The White Picket Fence

Sitting near the edge, we killed flowers. Devilish chrysanthemums, lilacs, a terrible ocean of daffodils. These fleurs du mal, so to speak. We could see the window from where we sat, gleaming. Rork and I held scissors, and we were busy cutting the flowers. I can smell them still—they made my nose tingle and sniff, and Rork kept saying I’m so tired, I want to go back inside. Don’t forget to wash your hands after, I said—they might be poisonous. There was the smell of dinner, and the constant odor of dead plants, mixing in the humid, late afternoon air. Rork sighed again. We were almost done. I held up an orange bulb. Is that a tulip, I asked? Rork only shrugged, as he dug his scissors into the dirt. Beyond the white picket fence, I saw Adaline walking down the street with her dog. I thought of waving, but didn’t, only peering through the crack of the fence, letting my eyes linger for a couple extra seconds before returning to the tulip, still in my hand. Rork rose. I’m done, he said, fiddling absently with his scissors. Careful there, I said; why don’t you tell Kallie? I will. And Rork walked away, and went through the side door quietly. I stood up as well, looking across the street, to Mr. Edgar’s house, painted faded green. This is where the story begins.

Long ago, before I knew words, Kallie brought home Rork. Birch could not believe it, nor could he conceive of a future with this new reality in mind. He cursed Kallie and threatened to leave, but I can dimly remember him sobbing in the bedroom, helpless gasps seeping through the walls into my small room. Yet there could be no prolonged anguish in this neighborhood—the flowers in the yard prohibited it. Mr. and Mrs. Thresser prohibited it. Hans Hesov, Brich’s boss, would not allow it either. So Birch bit his tongue (quite literally) and accepted Rork into his sad, saddening life. Kallie saw this turn in Birch’s chronic mood, and felt sympathetic, though not quite sorry. Is there anything I can do? she asked meekly. No…not anymore, said Birch, with resignation. I was watching them three feet from the ground, barely able to understand, but I imagine my throat swelling with angst. Could I have done something? So it was, that while Rork and I played outside, while Kallie was out of town (presumably), Birch left. He took very little, and it was hard to tell if his life was one of those things he brought into his new existence. My next, fading memory viewed Kallie not sad at all, but eyes fixed while we were vacationing on a cool beach, eyes glazed so the horizon blurred into a wave—a wave that would carry us all away. Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere really really far away, she asked. I don’t know…I don’t know.

Rork threw a rock once. It struck me as it struck the tree, how hard he threw it. Rork was full of anger. Not the latent, self-loathing anger, but a very precise, maleficent attitude towards the living. The way he rejoiced at watching things decay…life is but the hell in which dead spirits are punished with, he once said. We must suffer so we can laugh when we see suffering. But he was surprisingly gentle in action, despite the things he said. He once asked me if I loved him. Like a brother, I said. Like Remus and Romulus? he asked. Yes, precisely, I replied. And we both laughed.

It became increasingly clear that something was going wrong, beyond the white picket fence where we inhabited. That other people saw us with minds slightly alien to ours. That the door into our house was uncanny. And the bedroom lights flickered when dogs walked by. Strange, was how people, homo sapiens, called the plot called 436 Ramsey St., the one with the white picket fence. How strange, how…different…But how all this was somehow wrong, and not simply different, came about in a somewhat peculiar manner. It involved bubbles. Blowing bubbles down the street, Adaline was humming too, with a couple of her school friends. I came up to her and told her I thought her dress was pretty. She stopped and blushed and smiled, but did not say a word. What are you up to? I ventured, but she lowered her eyes and began slipping away. Her friends did not see me, and I said: all bubbles pop eventually. (And yes indeed they do.)

We ended up bringing in some of the flowers, washing the dirt out and setting them onto the kitchen table, as Kallie had asked. Should we put them in a vase, or something? I asked. But Kallie was busy preparing dinner, and Rork had disappeared. The sun felt cold and gold, coming through the window. I waited there for several minutes, listening to footsteps, quick taps on the floor, an unsustainable rhythm.

There was the sound of bicycle gears turning outside. And a vague light, shining through the blinds, hitting me as I lay in bed. Sneaking outside, I saw Adaline, picking flowers. They’re evil, I said. So? she replied. Do you think I’m crazy? No. She held up a lonely rose. It’s beautiful, she said dreamily. The sun was going down, and the day worn out like an empty groan. Her eyes were deeply brown, and I could see that we loved each other. It was simple. There was a sheer impossibility to it that made me swoon. I reached out my hand; she took it. It felt soft, and wet with sweat. Nothing works out, she said. I know. The moon was in view, and I felt it pulling the tides in. My heart—

Then (days later) Rork went outside the fence, and screamed. Or rather he flew—flapping his arms, dancing with some sickening, incomprehensible purpose. With inexhaustible energy, to Kallie’s horrorstruck face, Rork went…and I, imagining Adaline’s reaction, smiled. Then I could hear people angry; they, brimming with vengeance, crying out for sympathy. Rork knew, and he flew. Alea iacta est, he said. Yes, yes, of course. I could smell something sweet too.

They eventually stoned Rork in front of the city hall. They brought stones and pebbles from the nearby Yornberg Creek, and tied him to a tree. After he was bloodied and unconscious, they gutted him and left him there, more or less. It was a crimson fest, it was cathartic, nasty, brutish, and the entire neighborhood felt exalted. I was there too, I thought of taking a video, but my mind was on something else, so I forgot. I saw roses in the background, dancing, laughing.