Solstice - Of The Heart

by John Blenkush

  As the bell sounded and the revelers cleared, I found myself standing alone, deep in thought. A hall monitor came out of nowhere.

  “You okay?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Better get off to class then.”

  Great, I thought as I sat down and turned my attention to the English class discussion on Romeo and Juliet. To say I was confused as to whether I’d be okay with Aaron kissing some Juliet other than me was an understatement. If he could cause someone to wilt just by touching them with his finger, what could he do with his lips?

  Suck the life out of them?

  I pretty much stayed under my halo of discussion within my head the whole forty-five minutes of English class. The drama queens scored all the points during this session and rightfully took home the day’s award for the Q&A.

  We were held over in English class to await an announcement. As the seconds ticked by we all took to staring at the speaker on the wall. We heard a clearing of the throat. We recognized the voice as belonging to the school nurse.

  “We’ve had an unusual number of students reporting in with symptoms of fatigue. If you are feeling weak, disoriented, and nauseated please report to the nurse’s office.”

  I wondered. Had they diagnosed it as Delmon Fever?

  I found sanctuary in Art class. Joe Leach, ever the stabilizing force in a world of turmoil, put our fears at ease. (Or at least the rest of the class’s fright)

  “Probably just over exertion at the smell of summer snow,” he said.

  Poetic, too, he is.

  We moved on from scribbling on paper to molding clay. When he asked for volunteers to help him stack bricks for the kiln out back, I was quick to raise my hand. I had enough of play-doh as a child. The thought of the smell made me want to puke. Joe picked Kevin Staufer, Linsay’s boyfriend. Linsay, of course, had her hand up too, but Joe picked me.

  After Joe instructed the students on what they were to do in his absence, the three of us, Joe, Kevin, and I, bundled up for our excursion outside.

  By now, snowflakes gave way to light rain. The kiln site sat under a tin roof with open walls. It remained cold out, but not wet. The snow, under the onslaught of warm rain, was disappearing at an alarming rate. Not by my standard’s, but Jason and his boarding friends certainly would think so.

  Joe instructed us on how to stack the bricks. It seemed fairly straight forward, a simple stacking of blocks, something we had all done as children.

  I crouched down next to Joe and mostly was tasked with retrieving and handing him the stacking blocks.

  Kevin assisted on the other side.

  We soon had a rhythmic flow going and the walls of the kiln rose.

  According to Joe, you could buy bricks in any shape or form and just about build a kiln in any shape or form. Joe preferred to buy straight bricks, because as he said, “They’re cheaper.” That meant if you needed to build an arch for a peep-hole, you had to cut the brick.

  Joe sent Kevin back in to retrieve the saw.

  That’s when it happened. I don’t know why, but it did.

  Joe was stacking bricks. I was beside him, crouched down. We were close. Too close, obviously. As I handed him a brick I leaned in. I could smell his breath. It smelled flavorful, spiked with a bit of coffee aroma and a lingering of spearmint gum tang.

  The urge took hold of me to kiss him.

  I don’t know why. Maybe it had to do with Aaron’s deceit and his destiny as Romeo. Or just because the whole day had been a bit on the traumatic side and Joe was Joe, the stabilizer.

  Joe turned toward me. For a brief second we stared into each other’s eyes. We came together, lips touching. Not an all-out kiss. Just a quick touching of skin on skin. More like a daughter kissing her father goodbye, but wanting it to be more than a brush of cheeks.

  I looked to see Kevin standing in the doorway. He gave no clue as to whether he had witnessed our discretion.

  Joe was quick to cover up our deed. He handed Kevin two bricks, penned a line, and asked Kevin to do the honors of splitting the fire stone.

  I at once felt diminished. For some reason, the urge to kiss Joe prior to the actual event had meaning. Once it was done, I felt empty as though Joe had sucked the life out of me. The fear this feeling would be replicated the next time I kissed a man on the lips grew in my mind.

  “Joe,” I said, “I’m feeling a little light headed. I need to go back inside and sit down.”

  “Sure. Kevin and I can finish up here.”

  I looked at Kevin. “That okay with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  He gave no hint he knew why I felt sick.

  And Joe gave no hint he had participated.

  The world went on.

  I went on. To my next class and Aaron.

  “Hey,” Aaron said, as I sat down next to him.

  He debagged our pig. He laid it out and readied it for our operation.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  Mr. Omes was at his comedic best, which isn’t saying much.

  “Why wouldn’t the sow let her piglets play with toads?”

  No one, even if they knew the answer, replied. It would be way too embarrassing.

  “She didn’t want them to grow into Hogwarts.”

  Mr. Omes got a few laughs off of his joke. It surprised me to hear Aaron chuckle as well.

  “You’re in good spirits,” I said.

  “You got to admit. It was ingenious the way he turned that around, wart hogs to Hogwarts.”

  “Yeah. I guess so.

  In the background I heard Mr. Omes telling us we would be working on the stomach and digestive tract of the pig today.

  I had sympathy for the pig. The day’s events had my internals distressed to the point where I felt one more knife cut would lay me open.

