Elysian
AU's Literary Magazine
Volume 4, Issue 1
Stories/Plays
APEX PREDATOR
Nathan Yockey
I scrambled to get my terror-stricken fingers around the zipper of my backpack to get my bullets. Juggling my rifle and my backpack as I tried to dig out as much loose ammo as I could get my hands on. I gasped for air, my breath was unstable and shaky, heartbeat erratic, eyes a foot wide. Those howls weren’t far behind me.
---
I looked down at my old, scuffed brown boots as they squished and squashed through the wet moss. The alder trees outstretched their malleable arms into my path; shadows laid all around as rays of the morning sunrise shot through any gaps it could find. My teeth chattered in the crisp September air while an orchestra of distant birds performed, and I hiked down an overgrown trail. The chickadees chirped over and over, close by, ruffling through the crinkly leaves by my feet, while big birds puffed their chests and billowed out prideful symphonies high in the sky.
Decades ago, here there was once tall, old-growth timber with wide trunks and thick bark that stood for centuries; trees that had sheltered and watched over generations of nature’s creatures. I now walked down a scar in the Tongass National Forest. The roar of chainsaws and trucks boisterously puffing black smoke, rumbling over the oil-saturated rocks were now long gone. Left were the stumpy remnants that hung on so tight that we couldn’t take them. Over the course of half a century, green slowly reclaimed the landscape and healed its wounds. Alder trees sprouted up between the rocks until they towered, moss and grass crept up the ditches until the jagged rocks were gone and nature’s cuts were sewn shut; the old logging road was reduced to nothing more than a two-boot-wide hunting trail.
This trail represented a rite of passage; it was the only route up the most infamous mountain for pursuing Sitka Black-tailed Deer in Southeast Alaska. Weaving between sheer cliff faces, unstable landslides, and patches of impassable vegetation in search of game. My dad and grandpa had hiked this trail at my age. My hunting career up to this point was spent watching the backs of their boots as I followed them up this trail and ones like it. My dad marked the trees along the mountainside and spent our hunting trips telling me how to navigate; what landmarks to look for if I was lost, how to distinguish a trail made by animals and ones by people, and where along their trails they’d hidden supplies in case of an emergency.
Shortly after my solo journey began, I realized that I should have spent less time looking at my dad’s boots and done some more looking at where we were going. I wandered further from civilization and the trail grew more and more thin. The heavy wear and tear of the path of mediocrity was gone. The daylight had just begun seeping through the forest canopy, but a bite in the air and the mist of rolling fog told me that rain was coming. The massive trunks were a maze in the dim light; the trees stood expressionless and stern while I looked to them to tell me where to go. The old-growth are the gatekeepers of the mountain, most were hundreds of years old, and their centuries of wisdom told them my intent there. They looked at me in disregard, they did not guide those that came to destroy one of their own.
Like the spinning hand of a broken compass, I aimlessly made my way through the timber until I found an opening carved in the forest. I looked straight up a pasture of vibrant green ferns stripped of all its trees by a decade-old landslide. The wind whipped up and down, moving the knee-high vegetation like spinning tops wobbling on their axes. I stood on top of a pile of fallen boulders and gazed hundreds of yards up the meadow at a tiny brown line through the grass, a deer trail, like a row of ants cresting over the horizon.
I began crawling across, reaching and pulling the leathery leaves and pushing loose ground with my feet. I buried my chin in my chest and pressed on. I made it across and back into the shade and security of the old growth, the rain and fog crept closer and closer in.
On long hikes your mind begins to wander, daydreams of past hunts to motivate you through each miserable step. I got to thinking about some of my first trips to the woods. Around the age of 7 or 8, whenever a boy can hold up a rifle on his own, he is ready to pursue his first deer. It is a formal “welcome to manhood”, which all my friends and I were thrilled to go through once we came of age. Sometimes, it takes a few tries to bring a buck home, as any of our dads would say, “That’s why it’s called ‘hunting’ and not ‘shooting,’” but eventually everyone gets their first. But for me, I tried for an entire season and couldn’t get it done; over and over, I would miss. Long shots, short shots, deer moving or standing still. I had a terminal case of what we called “Buck Fever,” I could shoot cans all day long, but my nervousness overwhelmed me every time I got in front of anything alive. And while all my friends had brought home their deer, I came home empty-handed.
