Chapter Two

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Aurora stood at the top of the stairs. Her red housecoat belt was pulled tight across her waist, the long billowy arms flowing down like wings when she rested her palms on the railing.

Ethan brushed the flakes of snow out of his hair. He’d gotten off the bus three stops early and walked the rest of the way home in an attempt to sober up. His earbuds for his iPhone still dangled around his neck, an echo of music behind him. 

“Morning, Rory. What’s the news?”

“Nothing. But I’m up, and you’re up, so we should have tea.”

Ethan stomped up the stairs, shuddering as he did. Tea sounded nice, but so did sleep. Exhaustion made him easily susceptible to suggestion, though, and since he was off work the next day, he allowed himself to be led to Aurora’s place. 

The small apartment where Ethan had lived for the past two years was nothing special. One bedroom, one bath, running water with good pressure, and heat that was included in the rent. Most people who lived in the building were retirees or on disability, never leaving their place because the elevator at the back of the building was always in disrepair. The apartments were like tombs, sealed off with forgotten lives. Aurora was like that, or at least, Ethan thought as much at first. When he’d first run into her in the laundry room outside her apartment, he’d thought he’d walked into a Dickens novel. The red housecoat was like Mrs. Havisham’s wedding dress—overwhelming and always on. Long gray hair flowed to her navel and varicose veins marked her legs. She’d recited an Emily Dickinson poem instead of a greeting.

As creepy as it was, Ethan grew to like her afterward. He did his laundry at six in the morning so he could hear her meditation tapes and smell her incense mixed with witch hazel. Eventually, she’d invited him inside for tea. And tea soon became fortune telling.

Aurora’s apartment was filled with books on divination, the Tarot, I Ching, and Carl Jung. She’d told him she used to be a fortune teller and travel from city to city when circuses were common. This was an obvious lie or embellishment, but Ethan had found old brochures from a casino where she used to perform during the 1980s. Now she lived alone, read a dozen books a week, and fed a dozen or more stray cats.

“Please sit wherever you want, dear,” she said. “What kind of tea can I make you?”

“Caffeine is fine. I’ll be tired enough to sleep afterward.”

Ethan sat in the armchair by the window. The purple drapes were tucked to the side, allowing the light to spill through. A small fishhook-shaped crack marked the edge of the windowpane and spread out into a million more tiny fractures. The crack had always been there, but somehow never made this chair colder than all the others in the room. 

Aurora returned in a moment with two large black mugs filled with tea. Small petals mixed with the black leaves from the tea ball, sticking to the outer edges. Aurora’s gray hair spilled over her shoulders as she took the seat across from Ethan. 

“You’re tired,” she said.

“Always am. End of my shift.”

“And there is no way to work during the daylight and save yourself the hurt?”

“I prefer the night. You know this. How else would I get to have tea with you? I’m not a morning person, so really, this is my treat before bed.”

“And I endeavour to make it a treat. So tell me: new experiences in your life?”

Ethan chuckled. He pressed the teacup to his mouth, sipping too much too soon. Each time he blinked, the lights from before imprinted on his lids. He wondered if there was anything in her occult books to explain what he’d seen. Was it a contained borealis? Something sinister? Or maybe he was low on B12 and the lights were a hallucination, something her holistic medicine books could fix.

“Nothing new going on.”

“I’m not your mother. You can tell me all the salacious details.”

“That’s true. It’s good you’re not my mother, though, because I wouldn’t have even stepped in this apartment at all.” Ethan sighed. He liked Aurora. But like most acquaintances, he was never sure how much to divulge to her about his past. When she’d first called him sweetheart, he’d been worried she read him as a woman. But everything else she said, referring to him as a son, as a young man, confirmed Ethan’s hopes. He passed here, and maybe she understood. Early in their conversations, she’d brought up the Roman Janus myth of the two-headed figure, and then spoken about Tiersias, the man who changed himself into a woman for seven years, as if gender changes were a secret code. No one ever brought up mythical sex changes—or the phoenix—unless they inconspicuously wanted to tell him they approved of his life choices. But Aurora was strange enough in her own life; she could have been telling stories, since she told him as much about Atlas the Titan and Orion the sky hunter in those first few visits.

