Edge of Something More

by Andi Loveall

  “You know, Devin,” Raven said. “Cora is very talented herself. She’s an incredible artist—has she told you? Some of her street art has been featured in magazines.”

  “Raven,” Cora lowered her voice. “You’re so embarrassing.”

  “Don’t be shy about it.”

  “Street art?” Devin said.

  “Spray paint,” Cora said. “The illegal kind. And it wasn’t ‘featured’ in a magazine. A photographer took a picture of something I painted. I didn’t even get credit for it.”

  “It’s still cool.” He wanted to know more, but the look on her face kept him quiet. Artists were fascinating creatures, floating free in some higher realm of creativity and possessing enough passion to do something with it. He couldn’t draw at all—at least not without expecting to be laughed at for buildings that looked like crooked step ladders, stick figures with grotesquely disproportionate heads, and maps that “made no sense,” even though he still blamed that one on Aaron being a stupid stoner.

  “I designed my own tattoo if you want to see that,” Cora said, lifting her shirt and revealing the detailed orange tiger on the middle of her back. It was roaring from within a Celtic ring.

  “Quite pretty, don’t you think, Devin?” Panky said. She was puffing on a cigarette, watching them.

  “I love it,” he said, fingers reaching for her skin.

  She dropped her shirt and spun around. “I have two more.”

  “Where?”

  “Right here,” she said, placing her fingertips just below her hipbones. “One on each side.”

  “What are they?”

  “Not telling,” she said, smiling like she wanted him to come investigate.

  Instead, he raised an eyebrow and peeled off his shirt to show the tattoo on his upper back. It was more than just a tribute to his mother. It was a reminder that people were capable of change. He was only seventeen when he approached Leon to ask for the signature of approval, and he figured he’d get a no. Not only did Leon say yes, but he also drove Devin to the place and sat nearby to supervise the whole process. The cringing look of displeasure never left his face, but still, he tried. Devin didn’t have to wonder whether or not his mother would approve. One of his earliest memories was of playing with his cars on the kitchen floor while she did the dishes. He had pretended the pretty star inked on her ankle was a portal, making roaring sounds as he charged his big-wheel truck straight for it.

  “The Star of David,” Panky leaned over, examining his back. “Are you Jewish, then?”

  “Technically.”

  “Who’s Mary?” Raven said. “Not a girlfriend, right?”

  “My mom. The reason for my technical Jew status.”

  “That’s so sweet.” Cora traced her fingers over the tattoo, giving him goose bumps. He looked at her and a clap of thunder shook the mountain.

  The rain came pouring down. Everyone fled for cover, the fire turning to steam behind them. Cora was ahead of him, but he caught up to her at the trees. She laughed and reached for his hand as the sky lit up, her hair wet and stringy against her face. Her skin was like digital porcelain, and her eyes were iridescent moss.

  Cora, soaking wet and reaching for him. He would remember it forever.

  He hung behind a minute, throwing his head back and letting the rain patter against his face. The thunder went off again, further in the distance this time, and the last of the electricity surged through his body. It felt good.

  ***

  “A twenty-year-old Gemini chick,” Lucius said, shaking his head at him. “Are you ever in it.”

  “God, I hope so.” Devin face-planted on his bed, his skin still wet from the rain. “I really want to be in it. I want to die and reincarnate as a cotton plant so I can be woven into the material of her underwear.”

  “Did she kiss you goodnight after all that flirty hooty-hoo?”

  “No, but I think she wanted to.”

  “Maybe. Or, maybe she’s just teasing you.”

  “It’s working.” Devin groaned and rolled around in his blanket.

  “Better keep your edge,” Lucius said. “You’re sounding like whipped cream.”

  “I’m butter,” he said, pressing up off the bed.

  “Where you headed?”

  “To pee. Or … melt. Whatever butter does.”

  He padded outside, crossing the courtyard toward the bathroom. The alcohol was growing bored with his brain and making a mass exodus through his bladder, but he still had a nice little buzz. Hopefully it would be enough to calm down the butterflies, or he was never going to sleep.

  He took a piss and headed back.

  “Devin …”

  He slowed his walk.

  “ … any second.”

  Was that Panky?

  “It doesn’t matter …”

  It was definitely Panky. The lights were off in their cabin, but the window was open. He crept closer and knelt in the shadows, listening.

  “I’m telling him,” Panky said.

  “You are not.”

  “Yes I am. I’m telling him tomorrow that you want to suck his cock. He’ll be so happy, it’ll be like rescuing one of those sad starving children from Africa.”

  They laughed and laughed, and Devin did too, although his was a more from an insane sort of glee than humor. He covered his mouth with his hand, and when they quieted, he tried to match his breathing to the silence. What was he doing? This was wrong. Perverted.

  He started to step away, but the curiosity grabbed his guilt by the neck and snuffed it out.

  “What’s the deal then? He’s traveling on soon, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” Cora said. “Not much point in it, I guess.”

  His eyes widened. There was point. There was so much point. He chewed on his thumbnail, fighting the urge to go crashing through the door just to explain the high amount of point.

  Panky read his mind: “The point is to shag him.”

