by Jason Baltazar

“The Cayenne-Tailed Skink. Last known entity died on Canal Parkway crushed under the tire of a white Jeep with windows tinted well beyond the legal limit. As is common among skinks, the cayenne could shed its tail as a defense against predation. The bright-red coloration and relative size of the dropped tail lent this skink its common name.”

“Skink. Skink. Skiiiiiink.”

“The Eastern Yellamustard Finch. Last known entity died of cardiac arrest in a birdhouse of amateurish but adequate construction affixed to the back fence of 603 Henderson Avenue. Among the loudest of songbird species, its call featured chattering sounds with metallic tones, often likened to the twisting of a socket wrench.”

“What’s with these names, are naturalists super hungry all the time?”

“Bob’s Big Boar.”

“Ha! Fucking what? No, no way that’s real.”

“It was very real.”

“…”

“Bob’s Big–”

“Wait, what. This is live? You’re a person?”

“Yes, this is a live reading.”

“Oh man, my bad. I didn’t realize, I thought it was a pre-recorded deal. Sorry.”

“We don’t have equipment like that, just the one phone. It feels more appropriate this way. Do you want to continue or are you put off?”

“Hey, no, you can totally continue. Go ahead.”

“Bob’s Big Boar. Only known entity died of a .30-06 bullet fired from a tree stand on a wooded hill off Messick Road as an act of personal revenge. The boar was a re-domesticated feral pig taken in by Bob Fetterman and enjoyed a certain amount of local celebrity, owing to Bob’s training of it in a number of entertaining feats, including a line dancing routine.”

“Huh. ‘Some pig,’ right? Can I ask you a question, like, is that allowed?”

“Questions are welcome.”

“So seriously what’s with these names? They’re all food-related.”

“The entries are arranged by theme today. That’s actually the last of the culinary set; the patterning set is next. If you’re still interested.”

“Yeah, totally, this is great. Well not great, but you know.”

“The Pileated Tree Skunk. Last known entity died under the front porch of 410 Polk Street curled in the bed of a sun-faded “Bigfoot” model Power Wheel after ingesting anti-freeze laced kibble left out by the tenant. The tree skunk was in fact a squirrel so-named for its dark coloration and distinctive white cap, notable for its sociability and playful demeanor.”

“Oh man …”

“Is something wrong?”

“It’s just so sad. This tree skunk sounds pretty awesome and how they went out, it’s … I don’t know. Does it get to you, reading these?”

“It’s a deep loss. But keeping the idea of them in the world is more important to us than how it feels. Now you know about them too. You just encountered something that hasn’t existed anywhere for years.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. That’s cool.”

“Are you willing to answer a question?”

“For sure.”

“How did you find this number?”

“Someone sharpied it on a wall. Totally thought it was fake until you picked up.”

“Very real. Which wall was this?”

“So, don’t take this the wrong way but a bathroom. In the Health Department over on Willowbrook?”

“We’re grateful to whomever it was.”

“You didn’t put it up?”

“No, we don’t venture far from the phone.”

“How do you keep things going?”

“Word of mouth. You’re here on the line now, aren’t you?”

“Fair point.”

“Are you willing to answer another question?”

“I’m down to talk. ‘Ask me anything,’ right?”

“What were you doing at the Health Department?”

“Oh … well, I’ve been going there. For counseling and stuff.”

“If you’re uncomfortable, there are plenty more in the patterning set.”

“You’re fine, I’m not too embarrassed or anything. Just try not to pull other people into my own bullshit, put a burden on folks, you know?”

“It wouldn’t be burdensome at all.”

“Oh, well, I’ve been fighting depression for a while and it kind of got on top of me. Had to finally admit I couldn’t wrestle it down on my own anymore so now I’m in this group therapy thing. Weekly sessions.”

“Has it helped?”

“A little, I guess? In terms of hearing other folks feel similar, that I’m not the only one Eeyoring around the place. But honestly, the underlying thing is still there like an engine block I’m dragging around in my gut all the time.”

