by Laikyn Meng
“I just wish I could have been there for 9/11.” My gaze is trained focused on the bird sitting on a branch, twisting its head around to find the morning worm poking its head up as a victim.
“What do you mean?” She replies, head down in a book, and I barely register what I have omitted to her. It wasn’t really a conversation I wanted to have, I just needed to say it out loud, to have someone witness the dedication in my voice. To let someone know I’m still alive.
For some reason, I am zoning out, and I start signing my sentence, which irritates me. Yet, my hands and fingers flip into gestures we are both familiar with, and I don’t hold myself back, not today. “Like go out there and get them for what they did to the twin towers and the Pentagon.” This time I look at her when I end the statement.
I expect there to be some excitement in Luna’s expression, but her eyebrows bunch together, and we are both on different sides of the clarity of the conversation.
“The towers? I respect your patriotism, but didn't you watch the videos? You must have, everybody did. They were demolished, explosives were laced throughout the building.” She says it without breaking grounds or protests. Voice doesn’t shout with ugly worded posters and misplaced anger. In the way she speaks the thought, there isn’t any other evidence or another explanation.
NO! I clip my fingers together. “Not this one, Luna, you can pick any other conspiracy theory, and you could sway me. But not this one, don’t make what happened to thousands of people, our nation nonetheless into an insensible act.” I keep signing because maybe that is the only way to make her stop this charade.
My gray eyes meet her invisible shade, and I see pity in them as I shake my head, clearing out the feeling she believes I don’t know the story.
But I fucking lived with the aftermath.
“Not theories, Asher common sense. Tell me how they could remove the plane in seconds after it crashed into the Pentagon? Why would a building fall perfectly straight down, there are other inconsistencies in the side of the story they showed us?” She doesn’t sign me her reply. It starts to piss me off a little more with each word, she allows to pass her poutful lips.
“What are you saying, that the United States government planned to an attack on its own soil to blame it on someone else?” I throw my hands up because I guess we aren’t making strides as a silent couple anymore.
Yay, hearing.
“I'm saying we are shown what they want us to believe. In order to contain us, pacify the tragedy.” This time her sound fades, and I worry I ruined the chance at a conversation to show her something that may connect us to eternity.
“You are psycho, you realize that?”
“Because I question what the media tells us? Because I try to gather all the facts and weed out the infractions? Asher, men want to be remembered. What better way than war?”
“Next, you’re going to tell me school shootings are a ploy. I can’t even be in the same room as you right now.” About to stomp out the front door, yet Luna says one more thing that throws me off guard.
“Were there any women in your units, where you and Denver were based?”
“Women?” Her question has me dangling off a cliff, I know I’m about to be pissed off beyond belief.
“Yes, women, that were on the same group as you.”
“Sure, where are you going with this?”
“Were they ever hurt?”
“Why the hell would I know?” Yep, here I am already pacing back and forth in the living room as she sits and gathers up her papers at the table.
“Did you ever witness some of the men misbehaving towards them?”
“In what way, specifically?”
“Don’t play dumb, I'm curious.”
“Curious on what grounds?”
“Sexual assault happens to a high percentage of women that are enlisted.” There it is the challenge, and I want to understand why she pushes so hard until I’m stumbling back, questioning my place.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Research. Statistics. Facts. Last year the center made us take trauma training for battered women on duty.”
“Collaborated by who? The victims, ever heard of false reporting?” It’s a stretch, we won’t win a war by admitting to guilt.
“Sounds like a very male response. But, if you must know perpetrators were your brothers, Asher.”
She tries to tempt me. Not in a sexual way, in a defense way, she wants me pissed off, passionate to defend honor. Men I stood with, protected me.
But I don’t take the bait. There is no winning, we both lose. Blinded by an open mind and closed captioned.
“I have a lesson.” Finally, she backs down from the escalating conversation.
“With who?” Because I may be a little insecure, possessive son of a bitch, and she sure as hell knows who her goddamn ass belongs too.
“Who?” Luna doesn’t play dumb, she plays smart.
“Which student?”
“Axel Rod.” There is her damn honesty again rearing it’s fucking angelic head like it has a reservation in this room.
“Are you kidding me? Don't go. He is all over you.”
“No, he isn’t.” Puts one book in her backpack, then another, pack my pride in there too sweet cheeks, maybe a ball or two? I mean, I’m nothing without my nuts, and apparently, I’m desperate without you.
“Good hell, I can’t handle all this today. Too much shit in my head is about to explode.”
“What do you want me to do, Asher?” My name on her tongue prays on its knees out of her mouth.
I shake my shaved head and slam the door first. Thankful, Olallie is at school so I can trudge out and enjoy my tantrum.
~
I find a café a few blocks down, and I realize Luna let me walk away from her. She didn’t beg any forgiveness or bargain her way back into my heart. Then the second thing I notice is the frown on her face is a new one. One I didn’t wipe away with a kiss, one I let sit there until I see her again.
It was a frown that shows me she is sorry she isn’t living up to the standards of who she wants to be with me. Failure is already written all over her face. The lightbulb doesn’t turn on until I see that she is exhausted with me. And I am the only one to blame.
