Where The Earth Meets The Sky

Chapter 3- Calix's POV

  I put the amber colored fire out, watching the smoke billow into nothing. My temples throb, and my throat feels swollen when I swallow. Liana had seen me past the Borders. I had worried she had come to confront me, but instead she had acted like I had walked in on her. I replay our conversation in my head, going over every last intricate detail, but I don’t find anything that worries me too much.

  I stand up, wiping my palms on my old worn jeans, rubbing off gray ash from the fire.

  I hear voices coming from inside my shack, and for a minute I contemplate sleeping outside under the stars. The cold wind pushes the notion out of my head completely.

  I walk up to the shack, my hand resting limply against the handle. The door sticks when I try to open it, so I pull harder and it comes flying back, hitting me in the jaw. I cringe, but no sound escapes my mouth. Mama is slouching in her old rocking chair in the corner, a pair of knitting needles laying askew in her lap. She looks peaceful, the wrinkles vanishing from her peaceful face as she sleeps. Papa sits at our small mahogany table, a deck of cards scattered in front of him. He looks at me, his eyes beady and black. I step in, shoving the door closed with the heels of my hands. Papa grumbles something about me disrupting his concentration. I mumble an apologie and walk across the room to Mama, picking her knitting needles up off of her lap, laying them on a small rotting table sitting near the hearth.

  I walk to my room, the one I share with my two younger brothers. Marcus and Bruin. Marcus is fourteen, and Bruin is the youngest at age seven. I look at their wide eyes as I walk in. They sigh a sigh of relief when they see I’m not Papa. They fear Papa. I don’t. I knew him when he was good. I try to imagine that Papa every time his worn leather belt flashes before me. Bruin scoots toward me, his tattered blanket wrapped around his bony shoulders.

  “Papa didn’t use his belt tonight Calix, Mama stood up to him, she threw it into the wood stove,” He says.

  A small smile curves my lips at the image forming in my head.

  “Yeah,” Marcus says, coming to join us.

  “I hope you both know that isn’t going to change anything,” I say, leaning back against the wall, stretching my legs out in front of me.

  Marcus huffs out a breath, slapping my bicep with the back of his hand.

  “Stop being so pessimistic! Mama can handle Papa, and so can we. He’ll get better.”

  I rub my tired eyes, smiling at Marcus’s certainty.

  The boys watch me, and take my silence as a signal. They leave my side, and go curl up on their mattresses. I’m not tired, I just want time to myself since my time in the woods was cut short. I listen to Marcus’s and Bruin’s shallow breathing, watching the moonlight trickle in through the dusty windowpane. It’s a full moon tonight. Round and full, pale and beautiful. I imagine gliding across its surface, my feet skimming the untouched terrain, giving it life. I know it’s silly, but a man can dream right? I think of my many dreams, compiling a list in my head. I believe dreams are important. They give us a meaning, and a reason to go on. They prove our strengths and show our limits.

  My head rests against our wooden wall, listening to the noises around the shack. My brothers’ snores, mama’s creaking rocking chair, Papa’s grumbles, the wind whistling through cracks by the windows. I silently whistle their tune, my lips pursed. I’ve never been able to whistle. It’s quite embarrassing actually. I just blow air through my lips, not picking up a tune. I feel the tune though. Sometimes I feel it in my hands, other times I feel it while tapping my foot.

  I let the whistling push me into a slumber, my head lolling to the side.

  I wake with a start, my head bashing into the wall. I groan, placing my head in my hands. First the door, now the wall, I think my shack has it out for me. I push myself into a kneeling position, then stumble to my feet. Bruin is still lying face first atop his mattress, his feet dangling over the edge. I smile, remembering how small his feet were when he was first born, smaller than my hand, shorter than my thumb. His skin had been smooth and new.

  I shake my head. Dwelling in the past is dangerous, because if you aren’t careful, you may be forced to relive all the hardships.

  Bruin’s foot twitches, his toes touching my hand. He mumbles something into the mattress, and I laugh, smacking his foot with my fingers playfully.

  “How long have you been awake?” I ask, grinning.

  “About five minutes,” He says turning to face me. His eyes are swollen with sleep, his hair sticking up in every direction. He tries to pat it down, but it flicks right back into place. I break out laughing, watching his struggle. I laugh so hard my ribs hurt. Bruin has started to laugh too, his hair forgotten.

  “Are you going there today?” He asks me quietly, his voice barely a whisper. And even though he doesn’t directly ask specifically where, I know he means the woods, out beyond the Border.

  I shrug, acting like it’s nothing.

  “I’m not sure. I was caught yesterday.”

  Bruin’s mouth falls open, his eyes as big and round as saucers.

  “It was only Liana,” I say, shrugging again.

  I hear a laugh from behind me, and see that Marcus is standing there, his arms folded over his chest.

  “You’re lucky I’m not Papa. Liana saw you out there? The whole village might as well have seen you at that point. Wait… that means she was out there. Did you tell her Papa about seeing her?”

  I shake my head, remembering her anger last night.

  “Her brother did. He must’ve followed her.”

  Bruin nods, but Marcus shrugs like this is all below him.

  “Breakfast will be ready in five minutes. Mama wants you to set the table Bruin,” Marcus orders, then he turns his gaze to me, but I already know what he’s going to say. I hear it often enough.

  “There isn’t enough for you. Papa says you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”