Mr Wolf I Am Waiting.
I
His name is Mr. Wolf and he’s been around since the worst half of last year. His eyes are dead and he hasn’t slept in days, so naturally, you ask “When was your last meal?” He laughs so hard he almost spits on you because you tried to care about him. He’s been drinking gin, and you know because he’s crying. He wipes his face with his handkerchief, carefully thumbs the gold french pocket watch in his left hand, and reaches for his long filet knife to cut the legs of a rabbit that has been steaming and boiling in a small blue pot. Your eyes notice a scatter of Sunflowers were painted on the pot by a small curious hand. The wrist wrote on the pot “wolfie.” You’ve already seen too much about this man and feel invasive. “The days are becoming much shorter and the stars are out longer, aren’t you excited?” He knew your discomfort. “Alpha Centauri is our closest star. I think I see him all the time.” The way you avoided him searing into the rabbit flesh with such clean hands and would rather look at what a missing child gifted him, it said a lot about you. You always say too much.
“Who do you see?” He stares at the cruel black sky. “Alpha Centauri.” You repeat. The wood burner crackles behind you, blowing it’s heat in the back of your neck, your clothes feel heavy. He stops cooking and looks at you falling apart ready to sob.
“Why did you come here?”
“The butterflies are cold in your stomach, you have to let them out.” your voice slurred, you press your hand to your face so you won’t spin out the room. “Stars talk to me though, and if you just listen, they can talk to you too.” “What do they say?” He is reaching for a thick wool blanket. “Well I can’t tell you Mr. wolf, you just have to listen for yourself...” before your eyes shut.
II
Mr. Wolf I kissed a boy once. I was really bored, and he was really stoned. We were a match made in heaven, I like to brag. He had these long fingers that would glide over my legs when we’d tell each other secrets. How many secrets do you have? I’ll tell you one right now, his lips reminded me of my brother’s. When we kissed, I threw up on him. We pass by the halls sometimes at school, and he never looks at me. I try really hard not to smile or laugh. I never liked his attitude. My brother committed suicide, you already knew that, but I hate admitting it. When I say it out loud, I get this bitter aftertaste of a life I live without him. I don’t know if I can still remember everything. I know I still have him with me but I am too scared to try to remember, because what if I can’t? His photos aren't familiar to me anymore, who is that sweet brother I have missed all my life it feels? I am terrified of making shit up in my head and thinking it’s real. You and I have both have yet to smile.
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III
The events of last night are jagged fragments of voices and vine whips poking into her brain like needles. Remy glides her fingers softly against the stiffening scratches on her legs and releases the hot air trapped in her throat. She feels the heat of the cabin’s fire crackle and snips at her. Her bloodshot eyes are staring at the dark wooden ceiling that watched her all night, threatening to spin. The prickly wool blanket slid off her sweat-adorned body. Her eyes caught up to clear the blur of the room; it smelled rich with yellow spices and herbs, as if, at one point, a wonderful family ate and laughed together until their bellies were full. She looks for any signs of shoes against the wall and a jolly round mother to tuck everyone in.
But she is alone again.
Her breath is hard to swallow, and she scrambles to go outside the cabin for some air. The cabin is surrounded by a tall forest covering a purple sky. Remi hears the water bounce and frogs sing from a creek nearby. Unexpectedly, it is twilight, and many animals are returning to sleep. She’s been here before but never awake.
Oh, but where am I? Where there are so many butterflies, they could begin to eat me.
She chews her fingertips hungrily. She doesn’t want to think about so many things. Her feet begin to take her, and she’s running through the last light escaping the earth, her feet, and legs whipped by branches and sharp vegetation. She hears the wind roar frantically against her as if telling her to go the other way, but she keeps seeing her brother in her mind right next to the sunflower field. She keeps seeing him in families and rabbits and in little blue pots. The poor girl was the one to find him in his room with eyes staring past her and a mouth so perfectly still, like someone had told him a secret. Her eyes catching the many pinks and reds sliding off his bed sheets. His brains like the mushrooms she keeps stepping on.
She screams, and her foot snaps against a rock. Her body thrusts and tumbles against the harshness of wet dirt. Finally, she clings onto a tree, holding on with all her might, with her legs and dandelion feet bleeding.
“I stopped thinking?” She whispers almost triumphantly.
“Remy! There you are.” A tall, brooding figure approaches her trembling figure. Her dark, bloodshot eyes meet his cool amber ones. Without another word, Clay Wolf throws a red quilted blanket over her.
“Look at you... you’re bleeding. Why would you do this?” He wipes the trickling blood from her legs away with the blanket, careful not to brush his hands against her skin.
“I saw him again!” Remy’s voice tears through her mouth as if it was held hostage.
His face turns softer, and he picks her up to take her back.
“Look at you.” He repeats, “It’s different here. Let me explain--”
“Mr. Wolf, I’m sorry, I am waiting for the moon to meet the sun, and I don’t want to miss it. If I believed in a God, I would crucify myself for you.” Remy’s words fill the air before she can stop herself.
“These meditations of yours are going to get you killed. How about you tell me more when we get back inside?” She thought she heard him laugh for a split second, but maybe someone else was watching them, waiting for those words to reach them instead.