Mortician’s Soliloquy
kate bailey
I prayed to Love for her
that she might wander near,
or near enough.
Creation is no easy thing
nor for the faint of heart.
It takes muscle and heat
and a willingness to look into
eyes that do not see.
I stick to my vision.
The eyes are not quite right, but
the skin is. Life so lifeless,
drained.
Blood leeched
like faded paint.
Cool and pale and smooth
like stone worn by centuries
of wind or water.
She does not prune when I bathe her,
but floats. This is love.
Her limbs are just how I left them,
rigid in invitation. This is love.
The throat stills its shrill vibration,
tongue’s mumbling ceased. This is love.
house dream 2
meridith frazee
You are
lying in a fine old bed wedged deep
into the room, a high fine
bed with springs that sigh,
querulous and worn, like tired
great aunts’ bones sigh for sleep.
polished wood brocades the walls,
dripping, treacly and ornamental;
stones and years press on the lintel,
which, belly over night, buckles a little
as cool darkness swans in the halls.
This, strange vision, house of a close friend
or relative, from a waking life without decadence.
every footstep bears an echo’s cadence;
a subtle wind makes the dust dance.
it is an end for that which has no end,
because you’ve found yourself here, after all —
things turned out strangely, as they always do in dreams;
the house is yours now, crumbling at the seams,
and crowded with foreign fading scenes,
so you think of whitewashing the walls.
a fire within
kalia thompson
After scouring the internet for a diagnosis, I finally conclude that I’m going to die. “Nina Davis?” someone calls out. I nearly drop my phone at the sound of my name. Between the barrage of high pitched voices from a dozen kids in the waiting room and the 6:40 a.m. next to the activated Do Not Disturb setting on my phone, the world gives me yet another test I don’t need. I tighten my scarf and stand up, stashing my phone in my coat pocket. Looking over for my dad seems tempting until the realization hits. For as many people are here, he’s still gone. I shake my head and start moving. Given why I’m here, I’d rather not make this trip any longer or more painful than necessary. Because seriously, does anyone actually enjoy going to the doctor?
At least the kid getting a shot shares in my sentiment. I wince at a piercing scream that comes from the girl as the needle goes in. I feel you. Her dad holds her in his lap as the nurse administers the shot, only to be completely drenched in her tears from head to toe. But PA Wills simply skips over the fresh puddle on the floor and continues as if nothing happened. What...on...earth? By the time I wrap my head around what happened, I’m in the examination room with nothing to show for my trip here except a pair of newly drenched socks. I take a seat and scratch under the scarf, readjusting it again as I look around the room at “baby’s first collage” of posters on the walls for parents’ viewing pleasures. Even though you can barely see the actual wall, not a single poster says anything about what condition could literally make you cry a river. You’d think it’d be on the one about shots under a section called side effects given that’s what that little girl had just gotten.
I pull out my phone again and hover my thumb between the internet icon, the Do Not Disturb button, and the one for contacts, playing with the fringe of my scarf to keep calm. My phone being synced to my email means I’ll get at least ten pressing notifications I can’t deal with right now, so Do Not Disturb is out of the running. Maybe it would’ve been a good idea to ask mom to come, but she doesn’t need anything else to think about, especially a last-minute doctor’s appointment for her freak of a child. But at least this isn’t the hospital. I’ve seen their insides enough for a lifetime, and mom. If she sees one again, it’ll be too soon. The temptation to click on contacts grows. This is only a doctor’s office after all. Maybe she can handle it. And a Dr. Evans visit now means skipping out on Emergency so… My thumb finally chooses the internet instead and scrolls through past searches. “Burning sensation,” “watery eyes,” and “heart burn” mock me. Perhaps, I should add “singed nose hairs” for good measure, but that can’t lessen the outcome of death itself.
“Nina, how are you?” I jump and turn towards the door as the doctor in question walks in and shuts the door behind her. She sets the computer on the counter and turns to me. “I received a call from your mom yesterday; is everything alright?” For a moment, I just stare. If Dr. Evans got a call, shouldn’t she already know I’m close to death? Is she just doing this to keep me calm, or is she trying to get a conversation out of me? Not today. I can’t stay any longer than necessary. There’s too much I need to do, so I just shake my head and shove my phone back into my pocket.
“I see. Then we should get started.” She adjusts some gloves on her hands, but not the normal, thin blue ones doctors wear all the time. These seem thicker and out of place. She grabs one of those wooden popsicle sticks for checking throats before coming closer. She kneels right in front of me and stares for a moment. “You have to take off your scarf, dear.”
