by Ivana Skye
“Hm,” Maràh said. “That might be a little awkward. The contacting someone else part.”
And we stood there for a long moment, probably looking quite dramatic if I do say so myself. “Hm,” I eventually echoed. “You’re probably right.”
“Well.”
“Yes.”
“Indeed.”
“Yup.”
“Should we, uh … start?” Maràh asked. “With just us two talking.”
“Sure,” I said, sitting down and waving them down to sit with me, which they did.
The grass twitched and moved in the wind around us and I started to think. “So, hm, there’s wind names. Like Zephyr? Uh, Breeze would kind of be a bad name, so would Gust … uh … yeah, Zephyr might be the only one there…”
Maràh started laughing. Vitalities, they seemed to be in a progressively better mood the longer I traveled with them. Maybe they were getting comfortable. “No,” they said, “I don’t think that name’s going to fit me.”
“Hm,” I said. “Well, we probably can’t very well name you Mountain, or Valley.”
“Are you just free-associating based on what stuff’s around us?”
“Yup. How could you tell?”
Maràh rolled their eyes. “How ever, I wonder.”
I glanced up to the sky. There were no clouds today, but there could be, sometimes. “Uhhh, Cumulonimbus. Nimbostratus. Just Nimbus? Altostratus!”
Maràh laughed. “Don’t think any of those are my type.”
Well, there were also those strange clouds that make haloes around the sun sometimes, so … “Halo?” I suggested.
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
Again, they had a point, but I could keep going, as there were other things that existed—such as trees. “Birch? Aspen—”
“Okay, I have to cut you off now, because what kind of Southerner would mention birch before aspen? You know that aspens are infinitely superior, right?”
“Of course they are,” I said. “I was just free associating. Exactly like you accused me of doing.”
Maràh made a hmph sound, even crossing their arms as they did it.
“Uh, Sun. Star.”
“Please don’t suggest Moon.”
“Okay, now that you mentioned it, I won’t, but you’ve got me thinking about Tide—”
“No.”
“Ocean?”
“Fuck no.”
“…Island! Isle. That’s the opposite of ocean, right?”
“No, definitely not those.”
I sighed. It turned out that rattling random words in the hopes that one would be a good nickname for my new friend was not an instantaneous process. “Uh. River. Stream? Conglomorate!”
“What the fuck even is that last one—”
“It’s a rock formed of a bunch of stream pebbles that get shoved together over very long periods of time,” I said.
“Right,” Maràh said, “everyone knows that.” That was sarcasm, even I could tell.
“Anyway,” I said. “There’s uh. Wave. Sine. Cosine.”
“I am not going by cosine—”
“Tangent!”
“Fuck you,” Maràh said, but it was with a smile.
“Does that mean you like me now,” I ended up saying.
“Don’t put me on the spot there, Nena,” Maràh said. “You may be a fun traveling companion, but you are also annoying.”
“Hm, Annoyance could be a name…” I grinned.
Maràh reached over and slapped at … my cheek? I wasn’t sure what they were going for, but I didn’t object, as I probably deserved it at this point. “No,” they said.
“Okay, how about, um, Confidence. Courage. Autonomy?”
“Where are you even getting these from.”
“The dictionary in my head, obviously,” I said, starting to play with some grass. “We’ve got, uh, Mind, Spirit, uh … I know I had a train of thought around here somewhere. Conviction?”
“Nope.”
“Uh,” I said, twisting a piece of grass around my hand. “Grass?”
“Why do all of your suggestions suck?” Maràh asked.
“Maybe because, um, you have standards about what kind of nickname to attach yourself to?”
“If you were trying to insult me, you’ve failed utterly. You’ve gone right past the insult and into landing on your head somewhere.”
“Shush,” I said. “But, but, okay,” I continued, remembering a botany lesson I’d had years ago. There was grass, and there were those couple of other families of plants similar to grass … “Rush? No, even I can tell that sucks. Sedge?”
“As in the plant,” Maràh said.
“Hey, so that one wasn’t that obscure!”
“As in the wetland plant that basically looks exactly like grass except for being pointier,” Maràh said.
“Yup, the very one.”
“Something that looks boring but is pointy if you bother looking.”
“Yup…”
“Fuck it, that’s my nickname now,” Maràh—Sedge—said. “Probably not a truename, but whatever. That would have been a bit much to hope for.”
“Alright then,” I said, “Sedge.”
Something happened on their face, but I couldn’t really interpret it.
“How does that feel? Being called that?”
“…Nice,” they admitted.
So, my name was Sedge now. Not my name name—probably—but a good name nevertheless. I probably would have had to understand my soul better to identify a truename, but for now, I had Sedge. I wasn’t lying to Nena when I said it was nice to be called that. It felt a little like getting wrapped in a comfy blanket—one that was pointy on the outside. It felt safe, like armor. Which was exactly what I wanted.
“Sedge,” I repeated back to myself. “So, I guess it’s time to head into the town. What’s it called, actually?”
