TEETH

William Jokela ‘21

If you went to the pier on the east shore of Margot, you could see the lights from the unknown city. They rested in the haze but bobbed gently like in water — untethered buoys, fireflies, he couldn’t remember what he thought of. They didn’t really move though, not like Margot’s lights. It was just a trick of the eye. The lights in Margot were fish, glowing fish in water jars. The wives prepared the jars, the husbands caught the fish, and the children put them in every room and every window and fed them. Margot was built on a hill. There were three strata to the town. The docks below, the apartment sprawl at the center, and the house at the top. The pier was for fishing. There weren’t any boats. The lights in the haze were stars. You didn’t leave Margot. On the island, it rained freshwater — in the city, it rained salt.

TEETH, LEFT IN THE ARM OF MARGOT

Keir didn’t have a light in his window.

“I’m going to the market,” his brother said.

“Get eggs.”

“We have eggs.”

“I ate them.”

“Then you get eggs.”

“I’m not going to the market.”

“I don’t eat eggs.”

“Then I’ll go to the market.”

“I’m going to the market.”

“Then get eggs.”

“No.”

“Then I’m going.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be back.”

“Tell Frogman I say hello.”

“I will.”

“Hello.”

Keir put on his jacket and closed the door. His brother sat down at the window and rolled a cigarette. Their mother passed away during childbirth. A shard of bone grew from his skull — broke through right where his hair started on the top right side of his head. He lit his cigarette. Keir came back through the door. His brother jumped up and held the cigarette behind his back.

“Back so soon? Did you tell Frogman I said hello?”

“I forgot the teeth. Why does it smell like smoke? Are you smoking? Have you been smoking?”

“Of course not!”

“I believe you.”

The brothers stared at each other. They stared.

“Where are the teeth?” Keir asked. His brother took one hand from behind his back and spit out four teeth and held them out. Keir stepped forward and took them from his brother.

“Thank you. I’ll be back soon.”

“Tell Frogman I say hello.”

“I will.”

Keir went back out the door. His brother kept still and counted to ten, then sat back down. He yelped and dropped the cigarette on the sill. It had burned all the way down. He brought his face down to his wasted smoke. He put the tobacco ash on his tongue.

Keir’s brother whispered, “Hello.”

Keir stepped out on the slanted street and walked to his bicycle. It often went missing, but that day, it was where he had left it, right in front of his apartment building. It was green and dripping with water and had seaweed hanging from its spokes. Keir wiped down the seat and peddled as hard as he could to get up the steep, curving street to the market. He moved quite slowly. At the top, two children were playing, but stopped when they heard the bicycle wheels wheezing, striking every uneven stone step of the street. They watched Keir come around the bend, breathing heavily and sweating. It took him some minutes to reach them, and when he did, he jumped off his bicycle and grinned.

“Wonderful morning, isn’t it?”

The children stood there; one dropped the ball they were playing with and it bounced down the hill and around the bend.

“The sky is so wonderfully blue today! The sun is shining, and the smell is just… wonderful!

Don’t you just love the summer air?”

“I like it,” one of the children said.

“Great! Just great!”

He walked his bike to the market and grinned all the way.

Margot’s second layer was built with stone of every color. The stone was dyed with fish — their blood or ground-up scales or meat — and they produced the most striking pigmentation. All the roofs were topped with orange shingles. Vibrant houses lined the cobble streets. The docks were mostly gray. The house — was… At night, the fish lit up in the windows and the water. The unknown city shined its tired lights. When it rained, the house’s windows glowed. The people went outside to feel what it was like to be rained upon.

Keir guided his bicycle into the town square. White canvas tents were arranged, protecting fish and their sellers from the sun. Keir rested his bicycle against a post and walked to Frogman’s stand.

“Hello, Frogman.”

Frogman croaked.

“My brother says hello.”

Down the winding street and up to the apartment, his brother, still seated at the window, whispered.

William Jokela ’21 is now a tenth grader at Trinity. He developed his interest in creative writing at Allen-Stevenson and over the years, was guided by his English teachers: Mr. Haarmann, Mr. Fennelly, and Ms. Lukas

Morning Glare

Gregory Stone ‘19