Thanksgiving Day, my dad and I went out to a popular spot and found a buck grazing in the middle of a vegetated opening. Like all the times before, I rested the rifle across a tree stump, it rattled against the wood since my small frame couldn’t hold it steady. I squinted my off eye, scrunching my face and looking over the scope trying to find the deer’s front shoulder to put between the black crosshairs. I held my breath and yanked on the trigger. I flinched and clenched my shoulder to shield the backward kick of the blast. I shot about a foot over the deer. The bullet strayed off so far that he didn’t know what to make of the sound. He remained in the clearing, occasionally looking up from his meal to see what the two humans in the trees were up to. I laid the rifle on its side against the stump and struggled to wriggle my little hands around the bolt to eject the empty shell casing and slide another round in -- my dad had seen enough.
He held out his hand. With outstretched arms I gave our family’s .250 Savage rifle to him. It had been passed down from my grandpa to my dad and was going to be passed down to me; I almost fell off my perch trying to hold it up. I was still sprawled across the stump. I didn’t bother looking at the clearing, I’d seen it hundreds of times and knew how it was about to go down. Looking up at my dad, the sun shined off patchy old snow that riddled the clearing and made his skin look as clear as marble. His face was rock solid. I inherited his cheekbones, and his firm jaw that was covered with a week-old stubble and a black goatee’ I always wondered when I’d be able to grow hair like that. We had the same hazel green eyes. When he looked down the scope, both his were open, relaxed yet focused. I could see the ring of light and the crosshairs reflecting off his pupil. I cupped my hands on the sides of my head. His chest expanded as he inhaled a big breath.The November Alaskan wind bit my fingers red as I squeezed my ears; his lips puckered as he let the breath out. As soon as his lungs were empty, he found a gap between heartbeats when his body was completely still, and the muscle on the outside of his forearm tensed as he squeezed the trigger. The shock wave felt like a gust of wind spraying my head from the top down. Through my cupped hands, the small-caliber rifle popped like someone dropping a textbook onto a desk. It barely moved in his grip. His eyes remained open. The wind blew the thin cloud of white smoke back over the scope and past his face. I let go of my ears and could hear the remnants of the echo ricocheting across the valley around us. He lowered the rifle, and I turned toward the clearing. Only the looming pink mist floating in the air remained above the bush where the deer once stood --
I leaned under the prickly branch of a Sitka Spruce, lifting it above my head and stepping into the muddy forest floor. A blast of air and the boom of sets of wings taking off took the breath out of me. I yanked my dad’s rifle off my shoulder as a flock of scavenger birds scattered in every direction, ravens and bald eagles. I watched as they perched near the top of the forest canopy at a safe distance, waiting for me to move along. I looked at my feet for what they were scavenging. A carpet of deer hair stained with blood, and dirt laid across the forest floor. The underlying fur in a deer’s coat is white and thick to keep them warm, like goose down, and the outside is reddish-orange. The only time you see the white undercoat is when something grabs and pulls it out. Littered across the fur was an assortment of body parts and bones: femurs, crumbled ribs, a spine, all picked clean, jagged and snapped with the nutrient-rich bone marrow licked out of the insides, and the deer’s mangled head. The ravens had begun pecking the soft eye tissue out but hadn’t quite emptied the socket like someone had taken a few spoonfuls out of a pint of ice cream but hadn’t gotten to the bottom. Deer eyes are a raven delicacy; they eat at those first. It doesn’t take them long to find a carcass. They are drawn to a hunter’s gunshot. They follow packs of wolves and tromping bears from above, waiting eagerly to pick up what they leave behind. That means this kill was fresh. I knelt and took one of the front radial bones in my palm, the hoof still attached to the bottom. The porcelain white had tooth marks up and down the length, where something had gnawed it after it was scraped clean. A deer harvested for venison by another hunter would have left cuts down the bone from a skinning knife. A bear wouldn’t have chewed on a naked bone when they had the entire animal to themselves. A pack of wolves killed this deer.
I rose from my knee; the rays of light that snuck through the gaps in the canopy of the Tongass had been filled by fog and darkness. The ceiling of the forest lowered and the spaces between the trunks grew thin, drops of rain snuck through and dripped onto me atop the decimated deer carcass. Mist from the thick fog crept down. Step after step, I scanned the between thick bushes and leafy ferns for movement. As I left the massacre behind, the scavenger birds dropped from the treetops and resumed their meal. My backpack, blood-stained from trips past over both shoulders, and the .250 Savage rifle clasped tight. The metal spikes on the bottom of my cork boots punctured spruce roots as I crept along our trail.