“Has it been a long struggle?”

“Not really, or at least it felt manageable until she … someone … passed away.”

“Very sorry to hear of the loss. Do you want another entry?”

“Sure, toss me another.”

“The Blue Freckle-Shell Elm Beetle. Last known entity died in a crow’s beak, plucked from an elm branch in the woods behind the motel that continuously changes owners on Naves Crossroads. In addition to its eponymous blue dot pattern, the freckle-shell was known for building unique structures called twig embraces from chewed stem segments to protect egg deposits.”

“Wonder if there’s any of the twig embraces still out there?”

“The bonding proteins were resilient, so it’s very possible.”

“Maybe I’ll drive over this week and see what I can find. Cedar, by the way. That was her name. Cedar Williams.”

“Do you want to talk about Cedar Williams?”

“Um, I don’t know man. Putting words to things isn’t a strong suit for me, you know?”

“Maybe just focusing on her would help. How did you know Cedar?”

“Well, she’s … she was more on the quiet side, you know, someone who’d mostly sip on things and watch, but she’d laugh with you every time. Played decent drums and some rhythm guitar. We grew up together for a while until I moved across town and then we reconnected later. Skated all over, went to punk shows at the Embassy, panhandled for cigarette money, other stuff. Mostly what I remember are the childhood things. Nostalgia, I guess.”

“Memories are powerful. What comes to mind?”

“Neither of us could swim, but her dad would drive us out to Rocky Gap and we’d splash in the shallows. I remember it being one of those things you’re self-conscious about around other kids, not knowing how to have this fun everybody else learned years ago. But with just the two of us, we’d laugh in the water and toe up to the edge where it got darker and we’d feel that dangerous thrill together, if we took one more step, you know. We’d look out at all the rest of that lake far too deep for us and it was okay because we were standing there together feeling the same fear. We both understood.”

“That sounds like a sustaining memory.”

“We didn’t though. We didn’t understand at all, eventually. They found her in bed, overdosed. She took that one step too far, too deep to come back up from and here I am still. How? Like big picture, how is that possible? It doesn’t make sense to me. We started at the same time, the same night, same tiny bag, I remember the crinkle of it in her palm like a piece of Halloween candy. Just a ‘fuck it, we’re bored, let’s see how this feels’ thing, first time at Connelly’s apartment, then in the parking lot of the ValleyView shopping plaza a couple nights later. For whatever reason it just didn’t do the thing for me, didn’t stick the same. Why is that? Why didn’t I get sucked under too? She waded out alone and I left her there because I was too scared to stay in the water. Cedar wasn’t the first of us to go, there were names written on jackets or tattooed on arms at the local shows by then already, and I most definitely was bored beyond belief, but I wanted to get out, not go out, you know? So I cut myself off, stayed away. We were basically strangers at the end. I abandoned her, left her down at the bottom we used to dare against on our toes in the sand. And here I am. Here I fucking am. Doing what?”

“Sounds like surviving.”

“Right. I run real good. Great.”

“Luck and speed shouldn’t be dismissed when they serve you well. The bottom line is that we can only decide for ourselves. You made choices and so did Cedar Williams.”

“I keep hearing that and it even makes sense on a logic level, but man, what it feels like is I got away with something, like I tricked the universe into taking someone else. There was no real difference between us, but she’s dead and I keep on waking up. I don’t deserve it. I could’ve reached out, at least tried … I don’t know, something.”

“Do you believe when a hunter walks the wood, the creatures should patiently wait to be taken where they stand?”

“What? No?”

“Do you believe that after the hunter has gone the survivors should lay down and die anyway?”

“Oh, uh-huh. I see. I’m a creature in the wood.”

“You are.”

“I made it and deserve to keep on living, yeah, yeah.”

“You should say that again and think about what each word means individually and what they mean joined together.”

“Come on, I get it.”

