Dark Things I Adore

by Katie Lattari

  “Moss?” I whisper. Only deep, rhythmic breathing comes from him. I watch his ribs some more. I sigh and go over to his desk, blow out the oil lantern. I leave his cabin, closing the door behind me. The commons are empty and lit by stars and a weak middle-of-the-night central bonfire. I go over to it, stoke it, throw another piece or two of wood in from the pile nearby, knowing Old Gus’s nocturnal amblings will probably bring him by at some point. I look past the flames into the distance, where Zephyr’s cabin is hidden by darkness. I want nothing more than to go to her. To be unafraid.

  But Moss is ultimately right, which annoys me to no end. I’m a coward. Because when I leave the bonfire, I go to my cabin for the night. Not hers.

  Thesis

  Her Dark Things by Audra Colfax

  Piece #3: Alive with Creation

  Oil and mixed media on canvas. 36″ x 48″.

  [Image of a chickadee’s head expanded to be overlarge, the color blocking transforming into a gaping hallway, white and narrowing, with towering black walls on the sides. The eye, a hidden glitter, peers out from the blackness. Found objects incorporated throughout by layering.]

  Note in tiny handwriting on Holiday Inn notepad paper found in Cindy Dunn sketchbook #2 in the basement of the Dunn residence.

  I went back with Brady as a way to apologize

  for how I have been

  that slip slip slip

  for lying about applying to school

  for stopping the meds and

  skipping therapy

  I am trying to make things RIGHT

  —June88. CD.

  Note on torn, half-width graph paper found tucked in Cindy Dunn sketchbook #1 in the sewing room of the Dunn residence.

  little IMPS with red blotchy cheeks

  like a good-time devil has just been there

  the devil’s LIPS have been there

  and they look so alive

  the artists at Lupine Valley

  alive with creation

  and with each other’s bodies

  and they say hello

  do you want to come in?

  I see it

  I see ALL of it

  their red BLOOD splotchy cheeks after emerging

  from cabins with potbelly fires from

  cabins with too many bodies pressed inside

  hidden away nooks

  their limbs entwined like the

  TWISTED old birches

  little DEVILS they are

  running between the cabins

  aflame

  I look at them and feel perfectly alive

  I want a devil to kiss me

  I want this King City devil to redden me

  to KISS me too

  —June88. CD.

  Note on folded watercolor paper found in one of the toolboxes in the shed on the Dunn property.

  the devil in King City is just

  a man and a man

  men

  beautiful

  One like a PARENTHESIS mark

  (M)

  made of platinum

  a tensile WISP

  or claw

  Then like a craggy MOUNTAIN

  (M)

  made of blue granite

  unyielding earth

  or leviathan

  he brings his COLOR to

  so many of them

  there in

  King City

  I have SEEN it myself and he and he

  has seen me

  seeing

  —June88. CD.

  Note on yellow legal paper found folded inside a birdhouse on the Dunn property.

  I did some sketching in Brady’s room

  I showed

  BRADY a new drawing of a

  chickadee he said it was

  good he said he wants to FRAME it and put it UP at

  his

  place he wants me to sign it before it goes under GLASS

  he is so proud of how well I am doing

  I made love to BRADY

  and did everything he has ever wanted

  as a way

  to say sorry

  for going off the meds but now I’m back on

  but on my own terms

  trying to stay on

  and be happy

  with myself with my art

  and I’m sorry for

  lying I keep

  lying to him I don’t know why

  he doesn’t know that I want to leave him

  for school or

  what

  I have done and want to do

  in King City

  —June88. CD.

  Note on Lisa Frank stationery found in the living room wall of the Dunn residence.

  M says I will call

  you C

  —June88. CD.

  Juniper

  May 28, 1988

  “Can I get two? I’m bringing one to Moss.” I give Mantis my warmest, kindliest smile. “Please?” His dark, heavy brows are drawn together unhappily.

  “He can’t bring his lazy ass in here?” His voice is deep and gruff. He sits on a wooden stool behind the food counter. We’re inside the mess hall, my back turned to the large windows that overlook the Village Commons. His trusty rag is slung over his shoulder, his meaty arms folded in front of him.

