by Gloria Weber

Mr. Cabrera droned on about the value of x in relevance to the diameter of an elliptical jar. It was like a badly sung lullaby, subduing half the students into day and true dreams. The beige walls of the learning cell may have once been white, but now they did nothing expect inspire boredom with their blocky unadorned faces. Stale air mixed with the lotions, colognes, perfumes, and body odor making the windowless room even more unbearable.

Dina sat in the back of the class staring at the hairy hump that was Will's head. He stared intently at the faux wood grain of his desk, pretending to take notes. Instead his pencil drew a sketch of a sleeping girl. His mind wasn't in the lesson; it was with his heart. Poor boy.

Pity crept up on her. It was a novel feeling; she was usually callously numb. Her heart was cut off from her needs, wants, feelings, and everything else around her. That’s why she enjoyed even the bitterest of emotions; that’s why she drowned herself in them.

The sound of electronic bell cut off the teacher’s lecture and Dina’s pity. Most of the students shoved papers and books into bags eager for freedom and the promised light of the outdoors. None of them listened as Mr. Cabrera offered extra credit. They just rushed for the door. All of them, except Will.

His detached mind scrambled to join him back in the classroom. Will’s body moved of its own accord, following the patterns accepted by his muscle memory. It was like watching a half dead fish swim around the tank.

At the front of the class, Mr. Cabrera shut his briefcase. His mouth flapped open. He wanted to say something, but was at a loss. Everyone had seen Will go from honor roll regular to near failing. But no one could stop or blame him. Conceding defeat, Mr. Cabrera left the room.

Dina waited for Will by the back door. But when he eventually made his way into the near empty hallways he used the front one. He didn’t notice the tentative glances in his direction or the eruption of whispers as he turned corners. Walking the halls, it was like he was death. The world would stop for an instant, just for him. Then, after he passed, the effects rippled through reminding all that there was still life.

She didn’t have to follow him to know where he was going. Dina figured she would meet him there. Poor guy needed a moment to himself.

#

Dina took two steps and rested her hand on the faceted doorknob. The clear cold, plastic surface reflected Dina’s face and the blue daisies on the wallpaper of the hallway. She let go and studied it, delaying going in. The sparkling beauty was marred by hundreds of fingerprints. Fingerprints from those who wanted to enter but couldn’t.

The quiet of the house rattled her bones and she could swear she could hear the flies die somewhere in the basement. It was like no one was home, yet everyone was.

They were just absorbed in their own thoughts and worries. Closing themselves off from their feelings, from each other, from the world. The Nelsons should have sought each other out, should have comforted each other, but humans could be such selfish creatures during their darkest times.

Seeking relief from the pitiful household Dina walked down the hall. She leaned her head against the cold, dusty window whose light fought to break the gloom. The outside world wasn’t much better than the dead house. The night before, a terrible storm had passed. Scattered autumn leaves, broken branches, and other things filled the Nelson’s neglected front yard.

None of the neighbors cared that the house was in such a state. They understood and let the Nelsons be. Frozen casseroles lay in freezers waiting. For a short time it had bothered Will. Under the summer sun he mowed, pruned, and weeded. His hands blistered, dirtied, and calloused long before their time. How the neighbors whispered praise that never reached his ears.

Unfortunately he too soon fell to the bitter monster within his soul and shunned the work. Like at school, no one could blame him.

Her thoughts seemingly summoned him. He pulled in with his rusted muffler sounding louder and rougher than the wind had the previous night. His foot barely touched asphalt and she could already smell his horror and taste his fear.

Will’s eyes were glued to what earlier that summer had been a beautiful trellis filled with a perennial vine that neither he nor she knew the name of. The pinkish red flowers had been gone since some time late July, but the leaves carried on.

They carried on until now. The night before there had been so many leaves, but the rough cruel winds had stripped all but three off.

All but two, one fell as the two of them stared at it.

He began to pace; he shook; he cried. Dina wished she could have held him and told him there was nothing he could do. The dying spoke the truth.

“Will, when the last leaf falls... When the vines are barren...”

Guilt and pity resurfaced and swam inside of Dina’s body like a storm. It tried to beat her into action, but duty kept her in place. There was nothing either of them could do; the leaves would fall.

Will finally burst into action, running for the darkened mouth of the garage and out of Dina’s sight. He emerged seconds later tossing paint cans onto the drive way processed by an idea. With a rusted screw driver he pried can after can open. Orange, brown, red, and green droplets speckled the black drive like zits on a storm cloud’s face.

Dina could see the thought start to take shape. He was only fooling himself. It wouldn’t fool her. But Will didn’t care. Will was desperate.