The blaring of my seven-thirty Friday morning alarm became more and more insistent by the second. I hid my face in my pillow, half hoping I might smother myself. It was hard to believe that I was rounding two weeks of art school. I glanced over at the assignments I’d composed for that morning’s class and felt slightly guilty that I’d drawn a few during art history the night before. The sketches reminded me that Harmony hadn’t shown up to art history. I wished they had, I wanted to ask about Friday, about what happened at Kennan’s party.

I stretched, found a pot of warm coffee from Sammy’s early routine, and poured myself a cup. Letting my feet wander, I came across a cute maxi skirt that I’d tried on and forgotten about the day before. So, I donned it. I strolled back to the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and sighed at the state of my hair. Ignoring it, I flipped through my phone until I landed on a bouncy beat. Mouthing the words and dancing along, I grabbed my toothbrush and tried to apply toothpaste to the end. Unfortunately, I squeezed just a little too hard and blasted it all over the counter and the toilet. Fuck.

At first, horror fell over my face. My mouth dropped open as I took in the mess. It was everywhere. There was even a streak across the wall that ended on the shower curtain.

Then I giggled a bit. Then I laughed. Then my chest started to shake, and I cackled deliriously, unable to stay standing. I sat down on the ground to recover, wiping my eyes as Lizzo told me I was one hundred percent that bitch.

Class started at eight thirty and it was eight thirty-eight as I rolled in. I tiptoed to the door and opened it slowly. As I snuck my head in, every single person was looking at me, absolutely silent. No one said anything. I looked around but the professor was nowhere to be seen. Rad. I wasn’t late if the professor wasn’t there yet, so I quickly grabbed my bag and finished my entrance. There was an empty seat and an easel in the corner of the room, so I put my stuff there and sat down.

On the easel in front of me was a crevasse. A winding chasm splintering into the distance with steep cliffs rising on either side. The canyon was parched almost all the way down, but muddy water trickled at the bottom as if a river might still flow on rainy days. The graphite marks were so fine it didn’t look like a drawing at first. I took out my phone to take a picture then got a bit closer to inspect the shading in the mud as I heard shuffling.

“That’s on the outskirts of the Grand Canyon. Havasupai Land.” Harmony said from behind me.

“Oh, hi. Harmony. Shit, I’m in your seat. Sorry. I was… It’s beautiful. Sorry, I’ll move.”

“You can stay.”

Harmony looked away just as I looked up. They took on a louder, more assertive tone.

“Alright class, I just got off the phone with Professor Vitelli. He will not be here for at least half an hour, and he said you can either stay and draw or go home, and that the next sketchbook assignment is on the syllabus. Don’t fall behind.” Harmony said.

The other students murmured to one another for a few seconds before they all packed up to go. A free Friday was hard to resist. Harmony stayed and answered questions about the homework as I watched Kennan wave at me and start to walk over. He had a particularly puffy purple jacket on. I started to pick up what I’d just put down five minutes earlier.

“What’s up Rachel?” Kennan said.

“Hey Kennan.”

“Pretty sweet to have class cancelled already, I think some people are going to the park right now. You should come! Oh, also, I’m not gonna throw another house show until I can deal with my neighbors. But you should come over for a kickback later, I know India wants to see Sammy again. But keep it on the DL, ‘cause I’m trying to lay low for a bit.” He explained, ending in a whisper.

“Alright, rad. Cool. Is John ok?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, he’s fine.” Kennan grinned broadly with his thin lips then walked around to Harmony who was still standing near me.

“Dude. Harmony, I can’t thank you enough. I can pay you back. I have no idea what to do with my neighbors now, but I know the bands really appreciated it. And you’re also welcome at the kickback tonight.” Harmony eyed Kennan slowly.

“Please don’t use masc terms for me. The kickback sounds fun though, thank you.”

“My bad du… er, friend. Sorry. I use dude gender-neutrally.” He tried.

 Harmony’s patient but nonplussed expression gave no ground. Kennan recovered quickly.

