King Best - Tumblr Posts
Sonnet of Unrequited Love
I wonder if you see the stars a lot,
for if you did then you might see my face
in constellations galaxies had brought
to you, a moment seemingly erased.
But what has come from sitting here alone?
The mirrored night does fade into the sky;
I built a castle out of clouds: a throne
you cannot reach for you still cannot fly.
These playground flowers follow solemn chants—
no time to leave childish things behind.
For if I do, a madness comes in rants
of love I never had but hope to find.
So take these crooked palms that hold my heart,
and if they beat in time, we’re counterparts.
~King Best
Emptiness (The Earth and You)
Empty
is just a word
used to discribe
wine glasses,
gas tanks,
threats and compliments,
until you’re standing
in an empty room,
filled with
sunken-in couches,
photographs and leveled bookshelves
—and you,
for you are something.
Yet even
with places to dream,
tacked memories and worded worlds,
it’s still as empty
as silence:
you fill the room
like noise fills a soundless void,
and you realize
that the earth
feels the same as you
to this room,
hung up
in the vast distances of
space.
~King Best
Crown of Madness: Chapter One (A D&D Story)
Chapter One: The Crow’s Nest
Near the very tip of the Kingdom of San, just below the town of Feck and stationed directly to the right of the Sanorian Desert, was a small oasis town called Borre. For being an oasis, Borre wasn’t exactly prosperous, only a few squat buildings littered here and there, and was mainly used by travelers as refuge from the harsher terrain bordering it. On a typical night, however, the liveliest place to be would’ve been The Crow’s Nest tavern—though that wasn’t to say it was particularly crowded. There was nothing entirely remarkable about the tavern or its surroundings, yet something remarkable would soon be occurring there all the same.
One slow and quiet evening, just as the sunset was painting a fire in the south, a reserved figure in a sand-colored cloak unceremoniously entered the tavern, only stopping to tap their boots at the entrance before taking a seat at the bar.
“An ale please,” said the figure, pushing two copper pieces towards the barkeep. He took them and, before he could ask what kind, they replied, “It doesn’t matter. Anything will do.”
The barkeep nodded and went to fetch the figure their drink. As they were doing so, the figure drew back their hood to reveal a dark-skinned woman almost completely obscured by a mess of tan wrapping coiled all the way up to her forehead. Letting her hair down, she scanned around the tavern cautiously. There were a few people seated around tables listening to an elven man play his lute atmospherically on the stage, some lizardfolk and a goliath man muttering to themselves close by, but nothing too out of the ordinary. Satisfied, the woman grabbed the ale that was handed to her and took a long swig. All she had to do was stay at the tavern tonight and she’d be on her way. As long as there wasn’t any hiccups, she’d be fine, just fine. She was following the sun down the land, hoping to get as far as she could from this barren country…
While the woman was drinking and trailing deeper into her thoughts, she failed to notice a tiny crooked talon reaching her cloak and stealing away six gold pieces. The young kenku skittered off to his next victim, using the darkened lighting and low tabletops to his advantage. He’d been hiding in the tavern all day, stealing bits of coin undetected from everyone who’d come in. After rummaging through some of the humans’ belongings and thieving just the right amount from the lizardfolk, the kenku decided to pickpocket the goliath for a second time, just to make sure he hadn’t missed anything of value. From the safety underneath the table, the boy began to softly rifle through the gigantic man’s pockets. After a moment of finding nothing and believing to have taken everything, eventually his little claws plucked out a glittering ring, illuminated ever so slightly by the candlelight. Just as he thought he’d gotten away scot-free, the kenku turned around—only to have his wing grappled by the bulging hand of the man he’d been feeling up. He cried out in song.
“Give it back,” growled the goliath in a deep tone, “or I’ll wring your neck.”
The kenku’s marble-like eyes widened in fear. Again, he let out a melodious call for help. At that moment, the elven man performing glanced in that direction and, upon seeing the bird-like creature in trouble, stood up and made his way over to the scene. All the while, his fingers never ceased their intricate movement on his lute.
“What seems to be the issue, my friends?” asked the elven bard in a thick northern accent.
“This bird stole my ring,” spat the goliath. “I’m simply making certain he returns it.”
With a violent yank, the enormous man pulled the kenku into the air upside down and began shaking him. Frightened, the kenku tightened his grip on the ring, but was unable to stop to horde of coins from falling out of his purse and scattering on the ground. Seeing this, the rest of the tavern—including the two lizardfolk and the bandaged woman—checked their pockets and baggage for anything missing. Upon realizing they’d been stolen from, the entire bar, save the woman, stood up and began to swarm towards the helpless bird-child. Before they could overtake him, however, the crowd instantly cooled as they felt the music soothe their heated emotions. It wasn’t the tune that changed, but how they heard it. As swiftly as the room shifted, the mood fixed back to one of pacifism. Even the woman, despite not joining the mob, felt a pleasant, relaxing wave corrupt her state of being, instead of the instantaneous fear that’d occurred upon the recognition of thievery, bringing an exceptionally rare smile to her worn lips. Once he had achieved what he’d wanted, the elven man quit his melody and slung the lute over his shoulder. He looked up in front of him. The goliath was still scowling and the kenku was still petrified, both seemingly undrugged by the song.
“Well, I’m sure we can work something out,” the bard replied as tranquilly as possible as to not escalate the situation further. “I’d be willing to pay you double what was stolen from you if you’d kindly right this poor creature.”
“I want my ring!” roared the goliath. “Give me my ring, bird, or I’ll break your spine!”
“That is uncalled for.” The elf looked up at the dangling kenku and gave a pleading smile. “Please return this good man’s ring, would you?”
The young boy didn’t need to be asked twice. He let go of the ring, which the elf promptly caught and returned to the goliath. The next second, the kenku dropped onto the wood. He quickly scampered back to his feet and ran timidly behind the elf, cawing as he coward.
“No harm, no foul,” said the elf to the black bird gently. He then raised his voice as he turned to the rest of the tavern. “Please, everyone, come orderly and retrieve only that which was taken from you.”
At this, the woman stood up and hastily pocketed her missing gold along with the rest of the customers in the room, including the barkeep. And while everyone was distracted, the bard quietly escorted the kenku outside of the tavern to the back alley. He bent down to the bird boy’s eye level and gave him a stern glare.
“What is your name?” the elven man asked.
“Fuck!” chirped the kenku happily. He was grateful for his rescuer and immediately took out a silver piece to give to him.
The bard shook his head. “Thank you, but I must respectfully decline. I do not need the money as much as you seem to. You must be in grave circumstances to attempt to steal from such intimidating people.” He gave a moment pause for thought. “Still, and I say this as a friend and a person who understands, I feel it is in your best interest not to return to that establishment. If you are in need of funds,”—he reached inside a pocket in his cloak and produced ten gold—“I pray this will suffice. For now, at least.”
The bird boy replied in a perfect replication of the man’s voice. “Thank you.” He took the gold and stowed it away in his purse.
“Where is your home, little one?” asked the elf. “Perhaps I can accompany you there to ensure no harm comes your way.”
Fuck shook his head, looking up at the man sadly. Without hesitation, the bard instantly understood and put a hand on the young boy’s shoulder. “I see. So you do not have a home. Just like me and my brother.” He thought carefully for a moment. “Well, I suppose there’s always room for more of Rhevoltaz’s creature’s in my company. Would you like to join me in my travels for a while? At least until we can situate you in a proper home.”
Eagerly, the little kenku nodded, giving as much of a smile as his thin beak would allow.
“Fantastic!” How well can you carry a tune? If you are to join my gallivant, you will also have to join my band. I am a traveling bard, after all.”
Inhaling deeply, Fuck let out a shriller, yet much more refined than earlier, musical note. When it was done, the elf nodded his head slowly, as if to say, “That will do.”
“Welcome Fuck, my friend,” said the man. “I am Iliris Maldragin, and it is a pleasure to have you in my company. And this here is…” Iliris reached into his cloak, seeming to be looking for something. After a few seconds, when nothing was retrieved, his lips thinned in confusion and worry. “Where…where is Checkers?”
Back inside The Crow’s Nest, the cloaked woman returned to her seat to find a small red rodent standing on the barstool and drinking from her ale. The weasel looked up at her unabashed as its tiny pink tongue gluttonously licked up the foam. For a moment, the woman couldn’t muster any response whatsoever. The sight in front of her was so bizarre and out of left field it was difficult to form any sort of action other than the perplexed look she was giving. Then, after a bit of silence, she reached her hand out slowly towards the animal. Immediately, the weasel hissed and jumped from the bar, toppling the ale onto the woman as it dropped to the ground and scampered around legs and table legs to escape. Not entirely sure why (perhaps it was from the irritation of being doused in alcohol), the woman dashed after the rodent, tailing it as it lurched out the door just as someone was entering.
