Tidal Swans
James Welsh
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 by James Welsh
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I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing for me.
-T. S. Eliot’s Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
Give in to love or live in fear.
-Jonathon Larson, playwright
Does the Flap of a Butterfly’s Wings in Brazil Set Off a Tornado in Texas?
-Title of a 1972 essay from Edward Lorenz, mathematician
Act I: The Set-Up
When God created the world, he said, Let there be light, and it was so.
When Io created the world for the Maori, he said Light and it was so.
When Tirawa – god among Pawnee – created the world, he sang Lightning and it was so.
When the Netsilik hare created the world, he said Day and it was so.
When Liz created Jacob, she said Hi and it was so.
The Hi was at 6:55 pm on a Tuesday night. There was no 6:53, no 6:54. It was not that time didn’t exist before the Creation. It was just that the time didn’t matter then. Every second had looked like every other second, drenched in a cold, wet darkness. When she said Hi, a flickery ceiling light nearby turned a solid bright, throwing light over her shoulders like bad luck salt. It was like someone spun the shutters open and let the morning in for coffee.
Hi.
Jacob looked up, saw the pretty girl standing next to his chair. The chair with the bad back. Had to be careful not to lean back too far, they said, else you’d make it a bed. And you’d make yourself look like an idiot.
Hi, Jacob mirrored back.
There was once a nymph named Echo. Caught having a fling with Zeus, Echo was cursed by the jealous Hera. Echo could only speak when she was repeating the words of someone else. There was also a man named Narcissus, who was in love with himself. Poor Echo was smitten, but could only regurgitate what Narcissus said to her. Not impressed, Narcissus left Echo heartbroken. The nymph cried until the only thing left was her voice. Later, Narcissus fell in love with his mirror in the water and paled to death, all the while gazing lovingly at his own reflection.
What started all of this? The prophet Teiresias said that Narcissus would live to be an old man, as long as he never knew himself for what he was. At what point did Narcissus give into himself? At what point did Narcissus put on a wig and cross-dress as Echo? At what point did Narcissus hallucinate his self-love into a nymph that could only repeat what he said?
Maybe that’s when you know it’s true love – when you can’t tell your words from hers.
So, have we met before?
Um, n-no.
Jacob almost stuttered the word. Hard to quiver a word with one syllable. The old childhood stutter was back to haunt. He straightened himself out.
No, no we haven’t. I’m Jacob.
I’m Liz.
So, uh, Liz…what’s your major?
Art conservation.
That so?
Well, I used to be in chemistry. My parents wanted me to work in a lab the rest of my life. Make us proud and make some money, they said.
Liz said the last sentence mockingly. She rolled her eyes and continued.
Parents say so much. That bothers me. I just switched majors yesterday. To art conservation that is. Haven’t told my parents yet. I don’t know if I should. No…I don’t think I will. It’s none of their business. They aren’t paying my way through college. Uncle Sam is. So who do they think they are, deserving answers? I’ve always been a question. Why? Don’t answer that. It’ll kill me.
Um.
But I just love paintings so much. Love how the shadows make the people move. That’s why the eyes follow you when you walk down the main hallway upstairs. Funny how shades create light, I mean life. And I love, Love the way painters slather the colors on the canvas. You could run your fingers on the painting and feel the landscape. The hills, the mountains, the trees, the ocean. My parents don’t understand. No one understands. I don’t understand. I just feel. I feel the paintings. I can’t feel DNA. You need a microscope to see these things. I want larger than life. But enough about me, I think. What’s your major?
Jacob said, English education. Used to be English Education before switching.
Ah…you a freshman?
Yes, how could you tell? Is it that obvious?
You’re optimistic. This university will beat the good will out of you. Give it a year. That’s how long it took for me.
Oh.
Liz continued, And whatever you do, don’t take a class on something you love. You’ll hate it even quicker.
I’ll try and remember that.
Jacob looked at the clock on the far wall. It was 7:00pm. It was changing of the guard.
Jacob said, Well, I’m about to head out. Have some homework I have to start working on.
Isn’t it ironic?
What?
We work in a library and we never have time to study. That’s the one thing I hate about all of this.
Oh. Well, like I said – have to get going. It was nice talking to you…
Liz.
That’s right. Sorry.
It’s okay. Names are overrated. Nice talking to you as well.
Good night.
Good night.
Jacob left the desk. He walked for the door, thoughts rattling in his skull. She talked too much. People who talk too much are afraid to think. Still, Jacob wished he had someone to talk to at that second. Because when you don’t talk, you think. And all Jacob could think about was Liz. Her fervent redhair. Her little smirk. Her dreaming blue eyes.
And here was he was. The oakish hair. The muddy April eyes. The confused look. Like tails chasing dogs but never catching on like fads.
Jacob was afraid to think of it.
When Jacob – son of Isaac – was walking at night, praying to God that his brother Esau wouldn’t kill him, he met a mysterious person. Jacob demanded the person’s name. The person wouldn’t give it. They argued, they fought. And they fought. And fought. It wasn’t until morning that Jacob walked away with a kosher limp. They say you never ask an angel’s name. If you know their true name, you can evoke them in prayer. That’s all it takes to break an angel, knowing their name. Just knowing a word can make you God amongst men. Perhaps that’s why God is God – he knows the Oxford English Dictionary by heart.
And yet, so few English majors study literature for that reason. Jacob loved words too much to control them. Although it’s easy to mistake love for fear sometimes.
And yet, so much of Liz was angel.
And yet, our Jacob – leaving the library that night – could name her but she already won him over.
Jacob tossed and turned in his bed like ship that night. The dark rain was tapping on the windows. The rain crackled like clock ticks, counting off the seconds, the minutes, the hours. And still Jacob turned, the bedsheets washing over him. He was a shipwrecked sailor and the tides were pushing him ashore.
