Theo Palarie: Falling From Olympus (#Wattys2018)

5. Nightcomers

I don't know how I managed to fall asleep last night, but I shoot up in my futon, keeling over the edge of the mattress. Choking under the gloomy light that is plunging through the jam room's window. I think I was running through a forest before I tripped and fell over a cliff. The frothy water was beginning to climb behind my nose, in my dream, and the fizzle of my pillow reshaping itself, is as clear as how the current was, in my ears. It's become harder to carry on sleeping, so I greet the morning sky, dressed in a grey sweater to lite to be anchored over the suburb with the weight of rain.

I climb slowly out of the futon, pressing my feet into the fuzzy carpet. I'm determined to retrieve some pants in Ashley's bedroom. I find the brothers somewhat awake on the orange couch —yawning. Rubbing apart the seal that has failed to keep their eyes shut for another handful of hours. Their hair matted on all sides, with their shoulders hunched over like yoga-desperate cats. I slip in, aiming arms for my suitcase which has blend well with Ashley furniture.

"Theo." Starts Tylin as I squat into some fresh joggers. "Are you joining me for a bong?" He's already hauling ass to the band room.

I follow him over the warm hardwood, catching his eyes as they discretely scan my barely-made futon for tardiness. I won't dare call him out on it. It's my designated sleeping area, so I have to keep it tidy —no excuses. Even when sleeping in it is like sleeping in a hot dog bun, with me being the dog that slept with one eye fixed on the window last night.

"Nah." I reply, holding dear to my sobriety for rational thoughts.

"Theo? Giving a pass at weed? You never say no to a wake and bake, bro."

"Just keeping my head on straight." I explain, leaning against the glass entryway. I'm too affected by last night to try my luck at being a functioning stoner.

"Xenophobia, hey cuzz? It's serious out there." Says Ashley, driving away the prospects of sleep with his voice.

"Yeah. Or maybe people just like picking fights. So, did anything happen last night?"

"No, things were just tense, that's all. But cuzz, it got me thinking. About how they have that thing in Korea where they make their eyes rounder to 'blend in'." continues Ash. He's flashing his teasing smile. "They call it Gangnam style." he concludes.

"Like the song?" I don't know how true this is; Korea's special eye-corrective surgery. But I can't help but laugh, even with the uncertainty of last night, circling like a vulture, overhead. Atleast the conversation is going in a conventional direction. I feel better because of it. Though last night couldn't have all been in my pot-head, could it?

"Yeah! It's kinda kiff right? But hey! Don't ever let those people out there take you alive, cuzz. I was in survival mode for most of last night —especially when Suzanne turned me into a stripper-pole on the dance floor. It's like black people turn savage when things go to shit. I'm only happy they haven't looked in our direction yet. You know —since our forefathers came colonizing the nation in the beginning."

"Only fifty percent of your ancestry is to blame for that, and I doubt you'll hang for your forefathers actions, Ash. The Dutch kicked rocks after the British stormed the Cape."

"Yes! And then there was an apartheid which we didn't start! Look, I never liked the fact that the Huck Finn books used the N word so much. But do you think they know that? Do you think they can tell the difference between my German roots and say, Matty's Irish ones —just by looking at me?"

"Ash, where is this going? What does race have to do with xenophobia?"

"Well nothing. I'm just putting our history out there, cuzz, the not so beautiful chapter of it, so that you don't disregard my nuggets of advice when what goes around —comes full circle. You know I'd hate to see your corpse turned crispy on the news —all because a tire was set ablaze around your neck."