“Ah, there you are, Checkers,” said Iliris as the red weasel bounded around the corner and leapt straight into his cloak for hiding. Before he could ask his furry friend what was the matter, the pursuing woman appeared, stopping dead in her tracks as all three living beings turned to face her. Checkers chittered as he popped his head out of Iliris’s well-worn collar. The elf looked at her quizzically. “Why, who might this radiant woman be?”
Still under the influence of his charm, the woman replied in a quiet tone, “…Enddlin. Who are you?”
“Iliris Maldragin.” The bard reached for her hand to politely kiss it. Even under his spell, however, she pulled away. Enddlin didn’t seem to care to be touched. Noticing this, Iliris retracted his greeting and immediately bowed. “Apologies. I do not wish to offend.”
Enddlin gave the curtest shake of the head, as if to say, “No worries,” before shifting are attention to Fuck. “What are you doing with the thief?” she questioned, narrowing her eyes.
“Join my gallivant,” Fuck recited, inching behind Iliris once more.
“Yes, I was just inviting poor Fuck here to join my travels,” Iliris responded. “He has no home, you see. I did not want him to be torn apart in that tavern simply over a bit off harmless pickpocketing.”
“I wouldn’t call it harmless…” Enddlin muttered, then switched her attention back to Iliris. She looked him over curiously for a moment. “Are you a traveler?”
“Why, yes. I am currently in the midst of relocation. Why do you ask, Endalin?’
“Enddlin. And I ask only because I’m wondering if you’re in need of any more companions.”
“Hmm.” Iliris scratched his chin as he mulled over the prospect. “I do not see any immediate issues with a fourth traveler in my band. In fact, the more the merrier, as the expression goes. Of course, I’d have to check with my new friend here if that will be alright.” He turned back to look down at Fuck. “Is this agreeable to you, little one?”
Fuck gave Enddlin a long apprehensive stare. He seemed almost frightened by her and her mysterious aura. After a minute or two, though, Fuck realized that Iliris was doing him a massive favor by taking him in and, if this woman could be trusted, the more protection the better. Slowly, the bird boy grabbed hold of Iliris’s robes and nodded his beak yes into them.
Iliris clapped his hands together and smiled warmly. “Wonderful. Fantastic. Excellent. Do you by chance happen to know how to play any instruments?”
“No,” Enddlin responded.
“Very well, I can teach you. Do you have a place to stay for the night?”
And just like that, a human, an elf, and a kenku suddenly became a party, unaware of just what mysteries, conspiracies, and adventures would lie ahead of them—and not knowing that one of them would go missing upon arrival at their next destination.
Author: @besttardywrites
Story: @besttardywrites, @homeforavagabond, @kurashira13, dops32
On The Bus to Flint, Michigan (And What I Saw There)
If I unfocus my eyes,
the reflection on the Greyhound window
seems as corporeal
as my cramped knees
directly ahead,
casting cars so close
I can clearly see the ghost
of a blood-lost man.
(Honestly, he looks sickly pale:
an Instagram filter
making him appear like spearmint gum,
chewed up with green dotted eyes.)
I watch his inverted image
grip the steering wheel,
knuckles white as the flurried snow
parading us,
suck my lip empathetically,
then mousetrap-snap my teeth down
hard
as the man splits—vanishes!
—into an oil tanker
speeding straight for us.
My yelp catches the attention
of the other passangers,
who then pretend not to notice
out of social politeness
or prude judgement.
The truck fades;
I sigh.
So I think about the remaining six hours
and how the forest we’re passing has bare,
paper-thin trees whose branches look like
veins run dry.
Isaac’s Goodbye Song
Wish my head was on your shoulder
Wish I hadn’t sent you packing
When I think of us on late nights
It’s your depth that I am lacking
Wish your name was only whispered
And was not my alma mater
Since shouts of it will not put out
This fire on the water
Wish the world would just stop spinning ‘round
So I’d rocket off this planet
Flying straight into the universe
And find the atoms who began it
Through the sun
The sun
Though I
I need you to not
Not remember my words
Remember my words
Wish I’d sit inside your car now
See those stupid dash-dice jingle
Through the silence of a song you know
As your way to intermingle
Please believe me, don’t remember
I will only bring you trouble
And losing me will someday fade
Like your chin fades into stubble
Hear your voice in other’s music
And I can’t yet close my heart
I’ll write poems ‘til these hands of mine
Can just erase you from my art
Recall the things you did for me
Repaid in solemn goodbyes
I’ll wear all our idiocrasy
So it’s not on you though I
I
I need you to please
Please remember good times
Just remember good times
I love making playlists! Here’s a changing one whenever I get a plethora of good music to share!
(via https://open.spotify.com/user/brendansmithtardy/playlist/6dJOgYqkKvFyj5bflC0nE3?si=VdA5dzBDRPC_jo_lFLFwog)
*NEW NOVEL* “Imaginary Friends” Preview Prologue + Chapter 1
PROLOGUE
The World at the Bottom of the Well
If there is such a thing as a happy ending, then the tale of Adrian Carter and Easton West concluded in the happiest way it could: with both men laying parallel on a hill underneath a cherry tree, their hands interlocked as they finally felt each other as they’d so longed for ever since Adrian had moved into Easton’s home that fateful day twenty-two years ago. There was no breeze to ruffle their hair. No sky to stare aimlessly into. No sound but the steady sloshing of water. This was a world ripped apart.
Now no one is quite sure how exactly this miraculous phenomenon came to be, and no one is quite certain whether it was real in the first place or if it was just the imagination of two young boys that never aged out of existence, but it’s neither important how it came to be nor why, as the experience that drove these two insatiable souls together was a heartbeat between truth and fiction. One could call it fate; another may call it a flaw in the fabric of reality itself. But to say they were star-crossed would be a drastic understatement, as they were crossed in much greater ways than that of just stars. For there was never such a tale of unjust heartbreak in the way of these two men—or at least not one yet known.
As they lay there in the grey in-between, the color fading quickly from their shimmering cheeks, fingers laced together for the first and last time, they were already starting to erase from the memories of everyone they had ever loved, save one. There would never be a soul alive that would utter either name nor recall a single trait about them. No one would tell the story of the two men who ripped apart the universe for each other just to break themselves the second they made contact. But you, my friend, will carry them with you and tell the unfathomable tale of the imaginary friends who left their lives to die together in the world at the bottom of the well.
ACT I: A STRANGE COEXISTENCE
CHAPTER ONE
Easton Makes a Friend
September 4th, 1999
Our story begins in a wheat field just half a mile away from the West House and four miles out of the late Urbina, Oklahoma. Urbina was only three minutes from Altus and was such a minuscule town that many would’ve forgotten it even existed if not for the fact it was home to Oklahoma’s smallest university. But there was one other unique feature about Urbina that made it stand out and that was that it got twice as much rain per year as the rest of the state. How was this possible, you ask? All in good time. But this was a major clue to the event that was about to transpire for five-year-old Easton, who was playing in the wheat field by himself when he heard a small crunching noise. He did not know what it was, but his older brother, Leon, had warned him to steer clear of any animals he might find out there. Easton tensed, biting his lip in quiet fear. He had only just grasped the concept of death a month ago when the neon tetras his mother had bought him died from overfeeding and the thought of leaving the world the way that his fish had was mighty terrifying. The noise seemed to be drawing closer to him, but only in saunter footsteps. Easton immediately relaxed, as it was probably just Leon come to fetch him. Imagine his surprise when he found another boy, black hair, brown skin, and wide red eyes, standing there blankly in an off-kilter pair of overalls.
“Hi,” said the boy. “Who are you?”
Easton was taken aback. Where had this boy come from? There wasn’t another house around for miles. “I’m Easton,” he replied. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Adrian,” said the boy proudly. “I just moved here from Kentucky.”
“Where’s that?”
“I dunno.”
“Oh. Well, do you wanna play with me?”
“What’re you playing?”
“I’m gathering up all the roly-polies I can find. You can do it too.”
“What’re we gonna do with ‘em?”
“Put them in a jar to make sure they don’t die.”
“Are we gonna share the jar?”
“We can.”
“Okay. I’ll play.”