A long howl cut through the nothingness in the trees. The pitch rose and fell as a wolf emptied its lungs and cried out between the trunks, it bounced off the branches until it sounded like it came from every direction. A hush fell over the forest, and I scanned around. Another howl like a siren’s song cried out to my front. I found a path between them and ran. If I veered too far to the left, a snarl; if I got too far to the right, a yip. A pack of wolves was prodding me through the trees. I had watched what they do to deer. Drive them out into the open and surround them, ensuring no route of escape, one lunges for a back leg and grabs on. Immobilized while it tries to kick free, the alpha male grabs ahold of its neck and 1200 pounds of bite force shreds its jugular veins and squeezes the windpipe closed. Then every wolf in the pack grabs on and pulls until it is spread far enough that everyone gets a piece. The aftermath is only what the wolves can’t eat -- snapped bones too thick to swallow and a carpet of useless hair.
The massive trunks became a labyrinth in the low light. The trees remained silent while I begged for a route of escape. I stumbled into a muskeg -- a swampy mess too wet for trees to root in. Tan blades of grass laid flat, soaked in the rain, with one log in the middle, rotted out from the wet ground it had fallen into. I collapsed onto it and dug through my pack to find my bullets. The gold plating of the brass jangled like loose change as I pulled out a wrinkled sandwich baggy. I loaded five rounds and listened to a choir of wolves in the shaded darkness, soprano howls and bass snarls in a circle around me.
Pairs of black upright ears and obsidian eyes rose from between the trees. Wolves three feet at the shoulder, approaching one paw in front of the other, upper bodies rock solid, only moving below the knees, locked in on their hopeless prey. I knew gunshots would trigger their predatory instincts, like a dog’s uncontrollable urge to chase a fleeing squirrel, and I’d be swarmed before I could get a second bullet in. My only chance was to take the alpha, their leader, and pray the pack saw him fall and followed suit.
My eyes darted as shaky arms held my family’s rifle in front of me, trying to decide which wolf was in charge. Noses down, they circled at the edge of the clearing and showed their pearly white fangs, barking and snarling with canines draped over their bottom lips, teeth clattering on the tips of their tongues. Putting on an intimidation display while keeping a safe distance, knowing my rifle and I were a threat, waiting for permission from the alpha. Out of the trees emerged a beige and black wolf with massive shoulders and a burly chest -- at least five feet at the shoulder. The other wolves held their noses to the ground looking up at me, cackling and drooling. But this wolf held his head high, looking down, without the need to put on any display. The alpha.
I aimed down my rifle, my clammy hands slid on the wax-finished wooden stock, my finger extended out, hovering over the gold-plated trigger, sweat-soaked hair draped down my forehead. Wolves on all sides of me lunging back and forth, begging for the go-ahead to tear me to shreds. I could see the leathery texture on the alpha’s wet nose between my crosshairs. His wildfire eyes looking at me, calm and stoic. The tips of his aging grey ears listening to my frantic breathing and spastic heartbeat.
When something dies, it isn’t like the movies. If I shot him at this distance, when the bullet made contact with his skull, the malleable lead would scatter in every direction. The blast of the gunshot would shake the Tongass and echo down the mountain, stirring everything from the moles between the tree roots to the scavenger birds eating down the trail. Every wolf in the muskeg would be sprayed with blood and brain matter. The alpha wolf’s legs would buckle, his back end would sink and what was left of his nose would point to the sky before flopping into the grass. His body would spasm frantically on the ground while his nervous system tried to function without his brain. A plume of steam and smoke would billow from the gunshot wound. His arteries at the base of his neck would pump blood into the clearing, staining his calico coat and the green blades of rainforest grass, slower and slower until his heart stopped.
His smoldering orange eyes locked with my dad’s hazel green in mine, and I lowered the barrel and set the rifle between my legs. I hung my head and rested my arms at my side. I looked up to the wolf and yielded from underneath the sweat on my eyebrows. The alpha’s grey and black chest expanded as he lifted his head and let out a ghostly howl so deep and powerful -- I felt it in my bones. The other wolves looked to him before grudgingly turning away from me. Some barking and snarling before they disappeared back into the timber. Once he had expelled all his breath, the alpha returned his eyes to me as his pack vanished into the Tongass behind him. Standing over an amateur hunter sprawled out and petrified in the grassy clearing. I hung my head with grateful shame. And the wolf took one last look before turning back into the timber, as silently as he came.
BLISSFUL IGNORANCE
Corri Rogan
Lights fade on. HARMONY enters through the door and takes off her coat.
SCENE 1: Croquembouche!
HARMONY: Bliss? I’m home!
