Snowy Summit
ByGradySteeves‘31
Tighteningthecriss-crossstrapsAfreshlayerofsnowawaitsDonedrawingHistorymapsThe suncallsfromthegate
Thestormisover
Quiethasfallen
Penguinwaddling,feetheaveSnowcruncheslikeautumnleaves ElephantfootstepsacrossthefieldsIgnoringtiredlegsthatneveryieldThroughthewoodsand upthehillReachingthesnowysummit
Finallyrestingafterfun
Lyingonrocksaskew
TreesstraintowardsthesunTakingintheview
Light After the Storm
ByEthanShi‘31
Thesnowiscascading,theskyovercast, Andtheemptinessinsidemeisvast. Nothingtodobutsitatascreen, Nointerestorenergyleftinme.
Mypatienceisdying, Myhappinesstrying, Andnotaspeckofcoloroutthere.
AllIseeisablanketofwhite AsItuckinforthenight. ButthenextdayasIwake, Icannotspotoneflake.
Igooutside-andwhatasightIsee! Thesunshinesbrightascanbe. Thesnowsparkleslikethepurestofcrystals, Andeverythingisonceagainblissful.
Guilty Clouds
ByHarunIbrahim‘29
Thefloatingcloudsdarkenthesky, Abovehuddledmasses,entitledtobreathefree. Cloudscursinguponthehope, Thatoncedweltliberally.
Mistreatedwerethepoor. Misguidedwerethetired. Shameonthepowerfulcloud, Fornohopeleftwhenhopeisalldesired.
Responsibilityturnsablindeyewhenfacedwithguilt, Butguiltiswhatthecloudiswith,filled.
ByMichaelShortsleeve‘31
Thelightisalwaysthere, Glowinglikethemoon, Shiningbrightasastar, Hidinginplainsight.
Thelightsitsatopapillar, Buriedindeepsnow
Imprisoned byaglassbox
Thelightstaysuntouched Sittinginthedarkness Alone–inthedarkness
Withonlyits own dimglow–Toilluminatethesnow
Thelightwishestobefound–Fearingthesilence
Longingforanybodytonotice
Thelight–thatwasalwaysthere
5:56 PM
ByBenjaminQin‘29
“Good,”yousayasthedoorisslammed
Batterydepleted
Dodgingquestions,asiftheywerebullets
Fallingintothehibernationtentlikealog
Phonepulledout,procrastinationradar’salarmgoingoff 8:34PM…
Slugsintothedeskchair
Headphoneslockedandloaded
Withmagazinesofplaylists
Notebooksarefinalwills
Latinpassagesaredeathlabyrinths
Half-through
Wonderingwhatwasevendonesince 5:56PM
ByRogerZhang‘29
Wearingsuitandtieinahilly,formalschool. | Stranglinglinenscausingsuffocationatitspeak | Forcedtolearnandwieldlifelesstools
Lastclassfinished,boringanduselesslikeyou
Thenofftocrewwithblind,blabberingmules
Justasthywickedeldersscheduledandenforced
Andasmyerging,moreliketeenlabor,generatedjoules | Themasterlashedatuswithhisspeak
ByJackFlaherty‘29
Aplacewelookforwardtowithastoriedstorywithinourfamilywovenintouslikeathreadwe didn'tchoosebutcouldn'tcut
Warmyear-round,theislandbent,breatheddeep,andlifteditselfbackintothelight evenafter thehurricaneseasontriedtobreakit.
AfamilyChristmastraditionanew,tanning,sunglasses,andmemoriesto,thesameattitude,the samelaughter,thesamereachingforsomethingcoldandsweet
Coffeethatchangesyou.Chocolateyou'llspendyearschasing.Peoplewhogivekindnesslike Santagivespresents.
Theplacewheremyparentsgotmarriedwillalwaysbespecialtome,wheretwopeoplestoodin thesaltwindandsaid:
Here, This, Forever
HalfMoonlivesinmenow,nomatterhowfarthetidecarriesmeaway.
Rainy Night
ByBrandonSousa‘29
Asfatdropsofrainexplodeonthedarkenedpavement, Theripplescreateapatternrepeatingitself.
Thepavementglistensfromthestreetlights
Thedarknessofthestreetmatchestheeerienight
Thescentofthewateronthepavement
Bringsanostalgicrushofmomentsfromthepast.
Asitbeginstosettleslowlyinthecoolingair, Asimplecomforttakesovereverywhere
Puddlesbegintopile
Whilerainscontinuesformiles
WhentheEarthservesasabucket
Theskyletsoutitsbawlingtears.
Thewetstoneeventuallybreathesaftertherain, AndIwishthepleasingsmellwouldalwaysremain.
The Recital Performance
ByHenryOh‘29
Trudgingreluctantly,legsfeelinglikehardstone, themarblechapel’swhitenesslooksliketheColosseum. Fromthetinymouthpieceandthewoodenreedtothecurvedbell, myclarinetisassembledasdropsofsweattrickledownmyforehead.
Somewhere,avoiceshoutsoutmyname,andclimbingthestairslikeamountain, Istandinfrontofacompressedcrowdinadistractinglyspaciousroom. ThemomentIstartplaying“Brindisi”byVerdi, myclarinetsqueakslikearatrunningawayfromperil.
Whenmyperformanceisover,Ihurriedlyskipdownthestairs, withmyshirtsoakedinsweat,andescapethestage.
At least it’s over,Iwhispertomyself, butpridefrommypreparationfortherecitalfloodsme.
ByKaiFuse‘29
Tap-tap-tap,grindingaway-Imust Continue,mustnotbreaktheflow, ForIneedathousandwords. Mybrainscreaminginpain Fromthedemandfor Qualitywords. Itnever Truly Ends.
Flight of the Eagle
ByBenjaminSmolenski‘29
Thewhistleblowsuponthepitchofgreen, Aseaofscarvesbeginstoriseandsway, Whereeverypassandtacklebuildsthescene, Andninetyminutesstealtheworldaway. ThemightyEagletakesitssuddenflight, Inblackandwhiteandred,theyheedthecall, TheWaldstadionechoesthroughthenight, AsFrankfurt’sfaithfulgather,standingtall. Theroarofcheeringfuelstheheavyair, Asteadfastfireburningintheireyes, Theystriketheballwithpassionandwithflair, Andwatchtheirbannerstakethedarkenedskies. SolettheEaglesoarabovethegame, ForEintrachtFrankfurtholdsatimelessname. TheForwardMotion Thepavementends,surrenderingtothegravel, aquietinvitationwritteninexposedrootsandscatteredstones. Mybootsfindtheirheavy,steadycadence, pressingdeeplyintothegivingearth, leavingtemporarymapsinthedustbehind. Above,thecanopyweavesashiftingceilingofpineandoak, droppingfragmented,goldensunlightontotheforestfloor. Theairsmellsdark,ofcrushedmossandoldrain, fillinglungsthatworkharderwitheveryturnoftheswitchback. Thenoiseofthevalleyfallsawayentirely, replacedbythesuddensnapofadrytwig, therestlesswindintheupperbranches, andtheresonant,hollowdrummingofmyownchest. Thereisnourgencyherebeneaththetrees, noscheduletokeeporclocktoraceagainst, onlytheslow,magneticpulloftheincline, thenextdeepbreath, andthesimple,forwardmotionofthenextstep.
Dreaming of a Different Time
ByMilesOlmeda‘29
Far,farawayfromhome
Far,farfromwhereI’vecome Long,longhoursfilled Dreamingofadifferenttime. Days,days,andnightsspent Thinkingofthetrees,thescent Long,longhoursfilled Thinkingofadifferentlife. Trees,Trees,whichallspeak GreatRedwood,tallasapeak LongLonghoursfilled Relivingadifferentworld Grass,grassclearyear-round Boughsoftreesscrapingground LongLonghoursfilled Wishingforadifferentland Goats,goats,chickens,andcats Birdsthatglidelikeacrobats Long,longhoursfilled Dreamingofadifferenttime.
I Rise
ByFinnDavis‘29
Waterglidesacrosstheglobe
Itsgloryisbrief
Atitspinnacle,unstoppable,immovable
Butitallcomescrashing toanend
theendofajourney adeathandanewbeginning
Asitcoilsaroundaninvisiblecylinderofair
Iprepare
Ipaddlewithallmywill,insearchofathrill
Mylegsarelifted,therestsoonfollows
Ispeeddownahill,steeperbythemoment
Shouldersburn,waterdrops,adrenalinesurges
Itrytorisewiththewave,butIamtoolate
Boardflies,Headbreakswater,nosefillswithsalt,frustrationgrows
Yetthewavecontinuesunbothered
Again,Irise,thistime tooearly
Thewaveengulfsme, likeclothesinawashingmachine
Iamflipped,twisted,andturned
Thewaveleaveswithoutagoodbye
Iemerge
mylungslongforair,sandpeppersmyhair,frustrationgrows
Iamdesperatetocapturethewave
TofulfillafeelingIcrave
Paddle,reset,prepare Irise
Toohigh
Ifall
Thewaveleaveswithoutagoodbye
Paddle,reset,prepare,believe Irise
Istand
Ihold Iride
The Smaller I May Seem, The Higher I Shall Rise
ByTadhgO’Sullivan‘29
I’llkeepfailingandfailing, ButeverydayIwillremember, WhenItakeachance, Yousitonthesidelinesonlooking, Notchallengingtheworld, Justpassivelylettingitslip.