And as simple as that, Easton and Adrian became friends. Young children are often that way. They spent the next thirty minutes gathering up roly-polies and pocketing them before heading off to find a jar to put them in. They found two in the old black barn that bordered the woods around the West estate. After they’d finished encapsulating the roly-polies and Easton had shown Adrian how to poke holes in the lid, the two young boys began climbing hay barrels and jumping off them, pretending to be pterodactyls on the hunt for a meal. Not realizing it was beginning to rain, they did this until Easton heard his brother call him home.
“I gotta go,” he said to his new friend. “It’s dinnertime.”
Adrian scratched his forehead. “Oh. Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Easton toddled off back to his house where Leon and his mother were waiting for him on the front porch. The young boy shook the water out of his hair while his brother handed him a plate. The West family sat on the porch and ate together, watching as the rain grew from a drizzle to a storm. Easton was going to tell them about the new friend he’d made who was moving somewhere nearby, but they both looked very tired and neither seemed apt to converse at the present, so he didn’t bother. Eventually, Leon rolled their mother back inside when the storm became too great and Easton followed, hoping that Adrian had made it home safely before switching on the TV and finishing dinner with his family in the living room. Forty-seven minutes later, Leon helped their mother into bed. She turned on her side after kissing them both good night. Easton walked upstairs to brush his teeth. When he got out of the bathroom he walked past the door to the attic. Nearly everything in their large farmhouse was old and creaky, so it racked up a fair number of unsettling feelings within Easton when he walked by it. He’d once had a nightmare about going into the attic, only for the floor to give way and for him to fall into the open mouth of a hideous monster that looked like a fuzzy shark. Once he’d scurried away and shut the door to his room, Easton got ready for story time.
Or at least he intended to. For when he hurriedly closed himself into the second bedroom at the end of the hall, Easton realized that he wasn’t alone. Sitting on the floor, looking just as perplexed as he was, was his new friend Adrian.
“What’re you doing in my room?” both boys asked at the same time.
#
March 28th, 2010
Roughly ten years later, Easton was resting high on a branch, hidden within the lilac petals of the old cherry tree in the backyard. His eyes were transfixed on the book in his hand, A Separate Peace. Beside him, on a slightly lower branch, Adrian hung upside down, earbuds in, glued to his phone. After reaching the end of a paragraph, Easton quietly rested the book upon his lap and chewed his lip for a moment.
“Adrian,” he said. When there was no response, Easton waved his hand wildly to grab his friend’s attention. “Adrian!”
Adrian took out the left earbud and curled his head upwards. “What?”
“Do you think we’re like the characters in this book? Phineas and Gene?”
“Depends. Which one am I?”
“I think that’s obvious.”
“Well I’m not dead, so I’d say no.”
“Fair enough.”
“Actually, I think we’re more like the characters in this show I’m watching.”
“What show?”
“Come down and watch.”
Easton placed his book back with the other classics he had tightly sealed in Ziploc bags inside the hollow of the cherry tree. He carefully clambered onto Adrian’s branch and joined him upside down.
“I don’t get how you can stay like this,” he said. “Doesn’t all the blood rush to your head?”
“Nope,” replied Adrian, his face beet red. “Okay, check this out. I put the captions on. It’s called Pushing Daisies. Look at this, it’s beautiful. Fantastic cinematography and dialogue. Also, Lee Pace and Kristin Chenowith.”
“What, is this a musical?”
“Sometimes. I guess maybe you should probably listen to it. Here, I’ll take my earbuds out.”
“Nah, you don’t gotta do that. I’ll just watch it when Leon gets home.”
“Locked you out again, huh?”
“Sometimes I think he does it on purpose.”
“Leon wouldn’t do that.”
“I know. It just feels like it is all. He’s so busy working all the time and I’m not. I just kinda feel like he’s punishing me, and I know he isn’t, so maybe I feel like I need to be punished for being so useless.”
“Well, you are pretty useless.”
“Thanks, A.D.”
“No, but seriously—here let me pause this.” Adrian turned off his phone, then rocked his body back and forth like a pendulum before hopping upright onto the branch. Easton did the same, but it took him longer as he was not as physically fit as his friend. Once they were both up, Adrian continued, “Seriously, you put so much weight on yourself for things you don’t have control over. It’s been bummin’ me out seeing you like this. You used to be so carefree.”
“No, that was you,” Easton countered.
“And you. Listen, you can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened. If you keep doing that, there’s gonna be nothing left of you but self-loathing and ash. You’re like a fire that won’t let himself blaze because he’s too afraid of seeing the world burn. Well, guess what buddy: since the day it began, the world’s been burning and nothing yet has stopped it turning.”
Easton gave a nod. “I like that. That little rhyming thing you did there. That was good.”
Adrian rolled his eyes. “Ugh. If you’re not going to listen to me, I’m just gonna go back to watching my show.” He positioned himself to flip down again, but Easton placed a hand next to his knee to stop him.
“No, I’ll listen.” Easton looked at his friend with apologetic eyes. “I promise. I’m sorry.”
“Good, because I only ever get this deep with you and if you let it go to waste, I might not talk to you for the next week.”
“I’m calling your bluff.”
“Ha! You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
“Correction: I do know you. I know you better than your own family, and I also know more of what you’re capable of than even you do. You’d get lonely on the second day and chase me down after soccer practice to suggest we get make up churros. I could probably even time it down to the minute.”
Adrian narrowed his eyes. “You think you know everything about me—”
“I’ve also seen your penis.”
“Alright! I’m taking the emergency exit out of this conversation now. Goodbye.”
The taller boy jumped from the tree and landed effortlessly on the grass below. Easton chuckled and climbed down, jogging up to his friend and swinging around in front of him, a big goofy grin on his face. “I’m only teasing, ya dumbass.”
Adrian grinned back. “Fuck you. Let’s go get some churros.”
#
When the boys returned, churros in hand, Leon’s truck was parked on the gravel driveway. It was already dark and, according to Easton’s watch, an hour later than his brother should have been back.
“Leon’s home,” Easton muttered. “I bet he was with Kathy again…”
“Why do you hate her so much?” Adrian asked. “She’s nice.”
The former rolled his eyes. “Sure, maybe in your world she is, but not when she’s around Leon. Worst. Girlfriend. Ever.”
“Oh, speaking of girlfriends, did I tell you Lisa Winter asked me out today?”
“Lisa Winter? Really? Are you guys gonna get pinned?”
“Ah, shut up. No, but she’s nice. Cute.”
“Yeah, well, during fourth period I saw Lisa pass a love note to Frank Dane like a little girl. She’d drawn hearts all over it.”
“Frank Dane? I wonder what bizarre events must’ve occurred to make that attraction happen.”
“Dunno. So, are you gonna go steady with her?”
“Are you trying to get me to sing Bye Bye Birdie?”
“Maybe.”
“Look, I haven’t decided yet. I just don’t know her too well.”
Easton frowned. “Let’s go inside.”
Adrian cocked his head. “What’s wrong, Easty?”
“Nothing. You comin’?”
“Nah. I’ll stay out here for a while. Might go for a run.”
“See ya then.”
“Wanna watch Pushing Daisies when I get back? I’m telling you, you’ll like it.”
“Okay.”
Easton scarfed down the rest of his churro as he walked up the steps of his farmhouse and went inside. He took off his shoes and jacket. From the kitchen he could hear Leon frying something delicious smelling, so he ventured towards the sizzling. He sat down at the dining room table and sighed.
“Oh, hey,” Leon said, turning to Easton from the stove. “I didn’t hear you come in. Is Adrian with you?”
Easton rested his chin on the table. “No, he went for a run.”
“Oh. Well, I hope he comes home soon. There’s supposed to be a thunderstorm tonight and I don’t want his dad to worry.”
“He’ll be fine. He’s not allowed to die without my permission.”
“Ha. I guess if you put it that way. Want some sausage?”
Easton narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Are you taunting me?”
“Only if you think I am.”
“How was Kathy’s?” Easton redirected.
Leon took the pan off the stove and dumped the sausage and grease onto a napkinned plate. “What makes you think I went to Kathy’s?”
“Because you were an hour late and you have blue lipstick on your neck.”
“Are you serious?” Leon stepped away and examined his reflection on the microwave. “What? No, I don’t.”
“Yeah, but I got my answer.” Easton stood up, took a fork from the utensils drawer, and snagged himself a strip of fried sausage while his older brother was fixing his collar. “I’m gonna go to my room.” Easton paused. “Unless you need my help with anything?”
Leon shook his head. “I’ve got it all handled. I’m just going to make sure Keanu Reeves is inside before the rain hits. Thanks though.”
