When I finally made it to the light, I hit my blinker, signaling the left turn that would lead me around the shopping mall and through two neighborhoods before depositing me neatly onto my own road. It was the way I’d always gone, up until now, but this time I didn’t feel that burning burst of shame in it, knowing I was taking the easy way out. I just remembered the view from up high, the way all the roads led to one another eventually. It didn’t matter which route you took, as long as you got home.
I was thinking this as I moved up to the solid green of the light. There was that burst of freedom in realizing that my choice was okay. But even so, at the last minute, I turned my wheel to the right, surprising even myself, and shifted into second as the rotary came up into my sight. It was crowded with carnival traffic, cars whizzing past: I could see it, as if I was still up high, the absolute geometry of that perfect circle. This was normally the moment I was dumb scared, hands shaking, but this time I only moved closer, pressing my shoulders back against the seat as if taking the scariest and most exhilarating of rides.
As I got closer, I glanced in my rearview and saw the Ferris wheel. It was far behind me, brightly lit, and looked small enough to slide on my finger and keep there. Another circle, representing a kind of infinity that I was only beginning to understand. So as I looked back at the road, easing myself closer to the rotary traffic, I sealed that image in my mind as I eased in, holding my breath, and felt myself fall into the rhythm of the cars around me. I turned the wheel, leaning into the first curve, feeling that rush of accomplishment and speed as we all moved away from the center, further and further out. It was happening so fast, but I was there, right there, alive, wanting this moment to be like brass rings and Ferris wheels and all the circulars of this life and others, never ending.
Relent/Persist
Zoe Trope
Dear Eliaphie,
How in the world do you pronounce your name? I’m sorry, you probably get that all the time. Ell-ee-aff-ee? I’m sure it’s lovely, when said correctly.
That’s really not the best way to begin a letter, is it?
I don’t want to bore you with details. Where I live, my favorite food, my parents, my siblings, blah blah blah. That’s boring, and from what I’ve heard, you’d probably crumple up my letter in a ball and throw it in the wastebasket if I squandered your time like that.
Not that I’ve heard anything bad about you. Just that you’re tough to get ahold of sometimes. Elusive?
God, more accusations. This is getting less flattering all the time.
My name’s Clarke. I saw your website and I was too scared to write you an e-mail, so I thought a letter might work best. I don’t know how this is any easier than typing an e-mail, ’cause it’s not. Just slower.
Do you really make a wish every night at 11:11 P.M.? What was the last thing you wished for?
Thanks,
Clarke
Portland, OR
clarke—
your letter rocked my socks, babe. i put my snail-mail address on my website thinking i might get some pervy letters from stalkers or whatever. yknow, then i could hang them up inside my locker or whatever. haha.
anyway, you’re right about my name. elle-ee-ah-ffff-he. but don’t bother with that, ok? i like to be called eli. as in eee-lie. got it? good. my name was just the first of many things that my parents couldn’t agree on. dad wanted elliott for a boy, mom wanted sophie for a girl. it seems like they put the letters in a hat and tossed ’em around and pulled ’em out like a bad game of boggle or something
yes, i make a wish every night at 11:11 P.M. no, i can’t tell you what i wish for. it’s like your birthday cake, yknow? you blow out the candles and you make a wish and you can’t tell a goddamn person otherwise it won’t come true.
i wouldn’t have crumpled up your letter, by the way. i’m not THAT mean.
it’s so cold in seattle tonight. but it feels so good to sit outside in a t-shirt and just shiver and shiver and shiver. you should try it sometime, especially if you get a chance to sit on your roof.
take care & write soon.
oxox,
eli
p.s. im me sometime. xeliaphiex on AIM.
relentpersist: Hey, Eli. It’s Clarke.
xeliaphiex: oh, hi!
relentpersist: I got your letter. Thanks for writing back.
xeliaphiex: my pleasure, babe.:>
relentpersist: Are you sick?
xeliaphiex: what?
relentpersist: Heh, I thought you might have a cold from sitting outside without a jacket.
xeliaphiex: you sound like my mother. jeezus.
relentpersist: Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.
xeliaphiex: haha. it’s ok. no i’m not sick.
relentpersist: That’s good.
xeliaphiex: can i ask you a weird question?
relentpersist: Please do.
xeliaphiex: what’s yr gender? (if you have one that is.)
relentpersist: . . . I’m a girl.
xeliaphiex: haha, rock. i thought so.
relentpersist: God, I bet you couldn’t tell ’cause of my name, right?
xeliaphiex: that and yr handwriting. it’s androgynous too.
relentpersist: Yeah, I got blessed with the Cushing Family chicken scrawl. It’s awful.
xeliaphiex: don’t worry about it. yr last name’s cushing?
relentpersist: Yep.
xeliaphiex: that rocks. i wish i had a cool last name.
relentpersist: Your first name is pretty cool.
xeliaphiex: hah, thanks.
xeliaphiex: shit, i gotta go. parents are yelling at me.
xeliaphiex: catch you later, clarke.
relentpersist: Later.