It wasn’t the rain that kept him up. He loved a little rain like drought flowers did. Rain never killed anyone. Besides, Jacob was Irish. The only water that could kill an Irishman is the River Shannon. The Irish poor rolling in their beds – then graves. The begging for water. The water turning steam from the pneumonic fever.
TV was on. Some infomercial about kitchen knives or something. Jacob couldn’t go to sleep without the white noise of infomercials that all sound the same. Call in the next twenty minutes! was his rockabye lullaby.
Yet so many thoughts. He was getting too old for thinking. Only eighteen – yes – but cavemen got pensions when they were eighteen. First day of classes, he had gotten out of bed and his bones creaked like door hinges. Being late for class was the oil in his gears. He whooshed off to first class – Shakespeare – where the professor gave Othello for next week’s reading, Twelfth Night the week after. The professor spoke in a thick Stanfordese – it was hard to understand.
Shakespeare was fun though. Linguistics, no. Philosophy, no. Latin, Ford no. Wished that adviser never talked him into Latin. In the dark, Jacob flipped the bird like an omelet in no particular direction at the adviser. Latin was a dead language for a reason. No point in bringing it back to life. Bloody language drowned in so many different tenses it was hard to keep track of it all. When the professor spoke, Jacob couldn’t tell if she was speaking in the future, the past, the conditional, the imperative. She was everywhere – like the world – and the world confused Jacob.
Blah. His friends were just a week fresh. They were all rough, New Jersey-bred. They were starting to get stale though. One guy hallucinated, thought his well-to-do suburban home was the projects, that his lyrics that simply rhymed together were legendary. The rest were little better. The serious writer in the group evoked Jack Kerouac in all the wrong ways, rarely showing up for class and – when he did – he was drunk skunk. Smelled like one too.
There are countless ways for people to go sour. The one girl he knew was sour. Jacob figured it was because she was tanned leather. Anyone who sits out in the sun for that long is bound to go milksour.
He missed his high school friends. Missed how they didn’t try to hug the world all at once. Sure, they were narrow, but they were happy. The more smart people learn, the more ways they have of killing themselves. The stupid people are all instincts and reflexes. They can’t fight the urge to eat, sleep, and so on and so forth. The smart people are always sad. The world has ruined the world for them. The smart people also know about hangman’s knots, water’s conductivity, drug cocktails.
Jacob missed his stupid people – people who believed that Philadelphia was the end of the world. Darfur was fiction to them. Rwanda was fiction to them. The Indian Ocean earthquake was fiction to them. No wonder they were so happy.
Sigh. I think too much. And I watch the news too much.
And Liz talked too much. He smiled to himself in bed, thinking of how she wouldn’t shut up. He hadn’t forgotten about her – he was trying so hard too. She was a dreamer, yes, but she wasn’t a dream. He was awake and she still lingered stubborn. You’re supposed to forget about dreams when you wake up.
Why couldn’t he forget her?
Maybe because she was a redhead. Jacob had a thing for ladies with bloodrose hair. If a redhead is the first thing you see when you wake up, it’s like the sunrise shining through the window. Better than coffee. Redheads were always slightly insane though – so much the better. Explained the last redhaired lady in his life…
Jacob groaned and got out of bed. He put his glasses on and pulled a chair up to the window. He could feel the chill pressing through the window. He brushed his hand against the glass. It was sticky with cold. The rain was still quietly tapping on the window. He tapped back. It was pillowsoft Morse code.
Jacob tapped, What should I do?
The rain whispered, Just fall where you fall.
Good rain. You were always the smart one. Not like that slow snow.
Lightning flashed deep away. It was so cold outside that when the lightning burst, it was an electric blue. It wasn’t a forked branch either. It was a sudden flash, like the pilot light flicking on. The whole night became a cold oven warming up.
The thunder came three seconds later. It was a muted trumpet, dying before it could echo. Like a lady passing away before she could become a mother. Sad way to go. Quiet too.
The rain was beginning to fall slower now. A large raindrop cracked against the window and trembled slow down the glass. It reminded him of what Joyce said:
His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.
He looked back at his bed. He saw the rumpled sheets coming in like the high tide. He saw the TV beyond the bed, the bright screen a lighthouse across the bedsheets. There was no one floating in the water. No one but himself. All alone in the swirl, pushing closer and closer towards the jagged rocks.
A tiny voice murmured inside him. Taunting him.
That’s why you can’t forget her.
When Frankenstein created his monster, he never gave his beloved Creation a name. Why? He put life together, but couldn’t bring himself to a name. Even the Dark Ages bred their Smiths, their Coopers. The monster roamed the world, lost without a name or a purpose. He became the unknown. He was monster to some, devil to others, wretch on occasion. Because everyone’s terrified of something without a name.
The monster took its vengeance, picked apart Frankenstein’s family, killed Frankenstein’s wife, Elizabeth, fresh from the wedding. It seems love doesn’t love to love love. Frankenstein’s obsession for dead ends killed his life, I mean wife.
And then Elizabeth was an angel.
Jacob had gotten his library job less than a week into classes. It was in the library’s basement – called the Dungeon in some circles. There was only one window on the entire floor, the light somehow seeping in like spilt orange juice running off the table. The Dungeon was dark and gloomy and medical journals. The new computing site – just put in the semester before – was bright and warm and electric. On the cold mornings, you could gather around the computers and feed off the baked air the fans were spitting out.
The librarians called blasphemy at first. The idea of having electronics in a library was sin, right up there with using dictionary pages as toilet paper. Librarians were afraid that people would become illiterate if they used computers. Because – as we all know – people do absolutely no reading on a computer. They don’t read e-books, news articles, word processors, and so on and so forth.
