Fiction
Newtown Literary Issue 12: “Poseidon”
I wake up to that slipping feeling, like I was falling through a dream. Fluorescent lights, sour antiseptic smell, doctors paged over the PA. It’s been four days but I’m still here, waiting for my father to die. My chest is tight, my legs ache, bent into a lopsided fetal position on the vinyl loveseat. A clattering sound jangles into the rhythm of beeping machines. I reach for my phone, face-down where it landed on the white tiled floor. A spiderweb of cracks wraps around the timestamp. 3:47AM.
A cool breeze swept out of the nearby hills. Summer’s death rattle. We lingered in the playground across the field from the Great Invader as long as we could, knowing our parents would expect us home soon. Shanker hung from the jungle gym, lifting his chin again and again above the high bar. Caleb and I were chasing and dodging, firing blasters back and forth over the chipped stone wall. Our bicycles stood gleaming. This was a mighty time for us and we felt it ending, felt ourselves becoming small again, pushed into chairs and taught at.
Simon wakes up to Mom’s hand soft on his shoulder. She sits on the edge of his bed in her bathrobe, her red curls lit with morning sun. She smells like blue.
His Mighty Max sheets come into focus and he bolts upright, remembering what day it is. “Did I miss it?”
The door to the mop closet swung open. Hank flinched, pressing back against the racks of bleach and paint thinner, rattling the cans. He lifted his arm, shielding his eyes from the fluorescent glare. Silhouetted in the doorway stood the boy.