WhenIstanduptogiveaspeech, Youthereinthenosebleedslisten, Yethavetheaudacitytocriticize.
ThoughIdolose, Deepdownyouknowthatyouforfeit, ThoughIhadfailed, Youknowyounevertried.
Whileyoucallmelost, I’vebeenfoundmorethanyou’deverknow HoweversmallImaybe, Istandtallerthanyoureyescouldeverwander.
Remember Why We Hate Venice
ByMaxBushey‘29
Feelthewhitewavescrashupontheshore
Seethebrightsailsdashacrossthesea
Watchtherichredlionandadore
Hearthemerchantpostwhatistobe
onehundredpoundsofleather,andofsheepskin,andofcloth
Shippedonshipsintwomonthssoitseemed twohundredmoreandyou’llstillfeelthefroth
OfftheAdriaticharborwherewasdeemed
Inanoldanddistantland,butsomehowneverdistantinyourmind
Acapitalofsubjugationstands,whereservitudeiscurrencytobind
Inafragilehollowshell,thattheproudhavenameddemocracy
Inanancientburninghell,wheretherichcontrolbureaucracy
RememberCarthagefell,becauseGod,hehatesplutocracy
Myson,haveyouanyideawhattheartisanprovides
Whatamakeroramillergivesinfreewilltothestate
Orthefarmer,orthesoldier,ortheoxenandtheirhides
Theymakegoodsforthem,andgoodsalwayssufferthesamefate
Amansolowandwretched,hemakesnothingbyhimself
Forselflessnessisacurrencyhecanreapandneversow
Whatarethesegoodstoussittingonaforeignshelf
Theytellthemselvesourlaborisashaftwithoutabow
Tocrossthemoffalistfortaxcollection
Ships,andmercenarybandstokeepthemlevel
Theytakeacitypromisingprotection
Apiouskingwillmakedealswiththedevil
Theydecoratetheircitywithadeathencrusteddome
WhileheartlesslytheydesecratethecorpseofwhatwasRome
Thereisbutoneplacewheremerchantsdon’tcontroltotality
UnlikethestreetsofItaly,orislandsinfamousandbleak
ThatplacemyboyisinthemindsofourMorality
Sotostopthisnothingness…
Mydearestwarningyoumustseek
Throughcanalsandharborsgoldisflowingandconjoins
Madethroughthebloodofmillions,generationsatatime
Abrokenswampfoundationbuiltonsolelysilvercoins
PutpartnersonapedestalwhileCretansdrowningrime
Myson,lookaroundyou,andseethreemencontent
Twoyoung,onefat,andold,andgluttonousindeed
Thosetwowillburdenandslaveforadecadeforacent
Whiletheothersnatcheswhattheymadeingreed
Heauctionsofftheirlivesforgildedducats
Andbuysahundredmoreshipssettoroam
Whileanhonestmaninoneyearmakestwelvebuckets
Getsnothingbutfourwarshipsbyhishome
Myson,ifyoucouldcounteverytransgression
Thatthegreatandmighty Mare Nostrum face
Fromthosemerchant’sunrelentingsilkobsession
Orthemetals,orthespiceorvelvetlace
Myson,neverletamanbloatedbyego
Ormoney,orastatetellshimso
Evertakewhatyoumadeforyourself
BecauseifIseeyourlife
Your life rottingonatrader’sshelf
Iwillbeconsumed.Byrage,orbymaliceorbymenace. MysonIbegyou“RememberwhywehateVenice”
Checkmate
ByTadhgO’Sullivan‘29
Downcomesthejudge’sgavel.
“Courtinsession.”Amanstandsup,alawyerIbelieve.It'sablur,butImanagedtostay somewhatselfawareduringthattime.Allofasudden,thelawyermancallsmeupasawitness.I thinkhecalledonceortwice,butittookmeawhiletocometomysenses.Ibreatheinandout,I takeonestep,thenanother.Ihavesomemoney,butyouwouldn’tthinkitbasedonhowIdress, mytatteredgraysuit,justabittoobigforme.IgotitbeforeImovedtothecity.Goddamn,that was30yearsago.
“Mr.Henry,pleasetakeaseat.”ThejudgesaysinhisBOOMINGvoice.Idoashesays. Thenanotherpersongetsup.
“Mr TheodoreHenry,thankyouforbeinghere.”
“Noproblem.”Ireplymeekly,notinmyusualtone.IrunaninvestmentbankinNew York,buttoday,I’madumbassoldman,inalameasscourtroom,inasmallasstown,theone andonlyboringassEugene,Oregon…Great.
“Tellmeaboutyourbrother.”Thesecondlawyermansays.
“Ok.”Isay,andatearfallsfrommyeye,nobodysawit…Ihopeso.Butthat’snotas importantasitusuallyisforme…
Mylifeflashesbeforemyeyes.
Iwasborn51yearsago,inDepoeBay,Oregon.It'sonly70milesaway,butwestillfelt reallydisconnected.Everyonewhowastherehasbeenthereforthepast5ormoregenerations, withjustoneexception.Iknoweveryone,andeverythingabouteveryone.IknowthatMargaret Wendellrunsthegeneralstore.IknowthatJacobSousarunsthepostoffice.Iknowthat GearhartShulz,aGermanimmigrant,whoiscurrentlyhidingfromtheFBI,runsasmalldrug ringwiththePastor,JasonBurn.Thatwasalongtimeago,it'smoretouristynow,theoldfire stationisnowabigLaQuintaInn,notthatIcare,thatplacewasmyparents’ideaofheavenand myideaofhell.Ourschoolclassonlyhad13people,andtheyallhatedmeprofusely.Iwanted togetoutassoonasIcouldpossiblyleave,gotosomefarawayboardingschoolormaybeeven college.Iwouldbethesecondinmyfamilytogo,aftermyuncleGeorge,whoworkedforthe CanadiangovernmentasanenvironmentalscientistinYellowknife,NorthwestTerritories.But thefamilydisownedhimalongtimeago,heismydad’sbrother,butmyfatherisn’tvery levelheaded,sohegotpissedassoonasGeorgebecamemoresuccessfulthanhim.Hewasa perpetualbastard,butwhatcanIdoaboutthat.Iamtheoldestoffivechildren…malnourished children.Childrenwhoaresohungrytheycan’tsleepatnight,wealsohadtoclutterintoasmall room,allofus.Mysister,Dorothy,whowasalwaysthemostmotivatedofthebunch,dragged herselftotheshoresofthePacific,onlycarryingacinderblock,andshedescendedintothedark murkywaters,nevertobeheardfromagain,shewasonlynineyearsold.Mymotherwas
devastatedwhenshediscoveredDorothy’scotempty,withafewpillowsstuffedunderher blankettodivertattentionawayfromherabsence.Butmyfathercouldnothavebeenmore disinterested.
“Eh.”Hesaid.“Shewasonlyoneoffive,wehavebackups.”Hecontinuedtochuckleat hisastuteobservationforthenexthalfhour,untilhedraggedhimselfofftotheharborforwork. Thatmomentstuckwithme,themostpromisingofallofus…gone…snap…herexistence practicallyevaporated.Threeofuschildrenwereovercomewithsadness,butforone,the youngestofthebunch,Liam,Inoticedachangeinhiseyes.Thewayhelookedatmydad changedafterthatmoment,heusedtohavethatinnocentsparkleofalittlesevenyearold,but hislightseemedtogetjustthatlittlebitdimmer.Therewasnowayofknowingthathisanger, rage,andresentmentwouldpersistintoadulthood.Mydadwasafisherman,hespentsixhoursa dayfishing,3hoursadaydrinking,andanotherfewhourshavingaffairswiththewaitressatthe restaurant.Mymotherwascluelessthough,shehardlyhadasociallife,sheonlycommunicated bylettertoafriendinthebigcityof60,000people,Corvallis.Sowhenmyfathercamehome lateatnight,shehadnoideahewasout“ladiesmaning.”Ineverreallyhadanyonetoraiseme, mydadwasanabsenteealcoholicfather,andmymotherwasoblivioustothegoingsonofthe worldbeyondthefrontyard.Adayortwoafterwordhadgottenoutaboutmysister’s disappearanceDonFaraway,thetownsheriff,camebyourtinyshackonthewatersedge,south ofthetown.IlikeDon,hehasalevelheadeddemeanor,andhisvoicewasverycomforting. SometimesI’dstopbyhisonestory,beige,cinderblockbuildingonmywaytoorfromschool, justtotalk.Thisisuntilmydaddecideditwastimeformetoquitschoolandbecomearealman witharealjob.Iwantedtoprotest,butthechoicewasn’tminetomake.Mylastdayofschool wasaninterestingday.Myclassmateshatedmyguts,andIhatedtheirs,butwhenIwandered intothefiveroomschoolhouse,IfeltadifferentkindofsadnessasIstaredatthedecrepitwalls ofmyeducationalprison,Inowviewedthepeelingyellowpaint,thelockersI’dbeenpunched intowaytoomanytimes,andtheopaquewindowsinamorebittersweetway.IknewIwouldbe escapingthemockeryofmypeers,butIknewIwasgivingsomethingup.Iletthatideamarinate forawhile…thenIwasgone.
