Historically Inaccurate

by Shay Bravo

  “Copper. There were a few good spots in the late nineteenth century, but it either ran out or the government stopped funding it, I can’t remember.” I stop in front of a chunk of natural copper covered in patches of rock and green patina, encased in glass. “The mining didn’t last long in this area since there was an influx of gold farther up north, so I don’t think a lot of people remember or even know it was a part of the town. There must still be sites on the mountains to the west, unless they were covered.”

  “It’d be a nice place to shoot a horror movie.” Ethan laughs. “Getting lost in a hundred-year-old mine, being chased by dead miners.”

  “Thanks for giving me a reason to have nightmares tonight.”

  There is an arch at the end of the hallway that leads to a different room, this one filled with artifacts from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It’s the following room—with the postwar and nuclear ages—that is my favorite, though. There’s something interesting about the 1950s, how perfectly imperfect it was. Not to mention the social expectations and injustices people suffered during those years. Everything dark was covered with a glittering mantle and proclaimed fixed.

  “The town has a very rich historical background,” I mention as we make our way through the gallery. “But they always seem to bring new things in instead of talking about the things that happened here.”

  “Like?” He turns to me as we walk.

  “Like the Indigenous people who had a town here before the area was colonized, or the impact different wars had. It’s nice to learn about other places for sure, but sometimes I feel like as a community we fail to see what got us here in the first place.”

  “Do you know about this?” Ethan says, pointing to an old, rusty axe.

  “It’s an axe,” I say, shrugging.

  “What if it’s made out of vibranium, like in the Marvel films?”

  I elbow him away. “Sure thing, buddy. I’d like to see that.”

  “Come on, Sol, it’s funny. Besides, you can never be too sure.”

  “And I’m a superhero trapped in the regular world.” There’s probably a good reason why humans don’t have superpowers, aside from science and stuff. As a society we already do pretty shitty things to each other without having eyes that melt metal or strength that can break through brick walls. God knows I wanted to do something violent to the officer who escorted my mother away at the detention center, even if that was his job.

  “You could pull off being a superhero, they’re always breaking into high-security facilities.”

  I elbow him again as he laughs. It’s then that I realize how easy it is for sounds to carry here. “How much time is left?”

  “F—”

  “Dear patrons, the Westray Historical Archive will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please make your way to the main lobby. Thank you for visiting us.”

  “Time for us to find that forbidden part,” I say.

  He links his arm with mine, and we walk in the general direction of the lobby. To the right there is a large poster with a photo of Porfirio Díaz, a Mexican “president” and dictator in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and the title “The End of an Era: Mexican Culture in the Late 1800s.” The exhibition room is not open yet, and many of the display boxes are covered with sheets, but at the end there is a small hall that leads to the bathrooms and a staircase that is roped off with red cord.

  “Whisper something to me,” Ethan says, getting very close to my face.

  “We are so dead,” I mouth, the smile on my lips a nervous reaction that I can only hope translates as a love-struck gesture on camera.

  My throat dries as we walk toward the camera at the end of the hall, pretending to be talking until we’re right underneath it. Ethan, giant that he is, reaches over and turns it to a different angle, facing a wall to the right.

  “This feels too easy,” I whisper.

  “It’s not. They might notice, let’s go.” He pulls my hand, and our steps nearly become a sprint until we’re by the staircase, then he removes the rope so we can walk up the stairs. This area is closed off, even to volunteers.

  “Wait.” I stop him before we reach the second floor, a few steps away from another well-lit hallway. “There might be another camera—”

  “Dear patrons, the Westray Historical Archive will be closing in ten minutes. Please make your way to the main lobby. Thank you for visiting us.”

  “We need to keep moving. Maybe they’ll be distracted with visitors at the front.”

  I believe him. I have to because otherwise I will have an emotional breakdown.

  We begin climbing again, turning at the end of the first flight of stairs and going up to the third floor. I know the next staircase up will take us to the bridge connecting to the bell tower, so we’ll have to wait in this hall. With a quick look at the door, Ethan and I enter the hall connected to the stairs, which is lined with doors and at the far end there is a camera looking toward another connecting area. This and the fact that the camera will possibly soon turn to us makes me push Ethan to the first door and try the handle.

  It’s locked.

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” I move past him and try the next door only to find it bolted like the first one.

  Turning the opposite way, I try the first door on the left, nearly falling down when it actually gives.

  “Easy there.” Ethan tiptoes after me, closing the door behind him. We’re in a supply closet. There are a few posters as well as other marketing materials stacked on some shelves. A broom and a dustpan rest in a corner, and the door Ethan just closed holds a large infographic of the different animal species at the local lake. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I say, sounding not fine, and push some strands of my growing fringe out of my field of view. “I panicked.”

  “I noticed.” He moves around me. A couple of chairs are stacked at the side and he takes one out and pushes it to my side.

  “What are you doing?”