“She just says whatever shit she wants Denver!” Now here I am on the phone with my best friend complaining like a little fucker.
“Asher, man. Calm down.” He exhales, and I can tell it’s more than a cigarette the way his breath evens itself out.
“Her logic is so open-minded it's like everything is a possibility! I was telling her about Reynolds falling off his drunk ass and never sobering up. She looked at me and said if people believe they have the will to change, they can accomplish anything.”
“It sounds reasonable.” Coughing out a deep laugh.
“Reasonable? Den, I can’t tell if she is overly optimistic or superstitious psychotic?”
“She sounds like a good oddity you need in your life, brother.”
“Don't start making her seem like she makes sense in my life.”
“Doesn’t she, though? Forces you to act outside your comfort zone. Wakes you from the silence, since the moment you left the battlefield, you've felt dead. Everybody walking around not even aware of the hell, we've seen. The bodies we've buried, blood unable to wash off our boots. The dirt never clean under our nails.”
“Denver,” I say it because I try to understand why it happened to us. Why there is a plea in my tone and stutter in needing help without asking.
“Doc Denver, how’s your Tulip blooming these days?” The man shouts with a harsh accent.
“She's the one,” Denver speaks to me, and we both ignore the intrusion on his side.
“How do people like us ever decide that?”
“We trust the gifts we are given.” With that, he hangs up, and I hold the phone to my head for seconds more, deciding if it's more terrifying to face the truth of loving her for my ever or staring do
wn the barrel of a loaded gun by a child soldier.
Chapter 14
LUNA
A day off is just what the doctor ordered. Olallie’s birthday was coming up, and her therapist thought it would be best if we spent more one on one time together.
We are out in the warmth of the sunshine. Before the winter months come to haunt our nightmares.
I sit up straighter on the bench. My knuckles tap on the sidewalk where my little girl draws with chalk.
Olallie, why don’t you go play with that little girl over there? Both of you look like you could use a friend.
A girl that seems to be of similar age has a brace on her leg.
I give the best expression of excitement I can muster while smiling, knowing how scary it is to meet new people and convince them to like you. Convince them to love and never leave you.
Her blonde hair sways a bit before looking away from me, to where the girl sits alone, collecting rocks.
No, I'm different. Two fingers clamp down on the thumb and wonder where Olallie’s aggression came from.
Was it me?
Did I already ruin her optimism for the future? Wondering over our past conversations, if I ever indicated a negative side to her absence of hearing.
Images of our hands replay interests and memories. There isn’t a lot of hate in her hands, no distaste in the current state of living.
One deep breath, and I wonder if, at her young age, I was already a lost cause. Not different, I think you’re special. My hands raise in praise as I push it forward instead of above.
No! I'm different. This time after repeating herself, she takes a piece of chalk and breaks it in half.
“What has gotten into you?” My hands may wave around angry, but I haven’t accepted motherhood manners entirely.
Is there a rule book someone can lend me, or are we winging it? Because I know from the glares and whispers, I get from the playground, I am not winning any popularity contestants.
Another realization that I live in a secret fear, which is why isolation seems so comforting. A hug mountain stands before me, and I’ve bought my ticket, knowing fully that I don’t have the right gear to survive the trip.
It begs the question, maybe survival isn’t the goal. Perhaps each step leading further into the journey is what matters.
Why do you say it as a bad thing? My face scrunches, trying to figure out she would think it wasn’t right.
If anything, my parents instructed that the hearing participants were the ones that should feel inadequate, underqualified. They wouldn’t be measured by the intellect, because they were born lethargic.
Grandma said you were different, and that's why nobody likes you. A chipped pink painted finger points directly to my heart, and I feel the disappointment my parents bestowed upon me.
Nobody likes me, present tense.
Past tense bitch, convinced my only offspring of that normalcy was the apocalypse in which my veins were wounded with average.
Shaky hands start to convey everything I would have told myself as a child. I was, I am different. But it's not a negative thing. I'm unique, and I'm sorry I'm not like they were. My ears, they liked noise. My hips they like to dance. My toes, they like to wiggle. And my spirit didn’t want to be hidden, it wanted to be heard.
No one is going to shame us for what we cannot change, halo.
Olallie’s face turns, and it lights up with the squint from the sun. I'm like you.
You will always be better than anything I am. Trying not to cry as I rip down another wall feeling inferior when it comes to mom mode.
Special is good? Grasping the idea entirely.
Special is a grand buffet, like all your favorite foods combined into one dish. Unique is whatever you want, and you always have the freedom to change your mind.
Olallie gathers up her chalk and walks over to the girl I motioned to earlier. She smiles as she sits beside her. Without a loss of words or concerns of consequences, they are human beings, acting kind.
~
Olallie dashes over to Asher, sitting on the sofa, tapping his leg. For her, he shuts down any other distraction. For her, he sees an anomaly, one he wants to join forces with.
"What? What is it, halo?" His hand so animated she pinches her face to hold in a giggle.