  “He’s working,” I tell him.

  “Nah, he ain’t working. I’m working. He’s playing.”

  “Well, that play is what he and every other paying artist come here for, Mantis. The art is their work.”

  “You know how I feel about these stupid fucking nicknames,” he growls. “Mantis is—is nothing but a fucking bug,” he sputters, tossing the towel from his shoulder onto the counter before him. “Might as well call me Bug!” I frown, surprised at this outburst.

  Mantis suffers, just a bit, from Doth I Protest Too Much syndrome. While it is true that he has always found the camp’s nickname thing silly, since falling in with my flock this summer, he’s eased that cynicism a bit.

  We use his name affectionately, and he knows that. He knows it’s a way of making him one of us, one of the members of our group. And ultimately, he does mean more to us than the gossip he’s able to provide. Of course he does. To Ash, Mantis is his mentor in all things fix-it and utilitarian, and Ash wants to be self-sufficient. He looks up to Mantis. To Zephyr, Mantis is a thick-skinned and brooding little brother to look after with gentleness. To Trillium, Mantis is a cool guy who will sneak her booze, with only a mini lecture first. To Moss, Mantis is another alpha, a playful rival for whom he holds a tenuous respect. To me, Mantis is a grouchy bear who just needs a friend not frightened off by every roar that comes out of him. And I’m not frightened by his general grumpiness because I understand him better than most. We both grew up poor. I’m estranged from my sister, he doesn’t get along with his brother. His dad has a drinking problem. My mom struggled with pill addiction for a while after she hurt her back on the job. There is, for better or worse, a kinship in all of this. We’re both outsiders—outsiders who somehow found our way to the inside.

  “Jesus, what’s eating you?”

  “Nothing,” he grumbles, his eyes flitting over my shoulder. He gets to his feet and impatiently holds out his hand for my dish. I give it to him.

  “I know I still need to pay you back for the new battery in my car, but we said by Monday—”

  “It ain’t that, okay, J? Just leave it.” He fills my plate generously, covers it with tinfoil, and then hands it back to me, not even looking my way. He grabs a spare dish from off the shelf behind him. He loads it with eggs, fruit, bacon, buckwheat flapjacks. He covers it with tinfoil and slides it across the counter to me. His jaw is set, and his eyes are again linge
ring over my shoulder. I turn and look behind me, squinting out into the brightness of the day. There are a few people walking through the commons, a few hanging by the firepit, talking. Thrush, a fiber artist, is sitting on the ground playing a set of bongo drums that are nestled in his lap. But in the middle of it all is the new cleaner. Coral. She’s holding a notebook to her side and talking with Trillium. They’re both smiling and laughing. Coral’s hair is long and flaxen, her build thin and lithe. I turn back to Mantis, whose eyes are still on her.

  “We know each other outside of here,” he finally says, his voice an agitated grumble. “She’s a townie like me, and just out of high school.” He scratches his eyebrow. “We’re friends. And I don’t like this for her. Cleaning up after artists in her own goddamned backyard. I’ve done it for years now, and it just…” He shakes his head. “She wants to be one of you. She draws and shit.” He looks at me, his eyes squinted. He looks down at the counter and flicks a crumb away. “And she follows Moss around like a puppy, getting chummy with him and then still having to scrub the floors he walks on. It’s embarrassing.” He’s genuinely upset. For my part, I didn’t even know Moss was friendly with Coral—and he usually tells me everything. I tuck that bit of information away. I watch Mantis wring out the dishrag in his hands over and over again.

  Old Gus introduced Coral to us at the beginning of May when she came in to replace Lotus. He’d rung the dinner bell one midafternoon, the signal for announcements, and we’d all convened at the firepit in the center of the commons for introductions. Since then I’ve seen her gliding through camp with her mops, cleaning sprays, buckets, and sponges, going from building to building at various hours, but I haven’t really gotten to know her too much yet. She keeps to herself.