How about no? I shake my head furiously, silently thankful to my former self for shoving my hair out of my face in a bun. The burning sensation starts to gather in my throat. There’s no way I’m taking off this scarf. I’m lucky that it’s winter and no one has batted an eye, but this is the one thing standing in between life and death. For all I know, that life may not necessarily be my own.
“If I can’t examine you properly, I won’t know the root cause of your illness.” All that gets Dr. Evans is another head shake. The burning grows and now even my eyes sting, but I do not care. Why is she pushing this? I’m already doomed anyways, but I won’t give the others in this building the same fate.
“Nina, I only want to help you, but if you don’t-”
“NO!” Immediately a hole burns through my scarf as a column of fire shoots from my mouth. Shutting up isn’t even an option unless I’d rather singe the inside of my lips while I’m at it. All I can do is stare in horror as history repeats itself. The world slows down, a beam of red, orange, and yellow spiralling straight into Dr. Evans' face. This woman doesn’t jump back or even scream as she’s about to get a third degree burn. She just sits there, and right as the fire nears her face, she raises a gloved hand and holds it in front of her face until the fire disperses. All I can do is slap my hands over my mouth to stop a repeat from happening as the two halves of my now ruined scarf expose me as they fall.
“Ah. Just as I thought,” she muses as she stands up and throws away the unused popsicle stick. She wipes off her gloves as if I didn’t just spit fire at her. Something is seriously wrong with the people here! “You have a severe case of dilotikosis.”
“Uh, wha?” I keep one hand over my mouth as residual fire engulfs the unfortunate remaining halves of my scarf. I grab my wet socks and throw each one on a separate fire, still keeping my other hand clamped over my mouth in case I get another burst of dragon breath. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn the scarf mom gave me for Christmas. Not like I had much of a choice but, what am I supposed to say when she asks what happened to it? Oh, about that, I spit fire in the doctor’s office and nearly incinerated it. Mind buying me a new one with the money we don’t have?
“Dilotikosis. Essentially, it’s the physical manifestation of emotions that have been suppressed for too long. Maybe you saw the little girl getting a shot on her way in? Same illness, different symptoms.” I give a slow nod at Dr. Evan’s words. Are doctors allowed to discuss personal information of patients with other patients? Maybe the rules change when they’re both doing something that should be impossible.
“Uh…” I keep my hand clamped over my mouth. Not that I’d have much to say even if I felt I could freely talk. Yeah. I don’t see how crying enough to flood this place relates to breathing fire. Like at all. If anything, those should be two completely different sicknesses. As I try to escape my stupor, Dr. Evans picks up the scarf halves. My socks plop to the floor as she dumps the scarf remains into the sink and runs water over them as if this happens as often as having to prescribe antibiotics.
“Do you feel a burning sensation in your throat at present?” I blink in response to the sudden questions but shake my head. At least I don’t think I do right now. Though I still don’t know what possessed me to scream at my doctor.
“Then there’s no need to cover your mouth at the moment. Besides, I think you’ll find it a lot easier to talk that way too.” She gives me a warm smile and stares at me expectantly as if covering my mouth was unnecessary. While something about that look is annoying as all get out, Dr. Evans has never given me a wrong diagnosis. Though admittedly, there's a difference between having a fever and fire breath.
I slowly peel my fingers away from my mouth until I can actually feel air on my lips for the first time since the incident. It feels as if I can breathe again, but when I actually do, tiny wisps of smoke singe my nose hairs. Instinct tells me to cover my mouth again, but Dr. Evans seems completely unconcerned.
“So. This...dilotikosis. You’ve...dealt with it before? Enough to know it can make you breathe fire or cry a river?” I speak slowly as more trails of smoke join the room with each word that leaves my mouth only to dissipate right before they touch the ceiling.
A nod from Dr. Evans comes with the explanation that this illness can make a person do all sorts of things they shouldn’t be able to do naturally. It all simply depends on the emotion. Your body can turn a sickly shade of green from envy. Your eyes can cry an entire ocean if you’re sad enough and have held it in too long. If there’s an idiom for it, then there’s probably a manifestation to match. When I ask why this didn’t come up in my searches as a possibility, she simply asks what exactly I typed in as symptoms. So maybe not finding this illness was my fault. Or it was on the second page of Google. And guess what emotion decides to find its home squarely in my throat and make me a human dragon. The thing is, I don’t “get angry.”