HARMONY sets her coat on the coat rack and puts her stuff down. BLISS enters stage left covered in flour and wearing an apron. She has a can of soda in one hand.
BLISS: Hey girl! How was work?
HARMONY: …fine? What the hell are you doing?
BLISS: Making dessert. A croquembouche!
HARMONY: (raising an eyebrow) Spell croquembouche.
BLISS: C-R-O… (pause for a beat) EMBOUCHE.
HARMONY: I’m ordering takeout. What do you wanna eat?
BLISS: How dare you! I’m making us dinner AND dessert tonight. Can’t you see the effort I’m putting in for us?
HARMONY: Remember the LAST time you put effort into dinner?
BLISS: Okay, how am I supposed to know how much is too much?
HARMONY: You measure!
BLISS: I did!
HARMONY: (walks over to a drawer) With measuring cups!
BLISS: I mean for seasoning!
HARMONY: (pulls out measuring spoons and raises an eyebrow)
(pause for a beat)
BLISS: (walks over to HARMONY) I… was looking… for those.
The two trade off the can and measuring spoons.
HARMONY: Uh huh. Sure. Anyway, you remember that guy I told you about?
BLISS: Large hot coffee and breakfast sandwich with the glasses?
HARMONY: I saw him again today on my way to work. He even paid for my latte today.
BLISS: (sits down on the couch) Were numbers exchanged?
HARMONY: (looks around as if she’s gonna tell a huge secret) we’re having dinner this Friday.
BLISS grabs her can of soda from the coffee table. The two toast to this great news!
BLISS: AHH! I can’t wait to meet him!
HARMONY: We’re meeting up at the restaurant.
BLISS: Aww… I GUESS that makes sense. If I were you, I would give him dessert first (wink).
HARMONY: (sniffs) Is that what’s burning?
BLISS: (sniffs) Damn it!
BLISS runs offstage and HARMONY laughs. Lights fade out.
SCENE 2: BIG NEWS!
Lights fade back on. The two are eating Chinese takeout on the couch and watching a movie. BLISS takes one more sip from the can of soda before turning the tv volume down.
BLISS: Soo I have some news.
BLISS walks over to her purse and grabs a letter. She sits down on the couch and hands the file to HARMONY. HARMONY sets down her wine glass and grabs the letter. She opens it and reads. Then she jumps up from the couch.
HARMONY: You got in?!
BLISS: I did!
They both hug and scream in the same pitch.
HARMONY: Now my kitchen won’t be suffering anymore!
BLISS: Yeah… about that. I still gotta do my homework here.
HARMONY: I thought you had to live on campus?
BLISS: It’s cheaper to stay here with you. Plus, I rather have you than some stranger as my roommate.
HARMONY: Bliss-
BLISS: Don’t worry! Once I learn how to make an Angel Food Cake, you’ll be glad you let me stay!
HARMONY: (sighs) Alright. But we still need to split rent.
BLISS: (hugs HARMONY) I love you boo!
HARMONY: (hugs back) Yeah, yeah love you too weirdo. Can we finish watching this now?
BLISS: Hmm… I suppose!
Lights fade out.
SCENE 3: Long Time No See
Lights fade in. BLISS enters wearing work-out attire and a towel around her neck. She takes a sip of water before hopping on the treadmill. As she power walks, ANTHONY enters stage right in his workout attire. He checks out BLISS and works out on the treadmill next to her. She pays no mind to it but realizes he’s trying to get her attention. BLISS turns up her speed. ANTHONY increases his. The two continue to do so until they both are full on sprinting on the treadmill. BLISS gets competitive and starts to mess with the incline button. While it rises, she slips and slides off the treadmill. BLISS lands on the floor, embarrassed. ANTHONY decreases his speed and walks over to her, barely out of breath. He wipes off his sweat and reaches his hand out. BLISS looks at his hand then looks at him.
ANTHONY: Enjoy your trip?
BLISS: (out of breath) You… I…
ANTHONY: Come on.
BLISS stands up on her own and refuses to take his help.
ANTHONY: So this is you workin’ on yourself huh?
BLISS: We agreed that it was a mistake. We were in the heat of the moment that got lukewarm.
ANTHONY: You mean to tell me you haven’t thought about us since that night?
BLISS: Us? There is no us. Like I said, “lukewarm.”
As BLISS walks away, ANTHONY grabs her waist and pulls her in.
BLISS: Anthony-
ANTHONY: Let me take you out. It’s the least I can do. After seeing you embarrass yourself and everything.
