one
I always remembered it so brightly, but with a brightness that hurts to look at. A brightness that teaches a child why their parents told them not to stare at the sun. A brightness that eclipsed me, a brightness that illuminated the black hole beside me.
It was manufactured, that light. You tried so hard. You tore out the textbook page about the sun and tacked it to your wall. You spent months figuring out how to create a fusion reaction in your stomach. I don't think it ever worked, but you swore you saw a bit of light leaking out of your navel every time you went to bed. I never looked past your collarbones. You don't seem to remember that, but I do. It would scare me in a way I didn't have the words for then. You still don't get what I mean. We're too far away. I forget which time you're still latching on to.
I remember holding your hand. It was fragile then and it's brittle now and I'm sorry. It's not my fault but I'm sorry. You were standing out by the train that only moved twice a year. On those two occasions, people would peek their heads out of the windows to see you. You used to be running, but I remember you standing there with the asphalt tiring out your knees. I can’t see your face that well anymore. I don't remember if you were crying but maybe you were. You had made footprints where you were standing, slight indentations that no car driving over would feel but that anyone not walking carefully would trip over. You shifted your weight barely. It looked like your arm would fall off and onto the grass. Did I say grass? I meant to say asphalt. It was asphalt. It was hot usually, but not that day. Well, I didn’t touch it, so I guess I’m not sure. Was it hot that day? You don’t have to answer, it’s not important. What was important was it cracking under the weight of you. I still don’t know how you did it, but you split the earth in two. I know you were trying for a long time, trying to become a star, a blackhole, a hammer, something big enough to break something. And you succeeded. It took your body, but you did it. The ground split and there was nothing inside just like you told me.
ONE and BEACH are sitting in front of the TV and watching a loop of a fireplace. They are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, like they’re scared to know what would happen if they touched each other. ONE curls her knees into her chest. BEACH sits on the floor. ONE keeps looking over as if she’s waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t. So, she does.
ONE: So, what do you think?
BEACH: It’s fine.
ONE: Just fine?
BEACH: Yeah, like it’s not real. I can’t feel it, but it’s cool I guess.
ONE: It’s supposed to be calming.
BEACH: I can see that. Not really my cup of tea, though. White noise kind of gets on my nerves.
ONE: You should have told me that.
BEACH: It didn’t feel that important.
ONE: Do you want me to turn it off?
BEACH: If you want to.
ONE: That doesn’t answer my question at all.
BEACH: I don’t really care.
ONE: But you just said- never mind. I’m turning it off.
BEACH: You don’t have to.
ONE: It’s fine.
They sit together in a weird silence. BEACH looks apologetic, but not really. He’s generally kind of blank. ONE is trying not to look annoyed, trying to control her face. She’s pretty good at it, she’s had a lot of practice. BEACH starts humming a song, but fades out pretty quickly.
ONE: Are you cold?
BEACH: A little, I’m okay though.
ONE: You’re shaking.
BEACH: Am I?
ONE: I can turn the heat up if you want-
BEACH: It’s really okay.
ONE: You know you can ask me for things, right?
BEACH: What?
ONE: You can tell me if you want or need anything. I don’t mind.
BEACH: I’m not sure if that’s true, but thank you anyway.
ONE: How would you know if it’s true or not?
BEACH: No one would not mind doing every single possible thing I could ask of them.
ONE: (rolls eyes) That’s obviously not what I meant.
BEACH: But you said-
ONE: Can you not analyze everything like that? Aren’t you fucking miserable doing that?
BEACH: Hm, maybe. Haven’t really considered.
They’ve made it awkward again. This time they both are having trouble changing their faces to something resembling something polite. You can hear the house creaking and settling.
BEACH: I’m sorry.
ONE: Please don’t be. It’s okay.
BEACH: Is it?
ONE: It will be. I tend to get over things pretty quickly.
BEACH: Me, too. Don’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing yet, though.
ONE: Yeah, it’s hard to tell.
BEACH: I’ve gotten really good at organizing things, kind of too good.
ONE: I know what you mean. It gets too clean.
BEACH: It’s kind of scary.
ONE: Yeah.
BEACH: Like if I see one grain of sand outside of it’s jar I feel like I’m going to fall apart. And that’s just- it’s just not sustainable.
ONE: I’m the same way. The dam’s too fragile.
BEACH: Not spilling seems to be in demand.
ONE: (waits a beat) Isn’t that from a song?
BEACH: It is.
ONE: Can you play it?
BEACH: Yeah. I’ll try not to mess it up this time.
[They sing Stalemate_Spud by Whatever, Dad together]