“No problem,” Easton replied hollowly, before heading out of the kitchen. “Night, Leon.”
“Night, Easton.”
Deflating with every step, Easton walked upstairs and through the attic door to his room. Once inside, he slipped out of the rest of his clothes and into a white shirt and pair of boxers. The red-haired boy flopped onto his bed and started slowly biting away at the sausage, gazing blankly at the ceiling as his thoughts devoured him. Eventually, rain started to patter down on the round window next to him, sloshing against the pane so that it muddied his view of the outside. He closed the curtains, curled atop his covers, sighed again, and stared at the hairs on his arm before closing his eyes.
Thirty minutes later, Easton heard the door open and close. He looked up to see a dripping Adrian shaking his hair out, soaked to the bone. He was beaming. Easton couldn’t help but give a short nostril laugh before rolling over to the other side. A flash of light came through the translucent curtains, followed by a great roll of thunder. Adrian sat on his bed across the room, wringing out his clothes. Easton knew this without even looking.
“God, I love racing in the rain,” Adrian said.
“You’re like that dog,” Easton muttered back.
“What’s that?” Adrian asked, standing up and walking to him.
“It’s a book. The Art of Racing in the Rain.”
“Okay, but I didn’t hear the first part.”
“Put your hearing aid in then.”
Adrian frowned. “Jeez, what’s your problem? You got a stick up your ass or something?”
Easton rolled back over and gave Adrian a stern face. “You’re gonna warp the floors if you don’t put down a towel.”
“What’s it to you?”
“It isn’t. Just…whatever.” He promptly rolled back over again.
“Easty, come on.” When Easton didn’t respond, Adrian walked over to the bathroom by his bed and took out a towel. He wiped up all the water, changed into fresh clothes, then returned to his friend. “There, it’s all clean, okay? Come on, just talk to me. You’re acting like a hormonal fifteen-year-old.”
“Most indubitably,” Easton replied, then turned over once again to find Adrian on the ground, pouting up at him. “No, don’t…I want to be mad right now…”
“You don’t want me to do dis?” Adrian started rolling back and forth. “You don’t want to do da cute kitty face?”
“God, you are so weird!” Easton laughed. He threw a pillow at his friend but missed. “Just let me be a butt, ya stupid ass!”
“ ‘Fraid not. In fact…” Adrian got up and took out his phone. He connected it to the aux cable next to his stereo and started shuffling through his music library to find the song.
“Don’t you dare—” Easton attempted to object, but the song had started, and he couldn’t help but slap himself in the forehead. “Goddammit A.D.”
Adrian started singing, followed by Easton.
“Istanbul was Constantinople—”
“Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople—”
“Been a long time gone, Oh Constantinople—”
“Now it's Turkish delight on a moonlit night!”
And, thus they began to dance their usual routine to this song—Adrian holding his phone tightly in his hand as they did so—for there is not a person alive with a soul that doesn’t have some sort of dance associated with “Istanbul” by They Might Be Giants. It was all rather silly and embarrassing, but who cares about appearances when you’re with the person you love? If you can’t stand in a crowd with your best friend and be absolute fools together, then it certainly isn’t meant to be. And while Easton and Adrian were meant to be (if there was ever such an example of that), that didn’t mean that these two could stand in a crowd together, however much they wanted to.
But as they sat on the floor, hands almost touching, watching Pushing Daisies on Adrian’s laptop while the outside world roared, Easton felt a bleeding mix of bliss and despair, unsure of what to say to Adrian when the time finally came, while Adrian had long since come to the conclusion that the words he wanted to tell Easton were so painstakingly obviously, they were better left unsaid. Even if those three words had been used to death by society, they still held importance to them. And though they knew each other in and out, both boys were afraid to open that door, for fear of the pain it would bring in a situation as hopeless as their own.
#
September 4th, 1999
Five-year-old Easton ran from his room and found Leon sitting in the armchair downstairs. He tugged on his brother’s shoulder, who looked down at him with sleepy eyes.
“I’ll be upstairs in a second,” he said.
“There’s a boy in my room!” Easton replied.
“What?” Leon repeated, this time with confusion.
“There’s a boy in my room!” Easton said again. “Come look!”
He grabbed his brother’s hand and led him upstairs in a hurry. Leon was quite bewildered by this statement until he opened the door to his younger brother’s bedroom. Easton gestured to Adrian, who was looking quite perplexed as well. However, once the door was open and Leon saw where Easton was indicating, he understood immediately. For what he saw before him was not another young boy with black hair, brown skin, and red eyes, but empty space.
“Oh,” he said. “You’ve made an imaginary friend.”
“Huh?” said young Easton. “But he’s right there!”
“Who’re you talking to?” asked Adrian, who could not see Leon either.
Easton looked from his brother to the boy he’d just befriended, then from the boy he’d just befriend to his brother and swallowed. He could not fathom just yet what was going on, though he would in time. And that was the exact moment, my friend, that began the strange coexistence of Easton West and Adrian Carter.
Author: @besttardywrites (Best Tardy)
From a photo shoot at Art is Life Studio in 2016, which I used to work at! If you’re in the Dallas area, you don’t want to miss out on Jenice’s Photography!
Follow @besttardywrites for poetry, writing, quotes, book excerpts, and commissions! Or just to say hi! I like making new friends!
Loving someone like that is like loving a star: you don’t mind if you burn, just so long as you get to burn with them.
Best Tardy, “Beware the Stars”
This is one of my favorite playlists I made! It’s just got a great flow :)
(via https://open.spotify.com/user/brendansmithtardy/playlist/1gLROnB38oxWdorZCIsC0f?si=Qgh2kfl9SVWp_9soFJEqjA)
It was just then that it occurred to him that even the meanest of people could have good qualities hidden within them, even if it wasn’t as apparent as one might think. All in all, he realized, no matter what degree of person you fell into, the most universal part of humanity was the inherent desire to be understood by those different than you.
Best Tardy, “Beware the Stars”
Tonight in our D&D group we went to a library to research something and I rolled a Nat1 to find the children’s section after realizing my character can’t read very well and ended up finding Critical Role erotic in the adult section.
But with real love, the second that emotion hits your veins it’s like an extra heartbeat that takes you out of existence for a moment, only to return to an altered world. Everything feels different with love, yet it’s does not feel like sole happiness. It feels like euphoria and misery; elation and discouragement; hope and despair.
Best Tardy, “Imaginary Friends”
*Novel Excerpt*: “Beware the Stars”: Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Burning of the Bras
“Baby, I’m a fire; I can’t be touched because I’m already burning.”
HELENA
The first snow in Coal Creek was unanimously the most magical. Coal Creek was a quiet town, generally, and especially at night, with only a few cars making their way through the snow at dusk. It was two days from Christmas and everywhere the town glowed softly with multicolored angel lights and inflatable snowmen.
Her eyes closed, Helena Jane McCoy stood perfectly still between the pine trees at Geoffrey’s Park just listening to the quiet: the hush and silence of the gentle snowflakes caressing the ground; the occasional batting of her eyelashes; her long ginger hair, flowing freely from out her maroon cap in a mixture of orange and white…it was nice. Calming.
No incorrigible mother to deal with.
No stupid sisters to look after.
No father to…
Well, no father.
Thanksgiving wasn’t the same without him—even if he wasn’t missed. Mrs. McCoy, or Ms. McCoy now, had locked herself in her room to work all Thanksgiving break. And try as she might to distance her personality from her mother’s, Helena had been having the same reaction. Since her sisters were gone often for visitation, she’d been spending most of her time these days writing her story or staring up at the ceiling dully. Aunt Carol ended up coming over and cooking dinner for her every other night.
But right now, here at Geoffrey’s Park, Helena didn’t have to worry about any of that ridiculousness. No laughter, no crying, no screaming, no wind, no noise—nothing. She was in a sensual space void of sound and feeling. Snowflakes floated down beautifully in an endless purity rain. Helena breathed in and out, opening her eyes to watch the breath escape from her lips. It was quaint.
It’d been a few weeks since she’d last talked to or seen any members of the Jay Team. Cal had been coming around and knocking at her door, but Helena’d had Sara answer it and tell him she wasn’t home. And it wasn’t just him: everyone who tried to talk to her, including Gaia, was pushed to a distance for the moment. She didn’t even care if J.T. was taking over as leader in her absence; they’d all probably be better off with him than her. Though she’d been the one to create and lead the Jay Team for so many years, Helena had long ago learned that people would steal whatever they could. There was no good left in the world, just in fiction. And love obviously didn’t exist—couldn’t exist, really.
After all, what was love but a manic delusion?
