Cygnus and Christopher

Chapter 8

The bike ride from Christophers house to mine averaged around ten minutes. These ten minutes consisted of a small amount of hills and often little to no traffic to worry about. It was often a calm and quiet time. So, in a way this route that connected two of my favorite places was also one of my favorite places in and of itself.

Sometimes in the fall, I could see through the trees along the road to various houses and yards. Occasionally people were outside; mowing lawns, playing basketball, or sitting in chairs. I kinda liked this peek into the lives of these people whose names I did not now. Little slideshows of strangers, various family photos hung on a wall.

On the first full day of summer, the ride took us a bit longer than normal. The hangover made me feel nauseous and fatigued. Christopher seemed unslowed by any aftereffects from the alcohol. Still, he would coast or break and wait for me if he got too far ahead.

The driveway to my house was pretty long. Even when the trees shed their leaves my house was difficult to see from the road, if visible at all. A couple of the bigger oaks branches reach over the entire driveway, creating a tunnel of sorts. I stopped about halfway between the road and my house, beside one of the biggest oaks, where the tunnel roof loomed most dense.

An old tree fort nested among the branches. Christopher and I built it with the help of my father Ted, many years ago. Actually it might be more accurate to say my father built it while Christopher and I helped. A couple of rungs on the later had fallen off, but I had grown since I last went in the fort so it did not cause much of a problem. However, I still entered slowly through the trapdoor to avoid hitting the edges. Christopher wanted it built small to keep adults out. I wonder if we realized this included possibly keeping ourselves out someday.

Inside the fort’s walls were covered with paintings. The biggest one caught my attention. Two humanoid figures flying on a winged beast. I had vague memories of drawing it with Christopher, at least I think I did. We made up a story to go with the picture, but I could not remember how it went.

I ran my figures over the paintings, felt the raised texture. With eyes closed I hoped the answers we threw down with color onto the wood would travel through my veins. Paint sailing beneath my skin in a rainbow bloodstream. I opened my eyes and looked at the blue lines burrowed in my wrists, a monochrome painting underneath some skin.

Christopher popped his head through the trapdoor, shoulders too broad to fit. “What you come up here for?” His eyes glanced around. “To try to see what we looked like I guess.”

“So what did we look like?” For a moment Christopher’s head almost blended in with the paintings. Perhaps his head was a star and the paintings orbiting planets. “Not quite sure how to explain it.” Christopher glanced around then headed back down the tree, his voice trailed behind him. “Let me know if you ever figure out what you are looking at. And I got a text from Nicole and Alex. They want to come to Rick’s party with us, and they want us to bring alcohol for them. So I am gonna start trying to see if I can find someone to buys us some.” I lagged behind a minute or so before I went back through the trap down.

I walked my bike the rest of the way along the driveway, kicking at pieces of gravel with my feet. Sometimes a piece could be only be kicked once before it swerved off the driveway. Other times a piece could be kicked all the way until it hit the garage door. I kept these pieces of gravel that survived all the to garage in a little pile underneath the porch.

Four steps climbed out of the yard and onto the cover porch. I ascended them one at a time until I rose to the same level as Christopher and Julia, my mother. Julia had a glass of some red colored juice and Christopher had a glass of an orange colored juice. My parents really liked juice. They devoted a whole shelf in the refrigerator to juice, rows and rows of mason jars. When trying new flavors they posted a note on the jar with their thoughts right after it was made. Then they tasted it again each day for the rest week and stuck on another note with observations on taste and visual appeal. By the end of it the jars look like they’ve grown paper note fish scales.

“Dad is inside getting you some juice, he has new flavors for you to try.” Through the glass in the middle of the door frame I saw my dad dispense blue liquid in a small cup, a smile on his face. “Cool.”

In the nearby garden two rabbits hopped around the fence. Sometimes I liked to take vegetables and put them outside the fence and watch rabbits eat them. I would keep a carrot for myself and mimic their chewing style, nibbling rapidly with my front teeth.

“Here try these.” Ted extended a plate with three small glass. “Blueberry apple; one to one and two to one each way.” I drank all three. My father looked at me with what I saw as inquisitive eyes. “I think I liked the one on your right the best.” Christopher sipped his juice. “Which one was it?” Christopher did not try new juices often, but typically showed curiosity towards what flavors other people enjoyed. With a sense of showmanship Ted flipped over the cup on my right, a 1:1 marked on the bottom. “I liked this one best too. I’ll go make a bigger batch of it.”

Christopher and I followed my dad inside. I knelt to untie my shoes, the sound of fruit being juiced came from down the hall. Once inside my bedroom, with the door closed, the sound of juicer became that of a mosquito.

The room was uncluttered; no posters on the wall, no clothes on the floor, a laptop and some speakers on a desk. “I am still not over how empty this room is. It has looked the same for so long. Blank and boring ya know?” The covers were tucked tightly around the mattress. I gently laid a top them, face down with hands tucked under my hips. Sleep was coming to get me, so I pushed off of shore to meet him halfway.

Fingers clicked on the keys of laptop as I boarded sleep’s ship and took a step below the decks. Before the hatch closed I whispered some words across the water and back to shore. “I think I like the blankness. Something dreamy about it. Maybe details haven’t destroyed the fantasy yet.” More clicking of fingers on keys, “You and your bullshit Cygnus. You and your lovely stupid bullshit.”