“I’m fine, Rory. Thank you for asking. But I’m off tomorrow for work, which means I plan on sleeping in. Frannie’s invited me to a party, too, so maybe I can go.”

“You should. And I should also stop lecturing you. You’re different than me, and I need to realize that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I went on adventures in my twenties. Couldn’t sit still. But you’re happy sitting still.”

Ethan chuckled. “Because I have your stories. So tell me a good one.”

Aurora’s red lips parted into a smile. She took a long, extended drink of her tea before she began. It was always a gamble what kind of legend he’d get when he was here—about her family, her old life, her current life, or the made-up nonsense from mythology. Ethan was glad when she told him about the DMV, of all places. She was getting her license renewed and had been there all day yesterday. Took her knitting. Took her Tarot cards. It wasn’t until she pulled out the cards and acted as fortune teller of the waiting room that she was finally able to see someone.

“And you’re good now?” Ethan asked. “All fit to drive?”

“Yes, yes. Driving is boring, but I can do it.” 

“Congrats.” Ethan lifted his mug so they could clink together. She gasped when she realized he was almost done with his drink. 

“Let me get my book. We need to see your future.”

She returned with a thinly bound, homemade book on tea leaves. Her father and grandfather used to work in India, she’d told him the first time this ritual began, where they had grown the leaves. Her interest in medicinal herbs and tinctures had stemmed from pragmatism first and foremost, and only later on had spilled into occult interests. Ethan swallowed the last gulp of his drink in order to make the last leaves more visible. Aurora put her hand over the mug, obscuring it for him as she read.

“So, what do you see?” Ethan asked after several prolonged moments.

“A bridge. Ah.” Aurora’s eyes flashed. “You are a conduit.”

“Oh yes. Whitman tells me I am electric.”

“This is serious. As a bridge, you are a connection to another world. It’s a coveted reading to receive. I knew you were special, Ethan.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. Aurora told him he was special more than his own mother did. And she didn’t even know—or comprehend—the half of it. Still, Ethan was tired of all the things that made him into a myth. Stories of Tiersias, the phoenix, even parables about a butterfly emerging from a cocoon after a long winter of doing nothing, were all ways of making his gender into a fantasy instead of something he felt every morning as he awoke.

“Oh so special,” Ethan said, not hiding the sarcasm.

Aurora looked at him with hurt, wounded eyes.

“Maybe you’re right,” Ethan eventually relented. “Maybe good things can come from being a connection to another world. But I like being boring.”

“Pish-posh. No one is boring. Not to the right person.”

“Sure. But when I’m in a crowd, I like being camouflaged.” Ethan touched the rim of the mug. “If I am special, though, can I see the future? Will I be able to do these readings all on my own one day?”

“Of course. Anyone can see the future if they know where to look. Maybe your skills are growing.” 

“And I can pick up some cash on the side?” Ethan peered into the mug. The dark tea leaves against the black mug were a void. How could Aurora see anything inside this? The flower petals were crushed, a deeper blue than before. But they were only faintly more visible than the leaves. Only when Ethan focused on those did the whole pattern come into view. The bridge was there but wasn’t the entire focus. 

“Oh.”

“What do you see, dear?”

“A boat.” Ethan held the mug under the light. The tea leaves glowed, almost waxy. “A whale.”

“Interesting. I don’t know much about the water. I’ll look it up for you.”

Ethan set his mug on the coffee table. Aurora hadn’t drunk much from hers at all, certainly not enough to read. She focused on the handmade book of tea fortunes, illuminating what boat patterns meant in the grand scheme of the world. To no surprise, it was yet another way of saying the same thing: he was special, a conduit, and his future was adventurous. Aurora went on, telling Ethan more about her own ancestry. Her grandfather, who also saw boats in his leaves, was from Quebec. He’d settled there in the middle of winter, without enough money to survive.