“But… I definitely get that it’s different. Got it.” He smiled awkwardly at the both of us and hitched up his backpack in discomfort. Then he waved and left. I watched him speed his pace a bit to catch the closing door and slip out.

“Does that happen a lot?” I asked, catching Harmony mouthing my words at the end.

“Every time.” They nodded.

“Does it bother you?” I asked. Harmony turned to look at me, as if they’d never been asked the question before.

“Um. No. Well, I should be more precise, I do not feel comfortable being referred to as dude, but it does not bother me that Kennan makes that mistake. He eventually listens, and he’s respectful about it. But now I’m curious. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I mean, I guess, I’ve never met anyone who was nonbinary before.”

“Perhaps you have, and you just didn’t know it.” Harmony said, looking unsatisfied.

“That’s true.”

“Which, I should add, is ok. It’s perfectly alright for enbies to pass as another gender for any number of reasons, including their own comfort or safety.”

“This is kind of new to me. Tumblr only does so much you know?”

“I wish I’d used it during the porn era, though I think it’s actually still a great resource.” Harmony said. I started blushing at my own embarrassment. Harmony noticed.

We were making eye contact.

“Wanna, like, get coffee or something? If not, it’s cool, or like if you have plans. Maybe I’ll see you tonight, if you go. If not, that’s cool too.” I asked, shriveling internally at my terrible sputtering.

Harmony took a deep breath and looked away. Every ounce of blood in my body rose to my face which seared in a fiery conflagration of humiliation. I wanted to fold into myself and vanish from existence.

I waited.

“Sure. Alright.” They finally answered. Exhaling as if they’d just held their breath too.

“What?” I said, the blood slowly returning to my brain.

“I presume you meant right now. Can we bring it back here so I can keep working?” Harmony asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“You can leave your stuff; I’ll lock the classroom.” Harmony said, grabbing their black hoodie.

“Rad.” I managed.

Harmony looked at me warmly. They pulled a hood over their bald head and weaved through the easels. I left my bag at the foot of their stool and followed them out of the studio.

“El Bosque ok?” Harmony asked

“I have, like, no idea what that is but lead the way.”

They led me out of the art building, onto the street, and towards a little cafe a few blocks away. We walked quickly, I had to jog a little to keep up. Harmony’s steps were so purposeful, uneven yet incredibly intuitive.

El Bosque had an urban exterior, but as soon as we stepped inside, the smell of jasmine and chai flooded my nostrils. It was dark at first; my eyes had to adjust to the dim yellow light. There was a paper mâché tree enveloping a bookcase in the corner stocked with board games. Ahead of us, the bar was made entirely of wood and looked as if it was held together by a series of leather wrappings. Harmony pointed to a seat by the entrance for me while they got in line. I sat down and took in my surroundings.

[drawing]ElBosque[/drawing]

Harmony ordered black coffee with nothing in it and got me a caramel latte without asking what I liked. I wanted to protest, but a caramel latte sounded pretty good. Pretty great, actually. We didn’t talk much as we waited, but occasionally Harmony would point to another customer and then mimic their posture or walk before quickly dropping the imitation in case they noticed. It was uncanny, and hilarious. Harmony got their drink first. I watched them pour packet after packet of sugar into it. I hid my amusement, but not well.

“Milk is weird, but I still want the coffee to be sweet!” Harmony said defensively, unable to contain a smile themselves.

“I’m not judging. You do… whatever you want.” I said, my eyes still grinning.

“You’re definitely judging me.”

“I, no, I’m just, there’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing. But. It is abnormal though, right? That’s like the sixth packet now.”

“RAY” The lady at the counter called out.

Harmony shook their head in disdain. Then they walked over, got my drink, and placed it in front of me. I mouthed a thank you as I wrapped my cold fingers around the warm cup. Harmony rolled their eyes and grabbed a few more sugar packets. I giggled.

“How much was the coffee?” I asked, realizing they’d paid.

“I’ve got this time, if you’ve got next?” Harmony said impulsively, about to sit down.