Helena sank to the pine needles on the ground and sat with her legs crossed gracefully. Even if she wanted to cry at this very moment, she couldn’t. It felt like there was nothing left inside of her. How strange to be so young yet so devoid of youth.
For a while, Helena just sat where the dark grey sky met the earth, thinking absolutely nothing. No one came, no one went. It was bliss. Eventually, she was able to will herself to leave. She was grateful for the control. Sighing, Helena proceeded to sift her way through the snow back into the neighborhood.
Maybe she would go visit Cal finally. She could really tolerate his face right now.
#
CALVIN
Meanwhile, thirty minutes prior, Calvin Hunter sat snug under toasty camouflage bed sheets in his room, alone, rereading The Andalite Chronicles to try and get his mind off Helena. She’d been avoiding him since Thanksgiving, offering no explanation as to what he did that would make her want to stop talking to him. Every time he knocked on her door, Sara would tell him she was at a Hapkido tournament or doing homework or at Gaia’s. It was so rehearsed that even Calvin could see through the ruse. But despite everything and the hurt that came along with it, Calvin just kept reminding himself that she must have her reasons and maybe it wasn’t about him.
As he flipped the page, Martha entered his room with two steaming mugs in her hands. Treading carefully over the constant state of disaster that was Calvin’s floor, Martha sat down on the side of his bed, taking a long slurp from one of the mugs while simultaneously offering her brother the other.
“Cocoa?” she asked, wiping a pale mustache away with her bare arm.
Calvin accepted gratefully. “Thanks.” Licking his lips, he put down his book and tipped the mug towards his mouth cautiously to avoid actively burning his tongue. Thankfully, it turned out to be the perfect temperature. “Is this Dad’s cocoa?”
Martha leaned backwards towards the window where snow had been piling at the bottom of the glass. “Yeah. Lemongrass-lavender white chocolate.”
“Dad always made the best cocoa.”
“I know.”
There was a slight pause. Martha closed her eyes delicately, as if trying to regain something lost within herself. With his free hand, Calvin sat up straight and adjusted the pillow behind his back. He pushed another across the covers and onto Martha’s stomach.
“Thanks, Cal,” she whispered without opening her eyes.
Calvin breathed slowly. “I miss dad.”
To this, Martha reopened her eyes and turned on her side to face her brother. Normally his sister was a very lively person, but right now she looked like a deflated balloon: her arms and face were drooping and she didn’t look remotely as pretty as she normally did, what with her long brown bangs and smoky grey eyes—just like their mothers. But here it seemed as if her spirit was out of breath.
Martha clicked her fingers once on his camouflage covers. “You know…it’s been three years since Dad died and Mom never talks about him at all. I mean, sometimes I feel…I feel like maybe he never existed in the first place and was just a character I made up in my head as a child—which, I know, is really stupid, but that sorta aligns in my head with something Dad used to tell Ariel and I when we were growing up.”
“What?” Calvin questioned earnestly.
“He always said…um…give me a second…” Martha took a moment to remember. “Oh, right. Dad always said—and I hope I’m not butchering this—he said, ‘It’s better to be a person than a character, for people are smaller in what they do yet so much bigger on the inside.’ ” Martha waited for Calvin to respond. When he didn’t, unsure of what to say, she continued, “It always gets me thinking: maybe he is a character now. Because he doesn’t have an inside or an outside. He’s dead. I can remember him, but there’s nothing more I can learn from him that doesn’t seem, I dunno, fictional. Even those boxes of letters he left us…” She choked for a second, but wasn’t crying at all. “I just can’t grasp that anyone really wrote those…especially not dad. He’s gone. There’s nothing left. But everybody wants him to stay dead—and that’s why I can’t reawaken him. It’s indescribably horrific.”
“Dad was really wise,” Calvin stated in his smallest inflection. “Dad loved us.”
“Yeah,” Martha agreed. “Yeah he did. I’m so sorry that you were the one to—”
With a sudden panic, Calvin jerked his head ‘no’ and cut her off. Martha’s face fell even more.
“Right,” she said. “Sorry. Never mind.”
There was another brief pause. Calvin took this moment to sip a bit more of the cocoa.
“What’re you reading?” Martha asked.
“It’s an Animorphs book,” he replied, holding up the cover to her.
“Should have guessed. Hey, mom’s asleep. Want to come build a fire with me and Kassi?”
“That’d be fun. But we don’t have any wood.”
“Oh, we’re not going to be using any wood.” Martha chortled mischievously. She seemed to be trying to hold in whatever it was making her laugh—which of course made her laugh even harder. Martha brought the mug of cocoa to her lips to stifle it.
Calvin sipped his again to match. “What’s so funny?” he inquired seconds later, semi-suspicious of his older sister’s intentions.
“So, you know how Steve is shit-terrible at hiding gifts?”
“Martha…”
“Alright, alright. Very terrible at hiding gifts?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I found his hiding spot this year. In the back of the pantry, where the liquor is. Like we don’t already know where he hides it.”
“And?”
“And I found out what he got me this year. There was a post-it note: ‘For Martha – DON’T FORGET.’ You know what it is?”
“What?”
“It’s a fancy bra from Victoria’s Secret.”
“A bra? Gross!”
Martha laughed. “Ah, you won’t be saying that in a few years. Anyway, Kassi and I are gonna gather up all our bras and burn them in the backyard.”
“You’re going to burn them?”
“Burn them, scorch them, set them aflame!”
“Wait, why does Kassi want to burn her bras?”
“Who knows? I didn’t ask. Regardless, it’s gonna be a big ‘fuck you’ to Steve.”
“Hey!”
“Sorry, not sorry. So, are you in?”
“I dunno, Martha…”
“Oh, come on Cal, now really! Aren’t you the one who, like, loves burning shit—”
“Martha!”
“—burning stuff?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then no more questioning it.” Martha yanked him and stepped off the bed. “Off we go—ow!” There was a small crunch. Martha reached down and pulled the shards of one of his toy helicopters off her bare foot. “Really, Calvin?!”
“Sorry.”
“Seriously, little brother, you have got to keep your room clean. It’s appalling!”
Shrugging meekly was all Calvin could muster as a response before he found himself literally whisked away in another one of Martha’s rebellious escapades, leaving the half-empty mugs of their Dad’s cocoa behind. Usually he might have protested, but his subconscious was just grateful there weren’t any thoughts of Helena clouding him at the moment. Calvin layered on his puffy coat, snow pants, and combat boots, ready to step out the door when Martha took a slight detour after she’d finished getting dressed as well. His sister walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains.
“Dear God, is he still out there?” she said, peering hard through the snowfall.
“Who?” Calvin asked, moving right beside her.
“That kid living at the Alderman house. I don’t think he’s been inside for at least six hours.” Martha pointed at the blurred figure across the street. It was Brendan, shivering in an overlarge sweater and jeans as he shoveled the driveway. “Huh.”
“Can’t we invite him over?”
“I…don’t think that’s a good idea, little brother.” Before Calvin could ask why, Martha looped her arm with his and changed targets. “Alright, let me get my bras—and then to the backyard!”
#
HELENA
Helena was trudging up the sidewalk when she saw Cal’s face fogging up his front window. She was about to go knock on the door but stopped when she noticed there was someone standing right next to him.
Ugh. Martha. Any motivation to stop by and grace Cal with her presence was instantly shattered. Reactively, Helena darted behind a pine tree in J.T.’s front yard, hoping the flurry would mask her movements and they wouldn’t spot her. (Like a spy or a superhero.) There was a low rumbling sound and Helena watched as the garage to J.T.’s house suddenly opened. A puffy figure in a boy’s coat hurried out, trailing footprints across the empty street.
It must’ve been J.T.
Curious, Helena visually tracked the figure as he ran right up the driveway to the Alderman house, where Brendan—whom she hadn’t noticed until now—was huddling in the middle of the driveway with a snow shovel. He had nothing on but a sweater and jeans. His face, ears, and hands were bright red and chapped, making each pained expression he made look less like he was bitterly cold and more like he was recovering from a very bad sunburn. He was ridged as a rock too.
The person who must have been J.T. darted to him and back in expert time, quickly passing something off between them. A box, by the look of it. Helena took note of that as the figure left Brendan and headed back across the street. Helena bent a little further around the pine tree to see their face. It wasn’t J.T.
It was Kassi.
Figures, Helena thought. She must’ve been dropping off a Christmas present to—oh no.
Helena’s heart skipped a beat. She’d forgotten to give Cal his Christmas present! She’d put so much hard work into it—and it wasn’t even wrapped! Immediately, she continued walking past Cal’s house and towards her own. But from across the street, she spotted Brendan waving to her, shivering.
