Take your average kid. Your average kid. An average kid. A kid. Take a kid. For instance, a kid with a nosebleed and a sudden taste for his own blood. Take that kid. Put him to bed and turn out the lights.

Sweep the hair from his face and place your hand alongside his cheek. Take the temperature of the room. Think about what is going to happen next. Don’t be scared. No one’s watching.

Jump out of the window. Run longways down a fat boulevard. Ignore the potholes. This road points to and fro. Feel the rush of wind in your hair. It blows you back, this rush. You have not felt this rush in so long. Where has it been? Tomorrow, return only to find the rush has found another friend. The friend is younger than you and likes pokemon whereas you like baseball cards.

A dream now. On an island, alone. Lapping at your feet, the water is too hot. Why is the water here so hot?

The particulars allude. The feeling, however. The feeling is there in all its glory. Something powerful in the gut. Something tremendous and slightly offkilter.

Feel the siren in the bone not the ear. Quiver. Now shiver. Now run.

The boy. The body. The boy as body.

I know. It went like this.

It was running. It was you and it was him and it was you teaching him how to run. He knew how to run but you were teaching him. Introduce yourself. He’s younger than you. Got a dollop of gray hair. Some kind of birth effect. There is a resemblance. The differences are key. Smooth skin on account of lotion. Smooth skin on account of youth.

You keep running now, with the kid. The kid is following you and making you feel special. Like you have some kind of something, ya know? Like there’s a reason the kid is here and you are here and it’s not all chaos. Like someone asked you to be here. Willed it.

Do you have a choice here?

Stop running. Take deep, sharp breaths. Lean over and put your hand on the kid’s shoulder. Say, I think we’ve had enough for today. That’s right, coach him. Feel the shoulder slip away. Lean over and tie your shoes to hide your shame.

Run. Run so far that your lungs are making time and a half. Punch the clock. Head home. Your head is no longer home.

Back in the dream, you are now in the real world. You are a beached whale on the rocks. Your beach has eroded. It’s just water on the rocks. Vodka works better.  

At the mall, sample some virtual reality. Slip the goggles over the boy’s eyes. Take him to another world.

I cannot picture the face you make. I don’t want to. Call the sketch artist in here.

After the mall, grab some pizza. Laugh at tomato sauce in places where tomato sauce should not be. Wipe tenderly.

Play cops and robbers out back. Avail yourself of state power.

Say Uncle.

Patterns form. Spidery cracks through the window of your life.

That night, lay in bed. Do not dream. In the dream, ask for forgiveness.

Touch him. Or don’t.

You already know tomorrow there’s gonna be another friend. Another boy. That boy will like pokemon. I already told you that.

Stop crying. I made you do it. Don’t cry. It’s not your fault.

At the end of the road, find yourself among the living again. That’s right. The road you are on is a mighty fine road. You were dead and now you’re alive. Alive you can touch people. Make a difference in a life.

Remember.

You did not do anything. There was nothing to be done. It had already happened.

Close your eyes and look away now.

 

 

the boy in a bed not unlike your own the pillows down get angry the boy is not a boy but a thing a thing that has it’s claws in you how did they get there? how did this happen? get angry just a kid you’re only just a kid grow up find an alternative run for something give yourself over to something bigger than yourself feel it in your bones growing pains start transcending become one reach out and hold hold hold go! it has begun. your movements and maneuvers conspire to slander you! shut them up! show them your bonafides! start going faster get back to the feeling to that rush we spoke of it’s here it’s been waiting for you calling out your name a siren in the truest sense a warning to young seamen these seas be choppy and full of lice brush your hair like your mother taught you look presentable chin up you are allergic to down sneeze into the crook of your arm keep things clean clean up afterwards keep it under control smile to the canines do not give him the molars you are a dog you bite you do not grind this is a biting situation the situation has gotten out of hand you did that not me this time take the hand and make it your hand it’s the only way look up with those big eyes ask why ask when ask what happened ask how come then come up with an answer hurry! you must have an answer! you search but you forgot to prepare for the test study hall a waste a finger in the nose and nothing more you should have studied this scantron has multiple answers on each line A and B both are right that cannot be you have graduated from scantrons now in the bluebook write something thoughtful about allergens on the page your handwriting turns slanted and inscrutable you make the teacher do the work it’s about time they did the work about time they took some responsibility for what they made you do how they made you change say you did not want this say it loud scream it say you did not want this break the windows with your screams feel the vacuum of the room suck in the fresh air feel vital feel the gooseflesh on your back two backs a beast bring your head down and finish strong there is only so much time look on your work. despair. shudder. turns out you’ve been training for this your whole life and you didn’t know it. take a deep breath. close your eyes. put on your running shoes.                          

 

   

 

Run.

Run to the only man who understands.

Run to your father. Back to the house you were born in. You were born in the bedroom.

Stop on the stoop. Look down at your feet. Assure them of their convalescence. You will take good care of them. Now. Walk with intention. Step up. Do the right thing. Cross the threshold.

When you come in, give the man a knowing nod. You are now apiece.

Take a shower and let it run hot and long. Go to sleep in fresh flannel sheets.