  “By panicking you found the perfect hiding spot for us.” He sits on one of the other chairs. “All we have to do now is wait an hour and a half for the blackout.”

  I look around once more; it’s not a large closet, but there is sufficient room to walk some five steps between us. Deciding this is better than going out once more and finding a larger office space, I sit down on the chair he pushed to me and quickly look for some moral support from my friend.

  Me: I feel like I’ve made a terrible mistake

  It doesn’t take Diane long to reply. She knows what’s going on right now and there’s a possibility she was expecting a message like this at any given point tonight.

  Diane: Have you guys gotten caught?

  Me: No, but I have a bad feeling

  Diane: You always have a bad feeling, you did the night you met Ethan too

  Me: For a reason, I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t met him

  Diane: Touché

  Diane: Well concentrate on the mission and tell me if I need to come bail you out

  Me: I hate you but also love you

  Diane: ♡

  “I can’t believe they’re making us wait a whole hour and a half before the lights go out.” I groan, moving back on my chair and taking out my bun, which feels like it’s cutting off too much blood from my head. “Whose idea was this? I’d like to personally fight them.”

  “Maybe Anna’s, who knows? We’re already in the middle of this.”

  “What was the deal with you guys back then? If I can ask.” He mentioned it briefly before, but I don’t know much about their past aside from that. Anna keeps a lot to herself, and Ethan is fairly similar in that respect.

  My question makes him turn toward me.

  “Look, here’s the thing. I used to live with my mom when I was younger. Some things are complicated in my family and
Dad lived in a different place. Anna was my neighbor so we’d take the bus and get off at the same stop. In eighth grade I think we had the same math or science class, so we got together to study from time to time and”—he shakes his head—“it’s strange telling the story now so long after. It was before Anna was Anna. I thought he was gay back then, and I was dealing with my own stuff, so we ended up sharing a kiss. I got self-conscious and bolted. I think I hurt him.”

  “Her,” I correct softly.

  “Her, I’m sorry. I think I hurt her because she didn’t talk to me for so long after, and I couldn’t look at her the same. I felt like an asshole and didn’t know how to ask for forgiveness for running. That year Mom got a job that required her to travel a lot, and again Dad was out of the picture, so I spoke with my grandparents and my mom and decided the best way to go about it would be for me to move in with them while I was in school. So I never got to see Anna again until college. When I realized she was the president of the club, I panicked, I don’t know why. I know it sounds so stupid now, but I thought: What if it’s revenge for what happened six years ago?”

  “No one holds grudges for that long, though, especially for a small thing like a kiss.”

  “I know, and I feel kind of dumb for it, but it still doesn’t make much sense in my mind that all of this is connected to my grandparents.” He shrugs. “I mean, it’s cool that she got to a place where she’s comfortable, I really am happy for her in that regard, but I wish she could tell me more about my things, or how they got them in the first place. All of this just doesn’t add up.”

  I move my legs up on the chair, trying to find a comfortable position while we wait. “Mind if I ask you another personal question?”

  Ethan looks at me from the corner of his eye. “We have a lot of time to kill, you might as well ask, Sol.”

  “You mentioned you thought Anna was gay and that you were going through some stuff back then. I ask because last summer I had a personal encounter that made me question my own sexuality, and while I am still figuring that out, I wanted to ask if you’re bi, or what quote unquote label you prefer.” I’m not usually this forward, but I am attracted to him and sometimes I feel like he might also feel something for me—though it’s hard to figure things out with Ethan; things have happened so fast and I barely know him.

  He makes a face, and I’m about to take my question back with a quick apology when he begins speaking.

  “Labels are . . . difficult, Sol. Growing up as a black guy is not something I can really put into your perspective. I have these expectations from society that are different from some expectations from society that affect you. I had feelings for both boys and girls, and for a long time instead of confronting my own feelings, I ran from them.

  “To answer your question: kind of? I find some guys attractive, depending on the man, but most of the time can’t see myself dating them over the long run, so I don’t want to label myself as anything other than straight, but if you got it, you got it, you know? It’s hard to answer if I’m bi when there’s such a wide range between that and—”

  I smile when he tosses his hands in the air. That was not the answer I expected at all; it seems so honest.

  “I feel that.”

  “Like, I’ve only slept with women before, but I’ve made out with other men. Does that make me bi? Probably yes in the books of most people, but why do people care as long as I’m confident and happy with who I am with? Really, as long as someone isn’t an asshole and I’m attracted to them, what’s the matter with trying? I’m sorry for oversharing.”

  “No, you’re completely fine. I like how open that was, after all that’s happened between us.”

  “What about you, though? What happened in the summer?”

  It’s only fair after his answer—there’s no way I can brush him off, and besides, it feels good to know more about him.

