letters that staved

YAM'S POV

My name is Yam. It is a useless name, but no one gets to judge me, okay.

I am twenty-four. Yam, not because I am yummy, but because I am a walking case of annoyance.

Fate is annoyed with me and I am annoyed with it, and I do not even know why.

I am five three, brown skinned, and people call me weird.

I joke that I am not weird, that I am worse than weird.

That is enough introduction for now and lets star my love story.

I was walking along Eskineta Madilim Street.

It is the hangout of people with black hearts.

It was ten in the evening.

No streetlights.

That is why it got the name.

The alley smelled like damp cardboard and fried oil that had died long ago.

A cat knocked over a bottle.

Far away, karaoke bled through from a birthday that was running late.

I kept my bag close and counted the steps to the brighter corner.

Help.

The word floated out like a low moan.

My skin turned to ice.

Ghost, I thought.

I pretended not to hear and kept moving.

My pulse ran ahead of me.

Another voice chased it.

Help, I said help, you idiot.

Great.

The ghost had bad manners.

Who asks for help and swears at the same time.

I spun around, angry because anger is easier than fear.

I shouted back.

You stupid ghost, be quiet. Follow the light.

Dogs exploded into barking.

For a breath I felt brave.

Then the voice answered again, irritated.

What ghost and what light.

There is no light here.

Look up.

I am above you.

I am hanging.

Help me.

I looked up.

And there he was.

Not a ghost.

A man dangled upside down, caught by both ankles on a wire like laundry someone forgot to take in.

If the wire snapped his head would hit the cement.

Brains on the ground.

I gasped.

What are you doing up there.

He let out a growl.

Stop asking and start helping.

Please.

I hunted around for something to stand on.

There was a plastic crate, cracked, but alive.

I dragged it below him and climbed on top.

He was tall, so I still had to reach.

My fingers found the tangle around his ankles.

The wire bit my knuckles.

I kept working.

He hissed when the wire pinched his skin.

Sorry, I said, and pulled harder.

One ankle came free, then the other.

He fell into my arms and we both stumbled.

We landed in a heap, but we were alive.

Thanks, bro.

I thought I would die up there.

Die.

From hanging like a shirt.

Someone would have seen him by sunrise.

He just got lucky that I passed by.

Still, my heart was beating so hard it shook my shirt.

Also, did he just call me bro.

My lungs did a little flip.

It is nothing, I said.

How did you end up like that.

Then I looked at him properly.

My mouth decided to forget how to close.

He was beautiful in a way that did not ask permission.

Eyes that tracked every breath.

A straight nose that made angles look kind.

A mouth with a soft curve that suggested trouble.

Faint stubble that said he woke up handsome and stayed that way.

A face you wanted to argue with so you could keep looking at it.

Hair that belonged in a shampoo ad and yet felt real.

A body that fit the night like it had been measured for it.

Tall.

Warm brown skin that matched the street but still stood out.

Did the gods of Olympus drop a son here because he had a bad attitude.

Because that face did not belong in this alley.

Before I could drown in my thoughts, he spoke.

Before I answer, do you have a cigarette.

I shook my head.

Candy only.

That works, bro.

I handed him a candy.

He peeled it and popped it into his mouth.

He chewed, not sucked.

Who chews hard candy.

Apparently this man did.

He kept his eyes on me while he chewed.

My brain forgot grammar.

Anyway, I am Franc, he said, and offered his hand.

I stared at his palm.

Should I take it or not.

I took it.

Heat went up my arm like I had grabbed a live wire.

Yam, I said.

He frowned for a second.

Sorry if my parents did not think too hard when they named me, I added, trying to pull my hand back.

He did not let go right away.

Your name is cute, he said, and then he smiled.

His eyebrows flicked up like a small wave.

He finally released my hand.

I had to remember how to breathe.

So, how did you end up hanging, I asked.

Some people messed with me, he said.

I had been drinking.

When I woke up I was already up there.

He glanced back to the wire and I did too.

You mean you were there for hours, I asked.

Whoever did that to you had no heart.

He only smiled.

We started walking to the end of the alley.

He was really tall.

I came up to his chest and I refused to tilt my head back too much because I did not want to look like a lost child.

Once we reached the open street the light hit his face.

The full effect almost sent me to the ground.

This was not a trick of the dark.

He was actually that handsome.

If he was an actor I would have known him.

So he was not an actor.

Just a man with an unfair face.

He sat on a bench and stretched like a cat.

Then he closed his eyes.

You are going to sleep there, I asked.

Is it not obvious.

I am already lying down.

Wow.

Rude in person too.

Fine.

Good luck.

If you wake up hanging again do not cry to me.

He did not answer.

He looked like a child falling asleep after a long tantrum.

Maybe he was truly exhausted.

I stared for a few seconds and battled with my conscience.

If something happened to him, I would carry that on my chest forever.

I sighed.

Hey.

Wake up.

Sleep at my place.

It is close.

If you get into trouble again I will feel guilty forever.

He stood up without a word, like he had been expecting the invitation.

Let us go, he said.

You have an electric fan at home, right.

What a nerve.

First thing he looked for was a fan.

Maybe that is why someone hung him up.

He probably never stopped talking.

Good thing I am a decent person.

A tricycle rattled past and a vendor stacked plastic stools in a neat wobbling tower for closing.

We started walking.

He matched my pace and kept quiet.

The alley gave way to a wider street.

I kept glancing at him.

Bringing a stranger home was not my best idea.

If I backed out now, I would feel smaller than my height.

If he tried anything I could run and yell and wake the block.

I still curled my keys in my fist.

He noticed and gave a small nod.

Your name is really Yam, he asked.

Yes.

Short for nothing.

Just Yam.

I like it, he said.

He chewed the candy again.

I know I should suck it, he added.

I chew when I am nervous.

Were you nervous up there, I asked.

I am nervous now, he said.

I let that sit.

Then I asked about his word choice.

Earlier you yelled arsehole, I said.

Where did that come from.

Movies, he said.

Also a roommate who swore he was British.

Maybe he was faking it.

A small store still had its lights on.

I bought water and handed him a bottle.

He drank like he had crossed a desert.

Your ankles, I said.

Do they hurt.

A little.

I will live.

Let me see.

He lifted one foot.

The skin was red where the wire held him.

I wrapped my handkerchief around the worst spot.

Thanks, he said, voice uncertain.

I told my heart to calm down.

We turned onto my street.

It was brighter here.

Laundries hummed.

An old couple argued over a TV show.

He touched a leaf on a vine, as if he needed proof that the world was normal.

His height made the street look small.

Mine made me walk faster.

Together we found a pace that felt right.

You really have a fan, he asked.

Yes.

Low and medium work.

High sounds like a helicopter.

I love helicopters, he said.

I laughed.

We neared my gate.

I still did not know if this night would end with regret or with sleep.

I moved forward because kindness is the only thing I can afford to be rich in.

He looked at me.

I looked at the road.

The city exhaled around us.