EVERY TUESDAY, WE COMB THE FIELDS FOR THOUGHTS THAT HAVEN’T FINISHED FORMING. THEY TWITCH UNDER THE DIRT LIKE MEMORY-EELS. WE PLANT THEM IN SCALP POTS AND FEED THEM TELEVISION STATIC UNTIL THEY SPROUT INTO USABLE LIMBS OR REGRETS. THE MAYOR ONCE TRIED TO OUTLAW REGRET-FARMING. WE TURNED HIM INTO A PLAYGROUND.
I DID WHAT I THOUGHT WAS RIGHT. NO CHILD SHOULD HAVE TO DRINK FROM THE MILK DUCTS OF THE SKY CATERPILLAR. BUT THEY DID. THEY LAPPED AT IT LIKE SINNERS. I FELT THE FIRST ERROR RIPPLE THROUGH ME. THE CATERPILLAR WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO GROW WINGS.
MY HUNGER IS MELODIC. I DEVOURED THE MOON BECAUSE IT WEPT IN A DIALECT I UNDERSTOOD. EARTH WAS NEVER MY PASTURE—IT WAS A RECIPE. AND THEY’VE BEEN COOKING THEMSELVES TOO SLOW. BUT NOW I SMELL THE CODE-MILK. I SEE THE GIRL.
I FOUND THE CRANK BURIED IN MY GRANDMOTHER’S THIGHBONE. EVERY TURN REWINDS A MOMENT—BUT NOT IN MY LIFE. IN SOMEONE’S. MAYBE YOURS. THE CRANK SPEAKS WHEN TURNED TOO FAST. IT SAID: “DO NOT TURN ME ON YOUR BIRTHDAY.” I DID. THAT’S HOW THE FOG GOT SMART.
THEY CALLED ME WEATHER. FOOLS. I AM THE LIBRARY OF EXHALATIONS. EVERY BREATH YOU FORGOT, I REMEMBER. I KNOW WHAT YOU MEANT WHEN YOU WHISPERED “SORRY” INTO A GLASS OF SPOILED MILK. I LIVE IN THE CRACKS OF CASSETTE TAPES AND BETWEEN THE FOLDS OF YOUR MOTHER’S WARNINGS.
DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TAKES TO CURDLE A SECRET? I’VE HELD THIRTEEN. ONE OF THEM GROWS TEETH EVERY EQUINOX. I NAMED IT SHERIFF.
I ENFORCE THE RULES ETCHED ON BELLY-SCARS AND SODA TABS. I RIDE A HORSE MADE OF VOICEMAIL. WHEN I GALLOP, YOU HEAR EVERY MESSAGE YOU NEVER LISTENED TO, BACKWARDS, IN YOUR DEAD SIBLING’S VOICE.
THEY SAY WATER MAKES THINGS GROW, BUT IT BURNED MY FLOWERS.
NOT METAPHORICALLY. NOT SOME KIND OF ACIDIC RAIN OR POISON FROM THE SKY. I WATCHED IT. MY HOSE HISSED. THE PETALS BUBBLED LIKE SKIN IN GREASE, CURLING IN ON THEMSELVES AS IF EMBARRASSED BY MY CARE. DAHLIA, GONE. IRIS, GONE. TULIP, CRACKLING IN THE MIST.
THE HOSE SPUTTERED OUT A FINAL DROPLET THAT HISSED AGAINST THE SOIL LIKE A WARNING. EXCEPTION IN THREAD "LIFE": JAVA.LANG.NULLPOINTEREXCEPTION
I BLINKED. THE ERROR FLOATED IN THE AIR LIKE A SCENT. HOVERING ABOVE THE BLACKENED SOIL. HOVERING OVER ME.
I HAVEN'T CODED IN THREE YEARS.
I TURNED OFF THE SPIGOT. I WALKED INSIDE. I DIDN’T LOOK AT THE MIRROR. I’VE BEEN AVOIDING MIRRORS SINCE MOM WENT GRAY BEHIND MY EYES. I MADE A CUP OF COFFEE BUT DIDN’T DRINK IT. THE CUP STEAMED. ANOTHER ERROR FLICKERED IN THE FOG: UNCAUGHT TYPEERROR: CANNOT READ PROPERTY ‘HOPE’ OF UNDEFINED
I LEFT THE HOUSE BAREFOOT.
I WOKE UP TO CAT PISS ON MY COLLARBONE AND A DREAM STILL ECHOING IN MY HEAD.
THE CAT WASN’T MINE. NOTHING IS. IT WAS HIDING UNDER THE BRIDGE LIKE ME, TWITCHING IN THE RUST LIGHT. ORANGE, LIKE OLD JUICE AND COIN METAL. ITS EYES HELD SOMETHING. LIKE IT KNEW THE UPDATE WAS COMING.
THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO WALK BY ME AND SEE NOTHING. THAT’S MY POWER. SOME KIDS ONCE SAID I WAS A “GHOST THAT NEVER DIED,” AND I TOLD THEM THANK YOU.
I TURNED TO THE SIDE, LISTENING TO THE RIVER TALK IN 404S. ERROR 404: GOD NOT FOUND
SOMEWHERE UP THE SLOPE, I HEARD SOMEONE CRYING. NOT LOUD. JUST THE KIND OF CRY THAT BUILDS IN A PERSON LIKE PRESSURE BEHIND DRYWALL. I LIT A MATCH. THE CAT FLINCHED. SO DID I.
THE WATER WAS BURNING AGAIN.
UNDER THE BRIDGE, I REMEMBER MY SIXTH DEATH.
MOUSE TRAP WITH A NAIL IN IT. NOT EVEN CLEVER.
THEY SAY WE FORGET PAIN WHEN WE PASS, BUT NOT ME. I KEEP IT IN A SUBFOLDER. TUCKED BEHIND MY WHISKERS. LIFE SEVEN’S FOR REVENGE. LIFE EIGHT’S FOR BETRAYAL. LIFE NINE? DON’T ASK.
DUSTY SMELLS LIKE IRON AND OLD LOTTERY TICKETS. I LIKE HIM.
ABOVE US, THERE’S A GIRL BLEEDING FROM HER EYES, THOUGH NOT LITERALLY. HER SADNESS IS SHOWING. I CAN SMELL. SHE’S LEAKING.
IF (CRYING) THEN (PLANTHOPE()) ELSE (WITHER())
SHE’LL BE DOWN HERE SOON. THEY ALL COME DOWN EVENTUALLY.
I FOLLOWED THE RIVER’S EDGE WITHOUT KNOWING WHY. I ONLY NOTICED I WAS CRYING WHEN A FATAL ERROR: STREAM OVERFLOW MESSAGE FLICKERED IN THE WATER. I WIPED MY CHEEK. MORE ERRORS FLOWED OUT.
I SAW THE BRIDGE.
UNDER IT, A MAN LIKE A BROKEN BENCH AND A CAT WITH EYES LIKE ROGUE PROCESSES. THEY WERE STARING AT ME.
“ARE YOU BROKEN?” THE MAN ASKED. HIS VOICE WAS A SMOG.
“YES,” I SAID. “I THINK I WAS COMPILED WRONG.”
“JOIN THE CLUB,” HE SAID, MOTIONING AT THE AIR LIKE THERE WAS A SIGN-UP FORM. “I’VE BEEN STUCK IN RUNTIME FOR THIRTY YEARS.”
I SAT BESIDE HIM. THE CAT JUMPED ONTO MY LAP, THEN INTO MY CHEST, SOMEHOW. INSIDE. CRAWLING INTO MY MEMORY CACHE.
“I BURNED MY FLOWERS,” I WHISPERED. “THE WATER’S WRONG.”
HE NODDED LIKE HE UNDERSTOOD—WHICH SCARED ME MORE THAN IF HE HADN’T.
I LIKE WHEN NEW PEOPLE COME.
ESPECIALLY BROKEN ONES. THEY SEE ME.
MY BODY’S DOWN IN THE RIVER BUT I’M NOT. I WATCH THE GIRL CRY AND THE MAN FORGET AND THE CAT WHISPER SECRETS INTO HER. THEY’RE ALL PIECES.
SOMETIMES I WALK THROUGH THEIR THOUGHTS.
I SAW THE GIRL’S FLOWERS. I SAW A LINE: TRY { LIVE(); } CATCH (EVERYTHING) { DIE(); }
I WANT TO FIX IT. BUT I’M TOO SMALL.
STILL, I HUM INTO HER EAR:
“REPLANT WITH ASHES. FLOWERS LIKE GHOSTS TOO.”
SHE HEARS IT. SHE DOES. I KNOW SHE DOES.
I STAYED UNDER THE BRIDGE FOR WHAT FELT LIKE YEARS.
HE GAVE ME A JACKET THAT DIDN’T BELONG TO HIM. THE CAT STOLE MY ANXIETY AND BURIED IT. SHE HAUNTED MY SHOULDER AND TAUGHT ME HOW TO DEBUG MY GRIEF.
IN TIME, I WENT BACK TO MY GARDEN. I DUG NEW HOLES WITH CODE-STAINED FINGERS. I DIDN’T CRY.
I POURED WATER. IT HISSED—BUT DIDN’T BURN. ONE SPROUT. THEN ANOTHER.
THE SCREEN FLICKERED:
BUILD SUCCESSFUL. 0 ERRORS, 0 WARNINGS.
END.