Remind yourself of the people in your life who think highly of you. Think mile high. Think Olympus. Think the gods who would have done the same thing you’d done. Think he was lucky.

Slip in the tub. Develop concussion-like symptoms. Your sleep is dreamless. Unclear if it is really even sleep. Despite the weather, wear a hoodie with the strings drawn tight.

This is where you belong. Not there. Not that place. How old are you again? Do you need me to remind you how old you are? I can remind you of that. I can remind you of anything.

Get a job. A different job. Act out.  

Move out of your father’s house. Come back in six months.

In six months, you’ve developed a logic all your own. You are here and there and everywhere. You no longer run on account of reading something about running. You no longer search for the boy on account of you’ve found a place where there are lots of boys. The internet ruins you. The internet is your salvation. Your dad is still running dial-up. Gonna need to fix that.

When you do, read stories about how computer towers are a notorious place for cockroaches to come together and make a home. On account of warmth and on account of dark.

Let Dad tell his story of selling a Honus Wagner rookie card for an ice cream and a playboy. Ice cream sounds good right about now. A brain freeze is not unwelcome.

In the meantime:

Fuck yourself. Wish for someone to rub your feet. Dream about an island. Tell your father you like pokemon cards now.

 

 

 

Edge him out. It is your time now. This is your story too. A stage is the world is all of your potential energy on the precipice. Did he push you or did you jump? Squeeze your eyes shut. Think. That feeling he left you with. It was not yours to carry, was it? It was not yours to tend to. But you do, you do tend to it. You grab the ho. You grab the spade. You know the weeds look prettiest in the spring. Drink water. You must tend to yourself. Your tendrils must find their way. This soil is broken. Spread your roots. Dig deep. Down into the groundwater. That water’s been runnning for years. Years without pump, filter, or flouride. Grow up. Turn everywhere and find yourself. Everywhere you look. These roots are deep and wide. On the surface, not much to work with, I admit. But dig deep and you’ll find yourself underground. Go to sleep. You are in a mosh pit with the alt kids. Look at you go. Wake up. He is gone. Go back to sleep. You are playing an oboe at band camp. You are kissing a girl. Wake up. He’s still gone, but it’s too cold. Shut the window. Go back to sleep. Wake up. The news is bad, but your television has been upgraded. You see blush and concealer where you did not see it before. Go to sleep. Feel creepy. Feel crawly. Feel like yourself. Wake up. You have bed bugs. Go back to sleep. In a new dream, he makes an appearance. He looks dirty and smells like wet dog. He suggests this was the only way it could be. That you could not meet in person ever again. That your connection is forever severed. Wake up. Yearn for that feeling. Go to sleep. Remember. Wake up. Forget. Go to sleep. Open your windows. Open all your windows. Scream for him to return. Scream for him to come back. It’s that thing about dreams. Is it really you in there? Or is it something else? Something deep inside the electricity of your brain. Something more you than you? Scream for him. Scream for that moment in which you did not know yourself. You know yourself too well now. Much too well. This sleep will be the best sleep you’ve had in a while, and when you wake up, you will have lost your voice.

       

 

And at some point, you start to thinking about running. You think about running as a kid. The kind of running you do just to run. And you think about running like adults do. A running to something. For something. From something. So now. Think about playing pokemon with Sam across the street. Think how fast you run. How fast you choose the electric bird. That’s who you’ll be. Think about running in circles. Perfect circles. Think about your next friend. Think about the shock they’ll receive. Imagine the electricity coursing through you. It fills your veins. You need things to fill your veins. You were full and then you were empty and then you were full of something else. And now you need things to fill your veins. Go. Go fill up. Brim with the shit. Then take your leave.

Someone should really do something about these potholes. They’re everywhere. They’ve developed their own logic. Pothole qua pothole. Now the road no longer goes two ways, but a third, a depth you were not prepared for. Fling a rock into the pothole. Disrupt an ecosystem. Watch those perfect circles run everywhichway but together. Watch the oil shimmer on the surface. Suck it up and drink it deep. Keep drinking. Listen to your brain. It’s telling you to stop. Stop please. This is not what we were made for. This is not what we were made to do. You are too eager to please. This instinct does not deserve pleasing. Does not deserve pleasure. This is suicide, I say, suicide! Do you understand what you’re doing. You’re doing to this to both of us. But then the oil runs out and your brain is swimming in it. And then it is drowning. And then it has drowned.

The house where it happened. The road leading to and from. The bed made from gander and goose. The shoes made for a singular purpose. A bad grade on a test. Acidic soil and too much water. A television with bad reception. Pokemon. Baseball. A father who told too many stories and did not exercise. A missed opportunity. A fellow. A tremendous fellow. Feet that needed rubbing. Blisters on feet that need rubbing. A balm. A balmy type of day turned sour and wet. Rushing to work versus a rushing river. Two kinds of rushing. Two kinds of running. Two kinds of people. One terrible thing.

Blend it together and drink it. Call it a protein shake.                                 

Did you know? The windows here are broken. This island has no fresh water. This road is now a plane.


Drew Bevis