"You aren’t different. You are special?" Asher's dark eyes dart to me. I shake my head and shrug.
"Yes, pretty girl." He nods, giving her encouragement as she twirls around in her dress and rain boots.
The little angel has more fashion sense than I ever knew was possible. After we tuck her into bed, I go back into the kitchen to start the dishes.
"What was she saying before? What was that about being special, instead of different?" Asher lines his body up behind me, and I stop rinsing off a plate.
"My parents told her that I was different, and being different was bad. She said she didn't want to be different. Because that made people not like me." It moves me from anger to depression in a few steps.
"Your parents said what to her? What fucking assholes say that shit to a kid about her own mother?" His knuckles clench white. His breath on my neck, heaving out frustration.
"They thought they were doing their best by showing her what my shortcomings were." Protecting her from the rebellion in which she was manifested.
"They were wrong." Thick lips meet the back of my skull. Pressing hard enough to give the impression he cares.
"They usually are. What about your parents?" The shift in the subject gets the spotlight on me, one that burns more than promotes my position.
"Still married, couldn't tell you why, though. They live in a small town in Kentucky. My sister and brother live nearby; I'm the youngest. We talk sometimes." Asher grabs the towel and starts wiping clear the drops of water from the pots.
"Hey, can we talk about something serious for a minute?” Biting down on my bottom lip as letting the tension build.
"Sure, what's up?" Again, full attention to the person seeking it.
"I don’t know how to say this, and if you don't feel the same way, then please tell me. Be completely honest though, I just, I need you to know that...you stink really bad from your run earlier, and you need to go hose yourself off." Scrunch up my nose, and we deliver the blow.
He visibly exhales and tries not to laugh. Relief hits him, and I throw the washcloth at his face.
"Oh, you think I need to take a shower, maybe it’s you that reeks like monkey butt." Grabs faucet sprayer before I know it water rains down, and all I can do is laugh and be happy.
"Oh, stop, stop, stop, you win! You win! I'm wet, I'm soaked."
"Are you, though?" He tosses it back on the counter and comes at me, kissing and licking up stray droplets.
When our lips connect, our eyes close, and for a minute, we breathe in the same atmosphere. Breaking apart, Asher’s eyes match mine, and they wish for things we both ache for. But will never offer.
It's there, the electric pulse, sizzle in the air. That starts the spark igniting a cold frenzy.
I hear the sound of a few pitter-patter of feet. Looking over to find Olallie spraying up to the sky and letting the waterfall on her.
An infectious feeling floats through the kitchen. A goddamn smile makes my heart burst into flames. I laugh and then Olallie spins around, her aim is on us next.
No. Don’t you dare, little missy. Pleading with her to have mercy.
But she turns it on full blast, and Asher uses me as a shield saving himself from the waves.
"Oh my gosh! Cold, cold, Asher, you jerk!" My hands are trying to smack the water away.
"What? You said you needed a shower?" He takes pity on me and mops up the floor while I take a hot shower.
Chapter 15
LUNA
Once when I was 12, I tried to pull my eardrums out of my ears with metal tweezers. I had an ear infection for 3 months after. And once that went away, I was left with my hearing.
It was my punishment, I b
elieved it. My parents could never love me if I could hear a world they couldn’t.
I fell in love with the way Asher was equally angry at how unfair the circumstances were. In a way, I always wanted to act out and be temper mental. But I refused to cause any more scenes. Olallie’s birth my last outcry.
It was dangerous the attraction he caused on me. Like soul mates existed, and I was sure he had the best one out there.
One who unleashed all the frustration the world has given to him and good hell it was breathtaking watching him deliver the same sentencing back at fate.
A fight that never lost it’s momentum. His fists were ready for the gut punches, but Asher reared his head back, never looking for an escape, unable to surrender.
“I can’t, I can’t do it.” Asher loses focus as tears stream through his eyes, blinding him with the unknown.
It hurts me, pinpricks in my chest. So, I look to the floor then to the window, where the full moon bathes my naked skin.
“You won’t.” There’s a difference.
“No, I won’t.” He looks at the same spot on the ground, hoping it will deliver comfort. “I don’t want to give you a chance, or us an opportunity. I don't want to try and make this work. I don’t want the hard work, fighting just to fuck. I want simple, easy without this stupid feeling like I’m going to screw over whatever we have.”
“Ugh, you know how frustrating it is to love you?” There is a twitch in my two fingers. Wishing there was a sharp blunt with a strand so deep, it makes me actually believe in relief.
“Nobody asked you to feel that way.” Excuses turn to accusations. Men, like him, have preyed on me my entire life. I did my best to attract them in hopes of changing them.
“No, but I do. Fuck, do I... and what do you care? You got everything you wanted. The sex, the smiles, the happy family. You hesitate so much on the ending because you are afraid that it’s all there ever will be.” I flip up the to unlock the window and let the breeze in, cold air hits me, giving me a fresh start. “And you constantly worry with the most pressing question, will it be enough?”
“Do not guilt me into staying rooted here or saying those words just as a response to yours.” He is scared, but he has already said those words too many times before.