So the librarians attacked from a different side. They said computers are weak. You could wave a magnet over one and wipe years of hard work. They said computers only work for a few years. That books work for a few hundred or even a few thousand years. They conveniently forget how easily combustible a book is. Damn Nazis burned Kafka, Hemingway, Wells. Oxford University scorched Thomas Hobbes. Savonarola burned Metamorphoses at the stake. Caesar arsoned the Library of Alexandria, taking with it Homer’s works along with tens of thousands of books. The Greek plays we still read today are the charred fragments of that fire.
So viruses destroy computers and madmen with torches destroy books. It’s too easy to confuse madness with viruses. It’s almost as if the world isn’t perfect.
Dort, wo man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt man am Ende auch Menschen
But moving on…computers had that certain allure to Jacob. He had grown up with one in his bedroom like it was his brother. He had nothing else to turn to. The speech therapist called it impediment when the preacher called it speaking in tongues. He almost wished the preacher was his speech therapist. At least then people would pay attention to the boy speaking tongues. But the therapist was his therapist, so no one could understand a word he was saying. The computer could hear him though. Nothing rings louder and clearer than keys clacking away. He could speak with his hands better than he could with his mouth. He was as close to being deaf as the hearing can get.
He missed the quiet. No silence – mind you – there’s still the hum of the computer fans whirring. It was a soft, white noise though. Books were even quieter. The occasional rustle, turning the page over like a stone. It crackled merry like autumn leaves beneath feet. Firedry leaves love the attention, how people step out of their way for them.
Jacob missed a book when he didn’t have one right in front of him. He loved knowing that the answer to everything was on the next page. A good writer never leaves you hanging, but has you wanting more still.
He hated his last job. Retail, psh. No next page, no answers. Just customers who check their smarts at the door like coats. Sales for the wrong days. The shoplifters with the bouncing eyes. The cash register algebra. Too much for a boy – no, Jacob supposed he was a man now – to handle. A man who nursed on silence growing up. Sounds and distractions are all the same. Silence is lustrous.
He wasn’t Meher Baba. Baba loved the quiet, true. Baba also loved loneliness – although he did declare to the world he was the Avatar. Doesn’t make any sense. How can you say you want privacy in one hand and proclaim yourself as a deity in the other? Jacob’s heart had beat for silence, but it needed company to keep the hours. How else would it know the rhythm for pumping blood? Jacob was always bad at rhythm.
The library was always crowded. The library was always quiet. Maybe why Jacob always walked to the service desk with a smile. He knew that besides the occasional question (Excuse me, where’s the bathroom at?) he would have the world to himself, hearts beating around him like an orchestra warming up.
It was a warm feeling.
This warm feeling buzzed in the back of his mind as he walked between classes. He loved people. He missed them too easily. That was probably why he agreed to the text message so quickly.
Party IvyRoad 42 @9 tonite.
Jacob smiled as he sauntered into Linguistics – a first. He suddenly remembered that he had homework due for class today. Something about the AAVE. He swore, startling a couple girls sitting near the door, chatting.
He wasn’t looking forward to the drinking though. He was sober for an Irishman – another first. He was a control freak, hated feeling his smarts slip out as beer poured in. It scared him when he didn’t have an answer. The writer in Jacob was easily amused though, taking notes while everyone acted out idiot. Would make for great writing material someday. While everyone was possessed by their demons after the party, he was sitting out in the gutter, drinking his water bottle, trying to find constellations in the murky skies. Every star you could see was a shooting star in a Delawarean’s eyes. They were all rare – too rare.
He still burned for sitting at the party, sobered amongst the sick. It was enough to keep him going through Linguistics. Enough to keep him going past his TA’s evil stare when he didn’t hand her his homework.
The college was run by the frats. They were drunk with power, holding the monopoly on parties. These supposed parties were all about initiation, seeing how the new recruits could stand the humiliation. Jacob heard the horror stories for years. He figured that if the little brats wanted to have their stupid treehouse clubs, then it was best to leave them be. Let them be the douche lawyers later on down the road. Although how could you sell your soul to be a lawyer if you didn’t have a soul to begin with?
Jacob never went to those parties. In his first week, he was invited to several frat parties. He got creative with excuses. He even got away with telling the one person he was sick with polio. The friend must have thought that was some strain of the flu. Jacob still immediately changed the polio definition on Wikipedia – just in case. Jacob was a college student for less than a month and already he was thinking like one.
No, Jacob went to a different kind of party. The not-so-mainstream ones. The creek parties. Crowded with the art freaks. The impromptu poetry slams. Throwing paint at the bedroom walls, hoping the art was at least worth the security deposit. Huddled around the tiny TVs, watching vintage music videos that lived only at night like vampires.
These are the parties.
It was the evening, and Jacob was lounging in the living room, squished between people on the grungy couch. The front of the room was transformed into a stage. A rickety stool was a platform. The people who dared use it had a good sense of humor as well as a good sense of balance.
One of those people daring the squeaky stool was one of Jacob’s New Jersey friends – the one with the Kerouac look. He was up front, wearing a flat cap to let people know he was a poet. He was intense as hell about poetry, dragging out metaphors until they were little more than crumbs. Jacob wished he could be as fervent about poetics as Kerouac was – Jacob loved song lyrics more. But Jacob knew the time would come, when he would adore poetics the same. There is enough time for everything, including death.
Kerouac finished, everyone applauded. He bowed deep – he had some box wine earlier – and sauntered off the stage, chattering with a friend close to the soapbox.
Someone nearby whispered, Excuse me, and pushed themselves off the couch. Jacob looked up and saw the girl from the other night – Liz was it? I think so. Yes, Liz – walk past and for the kitchen. Jacob’s eyes widened. He got up from the couch – sinking like quicksand beneath the weight of a near-dozen people – and went for the kitchen as well. He said, Congratulations, to Kerouac and stepped into the next room. As soon as he did, he ran his foot into the cabinet hiding just around the corner.
Jacob swore. Liz – who was grabbing some popcorn to put in the microwave – was startled. She dropped the bag.
Red in the face, Jacob said, Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.