“Wakethehellupyalazyaspussy.”Mydadyelledatme.“Goodmorningtoyoutoo.”I mumbleddiscretely.“Whatthefuckdidyousaytome?!”Heyelled.Wherehegetshisenergy thisearlyinthemorningisanyone'sguess.“That'swhatIthought…”Hesaidmockinglyashe mopedoutoftheroom,Inoticedhealreadyhadabottleinhishand,andIknewforafactthatit wasn’twater.
“Goodmorningmom.”Isay.Shelookedup,butshedidn’treply,shejustgaveaquick smirk,andthenlookedbackdownatthefloorshewassweeping.
“RUNT!”Barkedmydad,thatwashislovingnicknameforme.Iwasalwaysalittle short,andmydadneverletmeforgetit.Hethoughtheightwasdirectlyproportionaltosuccess, andthatpissedmeoff,butifIpunchedhim,Iknewhewouldreachintohispocketandpullouta pistol.IknewnobodywouldcareifIwastossedintotheoceanwithmysister,butwhileIdidn’t
feardeathitself,Icouldn’tbearthethoughtofwatergushingintomylungsliketheworldis cryinginsideofme,salty,salty,salty,depressed,tears.
“Sinceyouthoughtit’dbeagoodideatobealil’dickheadthismorning,you'renot gonnahavebreakfast,ain’tthatrightDarlene.”Mymomnoddedsilently.“Yeah.Nowgoputa jacketoveryourungratefulbody,andputonsomebootsorwhatevershityoucancoughup.”I don’thesitate,Irunacrossthesplinterywoodfloor,lookingbetweenthegapsintheplanks,that leadstoitsownworld.ButasmuchasIliketofantasizeaboutit,IhavetogetdressedifIdon’t wanttogetshot.Iquicklypickedupsometiredboots,andthrewamustyoldcoatovermy shoulders.
“I’mready.”Isay.“Good.Nowfollowme.”Mydadresponds.Ifollowhim.Heopens thefrontdoor,Ifollowbehindhimandcloseit.Westartthewalkovertotheharbor,it'sslow goingwhenyou’recarrying50poundsworthoffishingequipment,oratleastIthinkit'sfishing equipment,hemight’vejustmademecarrysomerandomshitforhisownamusement,Iwould havenoidea.Iwishwecoulddrive,butwe’retoodamnpoor Mydadjustsaysit’sbecause businessisbad,butIthinkhe’sbuyinggiftsforhisnumeroussecretgirlfriends.Afterweturnoff ofCoastDriveandontotheCoastHighway,whichisthemainroadthroughthetown.Wecross overthebridgethatspansthechanneloutoftheharbor Wemakearightturnjustbefore downtown,whichisreallyjustarowofshops,buteventuallywearriveattheflimsywooden gateseparatingthestreetfromthegraveldrivewaywhichfollowsasmallinletintotheharbor
“Welcometotheplacewherechildrencometodie.”Saysmydadmockingly Mysister’s deathisstillfreshinmymind,andIknowthatherbodyisstillstuckunderacinderblock somewheredownthere.“Yeah.”Isay,tryingtobenonchalantaboutit.
“Bringeverythingoverhere.”Mydadwalksoutontoasmalljettywhichleadstoatiny shackcoveredincrookedpanels,nowindows…topreventpeepersfromobservinghis interactionswithhis“specialfriends,”andasinglereddoor.“Ok.”Ireply,luggingeverythinghe mademecarrythroughtheimpossiblysmalldoorway.Theroomismodest,ithassomewood floorboards,allofwhicharecrookedandhavegapsbetweenthem.Therearesomesmall shelvesonthefarwall,whichhavecans,glassbottles,andastackofpills,I’mdoubtfulanyof themareprescription.Thereisasmallbed,nicerthananythingI’veeverseen,withcrumpled sheetshangingoffofit.Finally,therewasasmalldesk,withsomescatteredpiecesofpaper, pencils,afewmorescatteredpills,andapileofcondoms,someused,somenot.Igrimace.My dadisundeterred.
“Grabthosekeys.”Hebarks.“...”Iwouldreply,butthewordsdon’tfeeltheneedto regurgitatethemselvesfrommylarynx.Hemoseysoutoftheshack.Itakethehint,andfollow behindhimhastily.Ilookoutoverthemarina,someoftheboatslookprettynice,they’reowned bythewealthyPortlanderswhovacationonthePacificcoastoverthesummer.ButIeventually catchaglimpseofashittyshitholeofaboatwhichismooredatthefarendofthepier…That’s ourboat…Itdoesn’tlookseaworthy,butwhocares,mydadisanalcoholic,andapparentlyapill popper,sothisboatiswhatkeepshis“hobbies”going,coincidentallyalsokeepingmyhunger going.
“In.”Hepointsattheboat.Istepin.Iamastounded.ItisPROFOUNDLYfilthy.The steeringwheellookslikewhatwouldhappenifdriftwoodandloosewarpednailshadachild.
“Heyrunt!Lookalive,andgivemethosekeys.”Heorders.Ithrowthekeystohim.He drunkenlymisses.
“Thefuckwasthat?”Hesays,clearlyembarrassed,itwasagoodthrowafterall.Eh, whatcanyoudo?Hetakestheoldkeyandputsitintotheignitionswitch.Afterpressinga button,theboatroarstolife,Icanfeelthewholethingshaking,dustisvisiblydislodgedfrom thesidewalls.Thenhepicksupthephone.
“Wellhello.”Hesays,inaveryfirm,assuredvoice,nothisusualdull,butabrasivetone. Ihearmumblingsontheotherendofthephone.Iknewitwasawomen’svoice,butitsureas hellwasn’tmymom’s.
“Yeah,I’lljustbeoutafewhours.”Hesays.Moremumblesontheotherendoftheline follow “Alright,bye.Seeyalater.”Heresponds.
Wewereoutfishingforfour-ishhours,Ididn’tknowforsure.Mydadhasashittyold trawlerboat,itdoesn’tevenworkhalfthetime,andifitdoesn’t,hejustquitsandscuttlesoffto thepub.Ifeelseasicktheentiretime,theboatrockingbackandforth.Thereissomewater sloshingintotheboat,andwhenwestartandstop,itrushesfrontandback,gushingthroughthe holesthatarethesoleofmyboots.Wedidn’ttalkmuch,mydadandI,butIsawfearinhiseyes, asmuchashecouldn’tcometoadmitit.Periodically,hewouldleavethebridgetoliftupand resetsomeofthetrapcages,andIwonderifheevershedatearwhileIwasn’tpayingattention.I wouldneverendupknowing.
Finally,wemotoredbacktotheport.First,IsawtherockycliffsonwhichDepoeBay wassituated.ThenIsawthesoaringbridge.ThenIsawthenarrowinletchannel,withwaves crashingagainstthejaggedoutlinesoftheshore.Wepassedthroughthechannel,verynearly crashingintotheconcretebarrier.
“SLOWDOWN.”IknowImadeamistake,butitwastoolate.“Youfuckinglittlerunt don’tknowwhatyourtalkingabout.”Heresponded…butnotyelling.Notscoldingly.Hewas almostjoyful.Ididn’tknowwhatthatmeans,butthecautiousstepsmyfathertookmademe realizethatsomethingwaswrong,oratleast,hewasunsure.Iwouldsoonknowwhy.