But apparently, a good amount of Dr. Evans’ patients do. When I ask how she knew to wear those fire resistant gloves, she pulls back part of “baby’s first poster collage”. One giant soot mark stares back. Or multiple that built up over time. And here I thought the posters were for aesthetics. But now that I think about it, that’s not as surprising. Mom would sometimes comment on random bursts of heat, though she’d blame it on the thermostat. The office always seems to have random puddles lying about, enough for me to think a “Wet Floor” sign is a staple of this place. And there have been times when I’d sit away from someone looking particularly green. I just always thought they were about to vomit. Guess I just never noticed until it happened to me.
Either way, this can’t be all that healthy. I’m pretty sure that being able to produce fire isn’t exactly something you want your body to do if it’s not meant to do it. And as far as we know, the human body was definitely not built for this. “One of the side effects isn’t...death...is it?” I ask as my hand slowly finds its way into my lap, waiting for her to continue. Or at least tell me whether or not this will kill me.
“No. In most cases if it’s caught early enough, that can be avoided. But of course, you and I both know the human body wasn’t meant to produce fire.” Dr. Evans certainly is putting that lightly. “So I suggest we get to the root of the problem.” She then leans against the counter, opens her computer, and reads something off of it in silence.
“And um...how do we do that...exactly?” I ask as I wrap my arms around myself. If Dr. Evans wants to get to the root of the problem, wouldn’t it be best to use that popsicle stick? Though since I yelled at her last time and nearly burned off her face, I can’t exactly blame her for taking a different approach.
“To start, we need to see when this first happened. When I talked to your mom, she said that you started experiencing this yesterday after school, yes?” I nod in response but make no effort to speak as I scratch my neck, the scarf’s absence finally registering. That horrid inciting incident is the last thing that I wanted to think about at the moment. If I never have to think about it again, you won’t see me complaining one bit.
“I see.” Dr. Evans types something on her computer, but all I can do is watch. It seems she has a lot to say about this just from my one nod. As I think back to make sure I told the truth, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve ever experienced this before, but I come up empty.
“Have you experienced any changes in your current circumstances?” I nearly choke on the unexpected question, and the smoke in my throat certainly doesn’t help. I’d say my whole world falling apart in less than half a year counts as a “change in my current circumstances,” but I shake my head instead. There’s no reason to ask me that. I don’t even know her all that well. Besides, I came here for help with a physical problem. Not a mental one. Not to mention the longer I stay here, the less time I have to deal with everything else pulling me under.
“Maybe you could just give me some medication? Clear this right up?” I look away and cough, sending a few more wisps of smoke into the air. If I cough enough, maybe I can activate the fire alarm and run. But if it didn’t go off when I breathed a substantial column of fire, it would probably take a hot minute to expel that much smoke. And considering this is apparently something Dr. Evans sees often enough, I wouldn’t be surprised if only a large amount of fire set off the alarms.
“I can prescribe something to lessen the symptoms, but I really think you need to talk about this. It’s not an illness medication can fix on its own.” I squirm in my seat some more in a feeble attempt to shake her gaze. Being so intently observed even when there’s a reason is the last thing I need right now.
“Yeah, if you could just write up that prescription, that’d be great. Thanks. I actually have somewhere to be, so I can’t stay anyways. School, you know? Don’t wanna be late.” I scrunch my nose at the smoke again as I properly yank on my shoes and stand. “Just...you know...home stuff, so if you could just call that in. Or over the counter. There’s gotta be some generic brand I can take, right?” I rub my neck and throw the hood of my coat over my head. This thing is so puffy that I look like a toasted marshmallow. Fitting.
Dr. Evans opens her mouth and stares as if she’s going to stop me, but for one reason or another, she concedes. She types on her computer, the clicking of the keys filling the silence that has made a grand return. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything at all. Your prescription and doctor’s note to return to school next week will be at the front desk. Enjoy your time off. I hope you have a nice day, Nina.”
“Time off? But I-” The door to the examination room has already shut behind Dr. Evans before I even have the chance to finish. All she leaves in her wake is the swinging lid of the trashcan. Can she really just leave like that? There’s gotta be some sort of doctor code against abrupt exits or something. I’d also like to fight back against the “time off” she just gave me, but not putting a bunch of unknowing classmates, teachers, staff, and the like in danger isn’t exactly a bad idea. Though not showing up to tomorrow’s lunch project meeting will draw some suspicion. If only for the fact the group left me the biggest chunk of work. Plus, missing one day of school is enough of a major setback. Being out the rest of the week with no reliable source for notes might as well be a death...well it would be less important if I still had my safety net. But it’s crucial I’m not at a standstill while the world keeps turning.