“H-h-hi H-Hele-lena!” he sputtered out, the closest equivalent to a verbal wood chipper as humanly possible.
“Hi Brendan,” she responded simply, then took off into the white. But even though she didn’t look back, she suddenly got a ping sympathy for him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she regretted how she’d treated Brendan that night in the cornfield. When she’d woken up the next morning to see him all alone in the basement…well, she felt a bit of remorse. It wasn’t her proudest moment, by far. And he seemed to have it a lot worse than she did.
Maybe she should do something to make it right.
Helena quickly turned around and powerwalked back to Brendan. Wordlessly, and before he could get anything out, she took her maroon cap that read “WEASLEY IS OUR KING” and stuck it on his head, heading off again as he stood stunned behind her.
“Th-thank you!” Brendan called.
You’re welcome, Hummingbird, she thought to herself.
# CALVIN
As Calvin dug the snow from out of their clay chimenea, Kassi came trudging into the backyard looking as round as a boulder in her coat.
Martha hurried over. “Where are the bras?”
“In here.” Kassi pointed underneath her coat. “It’s the only way I could sneak them over without my brothers catching me.”
“And the matches?”
“If you’ve got the gasoline.”
“Thanks for reminding me. Hang on a sec, I’ve gotta go back inside and get everything.”
“No problem.”
Martha zoomed back into the house and out again, carrying an armful of bottles and cans—most of which were Blue Moon—and a lacy bra between her teeth. Like a dog, she dropped the bra into Kassi’s open glove, then handed over half the beers. “I’ve gathered every drink I could find, just as planned. Here, bring the bras over to the canoe. Calvin, help?”
He hesitated for split second, then reluctantly got up to join them. Well…maybe not quite as reluctantly as he wanted to tell himself he was. In a peculiar way, Calvin found it exciting and gratifying to do something so wrong like this. (What would Helena think of him right now? She’d probably like it.) He walked over to Steve’s old decaying canoe and grunted as he tipped it on its side, pounding the bottom to shake out the fresh snow. Martha swept off the rest.
Kassi began unzipping her coat. “Alright, let’s do this.”
“Calvin, hold out your hands!” Martha ordered, beckoning him over to catch the bras when they fell.
Calvin clinched his mittens. “Do I have to?”
“No, you don’t have to,” Martha replied. “But I did make you Dad’s cocoa.”
The realization suddenly hit Calvin like a giant snowball from the sky. How had he not seen it before?
“You tricked me!” he accused his sister, who only smirked mischievously in return. “You only did that so I’d help you!”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, little brother.” Martha waved the thought away through a broken British accent. “But do help, Calvin dear.”
Seeing that he had no choice—as she had made him Dad’s cocoa—Calvin grumbled his way over to help his sister as Kassi unzipped. About two-thirds of the way down, twenty different colored bras tumbled out. They were mainly beige and black, but there were a few girly ones in the mix as well. Calvin couldn’t help but grimace and throw them quickly into the canoe alongside his sister. Beaming like a ray of unfazed sunshine, Martha clapped him on the back. He crossed his arms, huffed, then feigned ralphing as she mixed in her own bras she’d set aside next to the chimenea with Kassi’s, rearranging a few onto separate ends of the canoe. Like a cherry on a sundae, Martha garnished the lacy one on the top of the pile.
“What?” said Martha in response to his confused look. “They have to be judged by a jury of their peers before we abuse our power. That’s democracy.” She then turned to Kassi, pulling a rather serious tone out of nowhere. “Shall we begin?”
“Yes,” replied Kassi in rivaling gusto. “Let us commence with the trial.”
Martha turned back to the canoe with commanding vigor. “Bras, you stand accused of constraining and holding hostage four collectively innocent boobs, inflicting pain on a torturous level, demonstrating insensitivity, a mocking lack of diversity, and have been the cause, quite clearly, of blatant sexual harassment. Have you anything to say in your defense?” She paused, as if waiting for the bras to reply.
“Martha,” Calvin whispered, concerned, “what are you doing?”
But his sister continued, ignoring him completely. “Then the jury has no choice but to find you wholly and inexcusably guilty. Judge, what is your sentence?”
“Death,” Kassi spoke low, “by fire.”
“Your execution is set. We will now commence with the burning of the bras. Intern Executioner Calvin, if you would.”
He blinked as Martha gestured to the chimenea. “Um, okay…” Calvin stuffed just enough bras to fill the base of the chimenea, then looked up. “Good?”
“Mucho appreciation.” Martha gave him a thumbs up, but then stopped. “Wait, no.” She reached in and grabbed the lacy one out. “Save Steve’s for last. Judge?”
Kassi reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a bottle opener, and, with a trivial amount of effort from her muscles, popped the cap off one of the Blue Moons. They all stared in silence (though Calvin wasn’t sure why he was) as she held it high for a moment, like the beer was radiating starlight on top of a majestic pedestal. Kassi lowered the beer and tipped it all the way down the chimenea. She tossed the bottle aside and, after a few more drinks were added, fished back into her pocket and handed Martha a box of matches. Martha lit one, a dangerously wicked expression illuminating her face, and with one final nod to each other, cried, “Au revoir, bitches!” before tossing the lit match into the base of the chimenea. In a flash, the first round of bras went up in flames.
A strange feeling overtook Calvin as she saw this. He loved to watch fire: to feel its comforting heat; to gaze at its mesmerizing dance; to become completely engrossed by the shadows it cast in the night…it was so ensouling. Calvin hadn’t even noticed how fast the daylight had slipped away, but he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was hear the crackle of the blackening bras while sitting in complete and utter bliss. When the first round died out, they scraped out the ash and twisted metal before lighting up the remaining bras. While the rest burned, Martha took out a black sharpie and wrote Fuck You, Steve on the lacy one. At this point, Calvin didn’t even care; he just wanted to watch it burn. Once the chimenea had been emptied and the bra had been stuffed in and doused with the remaining beer, the two were finally ready to burn the gift.
“Ready, Executioner Martha?”
“Let’s do this. Fuck Steve.”
Yet as she said this, Martha suddenly went stiff and quiet. Both sensing something wrong, Kassi and Calvin moved shoulder to shoulder with her. Calvin held onto his sister’s arm comfortingly. He’d done this on the couple of times where she’d lost control, such as when she’d found out that their dad had died. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was doing it now, but in a way, Calvin just knew. Unexplainably. Because some things don’t need to be explained, like love and all the beautiful heartbreak it brings with it.
Calvin could feel his sister crying silently—just like their mother—as the snow settled on their shoulders in the quiet darkness of the cold December night. He looked up to see that the tears coming down were drying quickly on her cheeks. That didn’t cause her to lose her beauty, however—it just added to the heartbreak instead. Kassi was hugging Martha tight now, whispering something inaudibly reassuring into her ear.
“Martha, are you okay?” Calvin asked, tilting his head to meet his sister’s gaze.
But she wasn’t looking at him. Instead, in a voice that Calvin had only ever heard once before; a tone Martha had used standing over the casket at their father’s funeral; a voice of incalculable rust and despair, she said, “Who needs gratitude if you can never have what you really want?” She lit a match, threw it onto the beer-soaked bra, and collapsed into Kassi’s arms, sobbing. Calvin knew exactly what to do next before Kassi could even signal him: he ran to the backdoor and opened it. They helped Martha inside, who sunk into a chair at the dining table, crying her heart out.
There was a frantic voice from upstairs. “Martha? What’s wrong?”
Calvin’s mom came hustling downstairs in her pajamas. Upon seeing Martha in anguish, she immediately clutched her daughter to her breast. “Sweetheart, what happened?” When Martha kept wailing, Mrs. Hunter-Oswald turned to Kassi and Calvin. “What’s going on?”
“Doug,” Kassi answered slowly.
Mentioning his name made Martha sob harder. Mrs. Hunter-Oswald held her tighter, stroking her daughter’s hair. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay…” She turned to Kassi. “You can go home. I’ve got it from here.”
“Are you sure?” the teen responded. She seemed hesitant to leave Martha’s side.
“Please.”
Kassi nodded. She gave Martha a long, heartfelt hug before leaving out the backdoor.
Martha spoke up as soon as she left, sobbing into her mother’s arms. “I hate Steve so much! He’s horrible! He’s nothing like Dad!”
“I know you do,” Mrs. Hunter-Oswald replied softly. “I know.”
