The Relics

Fahmidan Journal, Issue 14, December 2022

Nominated, 2023

All Existing/October 2023

The swing creaked in the hot summer breeze, metal chain scraping against the bar supporting it. Dust kicked up, carrying garbage from one pointless place to another. Eight-year-old Paul stood alone in the middle of the empty playground, wishing for a friend. His mismatched legs lurched awkwardly to a sandy area beside the swings. He squatted and began drawing a map in the dirt. What’ll it be today, Paulie? he asked himself, finger hovering, a bird soaring above. Buried treasure, always a good choice. His finger pressed, drew a straight line to the right where he made an x. He imagined an island, a palm tree, a cool breeze, the sound of sea birds. He had never been to the ocean so he could imagine no further than those wind-carried squawks, no salty sea smells or thunderous waves. His finger traced upwards, perhaps to a rocky hill. A story began to take shape-a boy had been marooned here-but the idea withered when his finger caught on something hard. He picked at its edges, blew the dust away, wedged it out, shocked by his discovery.

***

On Paul’s tenth birthday, his mother, Bea, carried a chocolate cake with white icing. He sat at their kitchen table, his stomach full of his favorite meal (meatloaf) but with still enough room for cake. “Happy birthday to you,” Bea and his other mother, Judy, sang and clapped brightly, Judy’s hand reaching out for his. Since his adoption, he had slowly acclimated to affection, good food, his fluffy little dog, Lucky. Tears crowded Paul’s eyes as he listened to his mothers’ heartfelt words, “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!”- all for him. He blew out the ten candles, extinguishing them in one breath.

“Yay!” they shouted.

“Did you make a wish?” Bea asked, slicing into the cake with her sharp kitchen knife.

“Oh, I forgot!” Paul said, looking down. He didn’t want to sound stupid, but he had nothing more to wish for. All his wishes had come true. He hugged his mothers tightly before he went upstairs to  bed that night. In his room, he pulled back the rug, lifted the floorboards, surveying his good luck charms, the bones he discovered two years before.

***

Paul was in middle school now, had a best friend (Cam), and played on the chess team. He didn’t need good luck anymore. He didn’t like keeping the secret bones from Bea and Judy. Paul hesitated, then reached for the garbage bag he’d brought upstairs, the dustpan and brush. He wanted to dispose of the boy-sized skeleton he called Joey who lived in the shallow grave in his bedroom floor. Joey’s weird, disjointed expression seemed to say, “No, Paulie, no.” Dismissing him, Paul swept his friend into the garbage bag and heaved it into the dumpster behind the grocery store. He went home to Bea’s meatloaf and homemade applesauce. It was October. School had been in session for a month. Paul smiled at his doting parents. He basked in freedom and strength.

***

Everything seemed to suck in, recoil, turn backwards. Two weeks after the disposal of Joey, Paul came home to find Bea, standing there in the kitchen beside the table. Her face looked twisted, sour, so different from usual he at first thought she might be sick. “I know your secrets, you liar.  After all we’ve done for you!” Judy stood behind her, wagging her head in agreement, arms folded. They had both suddenly morphed into totally different people than the mothers he had grown to trust and love. Things went downhill from there.

***

Paul had never been to this bar before, so was not recognized as a freeloader. He considered ordering some food, eating a good meal before disappearing. He noticed meatloaf on the menu. Pain stabbed at his wounded heart. He ate, then slipped out the door without paying. Illuminated by the full moon above, he limped along the empty streets to the old orphanage, walking behind to the playground. He knelt down on the ground as he did most nights, began tracing in the dirt, hoping he’d once again uncover some luck.