“Alrightrunt,gohome.I’llbebacklater…”Hesaid.Itsoundedlikehewantedtosay somethingelse,butthewordsneverformulated.SoIwalkedupthegravelpath,theworld crunchingbeneathmyfeet,andturnedontothesteepuphillroad,Iwentoverthetoweringbridge separatingtheoceanfromtheharbor,andarrivedhome.Noneofmysiblingswerethere,they wereallowedtostayinschool.Butmymomwasstandinginthecornerofourkitchenwashing dishesinthesink.Iwenttomyroom,layingdownonmyundersizedcot,andslowlydriftedoff tosleep.Ihadastrangefeeling,butIhadalotofstrangefeelingsatthattime,Iwasn’t concerned.Thesoundofmythreeothersiblingstramplingaroundthefloor,slowlyletthelight backintomyheavy,crustyeyelids,Iknewitwasarounddinnertime,becausethesunwas slowlymakingitswayoverthehorizon.Dinnerwasbleak,asalways,wewerepoor,andwhen you’repoor,yourstomachtakesthebackseat.Iquicklywashup,stillsmellinglikethefishI
caughtthatarenowonsomebodyelse’splate.IgotosleepnotknowingthatwhenIwake up, mylifewouldbechangedforever.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhh…”Iyawn,Ilookoverattheclock,9:00,itsaid.“Huh.”Thereisno waymydadwouldletmestayasleeppast6:00.Strange.Mybrotherandtwosisterswerealso stilllyingasleep.
Ilookovermythin,tornblanket,coveringmysmallcot,luxuriousconsideringthatall mysiblingshadtoshare.Istumbleoutofbed.Iobviouslylookedsomewhatconcernedbecause mysisterBeatricesaidtome“What'swrongTheo,youlookconcerned.”
“Yes…yesIamalittle…yeah.Um…haveyouperchanceseenmotherorfather today…somethingisamiss.”Isaidtoher,sherepliedinanunsure,butunconcernedtone.“No,I justwokeup,andnobodyisforcingmeoutofbed,aonceinalifetimechance,eh?”
Iwalkedovertothedoor,pasttheuglywardrobe,andlookedintothehall.Iwalkedinto thekitchen,therewasabirdchirping,aChickadeeIthink,that'swhatmysisterusedtotellme.I grabbedaglassandpouredmyselfsomewater Ididn’tdrinkitallthough.Ipauseforamoment, andbegintohearawhimpering.Iwalkintomyparent’sroom,andseemymom…only My mom…only…only…only OnthefloorIsawahypodermicneedle,andasmalljar,itwasan anesthetic.Mydad’sbagthatusuallylayonthedisintegratingbaseboard,wasgone…Which means…he’sgone…Myfatherisgone.IranintotheroomfasterthanI’drunfromagrenade withitspinpulled.
“GONE!”Iexclaim.Barelymakingsensetomyself,letalonemycluelesssiblings. “DAD…NOTHERE…GONE.”
“Ohmygod!”SaidBeatriceandMary.Almostperfectlyinunison.Liamstaysquiet,then hespeaksquietly.“Thatsick,twisted…bastard.”Ashockingstatementforsomeonenoteven12 yearsoldtosayabout his own father. Dadalwayshatedhimthemost.
Thenextfewmonthswerebleak,butthefamilydidmakesomechanges.Westarted goingtochurch,andeveryoneseemedtofindmoremeaningintheirlife.Althoughthechapel wasdusty,thepewsjustslightlytiltedtotheside.TheoldbuildinghadsunkovertimeIthink, butIwasneverinterestedinstructuralengineering.IstartedworkingforFranklinDoe,or“old manFranklin”assomepeoplecallhim.Theyearended,andsummerbegan.Ididn’thaveany timeoffthough,Iwastheonlysourceofincomeforthefamily.Iwasupat5AMeveryday,I wouldalwayswalkintothekitchensullen,andasleep.Iwouldstareatthisoneportraitofa distantfamilymember.Mygreatgrandfather…Ithink…Ican’tbesure.Thehouseisfullof randomshit,portraitsincluded,butonlysomeofthemgetthe(dis)honorofmakingittothe wall…thosetired,exhaustedwalls.
“Goodmorning,how’sitgoing?”IalwayssaidtooldmanFranklin.“Neverbetter,but lifesucksallthetime,soIsupposebettermeansprettyshittyeitherway.”Hewouldusually respond.”OldmanFranklin’sboatwasalittlemoreappropriateforitsjobthanmydadswas.For one,itwasn’tmadeofdriftwood…orasimilarlydecrepitmaterial,anditwasalsoatrawler,so itcouldpickupmanymorefishthatmyfathercould.Ididn’tcaremuchthough.Ilooked forwardtoverylittle,butgettingoffthatboatwascertainlyoneofthosefewthings.
“Kid,comehereforasecond.”HewouldalwayssaybeforeIleft.“Afewbucksforyour trouble.Iappreciateit.”WOW!Ithought,thefirsttimeIheardit.Itwasthefirsttimesomeone letmeknowthatIwasappreciated.“I…Idon’tknowwhattosay,Mr.Doe,thisismoremoney thanI’veeverbeenallowedtosee!”Ireplied.“Iknow.Iwasalotlikeyou.Myfatherwasa dickhead,mymotherbarelycared,andIdidn’thaveverymanyfriends.Therewasamanwho wasnamedJohn…HislastnameIcan’trecall,buthegavemeafewdollars,andwiththatIgot adeckofcards.MybrotherandIgotalotofmileageoutofthose52flimsypiecesofpaper… Hewasmybestfriend…myonlyfriend.Iwantyoutogetsomethingforyouandyoursiblings toenjoy.Youwereneverallowedtohavesomegoodtimes…Loosenyournoosejustalittlebit.” Iwasstunnedbythismonologue…butIknewwhatIwasgoingtobuy.TheonlytimeLiamand Iwerewalkingthroughdowntown,welookedintoastorewindowandsawachessset.Butwe nevercouldbuyit,untilnowthatis.“Thankyousir.”Iwasecstatic.“Noneed,andjustcallme Franklin,dropthesirbullshit.”Herespondedstoically “HaveagoodeveningMr…Haveagood eveningFranklin.”IsaidasIwalkedbackupthegravelroad,throughtheoldharborgate,and aroundontothehillyroadtowardsdowntown.With…asmileonmyface.Attheintersection withthecoasthighway,Iusuallyturnlefttowalkhome,butthistimeIturnright,headingto downtownDepoeBay Ithadstartedraining,justlikethatdaymybrotherandIwerewalking withoneanother Andalittlewhilelater,Iseeit.Istepundertheawningoftheshopand HEAVEtheheavymetaldooropen.AssoonasIstepinIgethitwithablastofanostalgicscent. WhyIhavenostalgiaforthatparticularsmell,butitsmellsliketheword“cozy.”Iapproachthe clerkandsaytohim“CanIpurchasethechesssetinthewindow?”Hewalksinitsdirection,and Iwaitexcitedly.
“Thisfella?”Hesays,chessboardinhand.“Yesplease.”Isay.“twentybucks,Icanbag itforya,ifyou’reinterested.”Twentydollarswasalot,Ionlyhadtwenty-fiveinmypocket,but IrememberedwhatoldmanFranklintoldme.“Yes,Iwouldlikeitbagged.Ihandoveraten, andtwofives.Themansmiles,thenplacestheboardintoasmallpaperbag,andslidesitover thecounter.“Takecare!”Isay.“Andyou.”Hereplies.Iwaltzedoutofthestore,andbeganthe rainywalkhome.Iwasn’twalkingatmynormalcadence,Iwasexcited,Iwasquick.Iseethe signthatreads“SWCoastAvenue,”andlookforagapintrafficbeforesprintingacrossthe highway.
“I’mhome!”IyellasIswingopentheflimsywoodenfrontdoor.Igottafixthathinge sometime,thedoorishangingonbyathread.Eitherway,Ireceivenoresponse,asusual.
“LIAM!”Iyell.“What?”Ihear,Ican’tsayhesoundedenthusiastic,butIbeckonedhim fromhisplaceontherippedcouch.“Comehere.”HedoesasIrequest.“Whatisit?”Heasks. “Well,oldmanFranklinsaidthatIneedtoallowmyselftohavesomegoodtimes,anddoyou rememberwhenwewerewanderingthroughdowntown,andwelookedintoashopwindowand saw…”“Achessboard.”Hefinishesmysentence.Ihandoverthepaperbag.Ithinkheknows whatI’mgivinghim,butheisstillindisbelief.Hegrapplesthebag,curiously.Then,hereaches inanddrawsfromitabeautiful(actuallyprettyshitty)chessboard.“I…I…No…Butitcost20
dollars…”Hesays,stutteringaftereveryword.“MoneythatIamhappytospendon us, not beer.”Isay.