As soon as the words dropped out of their mouth, Harmony grimaced. Without explanation, they snapped their fingers a few times and backed up, turning around for a second as if they’d forgotten something. I could see, even from behind, the way their chest rose and fell with labored breath.

“Uh, Harmony? Are you alright?” I asked.

“Yes. It’s nothing. Is it alright if we return and simply work for a bit?” Harmony said, shaken by something.

“Oh, ok. Yeah…”

Harmony spun around quickly and walked out the door. I grabbed my coffee and hurried to follow.

They were quiet on the walk back to the art building. I fell behind a little, watching their faded black jeans hug their calves as wide strides put one old New Balance sneaker in front of the other. The rhythm of their pace was just as purposeful as it was earlier, though less intuitive. Their gait formed a regular measured pattern. I zipped up my coat against the wind, wishing I’d worn pants instead of the skirt.

When we returned to the studio, I separated my stuff from Harmony’s and set up on an easel nearby. Harmony didn’t say a word, but they looked calmer than in the café. I unfolded Professor Vitelli’s syllabus to see what was assigned for the following week while Harmony went silently to work.

I was instructed to draw an object from many different angles. I looked at Harmony. No. I pushed away the fantasy and collected myself. I didn’t want to objectify them. How weird would that be in critique? My eyes rolled around the room. Stools. Easels. A projector. Cabinets. A hat. My jacket. My bag. I wore cute flats, but they weren’t really all that interesting to draw.

“Hey, uh, Harmony? Can I borrow your shoe?” I asked hesitantly.

“What?” They said, taken aback. I curled my lips into my teeth; it was too odd a question.

“Your shoe, is it ok if I draw it?” I asked again, facing half-away as if pulling something from a fire.

“I suppose…”

Harmony slowly unlaced their sneaker and handed it to me, inspecting my face curiously. I ignored them and pulled over another stool to elevate it. The sole was worn deep on the sides. The seams were beginning to split. The greys and blacks had all but faded way. The shoelace looked recently replaced, though, something I’d never seen anyone do on such a destroyed pair of shoes. The tread was non-functional, but there wasn’t any dirt, only blackening. Probably from asphalt. I placed it upright normally, unsheathed a pencil, and approximated its proportions onto my page.

“Why did you want to draw my shoe?” Harmony inquired, still watching me.

“I dunno. The assignment, I guess. I needed to draw something.”

That wasn’t the whole truth, and they could tell. Harmony watched me draw until I looked up. We made eye contact again. They shifted nervously in their seat and went back to their own drawing after that. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen them nervous before. I wasn’t sure I’d seen them anything but tired. Even when it looked like Sammy was about to tenderize the cornholer at Kennan’s party, they stayed unnaturally calm.

Harmony’s mood improved drastically after that. They joked with me, even threatening to pour a sugar packet into my coffee. Which I, of course, protected valiantly. They told me about their trip to the Grand Canyon, asking permission from the Havasupai people to photograph their nation, and learning from them the history of their land. I wanted to go. Harmony had seen so much and promised I could spend several lifetimes there and never understand everything.

-- 

It was another forty-five minutes before Professor Vitelli arrived at the empty classroom. He appeared a bit flustered but didn’t seem surprised to see us, nor surprised to see that the remainder of the class had left. I smiled and waved subtly but he simply held out a hand to bid us carry on. He put down his coat, cane, and briefcase on the edge of a chair and walked gently toward us with his arms behind his back. He passed first to me, stopping to see what I’d accomplished. I got nervous and slipped while contouring the sole, pulling the drawing far off course, then moved to erase the line I’d just made incorrectly.

“I think you ought to leave it.” Vitelli said softly.

“I’m sorry Professor. I, ok.”

“You have submitted a mark to the page Miss Rachel, now you must keep it alive.”

I didn’t really understand what that meant, but I hovered my hand where I thought the line should have gone. It still felt like I should make a new correct line and erase the first. It was in the wrong place. I moved my hand to work somewhere else on the shoe, pushing the lacing further up the seam, but realized I was adjusting to match the wrong line I’d just made. I stopped, confused and frustrated. I almost reached for my eraser again but stopped. The professor noticed my restraint.

