XENITH

Treading
by Lana Kempe

It was another day full of rain. Where the morning, afternoon, and evening looked identical, with the same shade of grey and the same amount of haze.

It was a Saturday. I slept in as late as my body could handle. There wasn’t a plan for the day. My dad was out of town for the weekend on a business trip. One brother would be in his room, drinking alone until he fell back asleep. My other brother was a thousand miles away, living one town over for college (he may as well have lived on Neptune). This left my mother and I to entertain each other.

The house was saturated with silence. It seemed to be saving up its energy for an event we had not yet planned. Looking over at the clock I saw it was 10:15. I had hoped it would be past noon. It would mean less time around other people, pretending our routines were typical, that we weren’t infecting each other.

My mom was reading the paper and drinking coffee.

“Can I fix you something for lunch?” She was still in her robe.

“No, I just got up, I’ll probably have cereal then wait to eat until dinner.”

“We should go out to eat. Your dad is out of town all weekend.”

“Okay, want to go out at six?”

She looked into the soaking wet woods in our backyard and took a sip of coffee. “Whenever.”

*

Most high schoolers would have friends over or go out on a Saturday night. But inviting people over had the feel of luring people to a haunted house. Family members would emerge from their rooms at inopportune times, pale as ghosts, walking quietly past so as not to disturb our guests but absorbing as much of the conversation as they could. Always looking through the windows into the woods that surrounded our house.

We lived five miles from everything and it took longer for fads and technology to reach us. Time decelerated when it hit our dirt road. My friends’ parents would refuse to drive the distance to our house. They did not realize I knew this. Usually I would spare people the need to create an excuse and didn’t invite them.

Most weekends were spent waiting for something to happen, waiting for life to tick by, until the world changed on its own.

*

Of course, I did have friends. They could not drive to pick me up, but normally someone from the family would offer to drop me off.

Sometimes we would listen to the radio on the drive. Sometimes we would chit-chat. Most commonly, the driver would find the radio or talking distracting, and we would drive in silence.

The stillness of life encompassed us. Going to other peoples’ houses could be jarring. Unexpected noises and movements. Strange products. Renovation projects. People coming and going. No closed doors. Air circulating wildly. Families going to bed at the same time.

When I would get picked up there were few questions about what went on. Returning home was like arriving back to a rarely frequented temple. I would go to a windowless room, turn off the lights, put a towel under the door to block out the few rogue sunbeams that could sneak in, sit in the corner, and reaquaint myself with the darkness.

*

I watched a movie and then read a book. I looked at the clock. Five and a half hours until our dinner plans. Rain made going outside unlikely. There was nothing left to look at. The internet was still in its primitive form: Undeveloped terrain inhabited only by Under Construction gifs. And dial-up. No one could go online, someone might call.

The movie was on tv a second time. I watched it again.

*

My family wasn’t always the living dead. Sometimes they were quite animated. Which was even more unsettling. Watching my family be sociable was as surreal as seeing zombies on a charming picnic outing. They could appear convincingly content and stable.

When the mood struck, my mom would make an entire batch of cookies and have my friends sit and talk to her. Most people found this completely normal, not realizing it was the most she had spoken to anyone in days.

Years later I discovered she had been confiding to our visiting friends that she was miserable and wanted to move off on her own. Not that this angers me. But I find myself wishing she had. We were all wasting each others’ time to keep up a facade no one believed in. One of us should have been the hero and ended it. Spoke the magic words and ended the spell.

*

My brother’s door was still closed. My dad was still out of town. My other brother was still on Neptune. My mom was still in her room. I was still watching the movie a second time. It was 2:00.

What were we waiting for?

I knocked on my mom’s door and asked if she was ready to go eat dinner.

Twenty minutes later, on our way out to eat.

She was driving fifteen miles under the speed limit to make the trip last longer. But she said it was because of the rain. Not being able to see clearly up ahead was dangerous. And other people driving fast should slow down. She always drove that slowly. The radio was turned off.

“What city is dad in? Is he coming back tomorrow night?”

“I don’t know. But he’d better make some money. Every weekend he leaves me with less and less money. Make sure you marry a rich man.”

“Dad had money when you married him, though.”

“He did. Except he lied to me about how much he had. He was richer than he told me he was, he thought I was after his money.”

We rode the rest of the trip without speaking.

As we got to the restaurant she slowed down even more, but didn’t signal. Someone honked. She whispered “Everyone’s always in a rush.”

*

I have always assumed that my family was normal, and that I am the strange one. They were not the source of the atmosphere in the house. It was emanating from me. Time tells a different story. Over the course of a decade, friends would announce at one point or another that they would no longer come over to visit. That something scared them.

