Cycling to Asylum

by Su J. Sokol

  Laek and I listen to the music together while the kids descend on the cookies. I put my arm around his waist, sliding my fingers under the hem of his t-shirt while he drapes his arm around my shoulder. His skin is warm, almost hot, reminding me of the way sand on a beach retains the heat even after the sun has gone down. He seems relaxed now, tired maybe. He’s been getting to bed later and later these past weeks, working on some mysterious research project.

  When there’s nothing but cookie crumbs left, Siri and Simon come over to ask about joining a big game of capture-the-light-flag.

  “How long would it take?” I ask.

  “Long, ’cause it’s a tournament. Please, Mommy. It’s not a school night or anything.”

  “Yeah, OK. But be careful, Siri, careful with your hand. You too, Simon.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my hand,” Simon says.

  “No, I mean just be careful. Show me where you’re going to be.”

  Siri points to a field some distance off. I can see the disembodied light bracelets and necklaces of the kids playing. “OK, have fun.”

  I watch them run off with Michael and the others.

  It’s peaceful here, especially with the kids gone to play, but I feel a little strange. Maybe it’s the music. There’s an odd quality to how the wind is bringing over the individual notes, like they’re not quite blending together but simply overlaying each other. Meanwhile, my brain is doing that weird thing it does sometimes—assigning colors to certain sounds.

  Laek’s lying on our picnic blanket with his shirt off and bunched behind his head. I’m anxious to join him, to feel his smooth, hard chest under my fingertips. I finish cleaning up and organizing our things and finally feel I can relax.

  I rest my head in the crook of Laek’s shoulder. His breathing is deep and regular. I think he’s asleep. He opens his eyes, though, smiles and starts kissing me, at first very gently, his lips barely brushing mine, and then with a growing hunger. My response is immediate. I feel like a stream where the huge rock blocking my fast-moving watery flow has finally been dislodged.

  I place my hands on his face, stroking his slightly rough cheek and his smooth forehead. How I love Laek’s body, the contrasts of hard and soft I find there. I touch his silky dark hair, run my hands down the sleek skin of his back, take his velvety earlobe into my mouth; then I squeeze his round biceps, press myself against his muscled legs, his hard cock. His body is like a mirror to his nature. When I touch the softer parts, I think of his gentleness, his sweet, almost naive goodness; his hardness reminds me of his remarkable strength and resilience.

  My face buried in his neck, I inhale his familiar scent, my mouth finding that downy spot behind his ear. I kiss him everywhere like I can’t get enough of him, and I can’t. With each caress, the ache that’s been building inside me all these weeks lessens, but my need for him grows. I don’t want to wait until we’re home, and why should I? And I don’t care that we’re in a public park. It’s dark and the kids are far off, involved in their game. If people happen to pass close by and see what we’re doing, let them. I think with fury of all those who must have gone past Laek in the middle of Broadway as he was sexually assaulted by a cop. So let them walk by now and get a glimpse of what sex looks like when it’s an expression of love instead of someone getting off on having power over another human being. If they can pass by that other scene, unashamed, let them pass by now too and get their fill.

  EIGHT

  Laek

  I stretch out onto my back. Janie’s close by, busy at something. I put my hand behind my head and watch. She’s bent over the remains of our picnic. I’d like to get up and kneel behind her. Cup her breasts in my two hands and rub against her. I don’t think she’d be annoyed with me. But I also know she won’t be relaxed until she finishes whatever it is she’s doing. So I’ll wait. I’m patient, I don’t mind. Maybe I’ll close my eyes. Patience is easier that way.

  It’s hot. I take off my shirt and place it under my head as a pillow. With my eyes closed, I can focus on the music. It’s beautiful and eerie. There’s a light wind coming in small gusts. I feel it on my skin. It seems to bring snatches of music with it.

