J.R. Night is a recent graduate from The University of Maryland with a degree in English Language & Literature. Stories have always come out of J.R. whether he’s liked them to or not, and this quality seems like it’s here to stay.
It came about from fear: a fear almost everyone can relate to. Castle is about two girls wary of what their futures will mean for their friendship.
Castle
“You’re being ridiculous,” said Clarissa, thrusting out her arms for balance, “like, actually, ridiculous–it’s just one party.”
Hayette felt something like pop-rocks surge up from her stomach. Air blasted from her nostrils; violent winds that could’ve wiped out their friendship blew past her lips. The clouds had just started to clear. The sun was overhead.
“It’s not just–” started Hayette after a moment.
“Jack will be there,” said Clarissa, flapping her hand in dismissal.
This time, the silence was noticed; Clarissa revolved to find Hayette leaning against the base of the branch, ankles crossed, arms folded expectantly. Her black hair was straightened and tied back in a neat ponytail; she wore a white blouse topped with a black bow. Up in this tree, where Clarissa stood careless in ill-fitting jeans and an ancient t-shirt spotted with paint, Hayette sat rigid and proper.
“Sorry,” said Clarissa, “It’s just that we don’t talk to him anymore, and it’s all you’ve been talking about for the past year–literally, all year.”
“I didn’t know we were keeping a transcript of our conversations,” said Hayette. “Noted.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
Without thinking, Hayette shot back, “I’m sorry? That’s funny coming from the girl going to London for drama school.”
Suddenly Hayette clasped the sides of the branch she sat on; Clarissa had lost her balance and crouched against the branch for aid. Once Hayette saw her friend had recovered, she reassumed her irritable air. Clarissa pretended to examine a leaf.
For some time now they had acted as though their futures did not exist; that once the school year would end, they would simply have an additional senior year. But of course, each knew this was not the case. Come spring, their blue and green school colors would be tossed into the air and would become to the reds, oranges, and browns of autumn in their respective campuses.
“Jack is going to Stanford,” said Clarissa, after a while. “Did you know that?”
“No,” Hayette lied.
“I overheard him in class. It’s funny considering he always wanted to do something with animals. Now it’s all business school. Mrs. Tabesta would’ve never allowed him to go if he didn’t get that soccer scholarship.”
Soccer. Even now the mention still rankled Hayette: how one extracurricular activity could undo years of friendship. Clarissa did not think it was soccer. She insisted that people’s priorities “shift”, and Jack’s personality had been too attractive for people to ignore. Months later, when Hayette ventured to bring up Jack’s disappearance with Jack himself, her question had been received with genuine confusion, a punch of the shoulder, his wry smile. She had always been a little in love with him. And as she watched his girlfriend with the painfully kind eyes, she felt, for the first time in her blessed, young life, heartache. She was convinced it was the soccer.
“Crazy how we used to play for years here. What was that game we used to play, the one where the ground was lava….?” Clarissa looked at her, knowing the answer but needing Hayette to finish the thought.
“Castle?”
Clarissa chuckled. “Do you remember when Jack broke his arm?”
Hayette nodded and added in a small voice, “and the bees….”
“And when we used to pretend we were dangling–”
“–and Jack and I would grab your arm pretending that you were going to fall–”
“Oh my gosh!” laughed Clarissa. “That was so dangerous! I can’t believe our parents just let us go out and do that stuff. There’s no way I’m going to do that with my kids.”
There was a pause: another crack in their no-future pact.
Hayette felt a vague pain in her heart, of longing, and strange because of Clarissa’s proximity. Clarissa was clawing out some sap from a branch, sending sporadic vibrations throughout the tree. It reached Hayette and she noticed the sheer strength of the branch on which she sat. Her eyes trailed outwards, watching the branch grow narrower, weaker until it bent ever so slightly, right under Clarissa.
The pain propelled Hayette up, and as she walked along the branch to where Clarissa was, she felt their illusion crack again. Their tattered little picture, pact, whatever it was, was done. She halted when she remembered the branch’s precariousness. The silence coupled with the creak of the strained branch prompted Clarissa to turn to her in alarm.
“One last time,” breathed Hayette. “Castle.”
Clarissa stared at her, and then smiled.
At that moment there was a whistling sound; the sky went scarlet, the earth shook. And a mass, a large, monstrous mass of dripping lava came streaking across the air and with a stomach-churning blast collided with the ground. At once the ground below began to divide into cracks. Magma oozed out, devouring everything in sight until all that churned below was an ocean of swilling and flashing fire.
“Run!” screamed Clarissa.
Hayette thrust out her arms like Clarissa had, and together they sprinted to the base of the branch. Hayette slammed into the trunk and jumped to catch the closest arm. Her own arms resisted the sudden force, slackened by years of pencil scribbling and computer tapping, but muscle memory is a peculiar force, and in reawakening, she found herself swinging and climbing as she had all those years previous.
Then she saw Jack, really saw him. He stood there in his school uniform, a couple of yards away paying no mind to the lava flowing and spewing around him. His lips curved to make his wry smile. Hayette looked up to Clarissa who was climbing higher and higher, out of sight. Clarissa could not see that Jack was here. Hayette spun back to Jack; he was still smiling at her. Clarissa called down to Hayette, dangling in mock-danger. Hayette spun back to Jack; he was still smiling at her. She felt the arm she was using to hold herself up guiltily slacken.
A new strength, not unlike the one where she first took hold of the branch and started climbing, seized her. It was not the soccer. It was him.
Hayette turned away, stabbed her foot into the bark, and answered Clarissa’s distant call then and for years to come.
J.R. Night can be reached via email.