Guardians and Angels | Chapter Three "Storytellers"

If I could rearrange time, I would take the moment his father caught us dancing in the California sunset, and I'd place it so far into our future, the universe would grow too cold for us to find it, all the burning stars would be long gone. God would find that moment, in the darkness, at closing time, and would wonder how it got there.

I'd cut out his father's punch from our memories like a surgeon, cover up the sound of his fist connecting...

Clack!

I'd erase his violence with my violence. I'd demand everyone agree with me. I'd cut the moment away with shiny scissors adorned with serrated edges. Clean slices, intentional severance.

Snip...

Snip

I'd bite at that moment with my teeth. Hard. Tear at it with my nails. Clench down upon it and rip it out, angry at the moment, willing to punish the moment. Make the moment feel what we felt. Violate the moment. Rip it. I wanted to rip it apart. Rip it to shreds. Rip it from the fabric of time.

If I could maneuver time like a magician, swirling its vastness like teacups on a table, I'd let the scene of the two of us tangled together slip away from our storyline like feathers floating upon a whirling sea. Swirling to remain afloat, unwilling to go under.

I'm not a magician though, so every moment will stay in its place. As it should, I guess. It's why we are all here anyway, because hardheaded boys can't rearrange time.

~

Kai went into his bathroom and stared at his blood-covered cheeks, his face, growing puffy, bruising setting in under his hazel gaze, bloodshot burgundy streaks shooting across the alabaster sclera like crimson lightning strikes.

"I'm going to have a black eye," he said, that smirk in his voice. He sounded a little excited about it.

"I'm going to look so cool with a black eye!" he laughed, turning toward me, teeth shining.

Yup, he's excited about it.

His voice sounded a bit strange from his crying, the dried blood within his nose, the shock of everything. He sounded slightly different. Or maybe it was because my ears were still ringing from the adrenaline whiplash of the past ten minutes. He grabbed a washcloth, soaped it up, scrubbing it hard across his face to get the blood off, steam rising from the porcelain sink below him.

"Check and make sure he is gone, gone, Christopher," he said through the washcloth scrubbing, voice muffled. I was gathering our clothes for the school dance into our gym bags, moving quickly, stuffing them inside haphazardly, unaware of wrinkles and how they show up forever in fuzzy pictures for the rest of our lives. Inside my head, I had been repeating my newfound mantra that shows up when someone's crazy dad beats the shit out of them in front of me.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god

Such a good mantra. Covers it all.

I rushed over to his window and peered down the street, his dad's truck turning out of sight a few blocks up. The brake lights like red eyes in the distance, demons blinking as he double-pumped twice and hauled around the corner, too fast, too loud.

"He's gone, gone," I called out.

You can breathe now

When I turned around, he was just staring at himself in the mirror. Steam rising from the sink, fogging up the battered image he saw before him. I knew he wasn't seeing himself. He was looking beyond the mirror. He was seeing through the fog, beyond the mist, past the questions lingering before us. He was seeing someone I didn't want to know but knew I would meet soon. A different part of him he hadn't yet shown me. I could sense it somehow.

He didn't speak for a while.

So many silent moments between us, but we were... synchronized

He just stared at the water condensing before him on the surface of the mirror into a fog. Something was rumbling inside him, I could hear it tumble throughout the stillness. A plot. I think his heart changed a little bit that night. I think it went from pumping warm liquid to something much colder. Some half-iced vengeance was spreading through him. I pictured the pebble ice at Sonic, slushing within his Cherry Limeade-filled veins. Something very deliberate was stirring.

"Us vs. Him, Christopher," he said slowly when he finally spoke. His voice monotone. No emotion. He was telling me a fact. Reporting from a location deep inside him. A place boys go where men can't harm them. Was his voice monotone, or deeper?

"Us vs. Him. I won't let him hurt you like he hurts me," his eyes finally detaching from the fog and finding mine, which were glossy from fear and tears, infatuated with his image. Locked onto him. Whiskey brown portals, boarded up against the world.

