Untitled #1
by Aria Durward
The first thing I notice is my mouth going numb. He seems irritated. His replies are
terse, impersonal. He joins me on the bed, naked. His hair looking stringy with sweat, crawling
like worms. I giggle once, in simple bliss, before bodies blur with shapes that alienated me. His
stringy, sweaty hair looks more like Medusa now, writhing, while the smudges on his wall turn
into pictographs and dance.
I go into the bathroom and look in the mirror, and something beautiful looks back.
Outside, reality doesn’t connect. Nature melted together, rocks, trees, and the muddy
river all swirling. Patterns shifting.
Time stops and starts.
He hands me one of those packets of crackers with the cheese in the middle. I choke, dry
crumbs sticking to the back of my throat. He hands me water instead. I look up and smile but he
wanders away. I walk to the edge.
Turning around, I start to look for him—I want to go home. I find him on the top of a
brick wall, eyes closed. I call his name, and he yells at me for interrupting before getting up to
leave.
On the way back I forget to act normal and stare down a car, eyes glassy.
When I walk into the living room his dad turns to me and asks, “So are you moving with
him when he goes?”
26
I laugh off the question, shaking my head, wishing I could ask him for a cigarette.
His dad just nods in reply, puffing on his.
Medusa goes upstairs, and after I’m done struggling with my boot laces I follow.
Life From a Log by Emily Leonard