To: xeliaphiex
From: relentpersist
Subj: Why does the rhythm get us every time?
Eli-
It was great to talk to you tonight. I’m working on another letter; I should have it mailed out by the end of the week.
Your website says you’re 15, which would make you a sophomore, right?
Clarke
To: relentpersist
From: xeliaphiex
Subj: RE: Why does the rhythm get us every time?
c-
looking forward to yr letter.
i’m 15, but i’m actually a junior. i skipped the 2nd grade. -e.
p.s. that’s my favorite mates of state song, btw. i recognize the lyric in the subject line.
Dear Eli—
Procrastination should be my middle name, in addition to Quiet, Sarcastic, Broken, and, of course, Suzanne. It’s 9:28 A.M. and I’m sitting in my first class of the day, pre-calculus. My teacher’s giving a lecture on sine and cosine and I can feel my eyes roll like bowling balls down the long lanes of his dry erase board. This is not my best class, so logic dictates that I should be paying extra attention. But why bother? I just end up writing novellas in the margins of my notes anyway.
Speaking of which, I’ve read every word on your website in its entirety. I loved all of it. It made my teeth hurt. I’d say more, but I don’t want to seem foolish or obsessed.
My teacher has a habit of holding the dry erase pen between his teeth and talking at the same time. I can hear his tongue lapping up against the end of the pen. It’s horrible. I don’t mean to seem like a germ phobe, ’cause I’m not, but this guy has a serious oral fixation. It’s disturbing.
Okay, I should probably attempt to take some notes if I want to have any hope of doing the homework tonight. More later.
It’s 10:44 P.M. and I’ve got a biology test tomorrow but I want to finish this letter first. It doesn’t feel right, leaving you hanging there.
I have a close friend, Shaun, who talks with me in English class about plays and art and music. He is a homosexual. Well-read. Writes papers dripping with style and overflowing with sarcasm. He is the first gay boy I’ve ever known. He is brave; my school is fierce. I often wish he were my brother. He’s one of the few people
who will just listen to me without judging me or making some shitty remark. Do you have any gay friends?
I told you in my first letter that I wouldn’t bore you with the details of my family. There aren’t enough details to bore you with. I’m an only child, parents have been married for nineteen years. Sickeningly suburban, right down to the dog and the SUV.
I shaved my head last year. My mother cried.
This is getting disjointed so I should take off. Write when you can.
All the best,
Clarke
dear clarke—
you shaved your head? that is so hardcore. why’d you do it? what color is your hair? do you dye it? mine’s cotton candy pink right now, but naturally it’s this nasty pale blond that i can’t stand. luckily, it takes really well to dye.
i suck at precal too, although my teacher doesn’t give head to the pens. that’d be hilarious to watch, though, ’cause she’s this totally prissy girlie girl who wears lots of makeup and curls her hair, like, every fucking day and wears a giant gold cross around her neck. ’cause, y’know, jesus will only save you if you’ve got raccoon eyes and a painted mouth. what the fuck ever. i don’t get it.
i’m totally flattered that you read my website, thanks. most of the stuff on there is pretty old. i haven’t been able to write in a while.
what else do you like besides mates of state? my favorite band right now is probably rainer maria or the postal service.
and i’m secretly envious of your suburban lifestyle. don’t tell, tho.
gotta go. take care, babe.
oxox,
e.
p.s. my best friend’s a fag, too. he lets me do his makeup every day before school.
From: xeliaphiex
To: relentpersist
Subj: something to note.
i think i killed the moon. -e.
From: relentpersist
To: xeliaphiex
Subj: RE: something to note
>i think i killed the moon.
How?
Clarke
From: xeliaphiex
To: relentpersist
Subj: RE: RE: something to note
i was just standing outside looking at it (you should go outside and try to find it if you can) and a big gray cloud stalked over and swallowed it up. it feels like my fault, like i had it and then i lost it to that stupid fucking cloud.
From: relentpersist
To: xeliaphiex
Subj: RE: RE: RE: something to note
It’s not your fault, E. You are not a cloud and you did not swallow the moon. It will be there tomorrow night, too. I promise.
Clarke
From: xeliaphiex
To: relentpersist
Subj: RE: RE: RE: RE: something to note
thanks.
Dear Eli,
When you told me you killed the moon, I almost wanted to cry. I don’t know why. I get very emotional about the strangest things sometimes.
I shaved my head because I felt like my hair was suffocating me. It’s dark brown, almost black, and very straight.
Something in my neighborhood is burning tonight but I can’t smell smoke. Do you ever feel that way, too?
God, I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.
Good night,
Clarke
From: xeliaphiex
To: relentpersist
Subj: heart stamp
babe,
what’s up with your most recent letter? seems weird. are you ok? eli
From: relentpersist
To: xeliaphiex
Subj: RE: heart stamp
Eli,
Sorry about that. I was just feeling kind of manic and . . . I don’t know. Don’t take it seriously, okay?