“Uh,” she said, and I almost smiled. For all that part of me wanted to be comfortable around her, the part of me that still thought she was judging me loved having opportunities to judge her in turn. Like not knowing a town’s name. “Yeah, I don’t actually remember its name,” she admitted.
“Oh well,” I said with a shrug. “Guess it’s time to walk down to a town of unknown name.”
So, of course, I ended up leaning against a wall, trying not to let my hands shake as Nena walked around a waystation, looking for supplies. I inhaled a controlled breath so that I wouldn’t hyperventilate. For some reason, my mind had decided to think about how, perhaps, I should have been being more useful—and yet, I couldn’t think of how. Real great of it. Real useful. It was the kind of thing that made me shake, and I wasn’t fond of the feeling.
And yet, the fact was, I wasn’t useful. Maybe if I’d been traveling on my own, if I’d given myself a day in a waystation, I could have eventually worked up the courage to ask enough questions to figure it out. But Nena already knew how to handle it. And I didn’t.
So I just watched her and a few other people zip around, walking through the aisles of the store—which was only one part of the greater waystation, which also had beds, Vitalities I missed beds—with a surprising amount of purpose. Like they actually knew where they were going.
We’d officially entered the desert, which meant this waystation was funded by a joint effort of the three larger desert cities, including Mangtena, the one we were going to. That meant that everything in here was actually free, although someone attempting to take a set of items would have to go through some kind of paperwork at the front desk, for inventory purposes. Some time ago, it seemed, Mangtena and other similar cities realized that the easier it was to travel there, the more tourism they’d get—and so, the waystations happened.
I think I might have known that before Nena told me. Maybe. And, well, if I didn’t, learning was at least one very good reason to travel. This was to get away from places that had trapped me, but also to learn and to experience. Yes, I thought, I was doing the right thing.
And I still didn’t know what literally any item among the rows of dried food was.
I threw my non-negligible piles of dried food onto the counter alongside a couple more bottles of alcohol for the stove; those were especially necessary in a desert, as we’d have a much harder time finding wood to burn.
The person at the front desk looked over it all and made a few notes, and I signed a few things. When that was done, I walked over to Sedge, nodding my head at them in what I hoped was a friendly gesture, new supplies in tow.
“Vitalities,” they cursed under their breath. “Sometimes I wonder how you’re so mature as to handle all of this.”
I laughed, walking toward the doors. “I think I’ve got a story to tell you about maturity, Sedge.”
The doors led to the main room of the waystation: a common area complete with fireplace, where travelers could sit down and exchange stories. It connected to the stock, where we’d just been, as well as the dining area—Sedge had blinked when I told them about the quality of the free meals here—and the set of rooms that essentially qualified as a pile of beds.
“So,” Sedge said, wandering toward the fireplace as I followed behind, trying to hold onto my laughter and to my interest in this friendship, to having something remotely important in my current life, “what’s this story?”
“Do you want to hear it now?”
“You mentioned it now,” they said, turning to face me. “That means it’s only polite to tell me.”
“Fine,” I said, and as they sat down I followed suit, quickly finding myself reminded that the couches here really were quite comfortable. “Alright, see,” I started. “This story takes place when I was traveling.”
“Do you ever not travel—”
“Uh, sometimes. Shh, it’s storytime. Anyway, I think I was like, twelve or thirteen or something. There were a bunch of adults with me, coaches and stuff, and at the time I really thought about them as adults. Like, you know how that is, right? When you’re a kid, you assume adults are essentially a different species from you.”
Sedge didn’t say anything.
“I asked a question,” I mumbled.
“Sorry,” Sedge said, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to talk while you’re telling your story.”
“Once again, you’re a smartass,” I said.
“Fine, whatever, yes I know what you’re talking about, just continue already.”
“So, see, we were camping out near a river, right? And one of those adults, Iln, must’ve gotten bored or something. So they’d wandered toward the river, and because I was bored too, I followed them, but I was kind of slow and I don’t think they noticed me. Anyway they got to the river and started laughing to themself, and muttered under their breath: ‘hm, I wonder if I could climb across that branch.’ Because yes, dear audience, there was a large branch conveniently draped across the river, looking a great deal like a bridge from one side to another.
“I swear I was just about to say something like ‘me too!’ but Iln got up on it quick, and I decided to just watch at first. In honesty, I don’t think they knew I was there, since I hadn’t spoken up. They stepped onto that branch as if it was ground, and started walking across fully upright. Which, of course, is when the branch started to shift.
“And they lost their balance.
“They fell to all fours, managing to hold on, but unfortunately that repositioning only made the branch move more and … well. It turned itself over, I think part of it cracked too, and that’s how Iln fell directly into the river and got a kinda bad cut on their head from a rock.
“I went and got someone, because I knew that’s what you did if someone falls into a river.
“But anyway, that was the day I learned that maturity is a lie. I mean, people always tell kids not to do anything foolish because they might get hurt, but Iln was thirty-five. And, it turns out, that’s basically no different from being ten.”