She continued stroking her daughter’s hair for a while before Martha pulled back up, wet-faced, yet a bit calmer. From what Calvin knew about his sister, Martha only liked acting out of control, but never truly wanted to be it. She took a breather before responding.
“Kassi and I burned the bra Steve got me for Christmas. It was creepy, Mom, and I didn’t want it.” Martha frowned as Mrs. Hunter-Oswald gave her a look. “I found it on the top of the pantry, behind the liquor. It’s not an okay thing for him to get me! You understand that right? I’m not sorry I did it.”
“Martha—”
“And I know that you want me to like him, Mom, but I can’t—I just can’t. He’s an asshole and he’s nothing like Dad, who you never want to talk about anymore. It feels like he never existed in the first place. I hate it!”
“Martha, please—”
“And don’t you blame Kassi for this, alright? She burned her bras for other reasons. I told her to help, so it was me, okay? Me! I just can’t stand that you’d stay married to someone who isn’t Dad and who would buy his teenage stepdaughter a bra from Victoria’s Secret!”
“Martha,” said Mrs. Hunter-Oswald. “I bought you that bra.”
Shock and horror registered across Martha’s face. She was about to say something but choked briefly as the words were ejected back into her throat, before uttering, “Wh—what?”
“I bought you that bra because I thought you’d want something nice for Christmas. You’re growing up so fast and this was the age I bought Ariel expensive things like this.”
“But…but it was in the back of the pantry with the Blue Moon!”
“Steve didn’t think you would look back there.”
“Why would you—why would you even get me something like that?”
“Martha, you’re sixteen. I do get that you’d want to feel worth something in the way you look. I don’t worry about your self-esteem in that aspect like I did with Ariel, but quite frankly I think it’s time you have something nice to take care of.”
“Wait…you don’t think I’d look like a slut in it?”
“Honey, I don’t care how you dress, I care how you act. You’ve always had such a headstrong, well, spunk about you—something neither your father nor I had. I know you’ll do the right thing if you’re ever in a circumstance where someone is pressuring you into something you don’t want to do. And even if you do want to—I know this is a whole other talk—but if that’s something you want to do someday, having something like a fancy bra might make the whole experience that more special.”
For a moment, Martha was speechless. Then she bowed her head shamefully. “I’m…I’m so sorry, Mom. I really am. I shouldn’t’ve—I didn’t think—I just thought—”
“It’s okay, honey. While I am disappointed that I won’t get to see you unwrap it on Christmas, I think there’s a bigger talk needed. Let’s,”—Mrs. Hunter-Oswald took a breath—“let’s…talk about your dad. Okay, honey?”
“You really…” Martha looked as though she was fiercely holding back emotions as to not burst the Hoover Dam inside of her. “Just…thank you.”
They embraced again—sweeter this time.
Mrs. Hunter-Oswald turned to Calvin. “Honey, do you want to talk too?”
He shook his head, immediately about to head up to his room when Martha said, “Calvin?”
“Yeah?” he whispered.
“Thank you…I love you, little brother.”
He needn’t reply. Calvin was certain everyone knew what was not being said was more important than what was about to be. Fixing back on his original course, Calvin walked to his room, closed the door, shut the blinds, turned off the lights, knocked the half-empty mugs to the floor in a haste—not bothering to clean up the spill—and crawled into bed as swiftly as he could. He closed his eyes and tried not to think. His dad wasn’t something he wanted to talk about ever. Talking of Douglas Hunter was too upsetting.
Awhile later, the sound of the garage door rumbled through the whole house. Steve was home from O’Leary’s. Calvin wanted to be asleep before he heard anything said downstairs. At this point, he decided he’d rather think about Helena than anything else and did so until she showed up in his dreams.
#
HELENA
Around midnight, Helena snuck out of the house and left a Christmas present wrapped in red ribbon on Cal’s doorstep. Then, around one A.M., she realized how much of a mistake that was, snuck out again, and took it back. Deciding it was never meant to be seen by anyone (especially not Cal), Helena dug a hole with her hands under a pine tree at Damocles Park and buried the gift. She woke up at 2 o’clock the next afternoon in her bed, exceedingly tired and numb.
Author: @besttardywrites
NOTE: This is my personal favorite chapter in the book. Some names of places were changed that are not in the final draft for personal reasons. This is a work of fiction inspired by real events taken from the author’s life experiences but is by no means an accurate representation of the truth.
“Imaginary Friends” Preview Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Adrian’s World
September 4th, 1999
On that same day, before the two boys met, Adrian Carter was sitting in the front of his dad’s car, running his hand back and forth across the window, increasingly bored and in desperate need of a stretch. To compensate for the long drive, his dad had let him pick the music, but eventually switched to NPR when he could no longer take listening to Smash Mouth’s “Astro Lounge” for the collective 48th time. With his one silver lining revoked, Adrian took it upon himself to count every cow they passed, as this was both mildly entertaining and clearly something the world needed. By late afternoon, when they’d arrived at the old farmhouse Mr. Carter had purchased, he’d counted at least seventeen, but might’ve missed a few while he was rolling his head back in sheer road trip agony. Adrian was all too eager to step out of the car and race around in the fresh air, but before he could get too far, his dad grabbed him around the waist and propped him up on his shoulders.
“Are you excited?” Mr. Carter said. “This is our new house!”
He gestured to the vast farmhouse in front of them. It was tall and decaying in some areas, but mostly alright, and had a wide front porch protected by a glass screen. With no fence, Adrian could spot a large barren tree in the backyard, as well as a peeling white barn just north of that. Past the barn was a forest with a wheat field to its right. Adrian couldn’t think of the words to answer his dad, so he just responded with, “It’s old.”
“That’s why we’re gonna fix it up!” Mr. Carter set his son down. “Why don’t we take a little break and eat something before we unpack the essentials?”
“I want pastrami.”
“We have turkey.”
“Bleh.”
“Oh, come on, you like turkey. That’s all you used to eat.”
“But now I don’t like it.”
“My finnicky son. What your mother would’ve thought of you, I’d like to know. Okay, here’s my compromise: you eat the turkey now and I’ll take us out for dinner later. Deal?”
“Burger King.”
“Burger King again? But we’ve eaten at Burger King twice in the past two days!”
“I’ll eat the turkey if we go to Burger King.”
“Fine. Shake on it.”
Mr. Carter rubbed his palm across his cheek before extending his hand to his son. Adrian did the same and shook it. This was the Carters’ alternative to spitting on their hands to make a deal. Once that was settled, they both gave huge stretches and ate the turkey sandwiches from the cooler in the backseat. Both father and son sitting atop their white Ford Taurus, Adrian thought he saw something rustle in the wheat field but figured it might just be his overactive imagination at play again. Of course, we know who exactly was in that wheat field, but in his five-year-old brain, Adrian wagered that it could also have been a ghost or a spirit haunting the land. And while most children would be frightened stiff by that notion, Adrian Carter was not.
As he was helping his dad by dragging the sleeping bags across their leafy lawn, Adrian spotted the figure again, this time exiting from the back of the house—though his vision was partially obscured by the sleeping bags drooping over his right eye. He put both beddings on the porch and ventured off to find the ghost and befriend it. As soon as he did so, however, his dad appeared and redirected him back to the car to finish unloading what he could. Once that was over, Adrian jumped right back into his original goal and wandered away to the wheat field. He stepped carefully forward, thinking of what one might say to a ghost to make sure it didn’t vanish upon initial interaction, hoping that it was a friendly spirit and not an evil one. Imagine his surprise when, instead of a ghost, Adrian ran into a small ginger-haired boy rummaging around in the dirt. Their eyes connected, and Adrian could see his pupils were a strange shade of crimson. This was not at all what he’d prepared for—yet, in a way, he’d ended up with what he wanted all the same.
#
March 28th, 2010
Easton was the first to fall asleep, as he usually did when the rain started to weather down on the rooftop. He was so peaceful-looking curled up in his bed that Adrian couldn’t help but stare at him from his own. Adrian did this sometimes when he couldn’t sleep: just laid down and memorize the freckles of his best friend’s face from across the room. When he’d first started doing it back in middle school it felt sort of creepy, but that feeling had long since passed and a passive contentment had settled in its place. In his dreams—more frequently than he’d like to admit—he would be laying in Easton’s bed instead of his own, nuzzling him from under the covers, their bodies pressed together as he wrapped his arms around his friend while they breathed to the rhythm of the rain.