  “I met this girl at a party, her name was Taylor, and she was gorgeous. A lot of things happened earlier last year, one of which was breaking up with my boyfriend, and Carlos and I were partying a lot to forget about things. Taylor and I kissed while music was playing in the background, and the lights were low, and she gave me her number, and it was magical.” It had felt right out of a movie. She had jet-black hair and boots that made her exactly my height, said she was a freshman in college, and in that single night I felt so high in how the crush feels and yet so nauseated when we made it back to Carlos’s place. I should’ve known my good old crush allergy would kick in.

  “But then a week later she ghosted me, and for a good week or so I asked myself if I was a closeted lesbian. Then I met my friend Diane, who is a lesbian, and had this deep talk over gas station taquitos after studying all night for an exam. After that I thought: okay, maybe I’m not just attracted to girls, but am I bi or was I simply trying to spice up my romantic life after my breakup?”

  He looks a bit impressed, and a couple of seconds go by before he breaks the silence.

  “What did you figure out?”

  “I figured that I’m not fucking sure, honestly.” We both laugh, and just as quickly cover our mouths in case someone can hear us. I press a finger against my lips before continuing on. “I have too many things going on to worry about who I like. It’s exactly what you said, though, if you got it you got it. I don’t care as long as you’re not an asshole. Life is about figuring out things as you go.”

  “We’re in the Who Knows? Club,” Ethan says.

  “Who Knows? Club. I like that. I’d prefer it over this club.”

  “Sol, what made you join the club?”

  Stretching my legs back out, a couple of excuses fly through my mind before I notice that there aren’t very good believable answers. “I wanted to fill in more spots on my resumé, but . . .”

  “But?”

  “Well, it’s not ideal.” I motion around. “Risking my reputation for a stupid gap on my resumé.”

  “Isn’t that what students do, though? We kill ourselves for a diploma only so we can be rejected when we get out of college. A spot on our resumé can make a difference, as sad as that sounds.”

  I wonder what his background is; after all, he’s living with his grandparents for a while but also mentioned he used to live with his mother before. The air around him is tense but when our eyes meet I don’t feel the same strain that was between us when we first met.

  “Why are you so wise?”

  He scoffs. “At our age if you’re not in debt or depressed you’re either lucky or come from a very good background. Sometimes things don’t seem to be fair and you get angry.”

  “At who?”

  “At everything, Soledad.” Ethan pauses, closing his eyes. “How much longer?”

  “Forty minutes.”

  “God, this is going to take forever.”

  And it does. I play a few games, text a few people, but the time slowly drips through the corners of the room. Ethan and I talk about the weather, our pets (he has a fish named Nemo and his grandparents’ cat is named Muffin), our favorite color (yellow), our classes, and our upcoming exams, and yet there is still fifteen minutes left.

  “What made you really want to join the club?” I ask not only because I’m running out of topics but because something tells me there’s more to it than a key and a fork. Something that doesn’t fit right in the larger puzzle that is Ethan Winston.

  He turns to me, his hair messy because of the many times he has passed his hands over it, a few curls touching his forehead. “You.”

  “Me?”

  “At the beginning I wanted the key, even though I changed the locks. I felt insecure, like at any moment someone could come into my house and steal something else. It’s really nerve-racking, Sol, to live like that.”

  “Thanks for adding to my baggage of guilt.”

  “But spending time with you made me realize you’re not a bad pe
rson. Crazy? Yes. A bit reckless? Absolutely, but not bad. I kept wondering what would make you want to join this kind of club—I wanted to see it for myself. Given where we are, I don’t think I have found the answer to that question.”

  “I’m surprised you’re still here. If I was you, I would have bailed a long time ago.”

  Ethan points at the door. “If we want to we can barge out of the room and tell everyone everything about the club.”

  “Or get arrested.”

  “That would be our choice, but do you know why I’m not doing it?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know you’re a smart woman, Sol, and a smart woman does not join a cult-like club simply to fill a space on her resumé. There must be another reason.”

  I think of my mother, of the immigration officers taking her away, of me talking to her through a thick sheet of glass with a phone against my ear. The wrongness of seeing her being treated like a criminal, detained and away from me. The memory of her telling me to be good and pay attention in school, to join clubs and keep my grades up because in the United States education is a key factor for your future, and she wanted my future to be bright and have the things she and Dad couldn’t have.

  “Or I could just be stupid,” I say, redoing the bun in my hair as I speak. “Everyone makes impulsive decisions.”

  Ethan nods, getting up. “I’ve been there too.”

  I want to ask him what he means but my phone vibrates, telling me the wait is over and that the lights are going to go down—if everything is going according to Anna’s plan.

  “What if it doesn’t work, what if the lights don’t go out?” I say.

  Ethan gets up, flexing his legs, which, if they feel like mine, might have become numb.

  “Then I guess we’ll have to sleep here all night.”

  Apparently, we won’t have to sleep in a small closet somewhere inside Westray’s historical archive because after Ethan finishes speaking, our cramped little room goes pitch black. Even while being fully aware this was going to happen, I still gasp, bumping my arm against his as I try to reach for the door.

  A hand grabs mine in the dark, which honestly is terrifying, but I won’t let Ethan know that.