“Ahh, precisely.” Said the old Italian man.

I didn’t respond. The eraser stayed and my pencil returned to the drawing. I wrapped the line I’d slipped on earlier all the way around into the tip of the shoe. I committed. The lighter sketch I’d made underneath became irrelevant, and I began to re-estimate distances based on the new, and incorrect, shoe proportions. The laces burst over the edge, almost comically large. The heel was swallowed by the ankle which scooped up into the rim, completely distorting the shoe’s shape. I was forced to cram several seams into one another just to see them reach the other side of the shoe. When I finally finished carving out the intricate texture of the fabric, I let my pencil fall to the ground dramatically with a sigh.

“I encourage you to sit with this one awhile but add no more for now.” Congratulated Professor Vitelli.

I had no words. Vitelli, however, clearly didn’t need a response as he carefully made his way to Harmony next. Hands still behind his back, the tiniest bit of pride rising in his cheeks.

[drawing]shoe1[/drawing]

I got back to my dorm in time to catch Sammy asleep over a textbook in the kitchen. Her hair was wet, and she was only partially dressed in her bathrobe. I tiptoed over to make sure she hadn’t ruined her textbook, luckily, she’d pushed it out of the way before passing out. I grabbed a blanket from the couch and draped it over her as I snuck into my room.

Once faced with my bed, I suddenly felt like napping too. I’d need some sleep before attending the kickback for sure. I wondered if Harmony would go. After the coffee shop shutdown, I couldn’t tell. They were inscrutably cryptic about everything. I flopped onto the bed face first and produced my phone. Instagram lingered open for a second before I decided to look up Harmony, wondering why I hadn’t done it earlier.

H… A… R… they popped up in the suggestion bar with some mutual followers: other people from the Friday class, Kennan, India, and some random art students. I hit follow and perused their page. No people at first, mostly drawings, and the occasional animal. Different animals though, so probably not Harmony’s specifically. The drawings were nothing like Harmony’s Grand Canyon from earlier, they were bright, colorful, and a bit amateur. I kept searching until I eventually found a picture of Harmony from a few months ago. A selfie. They were standing next to someone else in an elegant hotel bathroom grinning broadly, laughing even, with a shaggy head of hair, all of which seemed out of character for the quiet kid I was crushing on. The big guy next to Harmony was cheek-to-cheek laughing so hard his eyes were only barely visible. He wore a baggy button-down, rolled up a little on the forearms revealing several high-contrast tattoos to complement his dark arms. The description said ‘I’ll miss you… Come back soon’ but no one was tagged afterwards.

I rearranged on the bed and began exploring other avenues to find the big, beautiful, garnet-skinned man. The exact mixture of curiosity and jealousy that drove me was unknowable.

I started on Harmony’s Instagram follower list but quit early realizing that if the guy wasn’t tagged, he probably wasn’t on Instagram. I switched over to Facebook and began clicking through Harmony’s pictures. I started with their profile pictures and continued into posted ones. I gasped when I finally found the same picture from Instagram, liked only by someone named Man.

A notification at the top of my screen popped up and I flinched. It said something about Harmony following me back on Instagram, and I closed the app in a panic. I was suddenly aware of how far my snooping had gone; enough to get spooked by the thought of being caught. I laughed at myself and reopened Facebook, found Man again, and stalked his page. I was in too deep to quit. Man, Manaia Malala. His profile picture confirmed he was Harmony’s tattooed friend, but that was all I got. His Facebook page was private. Oh well.

I abandoned my search and fell asleep instead.

--

Sammy must’ve been cooking for a while, because by the time I’d committed to getting out of bed, the music was blaring, pots were banging, and something smelled amazing. Garlic, cumin, peppercorn, maybe eggplant all mingled together expertly. I groaned as my stomach yearned for whatever my roommate was making. As if to answer my rumbling belly, Sammy poked her head in the room just as my feet touched the floor.