"He's onto you," he said.

I didn't ask any questions. I didn't have to. I grabbed our backpacks and held his bag toward him as he pulled on his shirt. He grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulders. His confirmation was the last shot into my heart that I needed. A million arrows fell from the skies that day, but those three words pierced me.

"Let's get outta here," I said, heading downstairs, pulling my baseball cap on. Tonight it was a black Giants cap, a bright SF symbol blazing in orange, even though I liked the A's ten times better. I couldn't wear green and yellow. Those colors didn't look good on redheads with freckles.

"I finally get to see your house," he said with a smirk as he caught up and we headed out the front door. My stomach clenched a bit.

Yeah, about that...

I'd never invited him over. I'd never invited anyone over before. I'd always spent the night at other boys' houses. Always the guest. Never the host. There were kids who knew where I lived in town. The ones who lived near me didn't advertise it. The ones who didn't live near me knew not to mention it. I always walked home from school, never accepted any rides from kind parents with big shiny cars.

No thanks! I'll take the shortcut! It'll be faster!, I would say... lying.

Just say shortcut, then it's not a lie.

Yeah, well, it's not a shortcut though

(Shut up)

The shortcut was through a park, and then a neighborhood of newer houses lined with deep purple plum trees out front, then down into a wide creek, then under Highway 101, then out past the railroad tracks, then to the west, then toward the edge of town. No, not toward the edge of town, toward the edge of the edge of town. Out in the Boonies, we'd say.

As we left his house and he locked his door, he turned toward me, his black eye dark in the moonlight, a deep ochre color. He must've seen something cross my face, or sensed my nervousness, as we left, he was good like that.

"What's wrong with you?"

Pause

"I'm not supposed to have anyone over," I mumbled, lying to him for the first time in my life, my eyes immediately shifting away, already regretting saying it.

"Why?" he said, genuinely curious. His eyes narrowing a bit as he peered at me, sensing the deception.

He knows me better than I thought

Synchronized

I looked back up at him, guilty. I shouldn't have lied, it's not like that with him. I just looked at him in the moonlight for a moment, he was bruised but more beautiful somehow. How is he so beautiful?

"You'll see, I guess," I said with a shrug.

"How long does it take to get there?" he said, dropping the inquiry for now. Probably thinking this was another topic for our "I won't mention it, again" box.

"We will take the shortcut, it'll take about half an hour," I said.

"Half an hour!?" his eyes opening as much as they could. "Damn, we need to hurry. We aren't missing this dance. I'm gonna bust my moves!" He sounded like a milk cow when he said it. He grabbed his bag, flung it over his shoulder, and looked back at me.

"Let's go, I can't wait to meet your mom."

Clench... there it goes again

"Yeah... me either"

"She's gonna ask me about my black eye?" he worried aloud.

"No... No she won't," I said.

Not lying, finally.

________________________________________

We headed into the night together, two boys on the cusp of forever, heading west, chasing a sun settled just over the horizon onto the Pacific Ocean. Backpacks on, baseball hats backward, sweaters pulled over our tee shirts, stepping out in unison, choreographed in our marching.

Synchronized

It was late in October, the thick fog from Bodega Bay was rolling in through the gap that opens at the southern edge of the Mayacamas mountains. It crept its way inward, spreading into the valley until it bumped against the Sonoma mountains to the east, and then it whirled in the valley like cream in coffee overnight, settling into a milky haze by dawn. No school tomorrow, Friday night was waking up.

A golden full moon peaked over the summit, spying down onto the wineries and farmland that wrapped around the edges of the valley, the street lights from the newly developed suburbs in the center sparkling through a foggy veil. We cut across the manicured soccer fields, looped around the outfield fence of the baseball park and headed toward the small opening in the park fencing that lead to the creek. As our shadows shimmied under the scoreboard I mentioned I was the home run champion last season, bragged that 'I hit ten home runs, one over the trees!'