  “Are you crazy?” Cora said. “I’m not doing that with a guy I barely know.”

  “You can’t just claim him for yourself and then not shag him,” Panky said, her voice getting whiny. “It’d be tragic for him to go to waste.”

  “I can do whatever I want,” Cora scoffed. “Hang on, I have to pee.”

  There was a soft thump and then footsteps.

  Devin froze. Oh, crap.

  He tore across the walkway towards his cabin, biting down a scream as a rock gouged his foot. He hopped through the doorway and landed on his bed with a springy crash.

  “What?” Lucius grumbled, already dozing. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” Devin said, peeking out the window and watching as Cora floated past. She didn’t seem to notice anything.

  He crawled into bed, pulling the sheet up around his chin. That was wrong, but he wanted to do it again.

  ***

  The next morning, he had the jitters—his word for the uncomfortable, restless feeling that woke him up early after a night of drinking. He needed more sleep, but he knew from experience that once the jitters kicked in, all he would do was toss and turn. He might as well get up and enjoy part of the day before the hangover arrived.

  He headed for the kitchen. He needed food, and the raw stuff wasn’t going to cut it today.

  He decided on a lacto-ovo vegetarian version of his go-to hangover meal: a hot potato skillet scramble. It was one of the only things he knew how to make, and he had learned it from his mother, who used to fix it on Saturday mornings while they were watching cartoons. The sound of potatoes sizzling in oil always brought him back, the nostalgia blanketing over the jitters and the twitchy excitement at the thought of Cora. Fire-lit flashes from the night before danced through his memory as he added some shallots and chives to the potatoes.

  A delicious aroma filled the room as it cooked. When it was finished, he devoured it, along with a cup of black coffee, two pain pills, and some multivitamins he found in the cupboard. It was almost seven thirty and there was still no
sign of anyone, so he brushed his teeth and headed down to the house. There was something he needed to do, but he really didn’t want to.

  He found Raven just outside the back door, examining some of the plants. She was still in her fluffy blue pajama pants.

  “Morning honey,” she said, climbing to her feet and tightening the robe around her middle as she went.

  “Morning,” he said. “Hey, do you think I could make a quick call? I need to catch my dad before he leaves for work.”

  “Of course. The phone is in the kitchen there.”

  He took it out to the front deck, sitting down in the sun and looking over the valley. The only thing more awkward than Leon in person was Leon on the phone, but the man didn’t recognize email as a valid method of communication. Devin didn’t want him keeling over from the stress of no contact.

  He took a deep breath and dialed. It rang once.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, Dad.”

  The line was quiet. Just as he started to think they had been cut off, Leon spoke.

  “I’ve been wondering about you. Where are you?”

  “North Carolina.”

  “How is this … thing you’re doing?”

  “It’s good. It’s really good.”

  “Eh? They treating you like a slave?”

  “No, not at all. It’s cool. I’m gonna be working in an organic kitchen.”

  “What? Isn’t that what you were doing before?”

  “No. I was a server before. And that was nothing like this place.”

  He could hear Leon flipping through television channels in the background. He did that for hours sometimes, never stopping long enough to watch anything in particular.

  “Dad? Are you there?”

  There was another period of silence.

  “What kind of farm is it?” Leon finally tuned back in. “Do they make money?”

  “They own some rental properties in the city. But they don’t need much money because they grow their own vegetables and use solar power.”

  “So they’re like the Amish.”

  “No … I mean they have Internet and stuff.”

  Leon seemed satisfied. He went on to rant about Michael, who had been going out all night and already missed work twice because of some “trashy bimbo” he had been hanging around with. Devin smirked at the story, imagining Michael all crashed out and boozified in his girlfriend’s trailer. He was probably also in the process of realizing that factory work was not the path for him. It was nice, suddenly being the good son again.

  Leon ended the call because he had to go to work. They never said “I love you,” but Devin was okay with that. Saying “I love you” to Leon was weird, even though he probably did love him.

  He returned to the kitchen, put the phone away, and headed out back. Raven was sitting at the picnic table, enjoying a cup of tea in the morning sunlight.

  “Hey there,” she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and squeezing him close. “We haven’t had the chance to talk alone yet, have we?”

  “Uh, no. Guess we haven’t.”

  “What do you think of it all?”

  “I’d describe it as ideal.”

  “And what did you think of meeting Cora?”

  He paused. What was he supposed to say to that? What did she think he thought about meeting Cora? Just as he decided to go with a blank-faced “what,” something moved in the corner of his vision. He turned to see two black Labradors charging in his direction.

  “Whoa!” He laughed as the dogs jumped all over him.

  “Down!” Raven commanded. “Jay! Bee! Down, now!”

  “What’s up guys,” Devin said, petting them. “These the neighbors?”

  “Sure are. That’s Jay. And this is Bee.”

  He couldn’t tell them apart. Jay was the one licking his hand.

  “So,” he said, glad to be changing the subject. “How come you guys don’t have any dogs?”

  “Our Nessie passed on last year,” Raven said. “She was the sweetest you’d ever met. We aren’t ready to get another dog quite yet.”