  I’m almost asleep when Janie lays her head on my shoulder, sighing as she settles in. I turn on my side and kiss her. She tastes like cherries. I lick her lips, taste her mouth more deeply. She responds with caresses, gentle touches. She’s kissing me all over and I lay back, totally happy. I feel loved and safe. I wrap her up in my arms and legs. I want to see if I can hide her completely inside my own limbs. Now no one can see her or get at her. This makes me feel safer.

  We’re soon covered in sweat. She pushes gently against my chest with her hand. I release her and she rolls over onto her back. She’s wriggling out of her underpants. I’m surprised, but totally into it. Next thing I know, she’s sitting on my thighs, opening the front of my shorts. I don’t need a second invitation.

  The rhythm of the music is beating from inside of me. It’s pushing everything else out. Everything except Janie’s lips and hands, the softness of her curls, her slick sweat, her smell and taste. I feel the music in my blood, in my bones, and it’s Janie, the music is Janie. Her fingers are stroking my skin, making me permeable again, letting the pleasure enter me. It builds and builds and when it can’t get any bigger, it crashes like a wave over all of my senses, leaving my vision blurry and my ears ringing with clear high notes.

  After, we lie quietly together, with me still inside her, one hand tangled in her hair, the other on her breast. Her foot is resting on my calf, her fingers playing silent music on my hip and ribs, her lips blowing softly against my throat. I want nothing so much as to stay here like this forever, the music surrounding us, the sound of the kids playing in the distance, the soft breeze caressing our skin, our bodies at ease on the warm earth of the park.

  Janie begins to slowly move away from me. It’s so hard for her to remain still. I’m too tired to speak but my thoughts are loud in my head and they’re begging her not to move, to stay close. Then, as if in answer to my silent plea, Janie stills, looks deeply into my eyes. I gaze back at her for as long as I can, but my eyes are beginning to close. I finally let go.

  The next thing I know, I’m in New Metropolis. I’ve somehow brought Janie and the kids here with me. We’re all holding hands. Walking through the streets I know so well but have always, up until now, wandered alone. All at once, we arrive in a part of the city I’ve never seen or known. But this is impossible. I created New Metropolis, didn’t I? The kids laugh and pull me along after them. I try to follow but the scene is breaking apart. I open my eyes to Prospect Park.

  I sit up, stretching. Janie’s sitting a few feet away from me, her arms wrapped around her knees. She’s wearing shorts now and a thin, old top—her Bread and Roses t-shirt. When did she have time to change? The music is finished for the evening and the people at the bandshell are packing it in. Time to leave. I love this park so much. I’m not ready to go. I wonder if we could stay here tonight. Maybe we could live in the park. With his asthma, it would be healthier for Simon than our basement apartment.

  I go through the logistics in my mind. The type of tent we’d need. The other necessary supplies. How we’d bathe. Whether we could risk living in a community, or whether we’d need to be on our own to avoid harassment and eventual eviction by the authorities. Janie likes camping. Living that way isn’t something she’d see as practical, though. Of course, I’ve personally lived in far worse conditions than sleeping rough in a park. As for Siri and Simon, I’m sure they’d both enjoy it. Well, Siri might have some objections. Not knowing what to do about inviting friends over. Things like that. I laugh, knowing my thoughts are bizarre.

  “What’s so funny?” asks Janie.

  I hesitate, thinking of how to put it. Janie doesn’t wait for my response. Instead, she tackles me, trying to pin me down by my wrists.

  “I swear, Laek, if you ever so much as think about keeping anything from me again
, I’m gonna beat the crap out of you.”

  I was about to tell her what I was thinking, but wrestling is more fun. I let her pin me to the ground. I’ve forgotten how strong she is for her size. I have to make a real effort before I can reverse our positions. All of a sudden, Simon’s there, yelling that he’s going to save Mommy. He jumps onto my back, his skinny arms and legs struggling for purchase. I collapse in mock defeat, but then Siri jumps in, saying she’ll save me from Simon. We’re soon like a pile of puppies. Then Janie starts fretting about Siri’s fractured hand. I pull both kids onto my lap. Subdue them with big wet kisses on their heads.