Talk to you later,
Clarke
dearest clarke,
i know things are burning all the time but no one listens to me. don’t you ever just wanna get up on a chair or a desk and scream FIRE and watch everyone flood out just so you can have some space to yourself?
i do, i do, i do.
i spend a lot of time at school in the library. the teachers always let me go and i curl up on the couch with a book or my notebook and i write. i was really sick last year and i never wanted to be in class.
it’s okay to be manic.
it’s okay.
what do you want for christmas?
<3,
eli
relentpersist: I want a new heart for Christmas.
xeliaphiex: what’s wrong with the one y’ve got?
relentpersist: Too battered, bruised, and torn.
xeliaphiex: from what? being emo?
relentpersist: No.
xeliaphiex: you sure? you totally seem like the argyle socks/rectangle glasses/rivers cuomo type.
relentpersist: I’m sure. I’m not emo.
xeliaphiex: then what is it?
relentpersist: Everything.
relentpersist: Nothing.
relentpersist: You.
xeliaphiex: what?
relentpersist: I have to go. Bye.
From: xeliaphiex
To: relentpersist
Subj: xmas
get anything good? e.
From: relentpersist
To: xeliaphiex
Subj: RE: xmas
>get anything good?
Nothing exciting, really. Clothes, CDs, jewelry, makeup. More boring consumeristic stuff that will break or be forgotten by Valentine’s Day. God, I’m so fatalistic lately.
What’s up with that?
What about you? Anything worthwhile? C.
From: xeliaphiex
To: relentpersist
Subj: RE: RE: xmas
i got a new bike! it’s totally sweet. i’m so stoked. it’s a bright red old school huffy 1-speed. all i need to do is pick up a helmet and i’m off! i’m gonna bike to school every day, d00d. seriously. e.
relentpersist: Congrats on the new bike.
xeliaphiex: thanks. it’s so sweet.
xeliaphiex: i’m trying to think of a name for it.
relentpersist: A name?
xeliaphiex: yeah, i name everything.
xeliaphiex: my computer is morton the destroyer.
relentpersist: Like what else?
xeliaphiex: and my stereo is frida kahlo.
relentpersist: Oh.
xeliaphiex: what?
relentpersist: You should name your bike Clark Gable.
xeliaphiex: or maybe just clark for short.
dear clarke-
two square punches on each side of my jaw and a right-hookto my left eye. it happened 4 years ago and i can still feel the blows. the doctor said i was lucky that my jaw didn’t fucking fall off. i think i swallowed a couple of my teeth. they felt like tic tacs with rough edges. 7th grade boys and their stupid fucking antics.
i just wanted you to know so if you think my smile is a little crooked, i’m not being sarcastic. my jaw’s just fucked up.
oxo Oo,
e.
Dearest Eli,
I was surprised about the envelope your last letter was in. How something so delicate could contain such a harsh story. Did you make it yourself? The envelope, I mean? It’s awesome.
I’m sorry about those boys and their fists. How’d you get into such a fight? And how come no one was there to defend you, not even your fag-in-eyeliner?
I think imperfections are more beautiful than anything perfect. We’ve got machines and programs and technology to make everything just right down to the last chromosome, the last wrinkle, the last hair. I want something messy and imperfect and dangerous. Something like you.
heart,
Clarke
xeliaphiex: hey babe. got yr letter today.
relentpersist: Oh? Did you like the envelope?
xeliaphiex: yeah, it’s really cool. did you make it out of a calendar page?
relentpersist: Yep. I had this awesome pin-up girl calendar last year and I saved it’cause I liked t
he pictures so much.
relentpersist: I couldn’t figure out what to do with it until I saw your envelope. You’re so creative.
xeliaphiex: thx.
xeliaphiex: i wanted to tell you that i got into the fight ’cause 7th grade was the first year i cut my hair short and dyed it.
xeliaphiex: and i was sitting at a table outside reading a book and these boys just star ted screaming DYKE DYKE WHORE DYKE SLUT LESBIAN.
xeliaphiex: which in hindsight is pretty fucking amusing ’cause i was, like, 11 and i’d never even kissed anyone, but somehow i was a slutty lesbian.
xeliaphiex: anyway i tried to ignore them and they ripped my book out of my hands and pushed me to the ground.
xeliaphiex: then 3 good punches and they ran off when they heard a teacher yell at them.
xeliaphiex: pretty fucked up, i guess.
xeliaphiex: and daniel, my “fag-in-eyeliner,” wasn’t there cause i didn’t meet him till freshman year.
relentpersist: Wow.
xeliaphiex: what?
relentpersist: Just...that’s horrible.
relentpersist: What’d your parents say?
xeliaphiex: my mom was fucking pissed. she called the school and everything. we moved about a month later, so it was okay.
relentpersist: I’m sorry.
xeliaphiex: why? yr not the one who punched me.
relentpersist: I know, but I might as well have been. That whole control thing, y’know?
xeliaphiex: yeah i know but it really isn’t yr fault, babe. i promise.
relentpersist: Thanks.
From: xeliaphiex
To: relentpersist
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