Different Kinds of Sick

♦ Thomas Beard ♦

“You said you’d be here, Denny. You said you'd be here quick.”

“I-I am here.” The boy stood on the massive, fallen tree like a statue, weeping. A  separate organism from the night, barely. Below him, another boy,  Denny, slowly rowing the family boat he had taken for an unauthorized ride. It was midnight. No one was there.

“You said-” The boy’s words were grating as if alive. 

Denny could only see his eyes, green and bright, as he spoke. Denny had just learned about deep sea animals, the ones that glowed. He imagined this boy’s teeth might be green, if he opened his mouth. “You said you’d be here.”

“I am here-” Denny said, growing nervous. 

“F-fine. Y-you’re here, I guess.” 

Denny imagined glowing green hands, raking across his throat, thumbs digging in. If asked, he might begrudgingly admit he did not, he felt, want to be here. 

“Can we start now?” But he had to be here. They needed him.

“N-no one cares… we can start.” 

The river was black; charred and void of blood, (a void, empty and black)

“You hafta say their names first.” 

The boy had climbed onto the boat with Denny. It rocked quietly, ready to fall and never come back up, if no one found it later. 

The boy was talking about Denny’s family. Sick, a word Denny had learned more against his will than anything else. Sick, and the-

“Doctors don’t know what’s wrong withem, right?”

“Y-yeah.” Denny never liked when someone knew. It felt like a window in his life he preferred to leave closed-

The boy would stand at his windows, staring in, peering through the-

Dark blood on the edges of his mouth. A mouth, Denny knew, was full of green teeth. 

“Hafta say their names first.” 

Denny had learned not to talk to strangers. And also not to say anything important to strangers, like credit card numbers, or whether his parents were home-

They were always home now, couldn’t leave-

Or names. Especially not last names. The boy was a stranger, but it felt like he had been there his whole life. Like a cold embrace, the chill never quite going away, even as the flesh left, moved elsewhere.

“... I can’t tell you that. Momma said not to.”

“Momma donnit wanna die, does she?” There was an edge to the voice, like-

(teeth)

“...F-f-fine. Her name is Jessy Powell.” Full name Jessica, the green eyed boy thought. “Daddy’s name is Matt Powell. I saw it on their d-d-diet-knowsthis-” He’s trying to say diagnoses, the boy thought. “D’you want the m-middle names, cuz I dunno those.” 

“No,” The boy said, content. “No, I got what I need.”

“You gonna fix them?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll fix em.”

The boat tipped over, leaving Denny alone. He swam, cold and shivering. His parents were both asleep, and Denny briefly wondered if this was the time they wouldn’t wake up. No, he’s gonna fix them- Denny went to bed.

He didn’t understand most of it. He didn’t understand why his parents only made it another week, despite what the boy said. He didn’t understand why the doctor thought he saw Daddy in the hospital hallway, another week later. The doctor didn’t understand why a patient would just drop dead like that, blood leaving the brain, for no reason. Especially didn’t understand why he saw that patient two days later.

Denny didn’t get why his parents followed him to the foster home. He didn’t get why, if it was dark and whatever person he was living with was asleep and nothing in the house seemed to move, he’d see them outside the window, looking in, teeth bared. 

Nor did he understand why he found a note the next morning, written in green ink:

MY FAMILY NOW