But these were the dreams Adrian would wake from with tears down his cheeks, for even unconsciously he knew that fate’s cruel hand would never allow such a treasure. He’d wipe the despondency from his eyes, smile wide, and meet his best friend at the bus stop where the bus would come and pick Easton up first, then Adrian a minute later. He’d go to school, do the ear scratch that signified waving to each other in the hallway between classes, kick around the soccer ball afterschool during practice, then walk home and meet Easton at their usual spot in the tree. Easton would read to him a passage from whichever book he was currently reading (or rereading) while Adrian would challenge his friend to whatever game he’d come up with during study hall. Or sometimes they would just play Name That Tune.
That was a typically uneventful day for Adrian. Or at least it had been. Right now, he was feeling a small distance from his best friend, who’d been acting a bit more emotional lately. But as he stared at his fifteen-year-old roommate who turned away from him towards the window, illuminated by the occasional bolt of lightning, Adrian couldn’t help but feel a bit empty. How could he be filled with such joy and such erosion at the same time? This, dear friend, was because life, despite common misconceptions, is not all or nothing: it is all and nothing. Adrian loved Easton with all his heart, but nothing would change the fact that they were on two separate islands, each barely visible from across an ocean, seeming only a mirage to the other. And unfortunately, my friend, asking for help was a futile task, as life will continue to be unswayed towards the feelings of those in longing.
#
September 4th, 1999
A few moments after Easton had left for dinner at whatever nearby house he lived at, Adrian heard his dad hollering. He walked out of the wheat field to find Mr. Carter frantically jogging around the estate, looking for him. When they spotted each other, Mr. Carter ran over to him and clutched him to his chest. Adrian could feel his dad’s heart beating fast against his right ear.
“Oh, you scared me, son!” Mr. Carter broke away from Adrian. “I’ve been calling you for thirty minutes.”
“I didn’t hear you,” Adrian replied, which was true.
“Where were you?”
“I was playing with my new friend.”
“New friend?”
“Yeah, Easton. He lives ‘round here.”
“Huh. That’s strange. I haven’t seen a house for miles. But be that as it may, you can’t go wandering off just yet. I’m not comfortable with you being out of my sight for right now.”
“Okay. I’m sorry…”
“Well, there’s no use dwelling on it. Once I’ve surveyed the area, I’ll let you know where I think it’s safe for you to play, alright? In the meantime, it’s starting to rain, so let’s go inside and unpack those clothes!”
“What about my bed?”
“Uncle Jesse’s bringing it by tomorrow with the rest of our stuff. Don’t you want to explore your new home? I’ll show you your room!”
Adrian nodded, and they headed into the house through the backdoor, which was unlocked. As soon as they entered the bare kitchen, the five-year-old started looking around with curious eyes. The inside was much like the outside, yet it held a certain charm to it. It was cozy and contained, if not incredibly spacious. It wasn’t particularly clean though and, as Adrian stepped forward, he left a trail of footsteps in the dust. Mr. Carter took notice of him looking back at them and said, “Don’t you worry. I’ll be doing some tidying up tonight.”
“Where’s my room?” Adrian asked.
“Come on, I’ll show you.”
Mr. Carter led him upstairs to the fourth door at the end of the hall. Opening it, Adrian walked inside and saw that his room was fairly large, even for adult standards. The grey curtains on the windows, like the rest of the house, were drawn, but he could hear the rain starting to thump against the glass. He opened them and peered outside to find a slightly blurred view of the leaf-stripped tree in the backyard. He turned around and looked at his dad.
“I like it!” He smiled. “Can we get Burger King now?”
“Alright…” Mr. Carter sighed. “Let’s go.”
Due to the moving boxes and other things blocking the front door, the Carters left the way they came in. The storm had taken no time at all in becoming unruly, so they had to race to the car while unavoidably getting soaked. Young Adrian laughed as he did so. Once they were buckled up and safe from the downpour, Mr. Carter revved the engine and backed out of the muddy gravel driveway and onto the main road. They had to drive all the way out to Altus to order from the closest Burger King and consumed everything within the seven minutes it took to get home. The rain showed no sign of letting up, so Adrian and his dad, again, sprinted for the backdoor, tracking in mud from the bottoms of their shoes.
“Let me find a towel for you to dry off,” Mr. Carter said, and went into the living room. He returned with a folded towel and a change of clothes for his son, who promptly made use of them. While he was doing so, out of the corner of his eye, Adrian spotted another figure scampering upstairs. Perhaps it really was a ghost this time! He left his dad, who was still drying off, and tiptoed towards it, excited at the prospect of finally meeting an otherworldly being. But when he arrived at the second-floor hallway, he found his surroundings wholly empty.
Adrian walked into his room, disappointed again by the results until he looked down. On the floor, staring at him with the same red hue in its eyes as Easton had, was a pearly white cat with a mess of fur grooming itself. This development delighted Adrian. Where had this cat come from? Was this old farmhouse its home? If that was the case, he certainly couldn’t send it out into the rain. Evicting it from the place it already resided simply because they’d moved in was a cruel notion, even if it was the American way. Adrian resolved to care for the poor thing right then and there, slowly sitting down as not to frighten it. The cat, however, seemed unaffected by his presence and continued cleaning its fur.
“Here kitty,” said the young boy. “Come here.”
At this, the cat looked up at him and gave him a hard stare. It was almost as if he was seeing straight through Adrian to something behind him, but Adrian knew there was nothing there. (Unless his dad had come up, but he hadn’t heard any creaks in the floorboards.) Then, quite unexpectedly, the cat darted from its place on the dusty floor and sped past Adrian with the force of a bullet. This caused the young boy to spin around and immediately look up at the person standing in front of him. It was the boy he’d met in the wheat field, Easton.
“What are you doing in my room?” they said together.
For a moment the two kids could only stare at each other. Then, without a word, Easton ran off. He returned moments later, his hand outstretched as he seemed to be dragging something invisible alongside him. Adrian stood up as Easton threw his other arm out and glanced expectedly at the empty space beside him.
“Huh?” said the boy. “But he’s right there!”
Adrian tilted his head, mystified. “Who’re you talking to?”
Easton turned to him. “My brother!” Then he turned back to the empty space. “He’s not imaginary! Touch him!” The red-haired boy grabbed at something in a sort of pantomime, and moved it towards Adrian, stopping when his hand was only a fist’s length away. His eyes went wide. “What…?” Suddenly, Easton let go of what he’d been holding and shoved has hand into Adrian’s chest. His fingers stuck through to the other side. Both boys jumped back, startled by this development.
Adrian’s face lit up giddily. “Cool!”
Easton on the other hand looked frightened for his life and ran off again. Confused, but utterly enthralled by this strange wonderment, Adrian just stood there, smiling, as he didn’t know what else to do. After all this time of imagining something greater, he finally had the unexplainable to indulge in. It was a good thing too, as if he hadn’t had that mindset, the two might never have found the secret to this bizarre happening.
“Dad!” Young Adrian cried, misinterpreting things. “I just met a ghost!”
But of course, we both know that things were not that simple and couldn’t be fully rationalized by two five-year-old brains. For the best of mysteries take years to wind up and a lifetime to unravel. And for Adrian and Easton, a lifetime it would take.
Author: @besttardywrites (Best Tardy)
People generally listen to themselves, even when someone else is speaking.
Best Tardy, “Sunrise for the Dreaming”
Watching Our Friendship Dissolve From The Cheap Seats
It’s easy to brush off your face
as an uncanny valley;
deep crevasses ripple down your forehead
like I’ve seen before,
a thousand times in the mirror.
.
Yes, it would be simple
to write a story
between those creased lines—
using lies to define the truth,
and turn a character into you—
but what a writer doesn’t know
could fill a book.
.
Or at least the rocky canyon space
I keep shoveling between us.
(I’ve worked so hard
to make reaching me
a pit you must climb out of,
though I can think of no reason
to attempt crossing.)
If this is what digging two graves is like,
why am I filling both?
.
I thought
I played you well;
I thought
this was winning.
.
“You must be unreliably reliant
If you are to get the upper hand.
Defiance and obedience
are both so easy to turn,
but one who deals
a mixed game
is almost certainly
a match
for their opponent.”
.
You say,
“Is that what you think?
This is a game?”
.
I reply,
“It always has been.”
.
And I watch as
your worn-out shoes
match your expression
and thump away,
feeling each concrete step
as a blow
hitting
my
stomach.
.
I haven’t lost a game;
I’ve lost my friend.
.
Regret will come later,
ready to greet me
like a lingering lover
striving to win
me back.
.
I hope
I can make this regret feel regret,
but at this point,
when will I settle for someone
who loves me?
.
And regret
knows me so well.
~King Best
I really like music. It’s how I fall in love.