I grab a paper towel to clean up my socks, wrapping them multiple times and shoving them in a pocket before cleaning the puddles on the floor and throwing the soiled paper towels away. As the lid swings back and forth, I stare at my charred scarf halves covered in crinkled paper at the bottom of the trashcan.
Maybe the lid’s motion hypnotizes me or maybe I’m just so done with today, but I don't remember my hands dragging the halves out, tying them together, and putting them back over my mouth even though they’re soaked. I don’t remember picking up my doctor’s note at the front desk and stumbling into the “Caution: Wet Floor” sign on the way out of the office after an unfortunate foot placement on a wet tile. I don’t remember getting in my car to pick up my prescription and driving all the way back home and falling into bed, coat, shoes, and scarf still on. All I know is that when I wake up, I’m in my bed, it’s dark out, my ankle feels off, and I’m still a toasted marshmallow.
The room feels more cramped than usual but it’s freezing, so I pull my coat tighter around me as I grab my phone to check the time and groan. Daylight Savings is the only valid time, I swear. But if mom’s not back by now, the bus is probably running late since she let me take the car today. I open up recent calls so I can let her know what Dr. Evans said, but she’s not at the top. It’s dad. He used to pick up my prescriptions before I could drive, so it’s not surprising. It’s just… I must’ve been more out of it than I thought. He was never going to answer.
The call to mom goes straight to voicemail as expected, but my mind won’t move from dad. Everything tightens up as I speed through my message before something else unwanted spills out of me instead. As soon as I’m done, I hang up and rip into the bag from the pharmacy. Not even a moment later, a pill burns my throat as I dry swallow it, immediately relieving the pressure behind my eyes. The medicine works like a charm. And here Dr. Evans thought I’d need more than medicine for this to go away. Funny how a doctor underestimates the power of a good prescription. Though maybe, just maybe, Dr. Evans was right about me needing today off. I did basically sleepwalk my way home and just emerged from hibernation, but putting me off the whole week? That’s absurd. Doesn’t she know how much I’ll miss during that time? Crud.
I take my phone off of Do Not Disturb, and all of the notifications come flooding in. An itch forms under my scarf. The group chat for my group project has dozens of texts. There’s emails from colleges saying the application deadlines are soon. Parents of elementary school kids are trying to schedule tutoring appointments. News articles pop up about how messed up the planet is. Classmates ask me for notes even though I wasn’t at school today. No one even noticed I was gone today. How did they not see that!
I scratch with each new notification I open. This must be some cruel joke. Everyone knows missing a day of school is rough, but this is actual madness! There’s no way all of this came in just today! As it piles up more and more, the scarf comes off. The coat soon follows and then the shoes as something sets my skin on fire. No matter where or how hard I scratch, it just won’t go away. My hands take control as they force my nails to leave long red marks all along my skin, threatening to tear me apart.
“NINA!” The out of body experience ends with the sound of my name and the sight of mom in the doorway. Her voice snaps me back to reality, but the scratching doesn’t stop. No matter how I try to contain myself, the itch just grows stronger. She may as well not even be here.
Maybe other parents would call Emergency at the sight of their child scratching like they’re demon possessed. But all she does is slowly walk towards me with her arms outstretched. As she nears closer to the bed, the bags under her eyes take focus. Her disheveled hair and the wrinkles on her face come into view. Why do I have to be like this? Mom doesn’t need a freak kid with everything she’s done for me. But it isn’t enough. Why can’t it be enough? A new fire sparks in my throat. I should be able to handle this. Why is it the one time I want to be alone, she shows up when she’s never here!
“GO AWAY!” And there it goes. The fire column once again heads straight for mom. But this time, as everything slows down, she doesn’t raise up her arm in protection. She steps aside in just enough time for the fire to scorch the wall behind her. What once was a bright, clean wall now sports the stain of an ugly splotch of ash. It’s like staring into oblivion to see what I’ve done. So much for miracle meds.
But then the scratching stops. The fire under my skin still blazes, but my hands don’t reach to put it out. They can’t. They’re held flush against me as mom’s arms keep me in a hug and refuse to let go. For a moment, all I hear is the sound of my breaths evening out as if somehow I hadn’t noticed they sped up. For a moment, everything stands completely still until once again, I can breathe. But the quiet breaks at the sound of a final ping from my phone. If mom’s shifting is any indication, then she’s looking at it the same as me. Not even a whole day has passed since I muted notifications, and already too many have come flooding in.