Wellll, it’s okay. I love a good scare every now and then…say, aren’t you that boy I work with? Jacob?
Yup.
You having fun?
Definitely, yes. You?
Meh, could be better. I have a horrible headache though.
Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.
Don’t be.
What? Sorry?
Liz nodded, I hate when people say they’re sorry for things they didn’t do. Cheapens it, you know?
Oh.
Silence. Liz tossed the popcorn bag in the microwave and turned it on. They both stood there, watching the popcorn bag spin slow.
I love dancing.
I’m sor…I mean, well, what do you mean?
The popcorn bag’s spinning. Reminds me of ballerinas. I used to be a ballerina, you know.
Used to be? What happened?
Got tired of it. Like I do of everything else. Had to move on.
Well, there have to be some things you still love after all these years.
Liz looked up, her eyes glistening. She said softly, There are. Have to have one love. Else you’ll forget who you are.
Ain’t that the truth?
The microwave dinged.
Liz gingerly picked the hot bag out, flopped it down on the counter.
Staring at it, she said, I shouldn’t be eating food like this. Too greasy. It’ll make my headache worse. Why did I choose popcorn?
I can help you eat the popcorn.
You will?
Jacob nodded.
Liz smiled, That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.
You’re from New York?
Liz nodded, Yup, born and raised right in Queens. You can see the skyline from my house some mornings. You know, if it’s not too muggy out.
That must be wild, living in the city like that.
You ever been there?
Jacob cleared his throat, Yes, a few times. Went up there with my track team to run a few meets here and there. That was some time back though.
It’s a lovely city.
It is. Too noisy, though. I can’t stand the noise.
Personally, I don’t see how you can stand it here.
Jacob laughed, You mean here, as in Delaware?
Liz nodded, It has such a small town vibe here. Everyone seems to know everyone. It’s all six degrees of separation. It would drive me up a wall, people knowing every single thing about me.
Jacob leaned back in his chair, chewing on a piece of popcorn. He said slowly, Well, why did you come here for school?
Because it’s hard for me to stay in one place for too long. I’d feel trapped. Wouldn’t you?
I’d rather things feel like home and not a prison.
So you’d want to live here? As in forever forever?
Yeah. It’s all I’ve ever known. I don’t even leave the state too often. I get homesick too easy.
Liz looked at Jacob sadly. She said, I don’t think you know.
Know what?
What you’re missing. This world is so much bigger. And scarier.
I know. That’s why I prefer living here.
Like I said before, I love a good scare every once in awhile. And you should too.
I’ll rather be safe. This life is all I have.
Don’t be silly. Because this life is really all you have. I hate that carpe diem crap that’s playing on everyone’s broken record, but it’s true. I don’t think you know what you’re not getting yourself into.
Jacob smiled a little smile, If you say so.
They went silent and back to eating the rest of the popcorn. Out in the living room, someone finished performing a poem. Everyone cheered, the sound echoing around the corner.
Liz suddenly got up, stretched, and said, Well, I suppose I better get going.
You are?
Yep. I told a friend of mine that I would drink cheap wine with her and trade horror stories about boys.
Oh.
Liz shrugged, It’s a way to pass a Friday night. Well, good night. I’ll see you in work in a few days.
You too.
Liz started walking out of the kitchen. Suddenly, Jacob asked, Can I have your number?
Liz stopped and turned around. She looked at him questionably. She asked, Why’s that, darling?
You’re an honest person. My New Year’s resolution this year was to be around honest people more.
Liz smiled, Is that so?
She scrounged around in one of the kitchen drawers for a pen and paper. She found a marker, but nothing to write on.
Jacob offered up his arm. He said, Here’s something you can write on.
Good idea.
Liz took Jacob’s arm and began writing her number on the inside of his wrist.
He couldn’t help but ask, Why the wrist?
If you write anything on your palm, you’ll smear the ink quick. This way it lasts a little longer.
She finished writing her number on the wrist. He could already feel the ink pumping straight through his veins. His heart remembered each number all the quicker.
Jacob said, Huh. Learned something new today. And I had Linguistics class today too.
Haha. Linguistics, what a joke. We’ll have to talk about that whenever you call me.
Deal.
And Liz left. Not for the last time.
When Jacob called two nights later, they didn’t talk about Linguistics. Jacob was glad. He had spent four hours earlier that evening translating IPA to regular spelling.
How did your we-hate-boys evening go?
Huh?…oh, it went well. We sat around and ate ice cream. I poured whisky all over my French vanilla. Whisky is the new hot fudge.
I’m surprised you don’t have diabetes yet.
Liz laughed, Me too. I love food soooo much. I’m going into withdrawal right now, actually. I don’t keep food in my apartment. If I see food, I must eat it. I can’t help it. I’m addicted to things.
I suppose we all are…have to keep grounded somehow. So, what are you up to right now?
Just finished Italian homework.
Ugh.
Ugh? How can you say that? I love Italian.
I’m dying in my Latin class. I’m thinking about withdrawing.
Latin sucks. It’s a dead language for a reason.
That’s my same thought. Who speaks Latin nowadays? Besides the priests, that is.
Jacob could almost hear Liz shrug over the phone. There was a long pause. Jacob thought for a moment the line disconnected and he was about to ask if Liz was still there when he heard her ask in a small voice, Do you have a friend who’s so great that they make you feel terrible?
Yeah, a good friend of mine from high school actually.
What’s his story?
He had no motivation at all. I had to threaten him to get him to pass his last classes. If it was up to him, he would still be in high school. This past summer he was walking outside of a movie theater with his girlfriend. Mugger tried to rob them. During the scuffle, the mugger shot his girlfriend dead. My friend got shot up pretty bad too.
Oh my God, that’s terrible!
He took it pretty rough. I didn’t go to see him in the hospital.
May I ask why?
I can’t see people I love in the hospital. If I do, I would lose my nerves. No one should see the people they love broken.
…I understand.