Fromthatmomentforward,Liambecamemyabsolutebestfriendintheworld.We wouldspendeverysecondofourfreetimetogether,playingchessonthatonechessboard.We gotprettygoodatit.Iusuallylethimwin.Unlesshewaspissingmeoffthatday,whichwasone ofhisspecialtalents.ButIlovedeverysecondofthetimewespenttogether.Thegamenever ended,butdeepdown,bothofusalwayswonthatgame.Icherishedeverysecondofourlivesin thatshortwindowoftime.Butbeforelong,itwastimeformetoheadofftocollege.Iwouldn't havegotachancetogoifmydadhadstuckaround.Ithinkheplannedonsinkingthatboatand takingmewithhim,butwhoknows…It’sinthepastnow.Butmyfatherwasnolongermymain concern.IhadknownIcouldgotothestatecollegeinCorvallis,overthemountains,butwhile thepicturesque,rockyoutcroppingsofDepoeBaymightseemlikeaheavenlyplacefora summervacationforwealthyPortlanders,itwasatrapforme.Iwasstuckhere,Iwastheonly personhalfwaycompetentenoughtopaythebills.Wediscusseditsomanytimesoverdinnerin thepastfewweeks.
“Mom.”Iwouldalwayssay “Yesson.”Shewouldalwaysreply “Ifeeltrappedhere. ThisplaceismyAlcatraz,IwantmorethanDepoeBay IknowI’mbeingabrupt,butI’mtelling youthatIwanttolookoutofmywindowinthemorningandseeanintricatecity,notasmall towndumpsterfire.Iwanttohaveafutureformyself,afuturethatdoesn’tinvolvehaulingmy assoutofbedat5AM,onlytohaulmyassdowntotheharbor,onlytositonashittyassboat likedads,thatwasfallingapart.Iwanttogotocollege.”Isaidtoher,elaboratinghere,alittle morethanIdidinpreviousconversations.Butherreplywasstillstupidlyoblivioustoreality. “Butyourheartishere.”Shereallypissedmeoffwiththatstatement.“IsitjustbecauseI’mthe onewhoisgivingyoucash,isitjustbecauseI’mtheonewhobuys your food, your clothes,who paysfor your electricity,and your water.Ionlyaskedbecauseitispolite,butifyou’regonnabe anassholeaboutit,thenallofmycashismine,andI’mspendingitonabusticketfromhereto Corvallisinoneweek!Ifyou’regonnabemymother,thengivemeachancetohavemorethan yourlazyassisallowing!”Ohmygod…Isaidit…BAAAAAAADIDEA.“Ok.Getthehellout ofmyhousethen.”Istoodstillforasecond,beforesilentlyleavingthekitchenandwalking hurriedlytothecloset.Iopenedthecreakingdoorandpickedoutanoldleathersatchel.Init,I placedmyclothing,somebooks,mypillowandbedding,allthecashI’dearnedthatI’dnotyet giventomymominexchangeforpainfulrejection,andfinallythrewinanoldphotoofmeand mysiblings,andanotheroneofjustmeandmybrother…hemeanteverythingtome.Igrabbed asparesetofkeystothehouseandslammedthedoorbehindme.Astheviciousrowbetween myselfandmotherwasunfolding,thehazyeveningfoggavewaytointenserainfall.Ifeltas thoughtheworldwascryingformypain.Ididn’thaveaplacetostaythatnight,soImademy waydowntotheharbor,andafterturningontothescratchygravelroad,Isawmy accommodationforthenight,mydad’soldshack,preservedjustasitwasbeforehisdeparture, everydisheveled,dustycornerofit,butitkept most oftherainout.Iimmediatelywalked towardsthecotinthecorner,andsettledinforthenight.
Iwokeupearly,withaknotinmyneck.Iknewthisbedwasn’treallydesignedfor comfort,itwasdesignedforPAIN!Frankly,itsuitsme.Igathermysatchelandwalktothedoor, Ididn’ttrustthepeopleofDepoeBaytonotstealmythingswhileIwasoutofthe“house,”soI lugmyassoutofthecabinandwalktowardsthenearestpayphone.Ihadacalltomake.Ilook intomybag,Ihadasackofquarters,perfectformysituation,soIputoneintotheslotanddial oldmanFranklin’shouse.Ring-a-ding-ding,thephonegoesoverandover…noresponse.Itry again,thistime,hepickedup.
“WHOTHEHELLISTHIS?!WhohasthenervetoawakethegreatFranklinDoethis earlyinthemorning!WHATTHEFUCKDOYOUWANT?!”Damn,Ididn’tknowsomeone thisoldcouldyellthatloud.Iproceedcautiously.“HelloMr.Doe.”
“Theodore,isthatyou?”
“Yes.”Ireplied.
“Oh…Understood.”Heknewthathemadeamistake,andheknewthatIknewthathe madeamistake.ButIstaycalm.
“Ineedafavor.”
“Oh…ofwhatkind?”Heresponded.
“Iwanttogotocollege.AndIneedtoletyouknowthatIwillbeleavingsoon.”Isaid.I couldhearhimontheotherline,hepaused,thensniffledalittlebit.
“Ok.Good.Youneedmorethanthistown,andIwanttohelpyougetout,becauseI nevercould.Iwanttofindyouaplace.Mybrotherownsahomethere,I’llcallhim,andaskif youcanstay Thenonceyoufindajob,youcangetyourownhouse.”Iwasimpressedwithhis generosity.Everyoneelsethinkshe’sanasshole,butIdoubthebelievesinanyonewhothinks that.Infact,Idoubthebelievesinanyone…besidesme.
“Thankyousomuchsir.”Iresponded.
“FRANKLINSON,FRANKLIN!Dammit,Itoldyou,nosir,noMr.Doe…it’s Franklin.”Heisabitangryforaconversationwithsuchintensesentiment.ButIdidn’tcare.
“ThankyouFranklin.”
Iwentbackintothecabintogetalittlemoresleepbeforeworkthatday,butbeforeI knewit,FranklinandIwerebackoutonthatboat.Forsevendaysthatweek,butitflewby, becauseIwentouttobuyabusticket,andsoon,Iwouldbeleavingforcollege.Onthatseventh day,Franklingavemeaslipofpaper.Onitweretwophonenumbers,oneIknewasFranklin’s, andtheotherone,hetoldme,washisbrother’s.Andtheotherthingwasanaddress,555SW Adamsstreet.Scribblednexttoitwas“OnthecornerofAdamsand6th.”Hepaidmemyfinal check,andwehuggedgoodbye.SomethingIdoubthe’sdonetoverymanypeople.Itrapsed backtothecabin,gatheredmythings,andwanderedovertothebusstation.Soonenough,over thehorizon,Isawabus,adisgustinglookingbus,motoringintothetown,andonthesideitsaid: GreyhoundLines.Mytickettoride.Thedriverstepsoutofthedustysilverbus,andwalks aroundtheside.Heputarustyoldkeyintoadooronthesideofthebus,thenheopenedit.
“Luggageinhere!”Hebarked.Ilookintothecompartmentandseenumerousothertired luggagearticleslanguishingonthemetalfloor Iplacedmyleathersatchelintotheluggage
compartmentandshowedthebusdrivermyticket,andthen,Iwasgone.GonefromDepoe Bay…forever…nevertoreturn.Thehighwaythroughthevalleywastwisty,windy,andwindy,I couldhearthewindwhooshingagainstthedusty,scratchedglasswindow.Thepinetreesthat linedtheroadsideandclimbeddramaticallyupthemountainsenclosingmefromallsides.I figuredthatI’malotlikethesemountaintoptrees,I’vebeenstuckinoneplaceallmylife,but somehowI’mstillclimbingthatmountain,CorvallisCollege,hereIcome.
IarrivedatCorvallisabouttwohourslater.Iwalkedthroughtherainystreets,steppingin theoccasionalpuddleonthecrackedconcretesidewalk.IkeepwalkingalongJefferson,and reachthecornerwith6thstreet.Myfirstdayofcollegearrives…thenthenextday…thena third,fourth,fifth,aweek,amonth,asemester.Istillhadnoideawhatmymajorwouldbe…but mycalculusteachertoldmethatIhadaknackformathandarithmetic.ShesuggestedthatImeet withMr.Michaels,anaccountingprofessor,andIdoasshesays.Mr.Michaelsagrees,andhe putsmeonhisclasslist.Isatthroughmyclasses,tired,butstilldeterminedtomakemymarkon theworld…eventhoughthatisalongwayaway ButIwasn’tinvitedtoanyparties,Ididn’tlive inadormafterall.Iwantedtohaveafriendhere,soImadeacalltothedeanofstudents:Don Jeffords.Iaskedhimifhewouldconsidergivingascholarshiptomybrother Ihadanhourlong conversationwithhimaboutourentirefamilystory…heagreed.Thenextmorning,Igetacall, tellingmetostopbyMr Jeffords’officetopickupanenvelope,init,ismybrother’sletterof acceptance.Iknowwhattodo,soIwritealettertomybrother
Dear Liam,
It’s been a while since we talked. I’m sorry about that. I just wanted to talk with you about how life is going, now that you’re the only boy to roam the hallowed halls of our flimsy shack. How is work, I know you started to work with old man Franklin. I hope that is going well for you. Trust me, that will be important when you and mom have a falling out, if it hasn’t happened yet, it will soon. Only give her half of the money you earn, take the rest and keep it in a safe place, you will need it when you go to college. Speaking of college, I have enclosed a bus ticket, and a letter from the school. This is your way out… It is an acceptance letter to Oregon State. Take it, and when you believe the time is right, take those bus tickets and run. The bus stop is on the Coast Highway. Take the money you’ve earned, and save yourself. I will protect you, and shelter you at every step of your life. I will ensure you are thriving. I will make sure you can pursue your dreams, or ambitions of any kind. If you ever have something to tell me, if you ever have a secret, it is forever safe with me. I love you Liam.