BLISS: Excuse me?
BLISS turns around and faces ANTHONY. He smiles at her as her face turns red. He moves some hair out of her face before stepping away.
ANTHONY: (takes out phone) You heard what I said.
BLISS looks at ANTHONY and his phone. She sighs and puts her number in his phone. The lights fade out as they exchange phones.
SCENE 4: Back Home
We’re back in the apartment with HARMONY. She’s on the phone with the guy she met at the coffee shop. She has her laptop open and multitasking.
HARMONY: Uh huh. No it’s fine, I’m just working. (pause for a beat) I’m a graphic designer for BetaComics. I know, I know… I’m a dork.
BLISS enters through the door crawling on her stomach completely out of breath. She makes her way to the couch.
HARMONY: (still doesn’t notice) Didn’t your mom teach you about lying? (laughs) Well, thank you. I appreciate you not calling me a dork. (sees BLISS coming around the corner and pulling herself up on the couch.) Umm… I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow at 8? At Gia’s? Great. See you then.
BLISS breathes heavily as she spreads out on the couch. She puts her legs on HARMONY.
HARMONY: The hell happened to you?
BLISS: (pulls her phone from her sweaty sports bra) I…
HARMONY: Look, we’re close but not-
BLISS: (out of breath) Num… Number…
HARMONY: Shut up! You picked up somebody at the gym??
BLISS nods and stuffs the phone back in her sports bra.
HARMONY: Wow! How did this happen?
BLISS: (still out of breath) Tread… treadmill. Competition. I lost…
HARMONY: (laughs) Well, I’m happy for you. When’s this taking place?
BLISS: Saturday night. 7pm.
HARMONY: Aww! We need to get your outfit together. Both of us! We can’t try too hard but can’t be too simple. Classy, not trashy. Leave something to the imagination. We need to-
BLISS: (grabs HARMONY’S hand) I need to take a shower.
BLISS leaves stage left. HARMONY sits down on the couch to finish up work for the day. Someone knocks on the door. HARMONY stands up to go answer the door.
DANIEL: (takes off hat) Hey beautiful.
HARMONY: (sighs) Daniel. To what do I owe the pleasure?
DANIEL: Just a monthly check up on my favorite tenants.
HARMONY: Since we’re your favorite, mind cutting the rent down?
DANIEL: Say! Where’s Bliss?
HARMONY: Why are you here Dan?
DANIEL: (walks through the door) I have some good news, bad news, and ugly news. And… your mail.
HARMONY: (snatches the mail) Illegal. Look, just give me the ugly news first. (closes the door)
DANIEL: Well, speaking of rent… the check didn’t go through.
HARMONY: What?! I had enough money to-
DANIEL: No no no. Your half was fine… however…
HARMONY runs over to stage left to see if Bliss is listening. She isn’t. HARMONY grabs DANIEL and sits down on the couch with him.
HARMONY: Listen, I can cover for her.
DANIEL: You’ve been covering for her for-
HARMONY: Months. I know. She needs as much money as she can keep right now. She got accepted to her dream school and she’s really looking forward to it.
DANIEL: What about you?
HARMONY: I’ve managed this far, right? What’s another month?
DANIEL: (under his breath) That’s what you said last time…
HARMONY: (raises an eyebrow) What’s the bad news Dan?
DANIEL: On second thought, she probably didn’t tell you. Never mind.
HARMONY: Daniel.
DANIEL: I can’t! I’m sorry. Confidentiality agreement!
HARMONY: You broke that when we first moved in. Or did you forget?
HARMONY looks through the mail.
DANIEL: (he rubs the side of his face) I remember.
HARMONY: Just tell me.
DANIEL: She got a letter in the mail again from-
HARMONY: (finds the letter) Her mom… what do you think-
DANIEL: Who knows? Probably shouldn’t open it though.
HARMONY: Ugh! Then what’s the good news?!
DANIEL scoots closer to HARMONY and places his hand on her knee. She raises an eyebrow.
DANIEL: I’m still available.
HARMONY: You available to fix the hot water?
DANIEL: (stands up) What? What’s that? I think that’s Mr. Jones calling for me! Gotta go!
DANIEL exits.
HARMONY: Mr. Jones is on vacation! (sighs)
HARMONY pours herself a glass of wine and sits down on the couch.
HARMONY: As much as I hate to admit it… he’s right. What about me? I’ve been taking care of everyone else for as long as I can remember. What about me?
BLISS enters stage left but hides behind the wall.
