The Gold Mine, 2012-2013

as it could have been the need to repair and replace strings, the memories of Tanith— sneaking alcohol to the conclave of trees, messing around the arcade and at home playing video games, staring out at the pond in the park where the water and fauna just disappear into the horizon—seem to fuel every part of this scene except for the car itself.

One memory pushed him more than the others. It was the first time his stepdad had hit his mother in a week, and he threatened Martin with even more physical injury if he said anything to the cops. Martin snuck out around evening time to Tanith’s house, chucking pebbles futilely at her window before realizing it was 2004, a time when he could easily text her to the conclave. They met there, Tanith carrying a half-consumed bottle of her grandfather’s gin and Martin coiled next to a juryrigged fire. Martin, finally finding what he felt was a safe haven, poured out the story about the abuse he’d lived with for virtually his whole life and the inability to escape it for one reason or another. He felt trapped, repressed, depressed about trying not to bring shame to himself or the family, but he felt Tanith was about as safe a haven as he could afford. The entire time, Tanith held on to him, arm draped over his shoulders, trying her best to console him—and succeeding. They shared a quick look, but quickly averted their gazes so as not to go too deeply down the wrong rabbit hole.

They just sat there and lived in the moment.

Martin came back to reality as he finds the driveway of the house, his mother’s car still parked slightly askew in the left side. A feeling rushed through him, like all the abuse and imbibed alcohol from high school resurfaced in him, and welled up in his person in the form of almost paralyzing fear that makes him forget to take the car off of neutral. He finally got his bearings together enough to park the car, get out of it, and remember the house in front him was no longer the desert he encountered before. At that moment, it was a promised land.

Martin’s mom had greeted him with open arms, welcoming him and his company back home. He reacquainted himself with the surroundings, settling into his room like he hadn’t left nine years ago and making his way around the kitchen like he still had a secret stash of gummy bears in the snack cabinet. He told his mom 74