"Everyone knows that, Christopher" he said with a mocking tone, rolling his eyes.

"What's that suppose to mean?" I asked, honestly.

"I'm from over that mountain back there and I heard all about you, all summer, long. I saw you playing at the All-Star tournament in Rincon Valley in July. I was on the Sonoma team. Everyone wanted to see you hit. That's all they talked about about. That kid from Cotati... number seven"

"Wait, you knew of me... before you moved here?"

"Yeah"

"That's weird"

"Not really," his voce trailed off.

We were walking fast, really hustling, he was quick on his feet, a light stepper. That would be good. Maybe we could sneak in.

"Weird would be admitting that I knew we'd be best friends as soon as I saw you," he said, looking straight ahead, puffs of breath on the tips of his lips, aura whispers.

I stopped walking, turning to him. We'd really been making time, both of us breathing a bit heavy.

"What?" I said, gunmetal blue air gripping me, casting my face into shadows.

"I knew you'd be my best friend from the moment I saw you." he smirked. His cheeks rose a bit as his dimples peeked out. He was bashful about it, but serious. "They called your name, and number, and you walked up to the plate. I was right behind the backstop, the catcher said something to you and you smiled. That's when I knew it. I had gone to see you thinking I would find the same thing, some hick from the ranches, dumb, arrogant, full of himself. And I saw you were all of those things....but I saw you were really sweet too, you were nice. That's what I thought, at least. I thought, "Wow, he's really sweet, he's nice. Hard to hate"

"Sweet!?" I practically screamed at him.

That's the worst thing he could've said

Here I was trying to be tough around him, puffing up around him, acting hard. Impenetrable. The whole time he thought I was... 'sweet'. I mean, I would go easy on him sometimes just to be...

Nice

"I'll never lie to you, Christopher, you are sweet as they get"

Ouch, he said "lie" That solidifies it. He knew I lied.

"Oh my god, if you say the word sweet one more time to me..." I said, more serious now.

He laughed, "What are you going to do? Be mean to me?" You are a sweetie, like chocolate covered cherries, Christopher. You always remind me of cherries." he teased.

"Cherries? Okay, well I actually like cherries, just don't call me 'sweet', please"

He cocked his head.

"You love Walter Payton, and they call him "Sweetness"

Pause

I hadn't thought of it that way. He was right, he seemed to be right about a lot of things. He looked at me standing there, stuck in my pause, and he reached out and touched my cheek, a soft swipe of his thumb, a wink from his non -purple eye

"I like everything about you, Christopher. You can try to change yourself... and I'd probably like that too."

I felt another clench. This time it was in my chest. I wasn't going to cry but it was approaching swiftly. He was a spear-fisher and I was a Pisces, swimming in circles, lost in his seas.

"I like you too," I said. Confident. For once

"I know," he said, turning and starting to jog down the embankment that led into the creek bed we would trace to find our way under the 101 highway bridge.

"I read your story!," he called out over his shoulder, his black Vans skidding down the dirt slope.

"WHAT!?" I exclaimed.

oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god

Such a good mantra. Covers it all.

He reached the bottom, and stood upon a winding creek path lined with cattails and the type of fluffy weeds they sometimes placed within vases at nice houses. The water from the creek was low, we hadn't seen any rain the whole time I knew him. Last time it rained would've been around Easter, back in April. We'd changed schools, he'd changed towns, and we'd found one another in the six months since it last rained in Northern California. All that would change around Halloween usually, by Thanksgiving for sure.

"Yeah, your story," he said nonchalantly as I slid down to join him. "The one about the kid on the island, Icarus, whose Dad made him angel wings, and the Dad would always make him train with the angel wings, everyday, over and over, training nonstop. I mean I know you stole the basis of the story, but I loved the twist you did. How the boy couldn't stop thinking of his best friend who he'd left behind. How he thought of him the entire time his father barked at him." He looked away into the fog settling through the creek bed, the moonlight growing brighter. Everything was gunmetal blue.