HARMONY: I mean, how long can I do this for? Before it catches up with me?
BLISS: Before what catches up with you?
HARMONY: Umm… eating dinner after 8pm! You know how it is (chuckles).
BLISS: Uh huh.
HARMONY: I’ll… uh get dinner started.
HARMONY sets her glass on the coffee table and exits stage left. Lights fade out.
SCENE 5: Date Night
Lights fade in. It’s now Friday night. BLISS is sitting on the couch waiting for HARMONY to come out.
BLISS: HHHARRRRMMMOOOONNYYYYYY! YOU’RE GONNA MISS YOUR DATE!
HARMONY: (offstage) I’m almost done! Hold on!
BLISS: You said that 10 minutes ago!
HARMONY: (offstage) Ever heard of fashionably late?!
BLISS: Honey, at this point, it’s just late.
BLISS takes a sip of water then HARMONY enters from stage left to stage right. She’s wearing a short but elegant dress. BLISS does a quick inspection.
BLISS: Hmm… tasteful but simple. Just the right amount of class. (more mumbling)
HARMONY: Can I go now?
BLISS: Hmm… don’t have too much fun!
A knock on the door.
HARMONY: That must be him.
BLISS: I thought you were meeting him at the restaurant?
HARMONY: He’s persuasive.
HARMONY goes to open the door but forgets to put on earrings.
HARMONY: Bliss? Can you get that? I forgot to get some earrings on!
BLISS: Okay?
HARMONY rushes off stage left. BLISS goes to open the door and her jaw drops to the floor. She takes a couple steps back in complete shock.
BLISS: The hell?
ANTHONY enters stage right with a suit.
ANTHONY: Bliss? What are you doing here?
BLISS: What are YOU doing here? (mocking ANTHONY) “Let me take you out, it’s the least I can do.” Really Anthony? Really?
ANTHONY: I --
HARMONY enters stage left. BLISS and ANTHONY compose themselves. HARMONY walks over to ANTHONY and gives him a kiss on the cheek,
HARMONY: Bliss, this is Tony. Tony, this is my roommate Bliss.
ANTHONY: (clears throat) Nice to meet you Bliss. (turns to HARMONY) You look beautiful tonight Harm. (kisses her hand)
BLISS: (under her breath) So THAT’S how we’re doing this.
HARMONY: Hmm?
BLISS: So THAT’S Ant- I mean Tony.
HARMONY: Yeah.
ANTHONY: Let’s head out. Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back before curfew.
BLISS: (plops down on the couch) Mmhmm. Stay safe.
HARMONY: Love you girl.
The two exit. BLISS continues to prop her feet up on the couch. She turns the tv on to distract herself from ruining the date.
BLISS: No. No. I’m going to stay here and enjoy my evening. Totally not gonna think about what they’re doing. Or if they’re having fun. Or if they… if they….
BLISS rolls her eyes and continues to sip her water. Lights fade out.
SCENE 6: Operation: Stakeout (With Bread)
Lights fade on to a singular table on stage. HARMONY and ANTHONY sit at the table enjoying their dinner.
HARMONY: Is something on your mind? You seem on edge tonight.
ANTHONY: Only you.
ANTHONY holds HARMONY’S hand above the table. Lights fade on to another table. DANIEL and BLISS are sitting down eating bread. BLISS is wearing a long trench coat and fake mustache.
BLISS: I’m gonna kill him. After I kill Harmony for going out with him. I mean, what are the odds of those two bumping into each other?
DANIEL: (eating) If you’re gonna kill her…. You need to go through me first. By the way, are you going to eat any of this?
BLISS: How can he sit there and act like he’s not trying to get back together with me?
DANIEL: It was a one-night stand.
HARMONY and ANTHONY lean in to kiss each other. BLISS knocks the bread out of DANIEL’S hand. Then she knocks the bread bowl to the ground.
BLISS: Shut up Daniel!
DANIEL: BLISS!
HARMONY looks over to see DANIEL and BLISS at the table near them. She walks over to them.
HARMONY: Daniel? What are you doing here?
DANIEL: Don’t ask me.
HARMONY: What? (pulls down BLISS’S menu) Bliss?
BLISS: You snitch!
DANIEL: You knocked over my bread man! Not cool!
DANIEL exits.
HARMONY: What’s going on Bliss?
ANTHONY: Yeah, what’s going on?
BLISS: Oh, don’t act like you don’t know Anthony.
HARMONY: Anthony? His name is Tony.
BLISS AND HARMONY: (simultaneously) Which is short for Anthony.