  “Well, I’m sure Coral knows what’s best for her,” I try. Mantis sniffs. “It’s honest work, decent pay, and she gets to be around other artists—like herself.” Mantis is listening begrudgingly. “If you’re so worried, why don’t we make an effort to include her in our hangouts more? There’s no shame in working here and learning a bit more about art on the side. It could be a great starting place for her. Everyone’s gotta work. You do. I do. At least she’s getting some fringe benefits from it.”

  Mantis looks up at me, less aggrieved. “Will you try to help her? Invite her to stuff?”

  “Sure, I’m happy to. From what I can tell, she seems kind of…quiet. Private. But maybe if she sees that we’re all friends—you and me, too—she’d be more comfortable,” I say, my words visibly soothing him. He nods.

  “Thanks, Junie,” he says, making a point to use my Lupine Valley name. I smile. His eyes drift back behind me once more.

  “No problem, Mantis,” I reply, and he allows himself a Mona Lisa grin. “So, listen. You’re still taking me shooting tomorrow, right?” I take one dish in each hand.

  “Sure, yeah,” he says, lightening up a little. “I mean, we can’t be friends otherwise. It’s embarrassing to me to associate myself with someone who’s never even shot so much as a BB gun before. I mean, Jesus Christ.”

  “There he is,” I say, smiling. But just as quickly, his attention is again behind me, and there is no smile on his face. Sensing the conversation is over, I let out a “see you tomorrow,” to which he doesn’t respond, already lost in his thoughts. I turn away slowly, exiting the mess hall and heading toward Focus, Moss’s cabin. But as I do, I see that Coral has left Trillium and is now standing on Moss’s front steps. Knocking on his door. I pause in my progress and watch. Moss opens the door, and his face beams. He looks genuinely happy to see her. Unsurprised at her being there. Welcoming. He puts his hand lightly on her back as she says something I can’t hear and steps inside. The door closes behind them. I just stand there for a moment, holding the two breakfast plates. Mantis was right. Chummy. Should I still go? Should I leave them alone? I think of Mantis and his protectiveness of this girl, of how I made a promise to him to include her, and I decide it’s time to introduce myself properly.

  When I get to Moss’s door, I tap it a few times with my boot and call, “Coming in!” I balance one dish on the other and swing the door open.

  “Just call me Mother Theresa, brother, because look at this,” I say with jovial innocence. Coral is sitting on Moss’s bed, cross-legged. Moss is sitting on top of his desk, legs dangling down. I squint into the relative darkness of the cabin, my eyes adjusting rapidly. Both are fully clothed, but it feels like I’ve walked into something impossibly private. I feel my cheeks going red.

  “Juniper,” Moss says, hopping down from his desk. He only uses my full nickname when annoyed, like a mother using their kid’s first and middle. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Yeah, sorry, I just figured I’d bring you breakfast,” I say, looking between the two. “You haven’t been eating much lately. And I saw Coral here come in, so I thought I’d bring her breakfast, too.” Not exactly true, but I’m willing to sacrifice my own flapjacks for group unity. I hand a plate to Coral and the other plate to Moss. His face is tight, his eyes telling me to leave. But Coral looks grateful. She smiles at me.

  “Thank you so much,” she says, peeling the tinfoil back. “That was thoughtful of you. Wasn’t it, Moss?” She looks over at him, and his face rearranges itself into something less standoffish.

  “So thoughtful. Thanks, June,” he allows. I look at her long, sandy-blond hair, her trim build, her narrow rib cage.

  Her eyes are pale, penetrating. Somehow too full. Too active, even in their stillness. She has a gaze that’s hard to meet. To match. I look away.

  “You’ve met Coral,” Moss says, looking between the two of us.

  “Yes, of course—hi, Coral. Nice to see you again!” I go for extra warmth, wanting to keep things light and uphold my promise to Mantis to make her feel welcome. I go and shake Coral’s little hand made of little bones. “Juniper. Or June,” I say warmly.