But anyway, I never really talked with him about that night since he got out of the hospital. He’s quiet now, a lot more than he used to be. Now he’s going to college, taking classes. I’ve never seen him so driven before. He’s become a real man now. Shame it took death to wake him up. But I’m glad that something did.
Liz said, I have a good friend. She’s always having horrible stuff happen to her. But she’s always laughing it off and pushing on. I don’t know whether to look up to her or hate her.
Hate her?
She makes me feel so insignificant.
Does she mean to?
No. She’s too nice to do something like that. I just want to tell her to stop being so great all the time.
Might be easier to be like her instead of bringing her down to you.
What’s that supposed to mean?
I mean…oh nevermind. It’s just that you should feel inspired by her. It’s rare to see someone make a good thing out of a bad thing.
That’s too hard.
Well…
Jacob let the word hang. He didn’t know what to say.
Liz said, I wish I was great. Then people would speak to me.
What do you mean?
When I was growing up, no one ever said a single word to me. My parents never talked to me. Though they were the social butterflies. I was the ghost in the corner. It got to the point where I was even hoping the girls in high school would pick on me. Just to prove I wasn’t invisible.
You aren’t invisible.
Yes I am. I am to you right now. All you’re doing is talking to a phone. A phone that just walks and talks like me.
Jacob offered, There were times I wished I was invisible.
Be careful of what you wish for.
But it’s true. You would be shocked how often I got picked on in high school. How often I got beat up. I remember laying in the snow in middle school, covered in blood and my glasses broken. I had people threatening to kill me all throughout high school. I’ve had people pull guns and knives on me. So believe me when I say that I wish I was invisible more than anything else. Because it’s hard to kill a ghost.
Liz mused sagely, Ain’t that the truth?
So why you think no one paid attention to you?
Well, I had a speech impediment while growing up. I couldn’t pronounce S or T. I still remember in kindergarten, me wanting to play with kids on the playground. I would try talking with them, but – since they couldn’t understand me – they would walk away. I still hate them for that.
But they were kids. Kids are stupid.
And older people aren’t?
Jacob shrugged, Well…you have a point.
I know I do.
Jacob said, I had a speech impediment too growing up.
What was wrong with you?
You know the alphabet?
Liz said, Yeah.
I couldn’t pronounce half of it.
Oh. I see.
Jacob continued, I had the same trouble as you. People would have a hard time understanding me. They would walk away. But I would try just that much harder to make them listen.
What would you do?
I would draw pictures. Say I wanted water. My mom would hear waaha. So I would draw a picture of a glass of water to make her understand. I would make hand gestures to make people understand. I have always needed people to understand.
So what happened over the years?
I grew out of the speech problems. I forced myself to evolve. Problem was, I overcompensated. I spoke too much because I knew people understood so little. I’ve found the more someone talks, the more trouble they get themselves into. That’s why I got bullied all those years. Believe it or not, bullies have excellent hearing. It makes up for their tiny brains. They’re like bats. If they hear you answering questions in class, that’s like blood in the water.
Liz sighed, I hate when adults say it’s so easy being a kid. Being a kid sucks as much as being an adult, but at least adults have manners some of the time. Etiquette is a pair of shoes a kid never grows into.
Tell me about it.
There was silence on the phone for a few moments.
Liz said, I just wish people would talk.
Jacob said, I wish people would stop talking.
Then what are we doing right now?
This? This is nice.
Liz laughed, I guess you don’t have a lot of talks like this?
Not really, no. Some of my friends, I’ve known for years. The only thing we ever talk about are classes or something. I’ve only known you for a week and we’re already being therapists. I feel I should be sitting on a couch.
Liz asked, When am I getting paid?
Not as soon as you would like, probably.
Dammit.
Jacob continued, But yeah, falling back on what we were talking about, words are sooo important. It’s what distinguishes us from all the other animals.
Not so much.
What do you mean?
Liz said, Well, I don’t know if I told you this, but I used to be a chemistry major.
I remember.
Oh. Well, I did learn a thing or two before I switched. Back when they were trying to figure out the definition of intelligence – the British scientists, that was – one scientist kept arguing that every definition they gave was wrong.
Wrong? Why’s that?
Because every definition of intelligence would apply to bacteria just as well as it would for humans. A petri dish is just a smaller Earth, once you stop and think about it.
Huh. That sounds pretty interesting. Who was the scientist?
Uhhh, I forget the name. One of the reasons why I wasn’t in the major for long.
Perhaps.
Liz sighed, Welllll, I suppose I better get going. It’s late and I have class early in the morning.
You do? Sucks.
Yeah, yeah. I’m thinking about just sleeping in late. I’d probably sleep through the class anyway.
Good point. Well, okay then, I’ll talk to you later then?
Okay. What’ll be on the next episode of Liz & Jacob?
That’ll be a surprise for our viewers, I guess.
Liz laughed, Ah, a cliffhanger. You clever son of a gun. G’night.
You too.
Liz didn’t call until that Friday. When she did, Jacob wished she hadn’t.
Jacob said, Heyyyy, how’s it going? What are ya up to?
Drunk.
Jacob joked, Drunk? On a Friday night? Who gets drunk on a Friday?
Shut up.
Oh.
I was at a party. My boy – (she spat the word) – was making out with this whore. He only did that because he knew I was there. That rotten ass-hat. He knew I was there, he knew it. I bet you he didn’t even know her name. I doubt he’ll ever ask. That stupid little idiot.
Woah, woah. When did you start going out with someone?
I’m not going out with him. At least, not right now…
Liz sneezed twice.
Jacob said, Bless you.
He and I broke up a few weeks ago. A few weeks! And he’s already going out for nights on the town with sluts. I can’t believe him. I absolutely can’t.
You didn’t say anything, I hope?
What do you mean?
I mean…
I had vodka and stormed out. I would have thrown my drink on him. Waste of good vodka though.