“They said he was going to die. And in the freezing winter, it was believable.”

“But?” Ethan asked.

“He defined his future. He read the leaves for others. He kept his house and the lights on inside. And so I’m here.”

When Aurora smiled, their conversation died as Ethan’s exhaustion pinned him to the chair. 

“You should go, my dear,” Aurora said. “The day has started for me, but you are done.”

“I am. Sorry, Rory. I wanted…”

“Shhh. Shhh.” Aurora stood and extended a hand to Ethan. She led him through her apartment, avoiding the kitchen as she did. Ethan wasn’t sure, but there were bones laid out against the counter. Chicken or similar fowl, maybe used for telling time. 

“You know it’s spring now?” Ethan said.

“I do. The equinox will be in three days. But you’re tired.” Aurora held his arms when they got to the doorway. “You can make it down the hall. Just another door. Then, I’ll see you around. Promise me you’ll keep me in your thoughts?”

“I will,” he said. “Promise.”

*

A day off meant he slept. Ethan stripped down to his boxer briefs and sports bra which was two sizes too small. Elastic lines embedded into his skin, criss-crossing him with hopeful neglect. Maybe one day, my breasts really will atrophy and fall off. He added a few shots of rum to a can of Coke from his fridge in order to help him sleep without dreaming. His fingers still smelled like patchouli and witch hazel from Aurora’s place.

You are special.

He laughed as he slipped under the covers. When his foot stuck out from under the blanket, another triangle shape on his body became visible. On the base of his foot, over the slender bones of his ankle, was another birthmark like the one on his chest. He held up his wrist and eyed the strange line and dots he’d found earlier. The mark was less visible when he wasn’t rubbing it constantly. But the mark was there, faint and wraithlike. How long had it been there? What did it mean?

You are a conduit. A bridge, a border between worlds.

Aurora’s words had been bittersweet to hear. They were ridiculous, but he stared at the valleys and ridges of his body and wondered. Maybe they were also necessary, and much needed. A call from his sister Leslie broke up his thoughts and pinned him down to the daily world. He declined the call. A message cropped up in his inbox moments before sleep finally took him.

When Francesca called six hours later, Ethan was half awake. She’d left a message, which meant he’d have to unlock his sister’s sudden interest in his life if he wanted to retrieve it. He dialed her from under the covers instead. 

“What?”

“Good morning, starshine,” Francesca said. “Err, I mean afternoon. How’s it going?”

“I’ve lost an hour of my life,” he said. Springing forward meant work was over sooner, but his sleep was going to be perpetually catching up for the next week.

“You’ll get it back,” she said nonchalantly. “Come out with me tonight. There’s a party at someone’s lake house. They’re cleaning it up before spring really begins and having a few close people over.”

“Close friends, huh? So they’re expecting us?”

“They’re expecting Lila and Tiff, the other girls in my book club. So a couple more ain’t gonna hurt. Come with me?” 

Ethan was awake now. Sleep clung to his body, along with the sickly sweet taste of rum and Coke on his breath. The glass jar where he kept his tips, found money, and other odd cash he’d picked up stared back at him from the windowsill, light cascading off it. He fought the urge to check his wrist again. “I don’t know if I can, Frannie. Can’t afford it.”

Francesca huffed. “Money is important. I get that. But I will not always wait for you. You have to come out once in a while.”

“You sound like my neighbour.” Sadness overwhelmed Ethan. He’d meant the remarks to become a joke but was serious. If he was a conduit, what good was he by himself? He closed his eyes and watched his small life recede in the distance and fall back into focus. The mark was still on his wrist, taunting him.

Francesca was already listing off ways he could still come to the party and save cash. Extra shifts he could take. But he was already convinced.

“Sure, I’ll go. But I’m not taking the bus.”