all clear. Are we all clear?”
“All clear.”
“Okay. Then we can stay up here.”
“Until it’s light out?”
“Yep.”
“Okay.”
“Are you tired?”
“Not really.”
Nora lo"le30"oks at his face. He is shaken. Walking over a hundred bodies rotting in the street didn’t faze him, but those three skeletons seem to have reached him in a deeper place. She doubts he will sleep tonight.
“Addy,” she says. “Come out on the balcony with me.”
She drops her pack at her feet—the Carbtein cubes are surprisingly heavy—and she and her brother lean against the railing, looking down at the street, watching the faint moonlight shimmer on the treetops as a gentle breeze teases the leaves. Nora pulls the cop’s bag of weed out of her pocket, then a red BIC and some shredded newspapers from her backpack. She rolls a joint, lights it, and sucks.
Addis watches her intently. “What’s that stuff feel like?”
She looks at him, holding in her lungful, then breathes it out and hands him the joint.
His eyes widen. “Really?”
“Sure. It’ll help you sleep.”
“Mom said it’s bad for kids.”
“No worse than for grownups. Same as coffee and alcohol.”
“But Mom said those are all bad for kids.”
“It’s not that different. Grownups just don’t like seeing kids in altered states. It creeps them out. Reminds them you’re a person, not some little toy they sewed their faces onto.”
Addis looks at her for a moment. “Are you high already?”
Nora giggles. “Maybe. I haven’t smoked in a long time.”
“Dad said weed stunts kids’ brains.”
Fuck Dad, she wants to say. Fuck them both and any advice they ever gave us. When a corpse tells you how to live, do the opposite. Instead, she clings to her herbal calm and says,“Oh well. None of us are gonna grow up to be doctors anyway.”
Addis studies the joint. He puts it to his lips and takes a dainty puff. He coughs and hands it back to her, then stares at the trees for a minute.
A slow smile creeps across his face. “Whoa…”
Nora sucks in another hit and they both regard the moonlit sea of trees, rooftops poking through like distant islands. She is in love with this moment. She glances at her brother, hoping to see that dopey grin again and maybe find out what stoned-child philosophy sounds like, but the grin is gone. His face has turned abruptly blank, and Nora feels a spike of dread piercing her cloud of well-being.
“Mom and Dad left us alone,” he says.
Nora releases the smoke in her lungs in a long sigh.
“They were supposed to take care of us. Why did they leave?”
So soon. She thought she’d have another year to prepare for this. She looks out at the trees and auditions lies in her head.
Maybe they went to find food and got lost.
Maybe they got bitten and didn’t want to infect us.
I don’t know why they left.
But she rejects these. Addis deserves truth. He is a child, but why does that make him deserve it any less? Nora herself is a child; so are her parents—everyone is equally young and foolish in the wide lens of history, and the arrogant denial of this is what unraveled the world. So much easier to think of people as children when you want to lie to them. Especially if you’re a businessman, a congressman, a journalist, a doctor, a preacher, a teacher, or the head of a global superpower. Enough white lies can scorch the earth black.
“Addis,” she says, looking her brother in the eyes. “Mom and Dad left because they couldn’t take care of us. It was hard to find enough food and they wanted drugs and we were slowing them down, so they left.”
Addis stares at her. “Didn’t they care what happened to us?”
“Maybe they cared a lot. Maybe they were really sad about it.”
“But they still did it.”
“Yeah.”
“They left ‘cause they cared more about food and drugs than us. ‘Cause staying with us was hard.”
Nora winces a little but doesn’t back down. “Well…yeah. Pretty
“All clear.”
“Okay. Then we can stay up here.”
“Until it’s light out?”
“Yep.”
“Okay.”
“Are you tired?”
“Not really.”
Nora lo"le30"oks at his face. He is shaken. Walking over a hundred bodies rotting in the street didn’t faze him, but those three skeletons seem to have reached him in a deeper place. She doubts he will sleep tonight.
“Addy,” she says. “Come out on the balcony with me.”
She drops her pack at her feet—the Carbtein cubes are surprisingly heavy—and she and her brother lean against the railing, looking down at the street, watching the faint moonlight shimmer on the treetops as a gentle breeze teases the leaves. Nora pulls the cop’s bag of weed out of her pocket, then a red BIC and some shredded newspapers from her backpack. She rolls a joint, lights it, and sucks.
Addis watches her intently. “What’s that stuff feel like?”
She looks at him, holding in her lungful, then breathes it out and hands him the joint.
His eyes widen. “Really?”
“Sure. It’ll help you sleep.”
“Mom said it’s bad for kids.”
“No worse than for grownups. Same as coffee and alcohol.”
“But Mom said those are all bad for kids.”
“It’s not that different. Grownups just don’t like seeing kids in altered states. It creeps them out. Reminds them you’re a person, not some little toy they sewed their faces onto.”
Addis looks at her for a moment. “Are you high already?”
Nora giggles. “Maybe. I haven’t smoked in a long time.”
“Dad said weed stunts kids’ brains.”
Fuck Dad, she wants to say. Fuck them both and any advice they ever gave us. When a corpse tells you how to live, do the opposite. Instead, she clings to her herbal calm and says,“Oh well. None of us are gonna grow up to be doctors anyway.”
Addis studies the joint. He puts it to his lips and takes a dainty puff. He coughs and hands it back to her, then stares at the trees for a minute.
A slow smile creeps across his face. “Whoa…”
Nora sucks in another hit and they both regard the moonlit sea of trees, rooftops poking through like distant islands. She is in love with this moment. She glances at her brother, hoping to see that dopey grin again and maybe find out what stoned-child philosophy sounds like, but the grin is gone. His face has turned abruptly blank, and Nora feels a spike of dread piercing her cloud of well-being.
“Mom and Dad left us alone,” he says.
Nora releases the smoke in her lungs in a long sigh.
“They were supposed to take care of us. Why did they leave?”
So soon. She thought she’d have another year to prepare for this. She looks out at the trees and auditions lies in her head.
Maybe they went to find food and got lost.
Maybe they got bitten and didn’t want to infect us.
I don’t know why they left.
But she rejects these. Addis deserves truth. He is a child, but why does that make him deserve it any less? Nora herself is a child; so are her parents—everyone is equally young and foolish in the wide lens of history, and the arrogant denial of this is what unraveled the world. So much easier to think of people as children when you want to lie to them. Especially if you’re a businessman, a congressman, a journalist, a doctor, a preacher, a teacher, or the head of a global superpower. Enough white lies can scorch the earth black.
“Addis,” she says, looking her brother in the eyes. “Mom and Dad left because they couldn’t take care of us. It was hard to find enough food and they wanted drugs and we were slowing them down, so they left.”
Addis stares at her. “Didn’t they care what happened to us?”
“Maybe they cared a lot. Maybe they were really sad about it.”
“But they still did it.”
“Yeah.”
“They left ‘cause they cared more about food and drugs than us. ‘Cause staying with us was hard.”
Nora winces a little but doesn’t back down. “Well…yeah. Pretty
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