A Right Way to Be

A long time ago, Carmine could only act carefully.

When he fed the animals, he’d step over the threshold with his right foot and make sure the feed lay flat in the scoop before filling each bowl. He would then step away—right, two, three, four, right foot—over the threshold once more before locking the gate behind him. Sometimes the lock wouldn’t click well, so he’d open it and lock it again until it cooperated.

He ate all of his own food in what he believed was the correct order. If he were served mush and eggs, for instance, it would be eggs and then mush. He knew that because he had tried eating the mush first once, and he ended up nauseous.

Most importantly, he prayed well. He knew he couldn’t do everything as carefully as he should, so he’d ask for forgiveness and show profuse gratefulness for what he was given: solid shelter, parents, food on the table. If some thought interrupted him, he’d pray again until his head was silent.

Maybe his parents had stopped acting carefully one day, he thought, and that’s why they were cursed. That’s why they had a child with red eyes that saw things that weren’t there and pointed ears that moved like a dog’s. Carmine knew it was his duty to be more disciplined than that; he wouldn't give in to the corruption. The curse would end with him.

Of course, he’d sometimes be negligent, so a storm would come to remind him. That’s when the colors would take his vision completely, and he’d lose himself in his mother’s and father’s worry. All he could do when that happened was lay down quietly until the rain slowed to a drizzle.

The older he got, the harder it was to act as he was supposed to. Were the locks rusting? Was the food spoiling? Could he ever be grateful enough? Everything he did took longer and longer to do until Carmine began to resent doing anything at all.

That was around the time his father proposed what his mother called “the unthinkable,” which was silly, because his father obviously thought it. At the time, Carmine believed he understood, even though he was afraid; but his mom actually understood. She took Carmine and their belongings and searched for another place to settle as quickly as she could. Luckily, she found the Beach.

Carmine sat on the edge of his bed and closed his eyes, letting the emotions of the day run through him and letting his thoughts settle. There was a lot he would’ve changed, but couldn’t. That’s how it’s supposed to be, he reminded himself. He slowed his breathing and took in the moment. His room was dark, warm, and safe. He didn’t remember which foot he used to step in the door. The desire to remedy that was not nearly as urgent as it used to be, so he let the thought run until it exhausted itself and disappeared. Carmine smiled softly.

He hardly ever prayed in words anymore; he learned long ago that he was prone to believing he got the words wrong. It was an absurd belief anyway. What divinity wouldn’t understand how fallible human language was?

And he was always tempted to say he himself was fallible, too. To other people, he was; to whomever he was praying to, not at all. Words were fallible because there was always something they referred to—one could try to speak about one thing and end up saying another. What would it mean for him to be fallible? He couldn’t commit himself to the idea that there was a right way to be. Not anymore.