“Dang girl, you sleep a lot. You want some fried eggplant? I gotta a lab session soon, but there’s plenty of food left.” She said.

“Food…”

In my groggy state, I couldn’t squeeze out a better response. Sammy laughed and opened the door the rest of the way. When I finally stumbled out of the room she was pulling on shoes. I watched sleepily as she turned off the music and pointed at me, to a plate on the counter, and back at her mouth. I sat down and obediently forked a big piece of eggplant into my mouth. It was superb.

“See ya later, Rachel!” Sammy hollered.

“Kerkberck tornighrt.” I mumbled as loud as I could through a mouthful of hot food. She looked quizzically at me as she reached for the door.

“Kickback… tonight?” She pieced together.

I nodded in response.

“Sounds fun, text me, gotta go!”

With that, Sammy disappeared. I finally gulped down the enormous bite I’d taken and served myself some more food and rice. While it cooled, I texted Sammy what Kennan had said, then put down my phone. A second later, I picked it up and texted her again saying it was ok not to want to go in case things were awkward between her and India after last time. By the time I dug back into the food, Sammy responded with a gif of someone rolling their eyes followed by several affirmative messages about how she was fully down to go. I was glad I had a place to be on Friday nights, and people to spend time with. Needing stimulus, I selected an entrancing Nina Simone mix to serenade me through lunch and cleanup. Most of the dishes were already in the sink, so I cleaned them for Sammy, smiling about the lovely domestic life we’d quickly established in the last two weeks.

I was playing Oblivion on my laptop in the living room when she returned. I could tell from her heavy steps she was excited about something. I heard her key first and then the door. When she didn’t come in right away, I looked up to see a single long leg outstretched and pointed. She then squatted swiftly and pulled the rest of her body inside dramatically. I watched from my perch on the couch, two sketchbooks at my side and an unhappy virtual merchant in front of me.

“Alright, start the presses Rachel, get the ink hot and ready because I have news and it’s fresh off the street. First, and make no mistake most importantly… I. Am. The smoothest bitch on the block.” She announced expectantly with great emphasis, opening her hands as if speaking to a large crowd.

“Ok, uh, conceded. You’re unparalleled, but what’s the news?” I praised. Bemused, inquisitive, and indulging her.

“Second… I have a date. This weekend.” Sammy stood broad, hands on her hips, chin up, extended at her full height, extremely proud.

“What? Sammy, That’s amazing! Who—” I inquired, but Sammy interrupted.

“Third… It’s my hot lab partner from last week!” She squealed.

“You asked her? She said yes? Rad! Heck! Ahhh!”

My face opened up in joy. I pushed my sketchbooks aside and stood up, but Sammy was already sitting down across from me telling me how it happened. She was late to class, the lab was boring, the girl was cute, but also brilliant. I rolled my eyes, but Sammy kept going. Sammy was usually rather upbeat, but through her story she exuded something new and different. The infatuation suited her. Sammy looked genuinely excited about the prospect of a date.

I relaxed into the couch as she finished up the story, took a long breath, and got up. I was about to dig back into my game when she interrupted my thoughts again.

“Sneaky bitch!” Sammy said, holding up the clean pans from lunch accusatorily. I shrugged.

“You made food, it seemed fair.”

“I’ll remember this shit next time.” She threatened.

Sammy dried off the pans and put them away before settling down to study. I abandoned my game and went back to my sketchbooks. We worked in silence for an hour or two before she got antsy and left to do something else. She returned thirty minutes later in nice slacks and a classy red sweater rolled up on her thick forearms. I’d never seen Sammy in anything but athletic gear, she looked seriously handsome. She was even sporting a beautiful antique watch on her wrist. She winked at me silently and did a full rotation before retreating mysteriously back to her room.

I was confused and almost went back to work before Sammy emerged again. Boots had been added, along with a faux leather jacket which reared high on her cannonball shoulders. She pulled her hair back tightly and picked out the puff which in turn accented her lean neck. She made a slower, more purposeful rotation. I couldn’t help but nod slowly in approval. She smirked knowingly and strutted back to her room.