  Mr Omes went on to say we would have to move the liver to one side to fully expose the stomach.

  I felt I should do the cutting. I didn’t want Aaron touching the pig, at least not bare handed.

  “Here,” I said, handing Aaron the instructions. “You talk, I’ll probe.” (In more ways than one)

  I put a lab glove on my left hand. I held out my right hand.

  “Touch me,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Thought you said you liked touching me.”

  “I do.”

  “Well, then touch me.”

  Aaron looked puzzled. He reached out, slowly, cautiously. “You’re not static are you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Static electricity. You’re not going to shock me, are you?”

  “No, but you might me.”

  “And you want me to?”

  “Just touch me, will you.”

  Aaron did. He touched me.

  I felt nothing. No weakness. No vigor.

  “Thanks.”

  I put my other lab glove on.

  “What was that about?”

  “Thought you were going home at lunch to shovel snow.”

  “Julissa.”

  “What?”

  “It’s raining outside.”

  “Yes. Yes I guess it is.”

  I probed the pig. “What do I do next?”

  “It says to cut open the stomach lengthwise with the scissors.”

  “So what’d you do at lunch?”

  “Hung with Beau and Bel.”

  “Oh yeah? Where? Cause I didn’t see you in the quad.”

  “You ate lunch in the quad? It’s cold and wet out there.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “We were in the halls with the rest of the crazies.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You drilling me?”

  “If that means, am I making conversation, yes. What’s next?”

  “Clean out the stomach and note the folds. It says they are called rugae and they are filled with glands that secret hydrochloric acid.”

  I scooped out the crud from the stomach.

  “Why do you think so many students got s
ick today?” I wiped my forehead with the back of my glove. “Well, besides having to clean out wart hog stomachs.”

  “Hogwarts.”

  “Okay. Hogwarts.”

  “I don’t know. Over exertion I guess.”

  “I’ve been hearing a rumor.”

  “Not surprised. This school runs on them.”

  I stopped probing. Slime ran down and pooled at the end of my instrument. A bit of green coloring made its way to my forehead. I felt sick to my stomach at having to excavate a Hogwart’s stomach.

  Into the romance I waded.

  “Are you Romeo?”

  Aaron smiled big and wide.

  How could he do that? My tippy world righted itself. The faintness vanished. My question didn’t.

  “Not yet,” he said. “We’re still studying the script.”

  “But you got the part.”

  “It’s not supposed to be announced yet.”

  “Well, consider it leaked to the press.”

  “By who.”

  I looked ahead to where the drama queens sat. The lab stations were built for two occupants. Brittany was partnered with another student, but that never lasted long. The trio squeezed themselves into Charleen’s station.

  “Give you three guesses.”

  “Not surprised.”

  “So who’s going to be Juliet?”

  “I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you.”

  “Tell away. I’ll take my chances.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Cop out.”

  “I really don’t. Not sure it has been decided.”

  “Stomach clean. What’s next?”

  “Pull out the small intestine. Lay it out. It should be five times the length of the pig, same as humans.”

  “Not something I care to know. I think I need to trade you on this one.” I offered up the probe.

  Aaron shook his head. “You can do it. You’ve got bite today.”

  “More like a bark. Here, you take over.” I set the probe down and grabbed the instructions out of his hand.

  “Thanks partner.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Aaron unraveled the small intestine. “What are you doing after school tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow? Not tonight?”

  “Can’t tonight. But I’m free tomorrow night.”

  “You asking me out on a date?”

  “If you want to call it that.”

  “People generally do...call it that.”

  “Okay. Do you want to go out on a date tomorrow night?”

  “Let me check my calendar.”

  I paged through the pig dissection instructions.

  “Yep. Think my calendar’s clear.”

  “Good. Confirmed. The intestine is five times as long as the Hogwart.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  “What else does it say to do?”

  I looked at the clock. It said 3:35pm. “I think it’s time to clean up.”

  Mr. Omes agreed.

  We folded up our pig’s intestines, packed it away, and cleaned our tools and trays.

  “So,” I said, as Aaron and I walked out of the classroom, “you didn’t say where you were taking me tomorrow.”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Well, how should I dress?”

  “Appropriately, but you might want to bring a pair of hiking boots along. Make sure they’re waterproof.”

  12 DEATH

  I was bursting at the seams to share the story of my day. Not to mention questions were stacking up in my mind. I hardly noticed how cold and sopping wet everything had become.

  On Aaron’s and my walk to school in the morning, the landscape had been dusted with a blanket of white.

  Now the scenery lay like a used doormat, smudged by rain and dirt. Rivulets of water gushed from the banks of dirt lining the sidewalks. Debris and mud covered my concrete path home, but after the events of the day, the inconvenience of tromping through this wasteland became an afterthought.

  The Lincoln Continental wasn’t in the driveway at Cherrie’s place when I arrived.

  Of all the luck.

  As I crossed the road to the cabin, I looked down the road. The LC sat parked down by the intersection. The road, covered with compacted snow, had turned to white ice under the pressure of tires.