  “Ah yeah, I understand,” he said, nodding. “Do you have any kids?”

  Raven smiled. “Not this time around. Instead, we’ve decided to devote our energies to helping spirits who are already incarnated. People like you.”

  “Really? Cool.”

  “Did you know I once had cancer?”

  The word still stung him. “You did?”

  She nodded. “Breast cancer.”

  “Jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “Don’t you feel sorry for me,” she said. “It gave more than it ever took.”

  “It’s gone?”

  “For three years,” she said, crossing her fingers. “I was last tested six months ago, and all of the margins were clear. No chemo, no radiation. I can’t explain it to other people, but that’s what my instinct told me. Do the chemo, you’re going to die. Instead, I devoted my entire life to natural healing.”

  “And it just went away?”

  “Yes, but I was very lucky. My cancer wasn’t particularly aggressive, and it was in the early stages when they found it.”

  “Still, that’s a miracle.” He wondered what she would think of his mother, who chose the chemo and died fighting. The urge to ask was there, but he decided against it.

  “I was in the process of starting my own catering business when it happened. Little delicatessen cakes and things like that. We bought a van, got a business license and everything, but while I was sick, my philosophies changed. I didn’t resonate with my original business plan any longer. I’d like to continue with a new plan, but I can’t even think of a name for my new company. I want something that encompasses my vision, but I’ve got a real block.”

  “I see,” he said. “Well, I’m sure when you’re ready, it will come to you.”

  “Yes. I’d also love to start selling some of my herbs. Helping to expose the world to medicines like olive leaf would be the greatest blessing. Did you know olive leaf is the first herb mentioned in the Bible?” Her eyes lit up as she spoke. “Forty-seven twelve, Ezekiel. The fruit shall be the meat, and the leaf therefore, the medicine.”

  “I’ve never heard of it as medicine,” Devin said. “Just as … olives.”

  She went on to show him some of the herbs in the garden, and then she took him inside and they looked at all the different concoctions she had made from them. There was the milk thistle-healing blend, which was supposed to help relax and restore the liver, or the immune support blend, which had things like thyme and turmeric to help with colds and infections. Then there was the olive leaf, which could even cure just about anything according to Raven.

  After that, he asked if there were any cool hiking trails around, and she told him that if he continued up the trail past the cabins, he would eventually get to a waterfall. It sounded good enough to him.

  He grabbed a bottle of water from the house to combat post-drinking dehydration and took off. Jay and Bee decided to tag along, trotting up the trail ahead of him as if they knew exactly where to go.

  The trail led through a thick section of woods and then up a switchback and around the side of the mountain. He heard the rush of the water before he saw the river, and when it appeared before him, he was taken aback. It was much bigger than he would have imagined.

  He climbed up the overgrown trail on the side of the falls, the moss-covered rock spongy and moist beneath his grip. When he reached the top, he inched his way out over the wet rock and peered down, fighting a shake as vertigo knocked him. It was maybe a thirty-foot drop down to the murky water below, maybe a little more. The water looked pretty deep, and he was tempted to take a flying leap off the edge and find out. Part of him wanted to do it just to avoid accidentally slipping and crashing down the side to his death, and another part just wanted to see if he had the balls. The biggest part knew he didn’t, so he made his way back down. Maybe he would jump later after he determined whether it was
safe. Or, maybe not, because determining it was safe wasn’t likely to make him any less of a pussy.

  He hopped down onto a rock by the water and arched his back, stretching out his arms. A bright blue dragonfly zipped in front of him, darting to the right, and disappearing into the misty cavern behind the falls. A bird tweeted a morning song in the canopy above and was answered by another. And another. Moss blanketed every available surface, from the rotting logs to the gnarled roots that twisted down the sides of the gorge.

  He visualized the process that had created this natural wonder: melting snow, dripping down from the rocks and tree branches, gathering in puddles, becoming rivers, and roaring down through the hills. It was a living entity, surviving for centuries as humanity harvested resources and fought wars.

  The dogs appeared on the opposite side of the river, running up and splashing at the water’s edge. An impulse struck as he watched them, and before he could think better of it, he struggled out of his shirt, kicked off his shoes, and dove into the water.

  After one free-floating millisecond of nothingness, the cold struck him like a thousand bee stings over every inch of his flesh. He kicked to the surface.

  “Oh no, no no no! Big mistake.”

  He thrashed his way to the edge and climbed out, shivering and dripping on the rock. Then he raised his fists in the sky, threw his head back, and roared at the top of his lungs. It seemed like something a guy on a great pilgrimage would do.

  The dogs stared at him, cocking their heads from side to side.

  “Yeah, I know. Stupid humans, right?”

  He found a sunny spot and lay down on the rocks with his eyes closed. He wanted to write today—not wanted to, needed to. Even if it didn’t go anywhere, and even if everything he wrote was pure shit. Not that he had any reason to believe that it would be. His teachers had always praised his writing to the point of embarrassment even though everything he had written in school was laughable: romantic tragedies, a few action-packed tales about dinosaurs attacking Los Angeles, and a bunch of idiotic stuff about the FBI, which actually seemed pretty cool back then.