Kyle Muntz - Voices

All my life, never wanting to feed the birds. I’m no thrower of bread, not a shower of manna. I threw anyway. I wrote poetry no one understood. People came here to reclaim the old life. Old.

"Hey."

I looked up. Someone’s figure

blocked out

the sun. They were new. They were some fabulous, foreign

presence, blocking

(out)

the sun.

"Hey," as though I could speak, more than a sound, a syllable, an artifice. I wondered if this mystery understood language (and through it, if they understood the world). They weren’t gender, they weren’t memory and a cognoscente kind of feeling. I wondered how soon

that would change.

"What’s your name?"

"I’m not sure."

And there I was with a laughing mystery. Time and place, setting, flow and a direction in the light. Fine. I looked down, my shoe, I saw it, cracks in the pathway, trees in the distance, ants and anthills, bicycles- the bars still on them- taxi(the blinking lights!)’s, little kids and their parents, blankets, bedlam, fried chicken and a handsomely carved ham sandwich.

"Do you remember me?"

"Not really."

Good. You probably shouldn’t. We’ve never met.

I figured.

Good. "So what’s your name?"

I already told you.

Right.

He stepped out of the light. Already

he’d become less of a mystery. I wasn’t sure what that meant: graduation, accumulation, percolation of beating message; iron, iron, iron. I kicked over a cardboard box. A dog rolled over. Something moved in the trees.

You

want a camera? he asked.

If you offered me one, I’d take it.

I’m

offering. Then

I’ll

take it.

(something splintered in the backings.)…

I’ve

been hearing voices.

::::::::::::::::::::

"How did I do?" I asked.

Jacob shook his head, wiped a finger on his face. Disgusting. He smelled like urine and unripe cheese.

"You did okay," he said, "just…"

"Just what?"

"No one understands what you’re talking about," he said. "You just… I guess you need to be clearer, or something. And vomit isn’t poetic. Neither is sex.

Not like that."

"But I didn’t write about sex, or vomit."

"It seemed like you did."

"I thought you didn’t understand?"

"I understood enough.

"I don’t think you do," I said. And

he obviously

didn’t,

though

I don’t know why he thought

he

did.

::::::::::::::::::::

Where are you from?

I asked. We were in the alley again, if we’d ever left. Very few people walked past. The dust made us invisible.

I thought I already told you?

You weren’t telling the truth.

Veronica shook her head. Yeah, she said, you’re right, I

wasn’t.

Why not?

Because

I don’t like thinking about where I come from.

She

laughed, spread her legs

a little,

looked

at me and said,

The first thing

they tell you

when

you start out, just a scared

little girl, homeless

and alone, sitting there

with both legs crossed in front of you, feeling

worthless and vulnerable,

(knowing they’ll fuck

you soon, just to test you

out,

because they’ve got

hard, hungry dicks

and

lust to fill you with)

is that

you aren’t a person anymore; you aren’t a real girl, who smiles and makes people care, gives a look and

changes lives. With you

men can be animals again.

You don’t

cry late at night,

and you don’t care to be respected.

No one

respects an object, so try not

to feel anymore.

It’s easier that

way.

She looked up. She might

have been crying.

All I can do,” she said, is take their advice.”

::::::::::::::::::::

I saw James on the street. He looked the same as always, with his hat on backwards, clothes a few sizes too big. Seeing back, he waved. We went the same direction, with the flow of traffic, converging. The world had fingers. It reached out for us: grasping.

"Have you ever heard of the Chimera?" he asked.

"Like… is it a monster?" I said. "I know about monsters."

But he said it wasn’t, shaking his head. Amazement gave him expression, a new

kind of thinking, whereby his lips got thinner, and his eyes started to bulge. Walking carelessly, he’d run into three people since we’d met up. They turned angry, but he didn’t care. He lived in his own world, everywhere at once. It was a scary place, where he lived.

"I’m not really sure how true this is," he said.

"That’s fine."

"It’s this kid," James said. "I don’t know what he looks like, or if he even exists,

but I guess he can control time and space. You know, like a God, or something. Time and space." He raised a hand and made a fist, impressively. "Isn’t that awesome?" he said. "He’s like a superhero or something. No, not a superhero, even cooler. He’s that piece of the real that just shouldn’t be. He’s a new kind of ultimate."

"Think I’d be able to meet him?"

James stopped. "I don’t think he’s really the kind of guy you meet ." He paused. "He’s supposed to be like a myth, that’s what gives him his power. That’s not a system you fight. It’s dangerous."

"I know," I said, "but it’s fine, I’m a fighter."

"No you’re not."

"Yeah, you’re right, I’m not."

We walked silently. It’s never silent in the city, but we ignored the details. Here

was a den of advertisement, of inequity. I wanted a fine, fab-ulous cheeseburger. "If I was going to get in contact with him," I said, "how do you think I’d do it?" James took off his hat and wiped his forehead, obviously thinking I was insane.

"I dunno," he said. "I think you just do. If you want to meet him, he’ll know. He always knows. He’s the Chimera."

"When do you think it’ll happen?"

"When he wants it to."

Measuring footsteps, I supposed that made sense.

::::::::::::::::::::

I saw her in class. Ashley had presence. I asked her once if she knew she had presence and she said she did. It was something apart from what she was. She didn’t know it, and she had never known it, but she knew. Secret, a sacred kind of knowledge, I could barely even see it anymore.

"Do you have secrets?" I asked.

"Of course I do," she said.

(That’s good. I was just making sure.)

"You should tell me one," I said. "I’m good at keeping secrets.

She giggled. Maybe, on some level, she might have trusted me.

"Meet me after class," she said.

"Where?" I asked.

"You know where."

And I realized I did, though sometimes knowledge is hard to explain.

:::::::::::::::::::: I

I met her

there after class, but of course she wasn’t alone. Ashley was never alone, because everyone is always thinking of her. I met her there, not alone; she made me her keeper of secrets. There were two of her, and she was in love with herself. She looked gorgeous, and she looked gorgeous together. She touched, keeping secrets, here where the teachers never came, where secrets kept.

I saw her there, touching

with herself. I couldn’t tell. With Ashley you can never tell. She kept her own secrets, by being so beautiful, by staying her own. Maybe, just maybe, she might have been real. She didn’t

feel lust, she didn’t feel hurt or forsaken. In hiding, she hid, to play games with belief, to play games, not a real secret at all. If she’d been less than herself, I might have

cared. II

I met

her there. It wasn’t an issue of time or place, but maybe I could make it one.