I closed my sketchbooks and collected my pencils, patiently waiting for a third show. It took longer than I expected though, and I got worried.

“Uh, Sammy? Do you need a hand in there?”

“Don’t mind me, learning the whole fucking makeup industry in ten minutes!” She yelped.

I giggled to myself. Sammy was undeniably good at almost everything but had apparently refused to even consider makeup through high school. She had only recently tried experimenting with it and was still unsure about the whole concept. I agreed that she didn’t need it but had offered my collection if ever she wanted to try.

When I entered the bathroom, she was holding my liquid eyeliner brush an arm’s length away like a cursed doll. I immediately retrieved the eyeliner pencil from my backpack and replaced the brush in her hand with it.

“Try this, it’s a lot easier. Feel for your eye and look up.” I directed, motioning with my hands.

Sammy grunted in response and followed my instructions. She slowly got the hang of it, and seemed to gain confidence as the procedure unfolded. I wondered what had possessed her to commit to the ordeal in the first place. I loved makeup, but there were certainly days where the routine took its toll.

Before too long it was my turn to try on outfits, as if I needed another excuse to shed the maxi skirt. If any portion of the kickback was to be outside, it would be unbearable without preparation. Sammy helped me dig through a box I hadn’t unpacked, and we found some old overalls and a striped crop top to my liking. I threw one of Sammy’s big letterman jackets over it with her last name in big letters across my back. MCDONALD looked much better than Mori would have. I twisted up little space buns on my head and complemented the outfit with electric purple eye shadow. I spun a few times for Sammy, she ooo-ed and ahh-ed, then we linked arms to get dinner before the kickback.

The dining hall was quite busy, and we profited many admirers while in line for food. Sammy spotted some gym friends, so we sat with them, I didn’t remember any of their names. They were all school athletes, attending the university for different sports, none of them on the women’s basketball team with Sammy. There were a couple track and field, a few soccer and softball, then a bunch of volleyball players. At first, I did not want to stay. I wasn’t particularly self-conscious about my weight anymore, but just looking at the chiseled, muscular bodies around the table made me anxious. They didn’t care though; they instead bombarded me with questions about art while ogling my Instagram. I actually liked them, and they were oddly welcoming of me. A bit boisterous compared to my preferred crowds, but I got to sit in and infiltrate the jocks for an evening. High school me would have been appalled.

Sammy and I decided to take the train out to Kennan’s house. The Uber was expensive, and Sammy thought it would be better I learn the loop system anyway. It was absolutely frigid out, but we were fashionably prepared unlike our previous excursion. At the station, I got my first train card, swiped through, and got on without a hiccup. It was full, but nothing like the trains in Tokyo I had to take during the summer.

Distracted in conversation, we completely missed Kennan stop and had to walk further than expected, but I didn’t mind. I did mind trying to keep up with Sammy’s incredible gait though. I felt like a child again, practically running, first after Harmony and then her. Like Harmony, Sammy always seemed to know where she was going, regardless of whether she actually did.

Once we got out of the train station and passed the café next to it, I started to compare the various suburban yards. Lawn flamingos were incredibly common, while garden gnomes were less so. I wondered why. For Rent and For Sale signs were also common, though some so faded the numbers were indecipherable. The thought of buying a house seemed so far away, especially after committing to art school. Student loan debt, the lack of lucrative job prospects, combined with an imminent end to most natural ecosystems formed the perfect storm guaranteeing financial instability. As Sammy directed my attention to a freestanding blue door erected in front of a familiar house, I wondered how India and Kennan made it work.

“Hey fam! Whaddup!” Kennan yelled, waving from his seat on the outdoor couch. Some other familiar and unfamiliar faces also made their appearances. Sammy waved back.

We made our introductions to the porch crew and slipped by, directed unsurprisingly towards the alcohol. Once inside, Sammy revealed a bottle of wine that she’d hidden in her coat. I didn’t even realize she had it. I wasn’t even sure where she’d gotten it. She presented the bottle to India as a gift for the host. That sparked a conversation, one I suspected might have sensitive elements. I took my cue, a beer, and meandered into the living room to see who else was there.