Sincerely,
Theodore Henry
Aftermyclassesareover,Iwalkhome,notthatIhaveenoughmoneytoeventakethebus,let alonegetataxi,soIwalk.Onmywayhome,Iseeamailbox,andreachintomyjacketpocketto
revealacrumpledenvelope,andIslideitintothemailboxslot.NextthingIknow,Igetacall fromthehouseIwasstayingat.
“Hello,TheodoreHenryspeaking.”Isaid.
“It’sLiam.”Ihearinresponse.Iblush…Istartedcrying,Ihonestlydidn’tbelievehe wouldreceivemyletter,letalonecallme.“I’matapayphonenexttothedock,Ican’tletmom hearthisconversation.I’mleavingTheo,I’mtakingthatbus.”Hesays.
“Oh…”Ichokeonmyownwords.“I’llbewaiting…I’llseeyoutomorrow.”Istarted crying.Iwasn’tgoingtobeinclasstomorrow,Ihadsomethingelseonmymind.Ididn’treally sleepverywellthatnight,butIdidn’tcare.Iwakeupandwalktotheintercitybusterminal,and Iseethesamesilverbuswiththeword“Greyhound”writtenonit.Iseemybrothergingerly steppingdownfromhisstainlesssteelchariot.Ihuggedhim.
“Wow!Ican’tbelieveyouactuallydecidedtomovehere.Ithoughtyouwouldnever leaveDepoeBay.”Isayasheprancedaroundthebusplatform.
“Yeah,Ican’tbelieveiteither Ididn’tthinkIwouldbeabletoleavethesisters,mom too,butIknewthatifIdidn’tusethatbusticketIwouldturnintooldmanFranklin,always regrettingnotleavingDepoeBay SoIleft,Itookitandran.NobodyhasanyideaIleft,except foroldmanFranklin.Buthewasproud…It'sbeen3yearssinceyouleft,andIwastiredof livingonthatman’sfishingboat.”ItwasweirdtohearLiamreminisceaboutourlifeinDepoe Bay,hewasalwaysmylil’brother,butconsideringit’sbeenthreeyearssincewelasttalkedto eachotherfacetoface,hegrewthehellup.Hegothisshittogetheralittlebit.
“So.”Iask.“Whatareyougoingtostudy?”Ithoughtthisquestionwouldtakehimby surprise,giventhatithadn’tevenbeenaweeksincehereceivedmyletter,butheknew,heknew itlikehe’dbeenthinkingaboutitforayear.Cometothinkofit,Ibethehasbeenthinkingabout itforthatlong.WhileIwasn’tconvincedhewouldeverleaveDepoeBay,Iknewhewantedto, sothishopethatmaybeonedayhetoowouldamblearoundacollegecampusmayhavebeen implantedinhimforsometime.
“Iwanttostudychemistry.”Ithoughttomyself:WOW!Thiskidiswaysmarterthanme. Ofcoursehewasbynomeansakidthen,butthismomentwouldstickwithmefortherestofmy life.NotbecauseIwasproudofhim,thoughIwas,notbecauseIwassurprisedthathedecided tostudychemistry,butbecauseIhadnoideawhathewasgoingtodowiththatdegree.Iwas optimisticthen…ohwhatamistakethatturnedouttobe.Wetalkedabouteverythingand anythingonthewaybacktothehouse.OldmanFranklin’sbrotherletusstayinhishouseuntilI graduateandcanfindajob,it'sonlyayearawayatthispoint,whichscaredmehalftodeath,but thatwasn’tonmymindrightnow.RightnowIwasjustfocusedonmakinguplosttime,time thatfatehadbrutallystolenawayfromme.Eh,mostofmylifeisworthforgettinganyways,so it’snotlikeIreallycare,butwhenwecamebacktothehouse,thesunhadsetoverthe McDonald-Dunnforest,andwhenmybrotheropeneduphissuitcase,therewassomethingthat mademesmileeartoear,that20buckchesssetweboughtbeforeIwenttocollege.Icouldnot havebeenmorehappy.Irememberweopenedupthechesssetandplayedintothesmallhours ofthemorning.Eventhoughwehadotherthingstodo,likeplaycomputergames,pick
pocketing,bothofushadlongdiscoveredbeeratthispoint,sothatwasalsousuallyonthe docket,buttoday…PawntoE5,RooktoA4,KnighttoB1,etc…CHECKMATE!That'swhata lotofournightslookedlike.Crackopenabeer,andplayuntiloureyelidsbecameheavierthan thebuswebothtooktoescape.
WebothsettledintoourroutinessoonafterLiam’sarrival,heleftforthechemistrylab, andIwenttomybusinessmanagementclass.Thisiswhatwedidfortheentiretyofmyfinal yearatOregonState.Sobeforelong,Iwaslookingforsomework.Iinterviewedupanddown thePacificNorthwest,withnosuccess.SoIgotoMr.Michaels,andhegivesmeaphone numberforasmallbankingfirminPortland,whichhasanofficeinCorvallis.Iamthrilled.I takeoff,thistimesparingsomemoneyforthebus.UsuallyIwouldjustwalk,butIhadno patiencetoday.Igotoffdowntown,andIranwithtremendousquantitiesofhastetoareally shittylookingoffice.Buttherewasasignonthedoorsaying:Jarvis,Montrose,andJackson.The companyname.SoIopenthedoorandwalktothereceptionist.
“Hello.”Saidthereceptionist.“Hi.”Ireturn.
“Ihaveanappointmenttomeetyourregionalmanager DanielBaum,Ibelievehisname is.
“Yes,Iseeyournamerighthere,whenDanielisreadyforyouourAssistant to the regionalmanager:DwideShrudewillwalkyouin.Thankyouformeetingwithus.”Saysthe receptionist.“Thankyouverymuch.”Isayinresponse.
“THEODOREHENRY!”Saysamanwithtrulyrevoltingglasses,whojustenteredthe room.“MynameisDwideShrude,I’mthenumbertwoguyaroundhere,nicetomeetyou, Danielisreadytoseeyounow.”“Great,thankyou…Dwide.”Isay.
Iwalkintotheroom,it’sunremarkable,butstillpleasantenough.Wereallyhititoff,we justhadafriendlyconversation,andwhenthingswerewrappingup,Igotagoodfeeling.WhileI wasbynomeanshiredonthespot,Igotgoodenergy.Andthenextday,Ireceivedaletter:
To Mr. Theodore Henry, from the Jarvis, Montrose, and Jackson Company, Corvallis Branch.
Dear Mr. Henry,
On account of your interview yesterday, and after much deliberation, we at the Corvallis Branch of JM&J have decided to welcome you as a junior accountant. You will be tasked with organizing transactions and facilitating funding and budget management. Your studies in the field of accounting are commendable, and we greatly appreciate your willingness to step aboard. You will start on Monday at precisely 9:00 AM, your desk will be arranged on Monday morning. There is no necessity for you to bring any electronic equipment, all is provided at the office.
Thank you for your interest in the company, we look forward to welcoming you on Monday
Sincerely,
Daniel Baum, Regional Manager
Hallelujah,Ithoughttomyself,EMPLOYMENT!Iwashappywithmyself,andsoI beganmywork.Itwastoughtoadjust,butaftermygraduation,whichliterallynobodyIknew attended,withtheexceptionofLiam,Ijustkindasettledintothejob,anditwasgoingwell.I startedmakingdecentmoney,andevenreceivedapromotionjustamonthintothejob.They wantedmetomovetoPortlandtothemainoffice.ItoldthemIwould,butonlyinafewweeks,I neededtomakesuremybrotherwassettlingintocollegenicely.
“Liam,Iwanttoaskyouafewquestionsaboutcollege.Myworkjustgavemea promotion,IneedtomovetoPortland.IneedtoknowifyouarereadytobehereasLiam,not justasTheodore’slittlebrother.”Iaskedhim,andhislackofimmediateresponseconcernedme somewhat.
“Ok…thatsoundsgood.”Heresponded.“Oh,ok.”Isayinreply “Ifyoucanfendfor yourself,thenIstandbyyou.”