The smile I’d not realized I’d developed slowly faded now that I was done with the story. I liked it; I liked the memory of light in the trees, newness all around me.
Sedge nodded. “Alright,” they said.
“Just alright? It’s a good story!”
“It was alright,” Sedge stated again, and smiled at me.
I rolled my eyes, and spoke the moral a little more clearly: “What I’m saying is that I’m not mature. Not really. None of us are.”
“Well, what would be the fun in that?”
9
Nena & Sedge
cause and effect
Unfortunately, one of the most aesthetically pleasing things I saw my first day in the desert happened to cross my sight during one of those moments where I was worrying about having been useless in the waystation. I was right about to bite my lip in frustration, but there on my side were surprisingly fascinating rock structures—
“Hoodoos,” Nena said when she saw me staring. “They’re interesting, aren’t they?”
I nodded, dust blowing itself into my face.
Sagebrush crumpled under my feet. The overall flatness of the land made me think of a plateau. That was my nearest point of reference, having grown up with hills around nearly every corner.
I still wasn’t sure what to think about the desert, really.
“It gets better when you’re closer to a river,” Nena said. “Or even just a place that sometimes has a river. It changes up the plants, sculpts rocks, sometimes results in a canyon…”
“I doubt we’ll be going by rivers much if we’re going the straightest route,” I said, almost forgetting that Nena knew what we were doing better than I did.
“Are you so sure we’re going the straightest route?” She asked with a smile.
We were still high enough that the temperature dropped quickly at night. I knew this well, and would have set a full fire if there was much anything to burn, but this was the desert, and there wasn’t. I’d already suggested to Sedge to just get into their sleeping bag now and shift around like a caterpillar while we ate our dinner; it was one way to stay warm, and probably my favorite. Then again, that may have just been because maturity is a lie.
The stars seemed bright and close, coating the entire sky. It was so unlike that night of two fires, and yet I was reminded of it simply because Sedge sat across from me, caterpillared up just as I’d suggested. I missed the laughter we’d so easily found that night, and I hoped them and I could become friends. In so hoping, I decided to start a conversation.
“So … what do you think you want?” I asked, shoving a concoction that roughly tasted like mashed potatoes into my mouth.
Sedge almost spat out their own food. “What?”
“Want. What do you,” I said.
“Uh.”
“Like, in your life.”
“Want?” Sedge asked, something flashing in their eyes, something hard and harsh—then again, they were so often hard and harsh. “Who needs want?”
I actually recognized that intonation in their voice, though I didn’t know the specific words. And having recognized it, it explained a great deal about them. “You’re just quoting some grizzled character in a book you read, aren’t you?”
They almost blushed. “Maybe…”
I couldn’t help but start laughing. “Any chance it was a Den Sanri?”
Sedge pursed their lips and looked away; I could only guess that was an admission. Well, I wasn’t actually sure what it was, but treating it as such was more interesting, so I said, “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Have you … read his books?” Sedge asked.
“Nah,” I said. “I just had a teammate once who was pretty into them.”
“I see.”
“Indeed you do,” I said. I extracted my arms from my own sleeping bag and grabbed some dirt from right in front of me so that I could sift it through my hands; one consequence of being terrifyingly easily bored was that I often needed something to do with my hands.
“So what are you going to do?” Sedge
asked, and in shock my hands opened and let go of all the dirt.
The wind whistled and the sky was black but for the sparkling light of the stars and I blinked in the direction of Sedge, whose face was all shadow.
“What am I going to…”
“To do,” Sedge finished. “Hey, you asked me. This is only fair.”
“Well,” I said, starting to almost paw at the ground again. “I’m going to Mangtena…”
“And what are you going to do when you get there?” Sedge asked. “I’m not actually trying to interrogate you, although you did mildly interrogate me. I’m just curious.”
“I’m going to visit my aunt,” I said, even though I knew that wasn’t really an answer. “It’s just, um, she lives there. It’s better than staying at my parents’ house. At least this way I get to travel.”
“Is that the point, then? Travel?”
“Not an interrogation, hmm?” I said.
Sedge sighed. “I just assumed you might have a better idea than me of future goals. Since you forced an admission from me that I hardly have any, than it is only reasonable for me to see what you’re planning; maybe that’ll give me an idea of my own.”
I bit my lip. “I don’t know if what you said really was, like, admitting,” I eventually said. “Nor is anything I’m going to say. I don’t think either of us are admitting very much.” I was aiming for bitterness in my tone, hoping that if I couldn’t give Sedge an answer—and I couldn’t—that instead I could just display vulnerability. Maybe that would in some way pave a path for us to be better friends.
But Sedge shrugged and we passed into silence; I pawed the dirt a little more at this. I’d wanted for us to talk, fuck it. Thinking about the future and all that I had no plans for only brought forth a thrill of boredom and a sense that so little I could do would interest me, and by all the Vitalities, I had hoped that at least I could entertain myself talking to Sedge, why was this so hard, was I doomed to burn in boredom for all my life—
At that very thought, the dirt right near my hands, the very dirt I had been playing with, burst into flames.