"The Dad thinks he's training the kid to get off the island to save them, but the kid can't stand the Dad, he just wants to get to his friend. See him one more time. Does whatever the Dad says, training, pretending to listen, and thinking of his best friend. Thinking some of the most beautiful things I've ever heard someone think, if I'm being honest."

I turned and started walking down the windy path, he wouldn't know where to cross, once we went under the overpass to the 101 we entered my territory. He'd have to keep up with me or he'd get lost. I heard his footsteps following.

I wasn't angry, embarrassed a bit, relieved in some ways, but not angry. He must've went through my backpack when I left it over at his house. Which meant he read my poems. Saw my drawings. Found the mixtapes. I never said his name, but he didn't need to read his name to know everything was about him. He knew all my thoughts... omnipotent about me all week. Circling above like a house cat looking into a fishbowl.

"Why are you so fucking nosey!?" was all I could think of saying as I headed away into the fog. It was a genuine question. I had been wondering it constantly in more pleasant tones until now. I never had a brother but I was starting to realize what one would be like.

"When are you going to finish the story, Christopher?"

I stopped. He hadn't read the ending.

I had the ending at home, still. The last two pages.

I wasn't sure about them.

Was the ending right?

"You stopped right when it was getting good. He was flying, getting higher... looking for..."

Pause

"He was looking for you," I said. My turn to be bashful.

"Yeah... Looking for me. It's about me isn't, Christopher. Your story?"

"Yeah"

He reached out through the fog and found my hand. His hand was cupped into a kung-fu grip and slid perfectly into mine. I felt his warmth before I felt his touch. a soft warmth. and then a squeeze. A slight squeeze.

Synchronized

Magnets Locked

"I love everything you wrote, Christopher. I'm going to give you so much to write about"

He squeezed my palm twice, some kind of code. Tapped on my chest twice with this fist, and then his lips touched mine fot the first time.

Squeeze, squeeze, knock, knock, kiss

A slight touch of the lips.

Nothing crazy. A soft, tentative, knowing but not sure, first kiss.

Two lips connecting under the moonlight, veiled in the mist.

Our souls sparking

_________________________________________________

“They aren’t angel wings,” I said, our lips no longer touching. “They are just regular wings.”

He looked into my eyes, smiling slightly, his eye black and swollen. “There is no such thing as regular wings, Christopher. Anyone with wings is special, whether they are angel wings or not.”

I didn't argue. He was right.

He was right about so many things.

“How do you think the story ends?” I asked, curious.

He looked up to the sky. His upturned face glowing with a soft hue in the moonlight. He spoke with confidence, a teller of tales himself, I was realizing.

“I think you can’t see me. You are trying so hard to see me. So you keep going higher. You are hardheaded, so hardheaded. You never listen to anyone. Anyways, you think you should’ve seen me by now… you're sure of it. Always so sure of yourself. No doubt in your mind. You keep thinking, you just need to get a little higher. Flapping your wings. The clouds, they are in your way. Sometimes they break, and you can see perfectly through them, but you don’t see me. So you keep going higher. You're way further up than you should be, and you think of your father’s warnings finally, maybe he was right, and then you think of me, and you keep going higher. Finally, you feel the wings start to falter. To wobble, and your stomach drops a bit as you begin to descend. You are falling. Feathers unraveling, you descend into the sea.”

I turn from him, brow furrowed. He takes this as our cue to continue our journey to the Boonies. My secrets waiting on the other side of the Highway 101 bridge, out upon the adobe fields of Sonoma Valley, toward the edge of town, on top of the San Andreas Fault. Waiting to shake my world apart.

“So I just die?” I ask as we begin to head back down the creek trail. Brown cattails poking through the fog, stepping stones peppering the dry creek bed.

“No… I’d never let you die, Christopher.” He was speaking softly, as if remembering a dream. “I promise.”

"What do you mean?"

“I’m your Guardian. From here on out. This night forward, until God turns the lights out. I’m going to always guard you, from everyone and everything. No one is going to harm you. I promise you, under this Moon.”