  “OK, time to go home,” Janie announces. The rest of us sigh and start off towards our bikes. The kids run ahead.

  “So what were you laughing about before?” Janie asks me.

  “I was wondering if maybe we should live in the park.”

  We’ve caught up to the kids now. Simon and Siri are both talking at once about their game. Simon begs his sister to let him tell it since he was the one who captured the light-flag. She says OK but not to leave her part out. So Simon begins the tale. He includes every single thing that happened. No matter how insignificant. This is Simon’s way of telling a story. It’s as though his almost perfect memory means he has no ability to distinguish between important facts and inconsequential details. I look around for Janie, who’s lagging behind.

  “Janie, you coming?”

  “I think I may have left something.” she answers. “But don’t wait. I saw Magda, so I may stop and chat. I’ll meet you back at the apartment.”

  The rest of us head home. Both kids laugh and talk the whole way back.

  “Tonight was fun, Daddy.”

  “It was the best night ever,” agrees Siri.

  I feel the same way. Tonight is a memory I’d like to save for myself. For a day when I need something warm and beautiful. Where will I keep this memory safe? I need a receptacle. Something small but strong. And then it comes to me. An acorn. I visualize it in my mind. Hard and smooth and light brown between my fingers. Its intricate, perfect cap. Inside it, I’ll place the taste of cherries, and of Janie’s lips; the smell of grass and earth; the feel of my beloved’s body around mine; the strains of achingly beautiful music riding to us on the warm, light wind; the sound of the children’s laughter. I hold on to this image and wait for Janie to get home.

  NINE

  Simon

  “Once upon a time, the Bicycling Family decided to go on a new adventure.”

  Mommy’s been telling us these stories since I was little. The Bicycling Family is Stardust, who’s really Mommy, Ocean, who’s Daddy, Dandelion, who’s Siri, and Panther, who’s me. I know they’re not really us but when I was little I thought they were and that someday we’d go on biking adventures just like they do. In tonight’s story, Ocean’s in the lead, biking up a big hill while Stardust watches everyone’s back. There’s a beautiful meadow with wildflowers.

  “Were there animals?” I ask.

  Mommy says yes, like I knew she would. I cuddle under my sheet and listen to the rest of the story. Siri tries to pretend she’s too old but I can tell that she likes the story too.

  “Dandelion and Panther helped Ocean make a fire. He was cooking dinner. Stardust carved a wooden flute. They had a concert, with the wind playing music on the family’s water bottles. All the animals came over to listen. When it was bedtime, the family got into their tent. A long ride was planned for the next day, so it was important for them to get plenty of rest.

  “Was there a storm?” I say. I love stories with storms. Plus, when the Bicycling Family goes to bed, that means the story’s over, but I want Mommy to tell more.

  “Yes. A big one, and loud, and wild. Ocean was a little scared, but tried not to show it.”

  “How about Stardust?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.” Mommy says. She looks worried about something, but when I’m about to ask her what’s wrong, she continues the story. “So everyone cuddled together and Ocean wasn’t scared anymore. Eventually, the storm moved off to the south. The day would be clear and beautiful tomorrow, since they were traveling north.”

  “And what happened the next day?” Siri asked.

  “Tomorrow is for tomorrow. But to give you a clue, there’ll be games with interesting new friends, fat concord grapes on a vine, and beautiful animals. Good night, my loves.”

  “Goodnight, Mommy,” we both say.

  I don’t want to fall asleep yet. Siri’s still awake too, probably writing in her diary. I can see her glowlight shining on the ceiling. I wonder if we will actually in real life take a trip like in Mommy’s story some day. I know it’s all made up but I still think it could happen, maybe in a parallel universe or something.

  I think about tonight in Prospect Park. It was the music that helped me capture the flag. After I got caught and put in jail, Siri came and rescued me and the music sounded exciting and loud. Then the music changed. It was in a new key and had a different pattern and everything, even though it was still the same song. That’s when I decided to do something different too. I split off from Siri. The kid who was chasing us went after her. No one was paying attention to me. I was near the border, almost safe, but instead of crossing over to our side, I turned around and went after the light-flag.

