Only Human

The heat lingered that night long after sunset. The mosquitoes were out, buzzing around our heads as Andrea and I made our way down to the vacant lot by the pond, rows and rows of cattails scratching at our bare legs. There was music in the distance, the base line pounding out over the swampy fields.

Someone had strung some old Christmas lights up in the scraggly trees. The light filtered down, through clouded plastic, sketching little rainbows on the weeds below.

And the wind. It blew all around us, hard and cool, teasing our skirts up around our knees, causing us to shiver and giggle each time a gust caught our hair.

Something, it whispered. Something is going to happen.
I didn’t bother to listen back then, to things as inconsequential as the wind. It just blew over in our eyes, mussed up our hair and left. That was all.

I wish I had listened. I wish I had known how to listen.

But I suppose it doesn’t matter now.

What’s done is done.

So I ignored the sound of the wind, and followed Andrea through the mud, swatting at mosquitoes, straining to hear the music of the party down by the pond. Finally, we could make out the shapes in the dusk. Shallow shadows dancing, drinking, kissing, breathing. Their laughs and soft screams reached up into our ears, pulling us towards them, like little clothes moths to a lantern.

Suddenly, I felt hands on my waist, breath on my neck. Turning my head upwards, I saw my boyfriend Jason’s face for a brief second before he kissed me. I brushed a mosquito off of his neck with my spare hand, breaking the kiss.

“Leyna,” he said, shoving a half-empty Dixie cup at me, “you came.”

“Of course I did,” I laughed.

He kissed me again. From the corner of my eye, I saw Andrea giggle nervously and slink away towards the pond. He draped his arms over my shoulders, his hands resting on my back.

“Who’s DJing?” I asked, looking over my shoulder towards the black shape that was the stereo, my neck cracking as he tightened his hold.

“I dunno. They’re doing a shit job. I’m going to go teach them a thing or two about music.” Jason screwed up his nose and tossed his bangs out of his face. “One second, Babe. Don’t go anywhere.”

He stomped off towards the rest of the party, leaving me standing there in the mud, Dixie cup in hand. The wind curled around me and I shivered, bringing the cup to my lips. The liquid was strong and sweet. I felt myself gag a little before downing the rest of it.

The music swelled and changed then. I could hear Jason arguing with someone over by the stereo as darkening shapes spun in circles around me. The low, resounding bass, the crickets, the wind. My eyes wandered the crowd, resting on a hunched figure sitting on a faded picnic bench at the edge of the water, head in hands. Suddenly, the figure turned, making eye contact with me.

A flash of gray derision, green hatred, shining condescension.

Hunter.

A pang of curiosity, of dislike, of remorse shot through me, then, starting at my muddy feet and working its way up. And suddenly, I was walking, pushing couples and friends apart as I made my way to the pond.

Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was the music, echoing out over the swampland. Maybe it was the wind sweeping its way overhead through the heat-cracked trees.

But I was walking and that was all that mattered.

Hunter’s head was buried in his hands again by the time I had reached the bench.

“I’m sorry,” I said, hugging my arms to my chest. He didn’t move.

“I said I’m sorry. For whatever I did. You seemed… mad.”

He raised his head then, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Don’t be sorry.” His voice was cold and final, as if he wanted me to walk away so he could just melt back into the dusky pond bank, nothing but a shadow.

Something in me wouldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t let him retreat like that.

“But–“ I managed before he interrupted me.

“It’s not you. Well it is you. But not you personally, per se.”

“I don’t understand.”
Hunter shook his head, resting his elbows on his knees, a signal for me to leave.

I didn’t.

Instead, I eased myself down beside him on the bench. We sat in silence, watching the party unfold before us, like an old black and white film, the wind ripping like pixilated static through the trees. I could make out Jason’s bulky frame through the thickening darkness as he stumbled among the partygoers, looking for me, no doubt.

Actors and their lowly stunt doubles working through take after take.

“Look at them.” Hunter spoke suddenly, disgust and resentment leaking into his voice. His words flung me back into reality, the moment when the theater lights flash on and the audience begins to move in their chairs.

“At who?” I asked, confused, “at what?”

“At them all of them. The people.” He sighed, shifting his weight from elbow to elbow.

“Look how they are all stumble around, so caught up in themselves. They don’t care about a higher meaning, a purpose. No, they all live “in the now,” or so they say. That’s all it is, History repeating itself over and over again.”

Hunter’s words wrapped themselves around my mind, twisting, fighting to get in.

I resisted.

“I don’t think I understand,” I said, shaking my head, giggling nervously.

Hunter furrowed his brow, a cloud of darkness passing over his face so that I could no longer make out the cold flash of his eyes.

“I hate them all, you know. I hate people.”

I barely managed to hold back a gasp.

“But you are a person.”

“Yes,” he replied, “unfortunately.”

“So–so does that mean you hate yourself?” I forced the words out, regretting them the second they reached my ears. They sounded so ignorant, so inconsiderate.

“Yes,” Hunter said slowly, “That means I hate myself for being one.”

We stared at the party in silence for a little longer. Dusk was setting in and the shadows were disappearing, leaving only darkness.

“I–I’m… sorry.” I managed after a few moments.

“It’s really not your fault,” he lowered his head into his hands once again.

Jason was calling my name by then, the two syllables slurred together. His eyes wandered past me and stopped, retracing their strained arcs. He smiled slightly, spotting me on the bench.

“Leyna!”

Hunter remained silent as Jason staggered over, a new, larger Dixie cup in his hand. I could smell its contents from where I was sitting.

Suddenly, Hunter spoke: “I really don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.”

“Telling her what?” Jason slurred, as he neared the bench, drunken defensiveness creeping into his voice.

Hunter ignored him and continued, staring me straight in the face, his words stone cold, “Really, I’m the one that should be sorry.”

His hunched body faded into the trees as Jason steered me away back towards the people, their bodies bending and folding into the night.