I felt my chest tightening. He was poetic in ways I was only just uncovering. He was one of those boys that could say words that lingered when they left his lips. His words hovered, humming all around you.

The way he walked beside me in the moonlight, pledging his loyalty that night, is burned into my thoughts, my dreams, my random splashes of memory — millions of in-between moments, a piece of my life-path, forever sparkling.

He was taking an oath to me. Chest out. Head high. Arms to his side swinging as we marched to our destiny. If he were an angel, his wings would be flayed out, spread to show their glory. Pointed feather-tipped wings, like daggers flayed out into the night. Ready for liftoff.

I didn’t say anything at first, afraid my words would cause my tears to release and tumble. I couldn’t just walk beside him silently forever though. I turned my hardhead toward him, ignoring his oath apparently.

“So I don’t die?”

He followed by my side diligently, his left hand swinging by my right hand as we headed into the fog. He continued with his version of the final two pages of my story. A knowing smirk crossing his face. He knew I heard him and couldn't respond; he saw my deflection for what it was. His blond tips falling perfectly across his brow, catching the moonlight, gold with silver lines in the nighttime.

“I see you from afar… high up in the sky. Pumping your wings, hard, going higher than ever before. I knew you’d find me one day. I'd watched for you on the horizon, trying to guess the time of day you'd choose. Sometime after noon, you'd never go first thing in the morning. Anyways, I see you flying higher and higher, above the clouds. I’m waving, screaming, trying to help you find me. Making so much noise. But you are too far away. We aren’t able to… synchronize. And I see you fall into the sea.”

Did he just say synchronize?

Does he read my mind somehow?

“What then? What does he… (Pause) What does Kai do?” I say to him, unknowing where he is going with his version of my ending.

“I save your life.”

Pause.

He's so confident

“I dive into the sea and swim and swim until I’m almost burning with pain. My lungs and my muscles, aflame. I swim as fast as I can. Searching, I can sense you. I know you are among the froth and feathers, below the sea. Still falling, but now without breath. So I dive. And I search. And I find you, and I save you.”

I looked at him. Tears filling my eyes now, unable to be restrained. Knowing it’s the perfect ending. Maybe I can add something to make it sound a bit more poetic and pretty, but it’s the way it should end. His two pages win.

He wins.

“I love everything about it,” I said.

I reached over to his hand. Fully awake. Breathing fire from my lungs as I headed through the autumn night among the edges of my hometown, and I grasped it. A small seek, a subtle find. A gentle grasp. Ahead of us the lights from my childhood home twinkled in the October fog, ready for my big reveal.

We marched forward.

“I think I love you, Kai Cooper,” I said.

Confidently.

______________________________________________

I knew everything about permanent marks on my life, or so I thought. My freckles, they’ve always stained my skin; wine splashes upon my image, spattered and sprayed across me since the day I saw my own arms and legs. I was a spotted animal of some sort, in my mind, a leopard. A marked creature who would be feared for its tattooed patterns. In reality, they were a scourge, or so I thought.

I blamed my freckles for me being so shy as a child. When I grew older and more reflective, I realized it was a lie I told myself. Some tame tale to cover the truth. I did hide behind them though, they were my shields, soaking in all the questions so nothing else got past to me. They were forever deployed, shields activated, preparing for other boys to interrogate me about them, to try and count them, to try and connect the dots.

(giggle giggle)

They were sienna brown deflectors covering thousands, maybe millions, of openings into me, openings for other boys to mention how different I was, with my shocking auburn red hair, black eyebrows and thousands of cinnamon spots plastered upon my alabaster skin.

They did not see me as a leopard as I thought they would, no; more like a leper, some freak to ponder but never get too close to, never touch. Their questions peppered me in the bright sunlight of California playgrounds. Machine guns laying down rapid fire. Assault rifle tongues.

How do you have black eyebrows and red hair, Christopher?