Well, Liz, I mean, people move on. People fall in and out of love. You just have to wish them good luck because that’s all anyone needs is luck…
You don’t get it, do you?
Get what?
I don’t want to wish him luck. I want to wish him back. I was his good luck and he used me all up! He wouldn’t have met my friends if it wasn’t for me. He wouldn’t have gotten his apartment if it wasn’t for me.
Well, I’m sorry…
Don’t you dare be sorry. I told you before, only be sorry for things you do. And you don’t even know what’s going on. No one does. I don’t even know…
Liz’s voice broke. Jacob thought for sure she was going to cry, but she pressed on.
I don’t even know why I bothered calling you. As if you were any help.
Well, I’m trying…
Oh, you’re trying.
Jacob stopped a moment. He had to push down the anger. His insides were boiling. He hated being mocked more than anything else. He wasn’t going to let her drag him down. He wasn’t, he wasn’t. He was going to swim. Even if that meant letting her drown.
Jacob said calmly, Listen, I know you’re going to hate hearing this, but give it time. Sober up. You’re at a low right now so you can only go up from here…
Liz snarled, You’re a naïve fool. You know that, right? Goodbye.
And she hung up.
Hiiii.
Uh, hello.
How are you?
It had been two days since the drunk dial incident. Jacob strained his ear against the phone. She sounded sober enough.
Jacob said cautiously, I’m doing good. Just, um, just struggling with this English paper.
Eck. What’s it on?
About the witches in Macbeth.
I thought you couldn’t say that name?
That’s only if you are performing it on stage. At least, I think. I hope so.
I never read Macbeth. I gave up on Shakespeare after reading Hamlet.
Jacob asked, Ah. Why’s that?
He could almost hear Liz shrug over the phone.
I dunno. I suppose because he takes the whole play to make one decision. I’m too impulsive. I hate indecisive people.
If Hamlet was an impulsive person, that would have been a really short play.
Liz laughed, You’re probably right.
Yeah.
Are you okay?
Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.
You sure? You sound a bit corpsy.
Corpsy?
Yeah, you know. Like stiff.
Oh. No, no. I’m good. Just tired. Long couple of days.
So what are you having trouble with on your Macbeth paper?
Well, in the story, there are witches, you see. They make a prediction that Macbeth will kill the king and take the throne.
Does he?
Well, yes. But it’s ambiguous. Hard to tell if the witches saw the future, or if they planted the idea in Macbeth’s mind.
So what’s the problem?
Well, it’s how you look at it. If you’re a sci-fi or fantasy person, you’ll read the play for mysticism and stuff. If you’re realistic and look for psychology, you’ll read it for manipulation and self-fulfilling prophecies.
What kind of a man are you? Sci-fi or psychological?
I’m not sure. I think I need witches to tell me.
A pause. Liz said abruptly, If I had to live by someone else’s rules, I’ll kill myself.
Well…that’s a bit of an overreaction.
You mean you wouldn’t mind living by someone’s rules?
I wouldn’t enjoy it. But everyone needs a hand every once in awhile. If we’re all by ourselves, we’ll get lost pretty quick.
But you’re still having someone else live your life.
Yeah. It’s a cold comfort. If only life was DIY.
Liz sighed, I hate having to rely on other people. Everyone has been breaking my heart for years and the warranty’s expired.
Isn’t pain fantastic?
I wouldn’t know. I haven’t felt it in years. I’ve been habituated.
Tell me about it. I wanted to be an astronaut when I grew up, but all I am now is one of Pavlov’s dogs.
Liz snorted, That mean everytime you eat, you flinch?
A little bit, yes.
Liz laughed, You’re so goofy.
That’s what people keep telling me. It helps me sleep better at night.
You’re a cool person. Don’t ever let any witch tell you otherwise.
Oh how ironic.
Jacob’s eyes widened. I didn’t just say that, did I? He wished he thought before he spoke. The other night flashed back to him. When Liz was a witch, under vodka’s spell.
Liz caught on, What do you mean? What’s ironic?
Well…
Liz interrupted, Sorry, but I think we have to close up shop for the night.
What’s wrong?
Starting to get one of my migraines. I’m going to take some medicine and go to bed.
Sorry to hear…
Uh uh, remember what I said about being sorry?
Jacob couldn’t help but smile, What I meant to say was I hope you get better. Have a good night.
Thankssss. You too. Nights.
Jacob was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking his cup of coffee slow. All the clocks in the house chimed in 11 o’clock. The night was thin. He glanced out the window, could still see gray streaks in the sky. The town had sweated off its electricity, and now the wattage was thick in the air, waiting for morning before raining down.
Civilization was nothing more than a massive nightlight.
Jacob looked down at his paper, scattered across the table. He was four pages down, one left to go. He had to cut some paragraphs out, though. It was due tomorrow. His opening sentence on the witches didn’t feel right. Don’t want to change that though. That means starting over.
Jacob sighed and rubbed his eyes awake. He tried to keep focused on the paper, about how the witches formed Macbeth into a pawn.
But his mind kept coming back to Liz. Did she really forget all that she said the other night? Did she really have that much to drink? She had to have forgotten. Jacob could have told her. No, should have told her. What good would that do? Have her angry at him again? This time while sober? This time that she could remember?
Jacob looked at his murky reflection in the coffee and whispered, And this is why you don’t fall in love anymore.
He promised himself over that past summer that he would never fall in love again. He had a lot of time to think that summer. He had made the mistake of taking a job at a department store. At least he had a lot of time to think while roaming lost in the aisles.
Jacob had something with this one girl he graduated with. Sort of something. It was complicated. Her name was Olivia. She wore thick glasses. She smelled faintly like oranges. She liked fun. But what she called fun, Jacob called stupid. But Jacob still liked her. He would have smoked cigarettes and drank tequila and got into trouble as long as it was with her. Olivia said no, that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with her.
