to the tune of an unfamiliar song. As she moved around the stove he noticed two rectangular holes in her robe, each bordering her angular shoulder blades. She seemed unaware of anyone’s presence as Ethan peered over her shoulder. He noticed that she was cooking the popcorn in one of his mother’s flower vases. The warming dirt and butter emitted a rancid odor.
“What are you doing in my house?”
The stranger flailed violently as she spun around. The edge of the vase caught Ethan’s sore head and he fell.
“Infinite mercies!” she exclaimed, looking down in surprise.
*****
Ethan groaned as he woke up again. His head was throbbing again, but this time he felt the bumpy presence of ice on it. He guessed that he was on the living room couch by the supports of fluffy cushions. A vacation photo at Waterworld on the bookshelf confirmed where he was.
“You took quite a spill there,” he heard a friendly voice say. The accent was unique, bright and flowery. It bubbled with enthusiasm.
He bobbed his head up and the sack of ice fell off and landed on his stomach.
“Careful, careful,” she said, putting the ice back on his head. “You are a squirmy! They told me you would be fidgety; more than the crystal crickets after the sprouts scare them.”
When he she looked at Ethan, he was surprised to see that she had an attractive face with features like grown cherub. She had calm eyes, soft eyebrows, and bright lips. There was nothing rugged about her at all. She had the kind of look models in high fashion clothing catalogs had. She wore no makeup. It confused Ethan. He wasn’t sure how to get this angelic intruder out of his house.
She waved her hair out of her eyes and brought her face closer to Ethan’s.
“Popcorn?” She said, balancing the vase in front of him.
He passed, it looked like sludge.
She perched herself on one of the edges of the sofa. There was something about her that was graceful and flowing; it was like she never expected to stumble.
“You’re probably wondering who I am,” she said, crossing her legs.
Ethan nodded.
“You will have to forgive my sloppy grace; I am new to Earthian culture. This popcorn idea you guys have is ‘far out.’”
She thought about the last words, “far out,” and pulled out a small leather-bound notepad. She started to flip through some of the pages.
“This is embarrassing. I do not think I used that phrase correctly.”
Ethan eyed her curiously until she found a page.
Her eyes lit up, “Right, making popcorn is very ‘tubular.’”
“Tubular?” Ethan questioned sarcastically, raising his eyebrows. “Did you come from the early nineties?”
She blushed bright red and tossed her book on the couch.
“Like I said, you’ll have to forgive me; I am new at this.”
“New at what?” Ethan asked. The mystery of the strange robed girl seemed more complicated by the minute.
She snapped into attention and put up her hand. “Oh, I am your personal deaconess, brought to you from the Queendom of Faeria to take care of you. I am here to guide you in the ways of truth and healing so that I might complete my Religistral training.”
Those words didn’t compute for Ethan. He looked around to see if this was one big joke and noticed the girl’s uncomfortable smile never left her face. She was serious.
>
Ethan smiled nervously and looked around, “Okay, where are the hidden cameras? This is a prank game show, right? What are we playing, ‘Crazy Blonde Escapes the Mental Hospital?’”
He turned to the hallway and yelled, “Mom? Dad? Are you home?”
“What are you doing?” She asked, tilting her head.
Ethan looked back at her. “I am looking for my parents. They should be home—especially if they let you in.”
“What does your parental unit do?”
Ethan turned with a disgruntled expression, “What difference does it make? They are not home!”
“Are they woodsmiths, blacksmiths,” she continued, “tanners, artists, readying mothers, generals, or Registral members?”
Ethan looked at her weirdly, “I don’t even know what half those things are! And you still haven’t told me why you are here.”
She tapped her feet on the floor. She never thought it would be this difficult to talk to a client. She had heard stories, but thought the others were biased. She took a deep breath.
“I am a deaconess for the Queendom of Faeria and I am here to assist you. It is not of more complexity.”
He smacked his head, forgetting he had hurt it earlier, “Well, I am not really sure what a weakness of Dairy Queen is,” The condensation from the ice dripped into his eyes as he sat up. “You haven’t even told me who you are. I should’ve called the cops!”
She plopped off the couch and started staring at a picture of a boat.
“I am a ‘deaconess for the Queendom of Faeria.’ And my name is too complex for an Earthian to say.”
Ethan didn’t know whether to be insulted or puzzled. This blonde girl was playing games with his already-sore head.
“Well, my name is Ethan Mioko,” he said, resting his head in his palm. “Not hard to say at all.”
“Bally frogs! I know your name, it was assigned to me,” the girl said impatiently, “My name, if you can pronounce it, is Caitilin Ashberry.”
The Boy and His Curse Page 2