Phebe Jewell
Hemispheres
Sofia shivers through twelve months of winter in wool socks and sweaters while I bounce around the house in shorts and tees, my arms and feet scored by summer tanlines. She only leaves our bed to go to the bathroom or plod into the kitchen draped in a down comforter, warming her hands over the kettle. Most days I am out before it gets too hot, meeting friends for ice cream or a cold beer after a swim in the lake. I come home late from the beach, a damp towel on my shoulder, opening the door to a dark house - windows shuttered and locked.
I slip in bed beside Sofia and we touch each other like blind strangers traveling from far off seasons. Our fingers trace lips speaking words we don’t understand. Sofia drops ice cube adjectives into a never ending darkness; I open my mouth and chili pepper verbs fly out, rising to join the sun. Her sentences are weighed down by wet snow. My phrases are shaped by days without rain. My body is a beam of light, reaching for the sun. She is a fern, curled into her own darkness, not ready for the journey toward light.
One morning I pass Sofia in the hall and call her name. She cringes, as if my greeting will singe her hair and skin. I retreat to the garden, searching for words we planted years ago, words small enough to put in a pocket. Spare keys that neither freeze nor burn. Looking around our yard, neglected for months, I hesitate. Did we hide them under a rock, or in the corner that remains in shade?
Keys to the City
Marcus sees the couple first. They stand just inside the park entrance, taking in the blaze of red and orange leaves. Good thing Harry’s with him, sniffing for rabbits. The white couple will read him as just a man out early, walking his dog. Marcus wants to let Harry off his leash, but not with this couple walking through the park. Too unpredictable when spooked. He urges Harry toward the path to the red arched bridge. It’s early enough they might see a great blue heron.
The man and woman don’t mind the soft rain. They breathe in the moist air, the scent of evergreen. Their new city, just as they imagined. The man squeezes the woman’s hand as the path curves.
On the red bridge, Marcus scans the vista for herons. They blend in with the brush, so it’s hard to see them unless they take flight. His gaze lands on the woman and the man, and he raises a hand in greeting.
When the woman spots Marcus, she links her arm through her husband’s. She knows she shouldn’t be nervous. When her husband sees Marcus he slows, then waves back, and the woman lets out her breath.
Marcus asks if they would like him to take their picture. When he graduated high school his father insisted they take senior pictures here, with the red bridge as backdrop. Bridges symbolize connections between worlds, he tells them.
He takes three pictures, just to make sure. The woman smiles and asks if he comes here often. Every day before work, Marcus says. He suggests they follow the rocky path up along the waterfall to the highest point in the garden. With all the rain the stream should be full now.
Harry picks up his pace, hungry as they head home. Standing on his front porch, Marcus reaches in his pocket. Coins, a receipt, but no keys. Of course. On the kitchen counter. Again. Marcus hurries to the side of the house, kneeling as he lifts the rock hiding his spare key.
A police cruiser slows to a stop, flashing lights. Dammit. The cops flash the lights again, and a bullhorn orders him to stand still, hands up. Marcus freezes. Safer to stay on his knees than to turn and face them, telling him this is his home.
Years later the woman will hold a framed photograph in her hands. The first morning in their new city. The Japanese garden, gravel paths winding behind screens of maple and spruce. The sweet young man who took their picture.
Phebe Jewell's work appears in numerous journals, including Milk Candy Review, Your Impossible Voice, New World Writing, Bending Genres, Molotov Cocktail, SoFloPoJo, Reckon Review, and elsewhere. A teacher at Seattle Central College, she also volunteers for the Freedom Education Project Puget Sound, a nonprofit providing college courses for incarcerated women, trans-identified and gender nonconforming people in Washington State. Read her at https://phebejewellwrites.com.