My hands make a grabbing motion, but mom only tightens her hold on me so I can’t make good on their wishes. It takes a while, but once they stop, mom turns the phone face down and places it out of my reach. The bandage on her arm rubs against my sweater and I turn away. It almost happened again. I squeeze my eyes shut and force back the memory. The lingering stench of burning flesh bombarding my brain more than makes up for the rest. As much as I want her to leave, the thought of history repeating itself only brings shame.
I don’t know how long we stay like that in the silence, but it gives me time to think even if it’s painful to sit through. All I see in the moment are the billions of thoughts swirling through my mind on a daily basis. Every moment I could have said something but kept it to myself. Every emotion that I haven’t let see the light of day because if I did, I felt I would fall apart. And now here I am, a complete mess, so I can’t say this worked out either way.
“Why did you leave without me today?” Mom coos as she rubs up and down my arms, flattening out the itch that threatens to overtake me. A bit of smoke escapes when I open my mouth, but this time, there’s no burning in my throat. No, instead it’s behind my eyes. This is already a dilotikosis duo. I’m not making it a trifecta. But rather than try to hold back, I breathe. Once, twice, thrice.
“You’re never here, so I didn’t want to bother you.” I expect her to pull away and look at me, but she only tightens her hold. As if for once in this past school year, she’s afraid to let me go.
“I’m always here for you.”
“No you’re not.” More smoke escapes my mouth as the anger rises again, but I breathe through it. It stings my eyes as it travels towards the ceiling, making the space smell as suffocating as it feels. My phone buzzes again, but instead of thinking what the new notification could be, all that comes to mind is dad. “You haven’t been since dad died.”
“Nina-”
“And I get it. His medical bills drained us, so now you’re working overtime and you come home exhausted. And you have so much on your plate now since we moved but…”
At least when dad was around, him and mom made a pact. No matter what I did, one of them would always be there for me. If it was a soccer game, at least one of them would make it. If I needed a ride, they’d make sure one of them would pick me up. No matter what, I’d always have someone. But then dad passed. And even though she tried to stay, it was as if mom went with him too.
“I don’t have anyone else. All I have is you. But you aren’t there.”
“But what about your friends at school?”
“What friends?” I scoff and shake my head. “I’ve basically been a zombie all year, and clearly any friendship I thought I had wasn’t all that strong if no one even bothered to ask why. And I can’t really make new ones. All I ever do is work so you have one less thing to worry about. I don’t hang out with anyone anymore. Not like they seem to notice. At this point, I’m basically just a fast pass to an easy A because now if I have no choice but to get one.”
And then there’s silence. The hold on me loosens, but the urge to tear off shedding skin is gone even though I feel mom’s stare honing in on me. My nose isn’t on fire whenever I exhale anymore. We sit like that for a moment as I think of if there’s more I want to say. Any other night, she’d be in her pajamas already and heading to bed, but she was here now if only for a moment.
“I wish I hadn’t...gone off on you yesterday.” That’s one way to apologize for burning your mom’s arm. Time slows for a moment as I try to find more to say. But for now, this is all I have left. “But you weren’t there when I needed you.” There’s a whole lot actually, but right now, I can’t find the words.
Mom bites her lip and glances over at the doctor’s note lying next to the shredded prescription bag. She reads it from where she is. “Is there anything else you want to say?”
“Yeah, but not now?” The heaviness behind my eyes comes back, so I grab for another pill. Can you overdose on these too? Probably should’ve had the pharmacist give me instructions. Or at least read the paper that comes with the bottle. Before I can take the pill, mom brushes a few wisps away from my face and kisses my forehead. She wraps her arms around me again, but rather than stiffening, everything relaxes.
“I’m so sorry. But I’m here now.” She whispers. I stare out of the corner of my eye at her, eyes closed and afraid to let go. Eventually, I can’t help but wrap my arms around her and cuddle close. When was the last time we just hugged like this? I don’t remember, but I close my eyes if only for a moment, hoping this means things will be different now. That even if the world crashes down, we’ll have each other again.
“I know.” I close my eyes and hold her tighter. In the morning, I won’t be surprised if she’s gone, but for this moment, she’s right. She’s here right now, and for one moment, I want this to be enough.
grey kenna
This month’s featured cover artist, Grey Kenna (she/her), is the PR & Events manager for The Mountain Goat Journal. She is a photographer and sacristan from Atlanta, and is currently pursuing a double major in Religious Studies and Psychology.
“This sequence is a reminder to show up to your life and pay attention to the extraordinary little things that happen in your day that you may otherwise miss.”
“My work aims to capture candid moments grounded in warmth, connection, and attention to the world.”
kamilla haidaienko
Beauty
october 2020, acrylic on pastel paper.
Deep Blue
april 2020, watercolor on paper.