BLISS: We had a one-night stand once after a rough breakup. I thought he wanted to make things work, I thought wrong.
ANTHONY: Bliss-
HARMONY: You need to leave.
ANTHONY: Harm-
BLISS: You heard her!
ANTHONY exits. HARMONY and BLISS sit at the table.
HARMONY: I am so sorry about this.
BLISS: Whatever. It wouldn’t have worked anyway.
HARMONY: What’s that supposed to mean?
BLISS: You work too much. Wouldn’t have time for him.
HARMONY: Look, just because your feelings got hurt doesn’t mean you can bash me.
BLISS: I’m just saying!
HARMONY: Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to work so hard if your checks didn’t bounce!
BLISS: My checks are JUST FINE.
HARMONY: Since when?! Because I’m ALWAYS coming out of pocket for rent! Yet I’m still looking out for you!
BLISS: You’re looking out for me? I didn’t ask you to do that! I’m not a charity case!
HARMONY: Oh really? Well, you can move back in with your psychotic mother since she’s been released! Or are you still being a brat about that situation?!
BLISS: …how did you know about that? You read my mail?!
HARMONY: (scoffs) I want you out first thing tomorrow morning.
BLISS: How do you expect me to pack up everything tonight?!
HARMONY: Like you said. “You’re not a charity case.” Figure it out.
HARMONY exits. BLISS faceplants into the table and lights fade out.
SCENE 7: Goodbye?
It’s the next morning and HARMONY is sitting on the couch drinking wine. BLISS enters with a couple more boxes. She’s struggling but HARMONY refuses to help. A couple of beats pass as she moves boxes from one side to the other. HARMONY sets down her glass and exits stage left. There’s a knock on the door.
ANTHONY: Hey. You got a minute?
BLISS: Screw off.
ANTHONY: Let me explain.
BLISS: There’s nothing to explain.
ANTHONY: You were jealous, weren’t you?
BLISS: Oh God.
ANTHONY: That’s why you followed us to the restaurant isn’t it?
BLISS: I was looking after my girl.
ANTHONY: So why was that guy with you then?
BLISS: …
ANTHONY: Just admit it.
BLISS and ANTHONY are now center stage. HARMONY enters but neither of them see her.
BLISS: There’s nothing to admit.
ANTHONY: You know I care about you right?
BLISS: So why were you on a date with her?
ANTHONY: Had to get your attention somehow. Now you’re jealous. Like I said, let’s make this work.
BLISS: What about Harmony?
ANTHONY: What about her? She was the only way I could get to you.
BLISS: So, you used her?
ANTHONY: To get to you. You listening to what I’m saying?
BLISS pushes ANTHONY with every step towards the door.
BLISS: Oh, I can hear perfectly. I’m hearing that you gaslit my best friend, took her on a date in an effort to make me jealous, and all to prove something to your ego. Let me tell YOU something. NOBODY uses my friend even if it’s to get to me. YOU had my number. YOU are just a pig. It’s time for you to leave. Now.
ANTHONY sighs and exits. BLISS slams the door behind him. HARMONY walks downstage. BLISS notices HARMONY walks in and composes herself.
BLISS: I’m um… (sniffles) I’m just about done. I have 3 more boxes in my room then I’ll be out of your hair, cool?
HARMONY pulls out two cans behind her back. She holds one out for BLISS. BLISS looks at the can, then back at HARMONY. She walks over to her and smiles. The two hug it out.
BLISS: I’m sorry.
HARMONY: I’m sorry.
Both take a seat on the couch and prop their feet up on the coffee table. They open their cans simultaneously, make a toast, and take a sip. Lights fade out.
GRIEVING IN THE WAY OF BURNT TOAST
Mia Woltman
Your heart stopped beating but I, too, felt mine go numb when the startling ring of the telephone woke me in the middle of a July night. You had been in a car accident. It wasn’t your fault. You suffered a massive concussion. That was the end of you.
Your death changed me, of course it did. What kind of fiancé would I be to you if your loss didn’t affect me in some overwhelming way?
It’s early November now and I can only compare the pain to the fragile leaves that sit crumpled on the frosted pavement - cold. When I say that your death changed me, I don’t mean in the way that most people experience grief. Normally when a woman's heart breaks for the man she’s loved since the age of seventeen, she finds herself refusing to sleep in her empty bed or fearing the taste of coffee if she first met the love of her life in a café, but I carried on as if your soul had never left this world, as if your presence still occupied half of our apartment, as if your pictures on the mantle never grew dust from not being held.