“Hi Rachel.” John said, standing up out of nowhere. His haircut was especially bowl-shaped that evening. I was glad to see him.

“Oh, hey John. How are you?”

“I found something exciting at Walter Gordon’s Vintage Underground. Can I show you?”

“Sure.”

John led me through the living room. His dark red polo pulled tight against his back as he walked, revealing the imprint of a sleeveless undershirt. 

The kickback was significantly smaller than the previous week’s event. I estimated fifteen people were in attendance, which was still a substantial gathering by my accounts. However, without the blaring music, people were talking a lot more. Or, maybe I was paying more attention to what they were saying. They seemed nice, fashionable, and just slightly self-absorbed. From what I gathered, the crowd was a mix of India’s friends from before they left on their road trip and Kennan’s since they returned. I found myself scanning each person looking for Harmony. I wanted to see them. My mind kept drifting back to our brief conversation, coffee, and working together in silence.

“Ok, I set it up right here.” John said, gesturing to where the stage had been.

Presented to me was a burnt sienna-toned, Bauhaus-looking, alien incubation device. A series of small glass tubes supported by a metal frame rose out of the console. Various nobs, sliders, and dials populated the front panel; two of which were missing, revealing a tangled mess of wiring inside. It was attached to the speakers on either side of it and to another newer console beneath it.

[drawing]tubeamplifier[/drawing]

“It’s a tube amplifier! This one is from nineteen sixty-four, or at least the tubes are. It’s home-made, but the frame is from an old Mcintosh with a dial board from a Scott radio. It still works!” John looked up, expecting me to be as excited as he was.

“Uhm. What does it do?” I asked, looking forward to John’s explanation. I sat down on the ground to listen, and he sat down with me.

“These tubes are triode vacuum tubes. Developed first by Lee de Forest in nineteen o-six, these tubes allow for unidirectional current flow and voltage modification. So, inside the vacuum, there’s a heated cathode surrounded by an anode. The electrons will move only from the cathode to the anode because it’s positively charged. But that’s just a diode! In a triode like these, there’s also a grid between the cathode and the anode which lets you control the flow. Amplification! After the nineteen fifties and then silicone transistors most people stopped using them but not the Russians. That’s where these come from. I have to replace this one here because it’s burnt out, though.” John said, wiggling a tube.

“Is it… Blown glass?” I asked.

“Definitely. Most vacuum tubes are blown, though the procedure is somewhat different. Are you a glass blower?”

“No, but my uncle is, is it ok if I send him a picture?” I pulled out my phone and opened Line, the app everyone in Okaasan’s family used.

“Ok.” John said, holding a thumbs up in front of his new purchase. He gave a small toothy smile which I was happy to immortalize.

“He’ll think it’s pretty cool too.”

“Do you want to listen to Dizzy Gillespie?” John asked. Grabbing a record player from off the shelf beside us.

“I’d love to.”

-- 

Sammy was still talking to India but had gathered a crowd with the weaving of her story. I hugged her around the waist. She put a hand on my back and continued gesticulating with the other. I was missing some crucial information though, so I let her go and left the kitchen through the back door.

The back stoop smelled vaguely like tobacco, like Harmony. I sat down, zipped in, and looked up. Despite the cold, it was nice to be away from people and noise for a moment. The sky was clearer than closer to campus, or anywhere in the city. I knew the stars weren’t in the same place as in Getson but didn’t know enough to orient myself. It reminded me of midnight rides in Tsuki’s Bronco before she moved. Before I went on vacation. Before we stopped talking.

Sammy’s head poked out of the door and glanced around the darkness.

“You good, Rachel?” She asked.

“Yep. Yeah, I’m cool, just takin’ a break.”

“A’ight. Rad?” She asked lovingly.

“Rad.” I answered.

I noticed a glowing cigarette pushed into an opening between the bricks. The end was nearly, but not quite, out.

[drawing]cigarette[/drawing]