Counterfeit Children (KURT COBAIN)

7. wishkah

"god, being around you kids makes me miss my hair," mr. novoselic said from the doorway of the kitchen, kurt, krist, and i sitting in a circle in the novoselic's living room. a hand larger than my own face grabbed at my arm.
"your turn dudemang," he said, gently pointing towards the Life board.

i spun a 6.

the tiny yellow car was moved by kurt, as it was on the other side of the board.

"twins!" he said, sarcastically feigning excitement.

"gimme some sons," i said. i then realized, i had landed on two singular children, and another set of twins.

"just pile 'em on back. no, no - kick my husband out,"

krist's knee popped under him as he sat back against the bottom of the couch

"god damnit," he sighed.

and kurt spun, and krist spun, and the cycle continued until retirement.

"another game?" krist offered.

"hell no," kurt said.

"you guys should get outside," mrs. novoselic suggested.
"and do what?" krist said aimlessly.
"do something, whatever kids do, go walk by the tracks like in the body," krist's dad said.

we decided that this was actually a fair idea. krist brought his cassette player, we listened to the dead kennedy's, and sat under a bridge after following the train tracks for half an hour.

covered in unlikely graffiti, they spray paint lies on the blank canvas. cursing the high school principle of yesteryear, gene and sarah did not make it from "79' - forever"

the wishkah was muddy, you could easily slide into it and fall endlessly like cracked kitchenware if you weren't careful and sure footed. you'd be pulled under and turned into a bog mummy, and turn into ceramic shards on linoleum. we often walked over the bridge to go to our elementary school. there was always a scruffy man, hair longer than mine, sitting here alone, but happy. there was something bigger than us there, though. sitting on ruined pillars that used to hold up the concrete overpass, the river was mighty, frightening even. that river could carry you straight into the pacific ocean, and further than that, if you let it. kurt sat with his knees to his chest and i absently rested my cheek on his knee, looking over at krist, who was writing his name in the mud with a stick. he was far enough - and deaf enough, not to hear us talk quietly amongst ourselves.

"remember when-" i started.
"yeah i remember," he sadly interrupted.

i picked my face up from his leg and looked at him, concerned.

"go back?" he half asked, and i did.
"i like you," he said, i could hear him quietly whispering 'please don't make eye contact' over and over again to himself.
"well you have to like me, dummy," i said, brushing it off.
"no- i mean like. no," he said, trailing off.

i looked up at him, finally.

"same goes for you, i guess" i said, with a weak, somewhat sad, smile. he returned it, and grabbed at my hand in a hardly noticeable way. our pinky fingers were holding each other the entire walk home, and nobody suspected a thing.