  “Or Junie,” she says. “Or Junebug.” Her voice is a little lower than I would have thought given her diminutive stature, a kind of singsong contralto, quiet but kind.

  “Y-yes,” I say.

  “Moss talks about you a lot. Hunter, RISD. Rita. Your time in Washington, DC.” Her eyes remain firmly on me, scrolling around my face like it’s a topographic map, a friendly, if slight, smile on her lips. “Moss really admires you.” I look over at Moss, who looks pained. “He’s also told me a lot about the painters.” Her eyes brighten and sharpen when she says this. “Zephyr’s tiles. Ash’s photorealism.” She’s eager, interested. “It’s wonderful what you all are doing. I think everyone around here sort of envies your group.” She looks at Moss now, finally breaking her gaze with me, which feels like a relief. “You’re so close, and together so much. Having fun. Talking about the Big Things.” She looks back at me now. “I see the others—the potters, the metalworkers. Some of them only see each other in class. I watch. I pay attention. It’s not the same with you all.” And I believe her. She does watch. She brims with intensity.

  “We’ve been so fortunate,” I tell her. “Our little group has been extraordinary.” She nods, hanging on to every word I say. “Mantis tells me you’re an artist, too.” A quick flush overtakes her face and then recedes.

  “Yeah, she is an artist,” Moss jumps in. “Just happens to be on staff as a cleaner right now.” He’s defensive, like I might be secretly judging her. Judging him for fraternizing with her because she’s a townie, because she’s non-teaching staff. But I’m not, of course. I’m friends with Mantis, who is also both.

  “Oh, lovely. What kinds of things do you do?”

  “Drawings, mostly.” Her eyes swim around my face once more, as if reading instructions. There are dark circles smeared under them. “Charcoal or pencil.” I watch her begin to fuss with the cuffs of her sweater, pulling them up and down, up and down, up and down over her thin wrists. I catch sight of raised white scars with each anxious yank of her sleeve, a mo
rbid stage curtain. I still at the sight. “I’m just an amateur of course. Nowhere near where you guys are,” she adds quickly, in painful earnest. “But—but Moss is going to teach me.” She gazes up at him warmly. “He’s been so kind. He’s going to show me how to do great work. How to be great.”

  I nod at her, internally thinking that Moss has to get there himself before he can bring anyone else along. But it’s a nice sentiment—and, honestly, very unlike Moss. To want to help anyone. Maybe they could be good for each other.

  “I’d love to take a look some time,” I offer, pulling myself back from distraction, drawing my eyes away from her wrists.

  “Would you?” Her face illuminates with eagerness.

  “I really would. And listen, any time you want to pop in and join us during the instruction periods or just hang, please do. We’d love that.” Coral nods appreciatively then looks over at Moss, a big smile on her face. His expression when he looks at her is gentle. Earnest.

  That sense of palpable intimacy fills the cabin again. Something that’s not for me.

  “Anyway—just came to bring you breakfast, is all. I’ll leave you guys alone.” I give them one last look. “One of those dishes comes back to me. And please, if you care about me at all, bring the other back to Mantis in the kitchen. He was in a sour mood when I asked to borrow it for you.”

  “Mantis saw me come in here?” Coral looks at me intently, her hands stilling. Her features have returned to their steady state: somehow both empty and electric. The girl brings out something motherly in me. I want to ask her: Are you okay? Have you been eating? Can I hold you?

  “Yeah,” I reply. “Working all day today. But is off tomorrow.” She starts pulling on and worrying a strand of her hair. I look over at Moss. “The plate goes back. Alright?”

  “Will do, Mom,” Moss teases. I roll my eyes and leave Focus, shutting the door behind me, leaving those two to whatever world they were building between them before I arrived. I squint against the sunlight drenching the pines and dense underbrush at the periphery of the commons as I make my way toward Motif. I think of the plates of food I left them. I think of Coral and her tiny body, her deep voice, her pale eyes. The scars on her wrist, deliberate but clearly long since healed. I think about the fact that usually the cleaners don’t work the weekends. Coral must be here, on a Saturday, on her own. For Moss.