“ThanksTheo,I’mgoingtoJunctionCitywithsomefriends,there’sacoolbrewerythere thatJoshwantstocheckout,thatsaid,I’llbefine.”Liamsaid,andbeforeIknewitIwas packingmybagsandgettinginataxitoAlbany,theshittyone,nottheslightlylessshittyonein NewYork.Thecabdriverseemedfriendly,buthiscardidsmelllikesmoke,probablybecausehe wassmokingduringtheentirecarride,butitwasruralOregon,Idoubtanyonecouldcareless. TheguydroppedmeoffattheAmtrakstation,wheremytraintoPortlandwouldbearrivingina fewhours…AtleastIthink,mywatchwasbroken,andIneverbotheredtocheckthestation clock.SowhenIsawthered,whiteandbluetrainscreechingacrossthehorizon,thebellgoing DING,DING,DING,DING,DING…Ifeltrelieved.IsettledinforthefewhoursIhadleftuntil Portland,whereIhadalreadysignedaleaseagreementthroughthecompany.Thehousewas nice,andIenjoyedmynewworkhereinPortland.Ilovedthecity,andthoughIhadafewclose encounterswithstonersinalleyways,itwasmostlyfine…UntilIgotaletter.
Dearest Theodore Henry,
We regret to inform you that there has been an unfortunate event concerning a member of your immediate family. The news has just been relayed to us that your father has passed, at the age of 36. The reason we are contacting you is to tell you that your father’s death, following the report from a coroner, was attributed to a poisonous attack, caused by deadly chemicals. Enclosed are the inheritance left to you by your father. We appreciate your understanding, our condolences.
Sincerely,
Junction City Sheriff’s office
“Enclosedaretheinheritanceyourfatherleftyou.”Saidtheletter.Hellno,HELLNO. Allthatwasenclosedwasaletterthatsaid: Fuck you, and everything you stand for Here are five
dollars. - Dad. Shit.Shit,shit,shit,shit… shiiiiiit. Thislackluster,letter,inkmuddledbythe wetnessofruthlessOregonstorms.Idon’tknowhowtoprocessthiscrazythingthatjust happenedtome.SoIdotheonlythingIwouldeverwanttodoinasituationlikethis,Icall Liam…butIgetnoresponse.Thatbeepingofthephoneinmyearissomethingthatwillstick withmeforever.TheabsenceofcontactwithLiamwillstickwithmeforever.
Igointoworkthenextmorning,andDaleIrving,myclosestfriend,immediatelycomes overtomydesk,enthusiastically,unlikehisusualslovenly,tiredappearance.Heshoutsatme.
“Theo,didyoureadthepaper…”Hesaid.Annoyingly,whenDaleasksifyoureadthe paper,hereallymeans:Didyoureadthatdodgymagazinecalled Conspiracy Central or whateverthefuckitis.Butthistimehewasn’ttalkingaboutanythingspeculative,hewas harpingonthisstringofmurdersinJunctionCity,notevenknowingthatmyfatherwasamong them,soIturnonmycomputerandwentto The Oregonian, Iwasshocked.Stringofmurdersin JunctionCity!Thefrontpage.Theheadline.Anotherarticlesays:BehindthePandemonium, ChemicalAttacksinJunctionCityexplained.Iamlostforwords.Iclickonthearticleandread, keepreading,finishthearticle,andthelastsentencesays:Thisattackseemstohavetakenplace againsteveryoneclosetoJacobLeonardHenry Iamshocked.Thiswasnotjustaoneperson job,norwasitamisjudgementbythecoroner Imean,itwasasmalltown,Ican’texpectthemto becorrectonehundredpercentofthetime.ButIfeelapaininmystomach.I’monthetwentieth floorofabuildingdowntown,butitfeelslikeIwasbeingburiedinacoffindeep, deep, inthe ground.Irunasquicklyasmylegscouldcarryme,Irunintothecornerofacoworker’sdesk, andpracticallykickdownthebathroomdoor Icrashthroughanopenstalldoorandthrowup, again,andagain,andagain.Ihavenoideahowthereissomuchpukephysicallycontainedin mybody,butIjustkeepregurgitatingthrowup.Theautomatictoiledflushesallofitse-coliup intomyfaceseveraltimes,butIdon’tcare.AssoonasIcometomysenses,Imakea realization…Liam.Heisstudyingchemistry,healwaysloatheddadformockingDorothy’s death,andhetookatriptoJunctionCitywithfriends.Ibethewouldn’t’vetoldmethatifhe knewitwouldmaketheroundsinthenews.Iwanttocallhim,andIwanttoaskhimwhy,I wantedtoaskhimhowhecouldeverdothat.ButIcouldn’tbelieveit.Andthenithitme.The letterIsenttohimrightbeforehewenttocollege,theletterwhereItoldhimthatifhehadany secret,itwas“foreversafewithme.”Irememberthetimewhenhewasjustalittlekidandafire startedtoappearinhiseyeswheneverhelookedatourfather.Liamalwayshadonehope,one dream,tomakedadpayforliterallykillingDorothy,andfigurativelykillinganyoneelseheever met,talkedto,orstaredat.Liamalwayswantedtostudychemistry,heknewitwastheonlyway hecouldkilloffhisfatherandnotleaveatrace.Iimmediately,franticallytrytogetthefuck awayfromPortland.SoItalkedtotheCEO,DonMontrose.ItellhimthatIhavetoleavefor “personalreasons,”andwonderifhecouldlandmeajobsomewhereelse.Tomysurprise,he hadanamebytheendoftheday.Donwasoneofmymosttrustedmentors,butI’mstill surprisedhecouldjustlandmeajobsoquickly,Iguessthesepositionswerealotless competitivethenthantheyarenow.ThejobwasinChicago,soIimmediatelystartedlookingfor houses,andIfoundonethat'supforrent,inRoscoeVillage.Icalltheagentandsignedthelease
agreementwithintheweek.Ihadaplaneticket,andeverythingIownwaspacked.Ijusthada singlenightleftinPortland,andonthatnight,Igotafinalletter…fromLiam.
Theo,
I am the one. Now that you know I can do this, you better remember every word of this letter.
- Liam
Hoooooooooolyshit.EnclosedinthatenvelopewastheletterIwrotetoLiam,whichsaid:Ifyou everhaveasecret,itisforeversafewithme.HeknowswhereIamandhecankillme.Mybest friendcankillme.Iletthatsinkin.Iwasgoingtostayonefinalnight,butIcouldn’ttakeit.I grabeverythingandhobbledowntothetramstop,Iwaitforwhatfeelslikeforever,knowing thatLiamcouldbearoundanyoneofthesecorners,abouttoendmylife.SowhenIseethedull incandescentlightofthetramcomingdownYamhillstreet,thefearsubsides.Igetonthetram, andrideitallthewaytotheairport.IthoughtPortlandwasgoingtobemyhome.Butitturnsout it’salittletooclosetomyrealhometobesafe.IgetthroughsecurityassoonasIcan,gettingas farfrommybrotheraspossible.Sowhenthatjetbridgeretractsfromtheplan,IknowIamsafe. Theplanetaxisforsometime,andaswemovecloserandclosertotherunway,Iseeallthose otherplanesbeingcatapultedintothesky,eachoneofthemmorehopefulthanthelast.Finally,I lookoutthewindowandseethebrightrunwaylightscontinuingintoinfinity,overthehorizon. Then,theengineswindup,andtheplanestartstoshake.Iampinnedtomycheap-ass,backof theplaneseat,butI’mflyingnonetheless.
WhenourwheelsmeetthepavementatO’Hareairport,Ifeellikeeverythingbeginstogo soquickly.Igettomyhouse,Istartmyjob,Imeetagirl,realizeIloveher,getengaged,get married,andhavetwokids.I’monly35,butIcan’tbelievehowmuchlifeI’velived.Butthere isstillnotasinglepersonbesidesme,whoknowswhatmybrotherhasdone.Irememberthose wordsthatIwrote,neverevenforasecondconsideringthatitwouldbethemostdetrimental decisionIwouldevermake.Thosewordsfollowedmetoanothercity,anothermajormomentin mylife.NewYork.IhadclimbedthecorporateladderovermyyearsatthecompanyinChicago, butIknewtherewasonethingIdidwrong.IneverhadthefeelingthatIwouldbeabletotalk aboutthissecret ever. ButIknewIhadto.SoIgodowntoapolicestationafterwork,andtell them everything. Ican’tbelieveIdidit,butLiamHenry’sdaysasafreemanwerenumbered. Mybestfriend’sdaysasafreemanwerenumbered.Mybrother’sdaysasafreemanwere numbered.IgotacallfromthepoliceafewdayslatersayingthattheJunctionCitycasehadno leadsforaslongasitexisted.Healsosaidthatmeandmyfamilywouldbeputunderprotection startingthenextday.Iknewthatjusticewouldinevitablybeserved,butIcouldneverforgetthe momentIreceivedthatletterandfledPortland.IknewthatIshouldn’t’veleft,butIcouldnever liveknowingthatLiamwasreallywhohewas.Hisstoryismystory,wewerealwayscutfrom
thesamefilthy,stained,torncloth,butittookmetilltodaytovisualizehimstickinganeedle withadeadlydoseintomydadandhisclosestcompanions.