Jacob could still remember the last time they talked.
She said, I don’t want you to change your life. I’m not worth changing your life over. Just be you, that’s all I ask.
Jacob winced everytime he thought of her saying that. He wished that people would be more creative. He wished they didn’t recycle lines from after-school specials. He wished that people put more effort into ditching him.
His friends kept him in the loop since. Said she fell in with some guy who rides a dirtbike. A real rebel without a cause. Olivia was supposed to be a teacher. But her shifts at the fast-food restaurants paid just enough for cigarettes. She was fine with that. Jacob wondered what would have happened, if she had chosen him over James Dean. Would she still be happy?
Probably not. People are happier being lazy. She wouldn’t regret anything until she got old. Real old. Then it would be too late for anything bigger. Too late for everything, even an early bird special.
Jacob frowned. He thought about his promise: Thou shalt not fall in love. He wished he hadn’t made the promise in the first place. Promises are made to be broken. And Liz was the bull in the china shop.
He wished he could forget things as easy as Liz did. Can’t break a promise that you don’t remember. Maybe that’s why alcoholics drink. After a couple beers, who could remember their New Year’s resolution?
Jacob casted his eyes downward. He knew he couldn’t forget things. He was terrified of forgetting. His journals were mountaining in his closet. He didn’t want to miss a single thing. Because at some point in life, that’d be all you’ll have in the world. Jacob didn’t have the heart to scatter his memories like grain in the September rustle.
And so he let the memories build up like trash heaps. Liz was everywhere he turned. He had to forget either her or the promise. Couldn’t keep both. The promise never to fall in love was solid. It was consistent. But it couldn’t smile the way Liz did in her little happy moments. Nothing could smile the way Liz did. Not even Olivia.
Jacob drank the rest of his coffee, hoping to wash the thoughts down. His tongue tingled as the hot coffee rinsed over it. The coffee’s touch kept him awake, more so than the caffeine ever could.
Hi.
Hello, how are you?
Good, good.
How did your paper go?
Which one?
The one on Shakespeare. Macbeth, was it?
Jacob sighed, Meh, could have been better. I ran out of time.
That sucks.
Tell me about it. I’ve been watching old home videos all night.
You have? Why?
I miss 1992.
I don’t see what’s so special about ’92. It was a mess, just like every other year.
Jacob turned from the phone and coughed. He said, Well, it was a good year. See, I was about four years old, and my family went on vacation. My grandparents came along. It was the only time I could remember my grandfather not being in a hospital bed.
What happened to him?
Cancer took him. Took a couple years, but cancer got him in the end.
That’s a shame. I lost my granddad to a heart attack when I was about that old too.
It’s sad to see them go when you’re that young, isn’t it?
Yeah.
I mean, all you really have of them in the end is memories. That’s all that can outlive a person.
Yeah.
I was told…
Jacob chuckled.
…I was told this one story about my granddad. When he was a bit younger, his family owned a barn. It was old and filled with snakes. Really nasty ones. And they decided that it would be best to tear it down. Now, my granddad was one of seventeen…
Seventeen?
Yep. He was Irish.
Ah. That explains everything. Continue.
Well, like I was saying, he was one of seventeen and the only one to agree to tear it down. Now, he wasn’t interested in tearing it down by hand, though. He had a more efficient idea in mind. He poured gasoline all over the barn, lit a match, and walked away.
Liz laughed, Sounds like fun.
Well, it probably was. Until the fire got out of control. Apparently, gasoline fires can get pretty wild. They had to call the fire department when the fire started creeping towards my great-grandma’s house.
He sounds like quite the character.
He was. It’s a genetic thing. My family passes down the crazy like it was an heirloom.
A pause.
Liz offered, I guess it’s best if we have to lose people, we lose them young.
I don’t know. I guess. I lost a good friend of mine in high school. I remember that. Too well.
May I ask how he died?
It was a she. Car accident. She got ejected, and the car rolled over her legs. It took her a couple months to die.
That’s awful.
It was. She was a good person. She just fell in with the wrong crowd sometimes. It was the wrong crowd that talked her into the car that night. She was a wonderful person.
I’m sure she was.
Jacob continued, She was a writer. A very good one.
What did she write?
Poetry, mostly. I still remember the first time I heard one of her poems. Everyone had to bring a poem to class to recite. I had just started writing poetry at the time, and I was embarrassed. So I brought Kipling. She brought one of her own poems. It was wonderful – much better than Kipling’s. She was amazing. I think about her everytime I write a poem. Also, everytime I get into a car. Might be why I’m afraid of driving, now that I think about it.
You’re afraid of driving?
Absolutely, yes. I hate it with all my soul.
Maybe you should move to the city then. Take public transportation.
I would, but I don’t think I’m cut out for the city. I’ll take Delaware over the big town any day. Didn’t we talk about this before? I’m getting déjà vu.
Me too. But there’s no point to living life doing something you hate.
Isn’t that what life is filled with?
Yes. So why add to the list?
You do have a point.
Liz snorted, I know. That’s why I talk.
A pause.
Jacob started up again, I guess I just worry too much.
You guess? It sounds like you have OCD, for christsakes.
I suppose we all do. Everyone wants some control.
Not me. I love the surprise. Don’t you?
Not as much of a gambler as you are.
Shame. Gamblers have all the fun too. What language are you taking?
Jacob was caught off guard, Huh, what?
What foreign language are you going to take, silly?
Ohhh. I’m thinking about taking French.
Take Italian. It’s such a gorgeous language.
Is it?
Yep. And I’m not just saying that because I’m Italian.
I’ll consider it.
Liz went on, It’s just that English is such a boring language. It’s so mechanical. No music to it.
Well, that’s what happens when you borrow from German.
Guess so. But yes, take Italian next semester. That way we can be study partners. I need someone to hound me to study.
Jacob offered, We can use Italian as some sort of twinspeak.
Twinspeak?