You left and I ignored the need to say my farewell. While your sandy ashes fell from my fingertips and onto the creamy buds of the honeysuckles in the park where we first met, I promised myself to never let you go, never to let us go.
So, I carry on.
I still leave your dirty pair of expensive shoes by the door, I load the dishwasher your way (little plates on top, big plates on the bottom), and even fix my breakfasts as if you’re standing over me with your hands on my thin waist, saying, “Fay Margaret Middleton, how did you manage to burn the toast again?” You would eat the crummy bread anyways, using so much raspberry jam that you could barely taste it. Now I let the two pieces of wheat cook for a bit too long to recall those silly moments with you every day. It's become a simple routine, like running a comb through my moussed hair every morning, like brushing my teeth while I'm half asleep at night.
Those are the small things I do, but the things that remind me of you grow bigger. I wear your clothes every day to work. I take you with me. When my changed look made its first debut at the magazine company, my colleagues’ judgment was displayed as raised eyebrows and tilted heads. My old wardrobe of pencil skirts quickly transformed into oversized flannels and baggy Metallica t-shirts. Even though I endured a major make-over in the world of fashion, they never said anything. I think they knew.
I watch only your favorite movies. I ditch my Monday obsession with The Bachelor to witness Rocky fight in the ring or Brian O’Conner survive another car stunt. I mute the television to silence the metallic crunch of cars colliding. I sizzle popcorn over our little stove, pour red wine, and suffocate myself in the blanket that fosters a lingering scent of your cologne. I always thought it smelled like sage. Those late nights usually end with me sleeping on your side of the bed, on your pillows. I whisper “Goodnight, Elliot” into the cotton sheets and relive our memories through dreams that make me hate my morning alarm.
It wasn’t until my best work friend stopped for breakfast at our place that I realized how big of an impact you left on me. Sara scanned our yellow apartment from the doorway, scratching a pretend itch on her head as she noticed your books on the shelf, your mug on the kitchen counter, your jacket draped over the wooden chair we bought last spring. “I’m still working on it,” I muttered while avoiding her pitiful stare. She simply nodded but insisted that I grab coffee with her brother-in-law’s friend the following week. She extended this offer after she had observed my toast-burning ritual and my large spoonfuls of jam.
I drowned my reservations about the date in a ‘fake-it-’til-you-make-it’ gulp of wine before Nathan welcomed me with an awkward hug and a bouquet of fiery red roses. I accompanied him to a local vintage diner in Chicago more for Sara’s sake than mine. As soon as I smelled the freshness of those velvety petals fancied with baby’s breath, I knew that I wasn’t ready. You had always surprised me with white roses. We weren't big on clichés.
Nathan and I nursed delicate small talk for an hour or so in a sticky booth. Meanwhile, I was really thinking about which movie of yours to watch next. He was a blue-eyed accountant, two years older than us at twenty-eight, and he paid for my cappuccino. Guilt eroded my insides as I declined his kind invitation for a second outing. I apologized to both Sara and my unwanted admirer the next day.
That was two weeks ago and here I am now, tangled up in your wool sweater watching the first snowfall of the season. The snow is wet since it’s still autumn, but the covered streets of 8th Avenue look like something you would find in a snow globe. It’s quiet. I’ve paused the television to look out the wide window. I’ve chosen Rocky again. The roses that I’ve arranged in an hourglass vase look even more vibrant against the wintery world. They’re almost wilted. The stems struggle to carry the dead weight.
I hold our fraying blanket up to my face but am shocked to find that your smell is nearly gone. I throw it across the living room and off the grey sofa. My chestnut hair blows in the gust my outburst creates. A book from the shelf beside the television tips and lands on the rug. It’s one of your books on carpentry. I wedge my mug into the sofa cushions and reverse my tantrum, folding the blanket and organizing the shelf, but the worn cover steals my attention. It's made of leather like your favorite belt. I thumb through the pages and see all your messy notes in the margins. My breathy smile fills the silent room, and it comforts me - that missed sound, that missed feeling.
I curl up on the rug, feeling your sweater's brown wool kiss my pale skin. I rest the book open on my chest and lay there with Rocky's boxing glove frozen on the screen. For just a moment, I pretend the withered roses behind me are white like the snow. I will begin to learn to live without you, but I will let myself feel this for now. I will slowly heal, word by word, chapter by chapter, book by book until a fresh story that doesn't make you the main character is created.
That night, she sleeps on Elliot’s pillows one last time before she picks up the pencil and writes this new beginning.