Journal of X

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He’d played the trumpet since he was seven. His grandmother had found it in a trunk when her sister passed away. She’d given it to him as a present. He was a quiet child with large eyes and small ears. Before he’d been given it, he would usually spend all of his time sitting by a window in the back room of his family’s house. When he received the horn, he saw it for what it was and set out directly to learn how to play it. He practiced it every day and would sleep with it curled up next to him at night. (more…)

Mathew held his father’s hand as they walked through the giant doorway in the museum. Outside he could hear the rain coming down in torrents, and inside the smell of the rain was everywhere under the humming lights. He loved going to museums on Saturday morning with his father. They came into the next exhibit. A massive ten foot tall red plaster mountain rose up from the center of the floor. It looked like a squashed minivan standing on its nose. Mathew stepped back, yanking on his father’s arm. “C’mon now Matt. What is it? Don’t you see the model. It’s a human heart and it’s one of the oldest exhibits in the museum. I went to it when I was a kid. You can walk inside it.” (more…)

Dear Reader,

This is a memory. This is my memory. But it was so sublime that I think it gets to the root of our common mystery.
Four in the morning, my brother Jack was shaking me awake.“Xavier wake up!!! The starry floor and the watery shore, is given thee till the break of day!” His words pulled my eyes open. I’d gone to sleep in my clothes a few hours before. I rose, kissed Iris three times; one kiss for each eyelid, one for her lips. I followed Jack outside the house and down the stone path to the street. I shivered violently as I closed the front door, unprepared for the early morning cold in August. The sky was black as ink as I watched my brother Mark and Jack’s two friends, Jim and Rob, loading up the car. We were staying at a house by the ocean, which our family had rented in Avalon. (more…)

For me, this story begins walking home. The 3 a.m. city sky held no stars. And as I walked I stared into the big darkness as though it were a mirror. My thoughts counted themselves down to zero. I’d just gotten off work and I moved like a ghost toward home. Which for me was an old building. Dust always on the floor and ten coats of flaking paint on the walls. There’s a church at the corner and a liquor store across the street. Even though my body ached, I was in no hurry to sleep. One week before I’d bought a plant. A desert rose. When I’d bought it, sweet pink blossoms hung from the tips of its leathery shoots. Waxy green leaves spiraled around the blossoms. Less than a week later, it was dead. When I reached the front door of my building and put the key in the lock, I paused. A book lay at my feet. I picked it up and inspected it, wiping the dust off the cover. It was small and had a pocket watch fixed to the front. Letters graced the cover, spelling out, “C-H-R-O-N-O-L-O-G-Y”. (more…)

Setting: NY Public library

A map lies below this glass. A map of original land, the first place ever. Representing what people once believe existed somewhere. And I’m here because my friend told me to see it. Said it’d leave me dumbfounded. I see it now. Its round shape defined by everything outside it. It’s hemmed in by a swirling darkness. My eyes read off the names someone had given to its features and my mind travels back.

As I stare, my eyes lose focus. As the map fades, I notice the reflection of my face. The lines and shapes blur, shedding themselves like an extra skin. I remember Ashbridge and that day. Down by the stream, on the other side of the rusting, iron fence. (more…)