“That won’t be evident until you speak with intention.”

“Man, fine, fuck. I made it and … I do deserve … I … deserve … to be … to be here … I deserve … every … single … day … every … single … breath … and I’m so sorry … you’re not here anymore … and I miss all the music we soaked up from your brother’s boom box and car radios and circle pits … and I miss all the music we made in basements and garages and especially all the music you left unplayed … and I missed you even before you were really gone, I hope you know … and I’ll keep the idea of you alive … I promise you.”

“Do you want to hear another entry?”

“Please.”

“Cedar Williams. Only possible entity died in a place where dreams are born and was carried on from there in the hearts of those who knew her. She witnessed the world with a joy freely shared and for a while she courageously brought her warmth to places lesser traveled by light.”

“…”

“Was that suitable?”

“Perfect. Thank you. For all this, talking to me and what you just said about Cedar.”

“Her entry has been added to the meteor set.”

“Wait, like permanently?”

“As long as the phone is ringing.”

“Wow, that’s … it means a lot. Really. Kind of weird but it was easier opening up to you than at the group sessions for some reason, like way easier. Listen, do you want to meet up or something?

“…”

“I don’t mean meet up meet up, just to hang or whatever. Feel like I owe you a drink.”

“That may not be a good idea.”

“Oh. Right, it’s weird. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s only that caution is called for.”

“I get that. Probably all kinds call you up, huh?”

“All kinds.”

“How do you vet people? Background checks? I’m cool as long as you don’t need my social or credit cards.”

“Nothing like that. Just two questions.”

“Psh. Fire away.”

“How open-minded are you?”

“Pretty open-minded, I think, especially for around here.”

“Say, in theory, we shared an address. When you arrived, the front door would be unlocked. You would step over the threshold to the sound of brass bells strung on the back of the door and they would echo as though across a highland valley when the wind is low. And say when your body was fully immersed in the breath of our home you were greeted by winged creatures of every coloration, most avian but several likely to surprise, perched on a staircase to your right and along the rim of crystal-cut light fixtures, and no matter how high you gazed you couldn’t find the top of that staircase. Say insects crawled the wallpaper, a parade of six-legged jewels following its arabesques in meditative movement, freckled beetles and cloudhoppers and century cicadas, silver damselflies darting before your eyes so like the Perseids that in the air of the foyer you begin to feel the traffic of the nearer cosmos. Say you walked, mindfully please, into the family room and a coruscating panther draped its flank across green velvet sofa cushions and you met its golden eye and knew, knew, that beneath the draperies of flesh and bone and behavior that you shared with it an essential connection in being, and you understood its fixed gaze was a gift passed to you, a portion of awe to swallow up fear in order to truly see the community into which you are interwoven. And through the doorway into the eatery the translucent blur of beings not visible to any eye but irrevocably felt as a swirling sea of others, and everywhere you choose to wander you find the presence of ultimate things, fur and feather and chitin and scale, fins furling like summer curtains in blue baby pools, snouts, beaks, diurnal, nocturnal, thriving together in the moment of this deepest of houses. Say as you’re trekking a forested hallway the telephone rings and it sounds as though it fills the blue sky above you as a peal of thunder would. Say, at that moment, the voice of every being in our home, yes, even you, speaks as one to pass to the caller the wonders that once traversed their back yard. Are you as accepting as that?”

“…”

“You’re still there?”

“… yeah.”

“Did you hear the second question?”

“It sounds incredible, like, beautiful.”

“Something you accept?”

“I wish I really could see something like that. Something more, you know?”

“Two hundred and twenty Somerville Avenue.”

“Two-twenty … that’s only a couple blocks. You’re serious?”

“Sincerest. And you?”

“Okay. Okay, I’m on my way over. Let me get shoes … keys, where the … aaand keys. Here we go, gonna put you on speaker.”

“Another entry as you travel?”

“Definitely, keep ‘em comin’.”