Your skin hurts my eyes; you are like Casper the Ghost.

(giggle giggle)

You have so many freckles...wow.

They are so, ...brown.

Do you have any on your....?

(giggle giggle)

Moments with him were also permanent marks upon me, spreading outward over my form and over my soul. Searing across me. Golden sparks from a rocket launch leaving a trail of images singed into me. Sssssssssssizzled onto me. Embedded. Smatterings of memories fading over time yet never able to be washed away. He was forever etched upon me like my melanin pinpoints.

That night, cresting the creek bed and heading toward my childhood home, saying what I said for the first time, to him, to anyone, that was a permanent mark which never fades, no matter how many times I uncover it in my mind and stare down upon it like a newborn. A priceless bookmark, that shines outward from upon my flesh and my spirit and across every wavelength of everlasting light that the soul is made of.

Unforgettable.

“I think I love you, Kai Cooper,” I said. Confidently. My hand gripping his, firm, a handshake without the shake. He ignored hearing me at first - he’s great at that, it’s a superpower of his which I was uncovering. He could look right past someone as they (me) were telling him the most important thing in their (my) life and say,

“I haven’t met your mother yet,” his brow furrowed a bit.

My confidence fled, bats fleeing a rocky cave, fluttering into the night. Squeaking with laughter.

(giggle giggle)

What did that mean? What’s my mother have to do with us?

He squeezed my hand back, one, two.... three. I heard something deep within my mind whisper... A code. A pattern? or was it something else?

one squeeze, two squeezes, pause, three squeezes

He hadn’t met my mother yet? That was his response?

“What does she have to do with it?” I asked, genuinely puzzled. Wishing I hadn’t said anything. Wishing I hadn’t even asked what I asked.

Just shut up, that was so weird. You are sooooo weird. I can’t believe you just said it to him. It’s really gaaaaaa....

(don’t say it)

He looked up at the moon and asked, “You ever worry that two people are meant to be together, Christopher... but if they do it wrong...”

Pause

“They won’t be together at all?”

His eyes squinted, his voice reflective, an ache in it. A quiver. It was a question he hadn’t spoken before but had wrestled with over and over within himself for longer than I knew.

I answered honestly. “No,” I muttered.

Lying to him, again.

You know what he means...

“Well I do,” he continued. “..and I think about it all the time.”

“Just forget I said...”

“People get pulled apart, Christopher," he interrupted. "Especially if they do things wrong. Meeting your mom, whether she likes me or not, will help make sure I don’t do things... wrong.”

He hit me hard on the shoulder, a solid jab, enough to turn me a bit, but not enough to hurt. My shoulders were growing thicker and he found the meat of the deltoid, a quick thud. A period at the end of his sentence in the form of a punch. He turned and swiftly ran up the inclined path leading out of the creek.

“I want to be a good person, Christopher!” he called out over his shoulder. “You make me want to be a good person for some reason,” his voice trailing over the edge.

I followed up after him in silence. I was painted into the corner where my worlds were about to collide. He was pushing like the tide, incessantly, steadily probing forward. Touching my bruises.

We crested the ridge leading out of the creek and looked westward, stars twinkling here and there, lights from a few buildings twinkling by themselves in the middle of nowhere. He looked across the long adobe farmland fields filled with rabbits and coyotes and said, “That your place?”

I nodded in the moonlight, my freckles dark patterns across my nose, reflections of the constellations above us.

“Yup,” I confirmed.

“Finally!” he said, genuinely relieved. “Do you walk this every day?”

“No,” I said, “I usually run.”

He smiled, “You’re a smartass, you know that?”

I smirked at him. My mom always told me I was a smartass too. She said I’d “argue just to argue,” whatever that meant. He hadn’t met that part of me yet. He turned back to me. His face suspicious. Brow furrowed. The moonlight made him even more dashing, his silhouette was striking, a knight in armor, helmet removed, leaning toward me.

“Why are you nervous? What’s wrong?”