  I stepped lightly, easing my way across the divide.

  I remembered Cherrie told me our road was one of the last ones to be plowed, and those who lived up here on the hill would often park their vehicles down below during storms. My spirit rose. It was highly likely Cherrie was home in bed curled up with Professor Hawkings.

  I pounded on Cherrie’s door. When I didn’t get an answer I let myself in. I found her in bed, asleep. A book lay open on her lap. But this wasn’t Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History in Time.

  The book cover was blue with a hand drawn map of the world. Calligraphy symbols adorned the four corners.

  I leaned in and read: The Lost Land of Lemuria by Sumathi Ramaswamy. I picked the book up and noticed the page corners were torn and worn. The pages looked yellowed and dry, almost to the point of cracking. A paragraph had been highlighted in yellow and underlined. A note had been scribbled beside it and said: Bernard?

  I read the paragraph.

  Lemuria is a place that is lost until its place makers summon it into existence. If not for them it would remain unknown, vanished, even nonexistent. Because of them it reappears as lost.

  Cherrie opened an eye and yawned. “Hey Julis.”

  “Where’d you get this?” I held up the book for her to see.

  “It was my grandfathers.”

  Was?

  “What’s he doing with it?”

  “He liked to read that stuff—Leprechauns and trolls.”

  I set the book aside. “You’d never believe my day.”

  “What time is it?”

  It’s dark in Cherrie’s basement. Besides the small window in the door, there’s only one other window. She had it closed off with blinds.

  “It’s afternoon, Cherrie. Four o’clock.”

  “Is it still snowing?”

  “No. It’s gone. It’s raining. But there’s a sheet of ice on our road so I don’t think you’re going to get the LC back up tonight.”

  Cherrie sat up, stretched, and yawned again. She put a cigarette in her mouth. “What’d you say about your day?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it.”

  “With you, probably not. But go ahead, tell me anyway.”

  “Aaron walked me to school.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes. And you know how I am always slipping and falling on ice..?”

  “No, but I believe you.”

  “Well, he held my hand and I didn’t slip once.”

  “Usually happens. Four legs are better than two on ice.”

  “There’s more to it.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s hard to explain, but it’s like I had this balance I’ve never had before. I didn’t slip or slide. I felt energized and strong.”

  “Love sick puppies do that for their masters.”

  I gave her a prickly look.

  “What? Master says obey, love sick puppy does.”

  “Not the same thing.”

  “So are you cracking his shell or not? You two getting lovey-dovey?”

  “Maybe. He asked me out.”

  “Oh yeah. When?”

  “Tomorrow night. We’re going hiking.”

  “Hiking?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Cherrie pushed her back against the wall. She chewed on her cigarette.

  “He didn’t tell you where and you’re still going?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Maybe because you don’t know him that well?”

  “I do.”

  “You think you do, but you don’t.”

  “I know him well e
nough to know he is kind and gentle. I don’t think he could hurt anyone.”

  “Not on purpose anyway.”

  I pointed to the blue book. “Okay. What do you know I don’t?”

  Cherrie looked away. She ground the end of her cigarette to mush.

  “Why’d your grandfather write Bernard next to this?” I held the book up and showed Cherrie the opened page. “Or was it you?”

  “Grandpa did.”

  “He thinks Bernard is one of the place-makers?”

  More silence. More mashing of the cigarette.

  “You’re not going to tell me.”

  “It’s not an easy tell.”

  “I’ve never known you to bite your tongue.”

  “Well, maybe you don’t know me like you think you do. Maybe you don’t know the Delmons that well, either. You’re a babe in the woods. You just haven’t figured it out.”

  Cherrie’s talkback startled me, not so much for what she said, but the tone she used and her cantankerous mannerism. She had never spoken to me that way before. I gave her the benefit of the doubt. I woke her up from a deep sleep, one where, if I hadn’t interfered, she might have slept through the night.

  “How about telling the babe in the woods what she should know?”

  “Babies need to drink milk before they chew steak.”

  “More folk wisdom? Grandpa saying?”

  “First Corinthians.”

  “I was raised Catholic, baptized in the holy Catholic church of St Pius in White Bear Lake. I attended Sunday school and was nearing graduation from catechism when Dad died. Dierdra had been born and raised Zion Lutheran, so after Dad passed she returned to her roots, in a lot of ways.

  I should have remembered the verse. I felt guilt at having strayed this far from my biblical teachings, but then Cherrie had, after all, bastardized the verse to the point of nondescript. I gave myself this out. After all, I helped Dierdra teach Sunday school at the First Lutheran Church in WBL. I figured that should count for something.

  “Of course,” I said. “I remember the verse. It also says I did not give you solid food because you’re not ready for it, that I won’t understand. I think I’m ready.”

  “But will you understand?”

  “How will I know unless I try?”

  “You got a point.”

  I tried to lighten the mood.

  “Like which comes first, the chicken or the egg?”

  It didn’t change Cherrie’s outlook.

  “You didn’t finish telling me about your day.”