You know – that secret language that twins use to talk to each other?
Liz burst out laughing, Ohhh I see. Well then, it sounds like a plan…twin.
And so it came time to pick classes for the next semester. Jacob picked up two English classes and some other random stuff. He gazed longingly at the poetry workshop class. He couldn’t fit the fun stuff in his schedule though. Jacob didn’t have the time. There were too many education classes, too much student teaching, and not enough time and certainly not enough money to compromise.
But then it came time for the foreign language. Jacob didn’t have much of a choice – he had to take a language. University rules.
He had been thinking for awhile of taking German. He took a few years of it in high school. Some of the words had to have been still sticking to him, right? Even after all this time?
He saw the introductory German. He also saw classes for Portuguese, Spanish, French, Russian, Chinese, Arabic. And he saw an intro Italian course. And he remembered what Liz said about the language. How they could be study partners. How she could help him with the class.
So Jacob signed up for Italian.
And all with just a few sentences of thinking behind it.
Hi Jacob.
Hi Liz.
Having fun?
The two were sitting at the service desk in the library. 6:55 again on a Tuesday night.
Jacob inflated his cheeks and rolled his eyes, Can you please shoot me?
Haha. You have a couple minutes left of your shift. Be glad.
Couldn’t be any longer.
Is sitting on your ass – I mean, your posterior – for a couple hours really that back-breaking?
Do you know how many people I told where the bathroom was tonight?
Too many, I guess?
If they put up a sign telling people where the bathroom is, I’ll be out of a job.
You and me both, darling.
Someone’s phone went off nearby. Ringtone playing some obscure electronica. The person quickly stifled the ring.
Liz’s eyes widened, Ohhhh, let’s dance.
Right now? In front of the whole library?
Liz smirked, Afraid of being the dancing rebel? What is this, a remake of Footloose?
No. I’m just not much of a dancer.
Well, here’s the next best thing.
Liz reached in and hugged Jacob hard. He could feel all of his blood being pushed up from the squeeze, the red flushing his cheeks.
What? Now don’t tell me you’re much of a hugger, either.
I’m not. I can’t help it.
You can’t?
I’m part German.
Liz laughed, That explains you being such a stiff then.
I’m allergic to hugs. They make me sneeze. When I was little and my grandma would try to hug me, I would run and hide.
Really?
Jacob nodded.
How could you live like that?
Jacob shrugged.
Remember though…something can repel you, but it’s only pushing you closer to something else.
Jacob wanted to say something. He wanted to ask, So why do you bother running away from things? He already knew how to deal with Liz, though. So he simply nodded.
Everyone’s afraid of everyone, so they make everyone everyone’s problem.
Jacob laughed, That makes…sense.
Hey, I’m just the scientist. Was the scientist.
That’s right. Now you’re one of us. You’re an art major.
Noooooo.
Jacob looked up at the clock. It was almost time to leave. He didn’t want it. He wanted to stay at work forever. He couldn’t believe he was saying it, but he would gladly direct people to the bathroom for the rest of his life if he could. As long as Liz was there to keep him company.
Remember what you said about never falling in love.
Shut up. This is not falling in love. This is being friends.
Is there a difference?
Yes…I think. I don’t know.
But it was time to leave. And he had stuff he had to do. He got up, stretched.
Jacob said, Well, it’s about that time.
So it is, darling.
You able to talk on the phone tonight?
Liz’s eyes glinted, Yes, that sounds lovely.
Good…good.
Someone suddenly stopped by the desk – a lanky athletic-type – and asked, Excuse me, where’s the bathroom at?
Jacob pointed in the far corner, said, It’s down the hallway just beyond that stairwell.
Oh, okay. Thank you.
The lanky athletic-type barely turned the corner before Jacob and Liz had burst out laughing. They couldn’t help it. No one could.
Jacobbbbb.
Hey, what’s up?
Looking out the window. Guess what?
What?
Liz said gleefully, I can see stars.
You can?
Uh huh. It’s wonderful. Can’t see worth shit in the city. I love New York, but it’s hard to look past all the skyscrapers.
I love stars. I can’t get enough of them.
I think you would love living out in the desert somewhere.
Really? You think so?
Yup. I can tell things about people. I figured out a lot about you today.
Do tell.
You hug like a statue, for one.
And?
Well, that’s about it. You can tell a lot about people, the way they hug. You hug as if you wish you were the only person you ever saw.
Jacob played pretend-hurt, Ah jezz, that stings.
You sound so offended.
How do you think you hug then?
What’s that? I’m sorry, I blanked out for a moment.
How do you think you hug? If I hug like a statue?
Liz deadpanned, I hug like a bird that poops on statues.
Jacob laughed, No, seriously.
I hug…like I want to love everyone. No, that’s wrong.
Jacob asked, How so?
Only thing I remember from freshman English class was the difference between metaphors and similes.
Similes use like or as. Metaphors don’t.
Exactly. Using like is the same as just talking about something. Waters it down, you know? With a metaphor, you are that something. So I hug everyone because…well, I have to love everyone.
Huh, interesting.
Jacob could almost feel Liz beam over the phone.
I know, right? Not bad for a silly girl. I just wish everyone loved me the way I love them.
What do you mean?
Liz asked, Have I ever told you about Ethan?
No. Who’s that?
Liz sighed, Ethan was my ex. We broke up some time back.
Ohhhh.
Jacob suddenly remembered the drunk dial incident. He didn’t say anything else, though, but let Liz continue.
When we were going out, we were always arguing.
Arguing about what, may I ask?
Anything. Stupid stuff really, now that I think about it. We would fight, he would leave. Couple days later, I would see pictures posted all over the bloody Internet of him drunk with girls. He would come back. Rinse, cycle, repeat. Blah.
Jacob said helpfully, Sounds like he was a douche.
Same thing I thought. That is, until he left.
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(Pages 1-38 show above.)