I stopped inviting people over.

*

The restaurant was empty. The staff was cleaning up from the lunch rush and preparing for the dinner crowd. A waiter took our order, barely bothering to maintain his smile. He took our order and gave us an irritated look. I smiled apologetically. He walked away.

“This isn’t a very nice place,” she said.

*

It hadn’t happened in over a year, but my dad would invite me to come along on his business trips. It would take up the entire weekend, but it seemed like fun to see what went on in those outtings. Even when it was boring it was such a breath of fresh air to see a new place and meet the people he worked with.

During the week he worked most of the day, too, but he had not brought me along for that in several years. I was curious what went on, how it was different from the weekend trips. He didn’t have an office anywhere. Usually no one even knew what town he was in. But it had always been like that. We were used to it.

*

“That pizza was way too thick. I don’t like going there. I wish you hadn’t made me eat there.”

“Sorry.” It was only 4 pm. As we drove away a few cars began to park in the lot. “Want to go anywhere else?”

“No, where would we go? I want to save what’s left of the money your dad gave me.”

She drove under the speed limit all the way home, then got back in her robe, and went to her room to watch tv alone.

My brother was up. He asked if I wanted to run to the store with him. I said sure.

*

One brother living at home, the other a few miles away, both equally hard to reach. They were both older than me, and I envied that they grew up together, even if they never got along. Still, I appreciated the snippets of time I had with them.

He accelerated the car quickly and headed the opposite direction from town to a small general store in the sticks. I waited in the car and he ran in to get beer and smokes.

When he came back out it was pouring. We waited a few minutes for the rain to calm down. He lit a cigarette and smoked it with the windows rolled up.

“Earlier mom and I went out to eat, we went to Sp-”

“Don’t start up with one of your long stories.”

He was right, though. Talking had no point. Better to stay submerged in the silence than have to force ourselves back in after the conversation ended.

A minute passed.

“Is dad coming back tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure. I asked mom earlier. She doesn’t know.”

“Maybe I’ll give him a call later.”

We both knew he wouldn’t.

The rain let up a little. He drove fast but took the long route home.

It was 5:30.

After a nap it was 7:00.

The phone rang. My mom passed by, white robe dragging on the carpeting. She said my dad wouldn’t be back until Monday. I picked up an old book and reread it until I fell back asleep.

*

I suddenly awoke. It was 2:00 in the morning. I stepped outside. A fog had settled over the yard. The road was invisible. I fanned at the mist with my hands to watch it swirl and resolidify. I became convinced someone was watching me in the woods. I waved. I like to think whoever it was waved back.

*

The fog lifted and I woke up. I stretched, reaching over to pull back the window shade. When I was younger my mom used to tell me the fog was a cloud that had fallen down. It looked like this one had picked itself back up.

It was early afternoon and I decided to have lunch for breakfast. Microwaveable mexican food. The sequel to yesterday’s movie was on. I sunk into the couch.

“I’m going to the store. Do you want anything?”

“No, I’m fine.” I adjusted my head.

*

I slipped into another dream.

It was pouring rain outside to the point of flooding. I went to open the door to look out at the water rise, then saw the air in front of me was the water itself. It towered above the entire neighborhood. Tree branches swayed from the current. There was no sound, no wildlife, only ripples from the raindrops on the surface of the floodwater.

*

The phone rang. I jerked up. The answering machine picked up.

“… Hello Dale, I was calling to remind you tomorrow is your kid’s birthday… I love you.”

The voice was gruff. There were people talking in the background. A message from an alien world.

My brother walked by. It was already evening. We listened to it together repeatedly, wordlessly.

*

Tomorrow was certainly none of our birthdays.

My cheeks began to blush.

Mom came home. We replayed it several more times for her.

Our hearts were pounding. Time flashed forward to later that night.

*

Dad got home. We listened again with him.

Finally an explanation.

Something would be changed.

His face took on the look of a question mark. Brows furrowed. Mouth tight. Nose scrunched.

“It’s a mistake.”

“How could it be a mistake? She knew your name.”

“It must be the wrong Dale she knows, then.”

“That isn’t possible.”

“It’s a mistake.”

He never spoke of it again. We never asked about it again.

*

I went to my room and laid sideways on the bed. The woods looked as always, trees bare of leaves but still densely packed.

I could feel someone’s eyes on me. What did it matter. I shut my bedroom door.

***

Lana Kempe currently resides in Ann Arbor, Michigan where she works as a pseudo-librarian in the city’s library system. She earned her bachelor’s degree in English Literature from Michigan State University and has been published in the occasional literary journal. She is working on a novelette at the moment.

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