I didn’t know how to say it. I could admit anything to him but this… I couldn’t believe he couldn’t see it. Couldn’t sense it. So smart but somehow what was written all over me, from my clothes to my backpack, to my binder, to my shoes; My shoes with the worn-down soles. The ones with the hole in the side by the little toe. my only pair.

“Well, it’s just…,” I said, looking down at my shoes.

Not name brand.

Payless specials.

Not Vans. Not Converse. Always some generic brand. Whatever the name was, I just called them “Not Vans” when my Mom inquired about them. Not wanting her to feel bad but I just couldn’t hide some things, and being underwhelmed had always been one of those things.

“You’ll see,” I finally responded.

We walked through the long field together, about a quarter mile ahead of us. Side by side. I could tell he wanted to keep probing, he wanted to hear me say it. When he showed concern it was endearing. He had a thoughtfulness to him that was sincere and unlearned. It was genuine and authentic. He really cared when he asked me what was wrong, as if he could somehow fix it. Funny thing is, in some ways, he could.

“Just don’t make fun of me, please.”

It’s not my fault.

He looked at me and smiled in the darkness, hit me in my shoulder with the back of his hand, a quick tap, “Never,” he agreed. “I’m not like the other kids, Christopher, I don’t care about whatever it is that’s making you so.... anxious.”

Anxious. I guess I am anxious.

We made our way through the field, dry grass up to our hips in some areas, pockets of amber exploding in cascading ripples and giving way gently as we slid toward a small lamp on a post in the distance. The light was dim, but enough to show a locked gate that was hanging askew. Not open, but clinging on tightly as if it was drunk and still trying to pull sentry duty. An electric wire fence stretched out into the darkness on both sides, clinging from wooden post to wooden post. The unsettling hum of the fence’s vibration grew stronger as we approached. About 100 yards behind the fence was the actual house, sitting in the darkness, the sound of a radio playing from a porch was the only sign it was there. There were quick piano chords floating out from the darkness, someone was singing pretty song lyrics over them, when from seemingly out of nowhere, drums cae crashing through the night and the song exploded.

“Til now!.....I always got by on my ooooowwwwn”

“I never really cared until I met yooooooooouuu!”

“And now it chills me to the boooooooooone”

“How do I get you Aloooooooooooooooooone”

“How do I get you Aloooooooooooooooooone”

“Alone,” a rock song by Heart could be heard playing from the radio that sat on an end table next to my mother’s chair on the porch. We were still far away, but it was always there, her radio...and it sang mostly at night. It was quiet out here and she really had it up loud. When she had it cranked up loud the songs could be heard a couple miles away on a still night. Tonight, the sounds of the Wilson sisters from Heart singing at the top of their lungs carried down the dirt path, running to meet us, greeting us with their wails. Sirens screaming at us from my front porch.

“We might be able to sneak in,” I whispered to him, motioning to kneel down outside the reach of the light from the lamp on the gatepost.

“What?” he said. “Why would we sneak in?”

“As long as the radio is on, we can loop around wide, pass the oak tree, get around the back, come in through the back door,” I continued.

“Why are we whispering?” he said, looking around over my shoulder, peering down the dirt trail leading into the darkness behind the electric fence.

“Is anyone home?” he asked.

“Of course, dummy, can’t you hear the radio? My Mom sits on the porch and listens to it at night. Usually she’s reading.”

“She reads in the dark? All the lights are off,” he pointed out.

“That doesn’t matter,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“As long as the radio is on we can get by her, let’s hurry, this song is pretty loud,” I said as I stood back up and headed toward the gate but not all the way to the reach of the lamp light. I stayed in the darkness, out of sight.

“Won’t she see us?” he asked, concerned.

“No, Kai, she won’t see us,” I said, matter-of-factly.

Pause

“How do I get you Aloooooooooooooooooone,” the sisters wailed, sirens in the background, their voices haunting, full of despair.

“My mother is blind, Kai," I said.

"She hasn’t seen me in a few years”