“Thankyouforyourtestimonytoday,Mr.Henry.Yourdedicationtothedeliveryof justiceisapplauded.”Saysthelawyerman,atleast,I’mprettysurehewasalawyer,whoelse coulditbe?ButIneverwantedtolearnhowlegalshitworks,toohardtounderstand.“You're welcome.”Isayinreply.ThiswasthefirsttimeIactuallynoticedthatmybrotherwassittingin aseatdirectlyinfrontofme.Behindatablewiththreelawyers,eachwritingvigorouslyontheir notepads.
“Doyouhaveanyfinalremarksforthecourttoday,Mr.Henry?”Asksthelawyer.
“Yes,IwanttotalktoLiam…”Itakeadeepbreath.“Liam,growingupyouweremy everything.EverytimeItriedtoescapeDepoeBay,Iwantedtotakeyouwithme,andgiveyoua lifeworthliving.Ihopedwewouldgrowoldtogether,continuingtocrackopenbeersandplay somechess.ButwhenIgotyourletter,mywindowshattered,cuttingmeasthepiecesfelltothe ground.YoudeservedabetterlifethanwhatIwasabletogiveyou,thecardsweweredealtwere shittyintheextreme.Iknowwewillneverbethesame,butwhenItriedtocleantheclothboth ofuswerecutfrom,Iaccidentallyrippeditintwo.Icleanedmyhalfandyouthrewyoursinto thetrash,beforeIhadthechancetosewitbacktogether Iknowyouwillneverbeableto forgiveme,Ihatethatthisisthefinalmovewemakeonthechessboardthatisourlife,butit’s checkmateLiam,andI’msorrythatit’syourkinggettingcaptured.I’msorry…Ifailedyou.”I crysodamnhardafterthat.Butwhenthejudge'sgavelcamedown,allIcouldsaywas“Ilove you.”
The Note that Said Enough
ByWilliamZhang‘31
Atdawn,Dr.Zhangunlockedhisclinic,findingasinglenoteonthecounter: “You saved me.” Nosignature,noclue.
Hesmiled,rememberingthehundredswhoneversaidthosewordsbutwhoselivesquietly changed.
Thenheturnedonthelights,readytobeginagain,savingstrangerswhomightneverwriteback, ever
The Passenger
ByWilliamZhang‘31
Theplanesmelledfaintlyofrecycledair,coffee,andthesharptangofdisinfectant.Lenahated flying.Notjusttheconfinedspaceortheturbulenceorthewayherearsalwayspoppedon descent,whatshehatedmostwasthelackofcontrol.Onceshesteppedintoaplane,shewas trapped,thousandsoffeetaboveground,atthemercyofstrangersshe’dneverseeagain.
Buttonight’sflightwasunavoidable.HerfatherwasinthehospitalinLosAngeles,andthe doctorshadtoldhermotherthattimewasrunningshort.Lenahadbookedthefirstavailableseat outofBoston,shovingherfeardownbecausefearwasn’tallowed,notnow,notwhenherfather neededher
Shefoundherplaceinrow14,awindowseat.Shealwayschosethewindow,thoughsherarely lookedout.Somethingaboutseeingthecurveoftheearthfarbelowgavehervertigo.Shepulled hersweatertighteraroundhershoulders,droppedherbagundertheseat,andtriedtosteadyher breath.
Amanslidintotheaisleseatbesideherjustbeforeboardingclosed.Hewasinhislate40s, maybeearly50s,withakindfaceframedbydarkhairfleckedwithgray.Hissuitlookedalittle rumpled,asifhehadbeentravelingalongtime.
Hesmiled.“Evening.”
Lenanoddedpolitely,expectinghimtosettleintosilencelikemostseatmatesdid.Instead,he leanedslightlytowardher “Firsttimeflying?”
Thequestionstartledher.“No,”shesaid,tooquickly.Then,softer:“Justnotafan.”
Hissmiledeepened.“Ah.Youandmeboth.”Hebuckledhisseatbeltwithexaggerated seriousness,asiftosay, See? We’re in this together.
Theplanepushedback,taxied,androseintothenight.Lenaclosedhereyesthroughtakeoff, nailsdiggingintoherpalms.Whensheopenedthem,themanwasstillwatchingher,notwith intrusion,butwithacalm,steadyinterest.
“It’seasierifyouthinkofitasabusride,”hesaid.“Justlonger Andwithbetterviews.”
Shelaughedweakly “Maybeforyou.”
Theytalked.HehadbeentoParisinthespring,whenthechestnuttreesbloomed,andTokyoin thefall,wherelanternfestivalslitthenightsky.Hedescribedthesmelloffreshbreadinthe
streetsofFlorence,thewaytheoceaninSantorinilookedunreal,toobluetobelongtothis world.
Lenaforgot,forawhile,thatshewasintheair.Hisvoicewasgentle,steady,carryingheralong likeacurrent.
Whentheplanehitturbulence,shejumped.Thecabinlightsflickeredonce,thensteadied.The manplacedhishandlightlyoverhers.Histouchwaswarm.“It’salright,”hesaid.“I’vebeen throughworsestormsthanthis.”
Theshakingstopped,andsodidherpanic.Sherealizedherheartwaspoundingless,her shouldersunclenched.Shealmostsmiled.
ThecaptainannouncedtheywouldbegintheirdescentintoLosAngeles.Reliefrushedthrough her.Home.Shehadmadeit.Sheturnedtothanktheman,alreadyrehearsingwhattosay: You made this bearable. Thank you for distracting me. Thank you for being kind.
Buttheseatbesideherwasempty.
Notjustempty,theseatbeltwasstillfastenedneatly,asthoughnoonehadeversatthere.
Lenablinked.Sheleanedforward,scanningtherows.Nosignoftheman.Maybehehadgoneto therestroom?Buttheseatpocketwasflat,unused.Thecushionlookedundisturbed.
Herstomachtwisted.Shecaughttheflightattendantpassingbywiththetrashcartandasked, “Excuseme—myseatmate,themanwhowassittinghere,didhemove?”
Theattendantstopped,frowning.“I’msorry,ma’am.Noonehasbeensittingnexttoyouonthis flight.”
“That’snotpossible,”Lenasaid.“Hewasherethewholetime.Wetalked.”
Theattendant’sexpressionshifted,somethingbetweendiscomfortandfear Shebentdown, loweringhervoice.“Ma’am…row14hasbeenemptyforyears.Noonesitsthere.Notsincethe crash.”
Lena’sskinwentcold.
“Whatcrash?”shewhispered.
Theattendantglancedaroundnervously,thenmovedon,asifshehadalreadysaidtoomuch.
Atbaggageclaim,Lenamovedthroughthecrowdinadaze.Shecouldstillhearhisvoiceinher ears,feelthewarmthofhishandoverhers.Shepulledoutherphoneandtyped row 14 airplane crash intothesearchbar.
Thefirstresultmadeherthroatclose.
“Flight265MemorialServiceHonorsVictims,TenYearsLater.”
Sheclicked.ThearticledescribedaflightfromBostontoLosAngelesthathadgonedownina stormadecadeearlier Ofthe180passengersandcrewonboard,only15hadsurvived.Thedead includedabusinessmaninhis40swhohadbeenseatedinrow14.HisnamewasMichael Harrington.
Lenastaredatthegrainyphotoattachedtothearticle.Thesamegray-fleckedhair.Thesame kindeyes.Thesamewarmsmile.
Herseatmate.
Lenaarrivedatthehospitalhourslater,stillshaken.Hermotherhuggedhertightly,butherfather wasalreadyasleep,hookedtomachinesthathummedandblinked.Shesatbyhisbed,watching hischestriseandfall,fragileaspaper
Shewantedtotellhermotherwhathadhappenedontheplane.Butthewordscaughtinher throat.Itsoundedimpossible,insane.Thosewerethingsacrazypersonwouldsay.
Andyet,whensheclosedhereyes,shecouldhearhisvoiceagain. It’s alright. I’ve been through worse storms than this.
Shethoughtaboutherfearofflying,howithadnearlykeptherfrombeinghere,fromholding herfather’shandonelasttime.Andshethoughtaboutthemanwhohadappearedjustlong enoughtocarryherthroughtheflight.
Maybe,sherealized,itdidn’tmatter what hewas.Ghost,hallucination,guardian,memory What matteredwasshewasstillalive,makingherfeelverylucky
Sheleanedclosertoherfatherandwhispered,“It’salright,Dad.I’mhere.”
Shereflectedonthemysteryofhowshegothere,andforthefirsttimeinyears,Lenawasn’t afraid.
ByAustinLiu‘30
ProspectorPhotographyCompetitionWinner
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Shilin