“The Ever-Chanting Grove. Last congregant of the entity died uprooted from the eastern slopes of what is now Irons Mountain by a landslide in a time when Appalachian ridges touched Himalayan heights. The song produced when breezes passed through the grooves of the trees’ bark serenaded miles of deciduous valley for millennia without cease until that final wavering voice quieted at the foot of the mountain.”

“So, you’re saying they were all one giant thing? The trees were all one tree?”

“The world speaks in tangles.”

“I feel exactly like that sometimes, last one on the slope. Like I said before, Cedar wasn’t the first to go in my circle. The closest, for sure. But this town’s hungry and mean in a personal way, I swear. Everyone’s so tired or bored or desperate. All three, why not? So, one way or another it’s check out, get reckless, find your own escape velocity. I mean at this point I’m out of digits to count them with. I do that every day.”

“Are the wounds soothed in counting?”

“Honestly, it’s hard to tell the difference between what I feel for them and what I feel for myself. It’s all … tangled together like you said, the loss of someone versus I lost someone, if that makes any sense. I feel guilty when I catch myself doing that.”

“Turn to them now. What will you pass on?”

“What, right now? I don’t even know.”

“You do. Place your heart on the tip of your tongue.”

“I guess … I guess I’d say: you’re always with me. And sure, that’s a blessing but not always, not really. I’m brittled. I’m rusted through and I don’t know how much longer I’ll keep standing. It’s changed me; one by one you leave and I’m the remainder. Leftovers. Un-dead.”

“Face them, unfold.”

“And what happened to you happened to me, too. I was with you in a way. Even if I wasn’t there, in that moment, I died with you. I did, each time. I died with you, over and over again.”

“Pulse for them.”

“I died with you doing eighty, floating weightless beyond that guard rail burst open like a race was won, and I died with you, stomach gone to butterflies.

And you, I died with you standing in the garage leaned over your dad’s deer rifle, caught taking what you wanted from the K-Mart but couldn’t afford, waiting for his truck to pull in hauling familiar rage, and I died with you doing math to the scent of motor oil, solving for how much pain there’d be on either side of an equation.

And you, I died with you heartbroke and gutshot in wildflower because that boy of your adoration finally turned his attention in the worst possible way, proclaimed yet another prince glinting far too golden by silver badges, and I died with you sprawled in birdsong starving to be believed.

I died with you afloat in amber sodium light, back cradled by glittering griptape, skateboard for a Viking boat sent down the eternal Potomac, Bic-charred pipe stem in your curled fingers.

I died with you one leg tangled in afternoon sheets, the other dangling off the side like you never heard of a monster under the bed, or maybe decided that threat no worse than what you’ve already seen.

I died with you loose-limbed and motormouthed yet unable to say, “No more,” and then I died again in the very same way with you, and you, and you, and you.

I died with you too fucking often of bone-deep fatigue, fighting every moment against a sick gravity tugging down our kindness, sucking the blaze of wonder from our eyes and cutting off our thirst for the gush of the world.

My misfit found family, my many gone away, I dress in guilt and shame for lagging behind. I wear them like slow bruises. And however you roam, I hope all your bruises are forgotten. I hope you left them long behind to the sound of ‘no more.’”

“A heart has spoken.”

“… I … I don’t really know what that was. I mean it’s all true, it’s real, but that’s not how I sound. Where did that come from?”

“You’re very near to us now. Welcome the sound of your voice as we do.”

“Yeah, just pulled up I think.”

“The phone is no longer necessary.”

“Okay, yeah I’m right outside. See you in a sec.”

“No barriers remain but your footsteps.”

“Whoa, what the fuck? How can I hear you? Seriously.”

“Sincerest.”

“Holy shit. This is real, isn’t it? Brass bells … holy … holy ….”

“Enter. Greet us guiltless with the ongoing yesterdays of your heart.”

“I died with you. And you, and you, oh god, and you, and you, and you, oh my god, and you, and you, and you …”