  My head’s getting sleepy and mixing everything together. We’re riding our bikes towards a gigantic light-flag. We don’t need to steal it ’cause it’s not a flag anymore. It’s a big, bright, beautiful light. Then my bike turns into a panther and my whole family’s with me. All the kids who were playing are there and all kinds of animals too, and I can’t remember anymore who was on which team. We’re just together, playing in the light.

  TEN

  Siri

  Before I start typing, I touch my scrambler icon—a baseball next to a dandelion. This way the entry can only be read with my special decoder.

  Dear Diary,

  Tonight was the best night of my life. It’s funny how things work out sometimes. All week long, my hand had been killing me, especially since the game on Saturday. When I found out at the hospital that my hand was broken and I wouldn’t be able to play ball for two months, I was angry, sad, and depressed. (See, Ms. Althea, I am writing about my emotions, just like you told us in class.) I wanted to say Fuck! Shit! Goddam it! the way my mother curses when she’s mad. I’m allowed to write these words in my journal if I want to. I can edit them later if I decide to share this entry but I don’t think I will. Edit or share, I mean.

  Anyway, just when I thought that I would be sad for the whole rest of the school year at least, Daddy said I could go to camp for both months instead of only one. The whole summer for playing baseball and hanging out with Michael! So OK, here it is, I will admit it and write it in words. Michael and I kissed. The first time, I wasn’t sure I liked it. He didn’t ask me or anything, he just did it. I think that’s better because I like when people have their own minds and dont always have to check on what everyone else thinks first. I kissed him back, to get even. The third time was the best. Both of us were ready. He put his hands on my waist and I liked the way his lips felt. They are not too thin and not too thick and not too hard and not too soft.

  After we kissed, I ran back to where everyone was. No one seems to have noticed that we were gone for a few minutes. Michael went to talk to his mom and when he came back, we started another game on different teams. We didn’t act any different with each other. The only thing was when it was time to go home, it was like his eyes were saying “I will miss you and you are special to me.”

  I am not going to tell anyone about what happened. I don’t want everyone to say “I knew it” or “I told you so” and talk about us behind our backs. I don’t want people to be giving me advice, or my mom to want to “have that talk” with me. I just want to be left alone. That is part of the reason I’m so happy about camp. No one there will know us. We can do what we want without feeling like everyone is watching and talking abou
t us. I will have two months of baseball and being with Michael, without my parents and brother and without Michael’s huge crazy family either, even though I love them too, almost like my own family.

  So that’s it, today’s entry. It’s pretty exciting so I need to have a good ending. I know, I will end with a moral. The moral of this story is: Sometimes something that seems bad can end up being good. Also, you don’t always know how a story is going to end.

  ELEVEN

  Laek

  From the hot, still air of the street, the air-conditioning is like a splash of cold water on my face. I stand at the entrance. Absorb the scene. The three-dimensional quality of the holos is surreal. Almost hallucinatory. The experimental music Philip’s pumping through the space sharpens this effect. I watch our students dance. Their limbs appear and disappear in multi-colored flash. The holos create portals and different backgrounds. There’s almost a sense of time travel. The urge to dance grabs me by the throat. I want to join my students. To disappear. To reappear. To let the joy of the music, of letting go, move me through time and space.

  I resist. I’m here to chaperone. I’m a teacher. But what have I taught? Are these kids ready for what awaits them? For what they’ll find outside the protective walls of our school? My eyes scan the crowd. Even fewer have made it to graduation day than we’d thought. The dropouts are doing mandatory military—fodder for the war du jour. Those who aren’t in jail. As for the students who stay in school, can we continue to offer a safe haven?

  During the evening, I feel out the other teachers about resisting the new immigrant reporting requirements. Some of them seem to be on the same screen with me and Erin. Others just want to go along with the leadership. It’s as though having taken the risk of teaching at an alternative school, they’ve used up all their independence. No will left to oppose authority any further.