Excerpt from “White Cedar”

When I deemed it late enough to not draw attention to myself I trudged down stairs. It was eight thirty and Mason was just coming out of the bathroom wrapped in towel, as our dad left his room for the first time this morning. For a brief second the three of us all stopped in the hallway, exchanged an awkward glance, and continued on our paths. I didn’t know how my dad’s or Mason’s night had gone and I knew neither of them knew about mine.

I went downstairs and sat at the table. I put my elbows on the table and my face into my palms. The cold air was drifting under the doorway and across the linoleum floor and across my bare feet. I sniffed hard, considering the small possibility that I was getting sick, then let my mind drift. It couldn’t go anywhere.

I heard footsteps coming quickly down the stairs knowing immediately that is was Mason, my dad never traveled fast. Mason, a morning person, bounced all around the kitchen, already fully dressed, to some unrecognizable song he was humming. He turned to me, jug of milk, bowl, and spoon in one hand, box of frosted flakes in the other. He looked at me bizarrely, “Cedro!”

I looked back at him expecting some sort of explanation. He starred back at me, not breaking eye contact. “Cedro?” I asked him.

“Cedro.” He nodded. Sitting to make his cereal.

“Any particular reason?”

“Its Spanish for bug.” He spat through a mouthful of milk and corn.

“Ah.”

He chocked down his breakfast, “You see the guy who named Sedro-Woolley thought there was a lot of bugs, so he named it after bugs and himself. However! Cedro was too Spanish for W.A.S.P.-y settlers so he made it have an S.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because this town is awful, gross, and full of bugs.”

“I’m sorry.”

He tapped his nose, “As well you should be. Look Adam here is the deal…”he held up both his hands to demonstrate swelling, then brushed his hands to the side and shook his head ever so slightly, “You understand?”

“No.”

“I’m glad of it. A knavish speech sleeps in a fool’s ear.”

“Was that Hamlet?”

“Avocado.”

“I see. Are you pretending to be crazy out of boredom and hatred for this town?”

“You are one smart cookie Adam. How do you stand this place?”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

I went entirely too honest, “What do you want to hear, I’m seeing a therapist two times a week because I can’t sleep through my palpable depression and anxiety.”

“Well don’t hold back.” He said slightly taken aback by my sudden honesty.

“What?”

“What.”

I got frustrated, “You suck Mason.”

“Not for free, or family.” he called back as I went upstairs.