A poem by Neil Stevens, Lux’s little brother who died by suicide July 13, 2018.
Our Memories Are
Like dancing waters in my soul
Like a diamond emerging from a coal
Like hope ere endless flames of pain
Like graceful dances in the rain
Like somber music played in C
Like a distant, alternate vision of me
Like a dream yet fading beyond the mind
Like colors seen by one once blind
Like a conflagration of all profound
Like the ringing of a precious sound
Like lies that tax and take their toll
Like dancing waters in my soul
The Wanted Ad
Being a candle is not easy; in order to give light, one must first burn. ~ Rumi
Underwater, the world doesn't feel like itself anymore. It becomes more like a gateway to another reality. It's an in-between place, water. Same with air. And dreams. They are all in-between places where so much possibility lives.
I often get my best flashes in the water. Some would call them premonitions, but they aren't nearly that defined. It's more of an impulse that has a slight tingle to it. The kind I've learned to listen to.
It's what lead me to turn right instead of left on my way home yesterday, which took me past a homeless person who I gave change to, who then gave me their newspaper as a thank you, which had a strange advertisement for a job, which resulted in a job interview today.
It read:
Assistant needed for unique firm.
Must be willing to work at night, travel, and live on site.
Strong stomach a perk.
Compensation generous. Will train.
If you're reading this, you're the person we're looking for.
It listed a number but no name. When I called, a woman answered the phone with a chipper, "The Night Firm, how may I direct your call?"
I told her I was calling about an ad in the newspaper for a job. She paused. Became very quiet for a moment, and then said, "Please hold," with less chipperness than before.
When she returned, her voice was nearly robotic. "Be at 333 Alley Lane at 10 p.m. tomorrow," she said, before promptly and unceremoniously hanging up on me!
I sat staring at my phone for several minutes, unsure of what just happened or what I should do.
A quick Google search for The Night Firm revealed only skin care creams and a questionable website that showed women bent over with minimal clothing. I instantly decided I wasn't going to go. It was stupid, possibly dangerous, and surely not worth it.
But then I set my phone down and wandered my two-bedroom apartment, with the secondhand mismatched furniture that smelled like cigarettes and body odor, the carpet that hailed from another epoch, and the couple above who I'm certain are professional dancers who also like to breathe loudly during sex, and I changed my mind. Rather, my flash changed my mind. I got the tingly feeling, and I knew I had to go.
So here I am, applying one more coat of mascara before heading out the door in a suit I can't afford and will be returning first thing tomorrow, in hopes of landing the most mysterious job ever.
How do you dress when you have no idea what the job is that you're applying for or anything about the company? I figured it would be better to be professionally overdressed than under, thus the blue Prada suit. The woman at the store insisted I wear it, despite my objection that the feather cuffs were a bit much. She assured me it was all the rage and I must confess I do look rather striking in it. My dark hair is pulled into a French twist and I accented my blue eyes with a charcoal powder. Red lips provide the finishing touch.
They can't possibly judge me for my choice of presentation when they didn't give me any hints as to what they are about.
With one last glance in the mirror and a fake smile that I hope looks sincere, confident and competent, I turn off the light in the bathroom and grab my well-worn leather bag as I head to the front door.
I don't open his door this time as I pass it, though I do run my hand over the knob briefly, even as my mind unpacks the memories stored there. Memories of before. Memories of us. Always us. "It's us against the world, Evie," he'd always say, his blue eyes, so alike to mine, peering straight into my soul in a way no one else could. My hand lingers a moment longer, then slips off, and I tuck