Glass Eyes

Davenport Park was simple. A small hill cascaded down into a large, grassy plane twenty acres wide. To the left was an oddly placed broken-down shack and a small Shakespeare garden donated by the local elementary school, and to the right, behind a wall of trees, you could find a patch of sand at least twenty feet wide. The park’s semi-circular perimeter was decorated by a jumble of trees that blocked both the neighboring Country Clubs from sight, creating the illusion of tranquility and privacy. At the top of the hill was the park’s parking lot – habitually empty until the three short months of New York’s summer – and a building that housed public bathrooms with their doors bolted shut, accompanied by a singular soda vending machine. From the top of the hill, where all the benches rest under the shade, you could see the park’s edge at the bottom, marked by a smooth gray pavement.

The pavement separated the verdant field from the drop towards New Rochelle Harbor’s icy polluted water and the jagged rocks at the water’s edge. During seasons of low tide, picnics were held on these same rocks the crabs and fish had made their mark on. This was Koan’s favorite time of the year, late September, when children were back in school, and he had the entirety of Davenport Park to himself. The air had started to cool, warmth escaping with the setting sun every evening. Those afternoons, Koan walked thirty minutes to Davenport, as he had every day for two years since his high school graduation.

Koan sat on the pavement at the bottom of the hill, looking over the water and swinging his worn Converse above the rocks. To the north are the mysterious islands he liked to imagine were inhabited by a lost community of runaways fed up with corrupt governments and the cruel mediocrity of every twenty-four-hour day. Koan’s shoulders hunched forward, and his jaw tightened: he scowled. He allowed the cold to affect his hands, enjoying the rigid feeling in his fingers. He envisioned himself as a puppet. Not the sock-puppet type with the bland button-eyes and a hand up the ass, but the sophisticated kind of puppet with human features manipulated by invisible strings. His favorite puppets were the ones with wide, lifeless glass eyes and motionless facial expressions. He felt a certain kinship.

Koan stared at the high rocks to his right that climbed up from the water. They formed a staircase to a beautiful view overlooking the neighboring country club’s beach. He believed the club’s water only looked more attractive because no one could touch it. He didn’t like to sit up on the rocks anyways. He always thought about how he and Amber, not even three years ago, used to sit on that high rock together and talk about what they’d do in college. They had the same conversation every Friday, but Koan looked forward to their walk to Davenport Park after school, coffee, and Dunkin Donuts donuts. He thought about the last time they spoke up on those rocks, three years ago.

“How many people do you think have fallen off this rock and into the water?” Koan asked, dangling an empty Dunkin Donuts cup over the edge.

“All-time? Probably a couple hundred. This year –” Amber checked her phone. “Well, it’s only March, but the general public looks especially stupid this year, so I would say maybe twenty?”

Koan gently lifted his fingers, starting with his pinky, off the clear plastic cup. He heard the brief sound of ice jangling before the cup disappeared below the rocks. Koan counted silently, “One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Missi….” Then he heard the faintest Splash. “I would say about fifty percent live,” he said to Amber.

Amber glanced over at him, mouth ajar, then laughed. “I’m going to miss our Davenport talks next year.” She grabbed her coffee cup, shrugged, and chucked it into the ocean. “It’s already polluted,” she said to Koan.

“What will you miss about them?” Koan asked. “Freezing our asses off, polluting the water, or the thirty minute walk uphill?” Koan uncrossed his legs and adjusted his jeans by the rip designed to be on the knees, the fabric bunched at his pelvis from sitting on the rough surface of rocks.

Amber shrugged. “I mean, this is our place.” She placed a loose strand of black and blonde hair behind her ear. “Like, remember our middle school field trip here? We became besties on that trip. Or,” Amber snapped her neck like an owl, looking directly behind her, her massive gold hoop earrings perfectly placed to make her look like Dumbo. Then pointing to the right, she smiled. “Or our first acid trip under those trees. That was a good time.”

“You’re the one moving. What’s so good about California anyways? The heat makes you obnoxious to be around.” Koan couldn’t see his mysterious islands quite as well from the rocks, only the new construction at the Country Club to his right, but he wished he could swim off to his island right then.

“Hey, don’t be rude. I get obnoxious, and you love it. You know I’ve been working towards this a long time; plus, I haven’t gotten into UCLA yet.” She smiled, but Koan’s eyes looked away from Amber and back towards the water. Amber stared at the faint dye on the back of Koan’s neck from coloring it black. “Koan, can we please talk about this?”

“Can we not?”

Koan sat on the pavement and swung his battered Converse with as much force as he could gather into the rock directly behind his heel; he didn’t like to think about that day with Amber. He hadn’t sat up on those rocks since his and Amber’s last conversation three years ago. He didn’t know that would be one of the last conversations they would ever have, that their friendship would end before graduation. Koan rummaged around his inner jacket pocket until he found the large white envelope. He stared at the envelope in his lap. I’m so sorry, Amber, he thought to himself.

Koan could remember the moment when he and Amber became friends. They were in the same grade but always in different classes until middle school, when test scores grouped them into the same class. Their teacher, Mr.Nunez, had taken a course that year that suggested exploring nature would promote learning in children. This influenced him to take the entire class for a field trip to Davenport Park, a fifteen-minute walk uphill from school. Koan had no idea that this area of New Rochelle even existed, but he instantly fell in love.

Koan kicked the metal flag pole that stood on top of Davenport’s hill with his dirty Vans. The black had washed to charcoal, the white stripe had turned gray, and pills covered every inch of fabric. The rest of Mr. Nunez’s 8th-grade class scattered amongst the trees behind the pole, but Koan’s feet and eyes stayed glued to the metal.

Koan felt a soft material hit the back of his head, causing him to narrowly miss collision with the flag pole, “What the hell!” Koan turned to find an open, empty Sprayground backpack with a painting of a crazy old man with green foam oozing out of his mouth. Koan felt almost as angry as the man in the picture.

He snatched the bag off the ground, and two classmates ran up to him, shoving each other along the way. “Shit. Sorry, man, that’s my backpack,” said the scrawny boy with thin hazelnut hair. Koan looked at him and decided he could take him if it came down to it. He’d finally get to practice the chokeslam he saw on WWE. Koan looked down at the backpack and locked eyes with the crazy old man.

The short boy said, “It was meant to hit him.” He pointed to the larger boy with black hair standing beside him.

Koan ignored Scrawny. He looks like a wicked puppet master, he thought.

The larger boy waved his pale hand in front of Koan’s face, “Dude, can he have his backpack back?” Koan looked up at the black-haired boy, his mean expression leaving his face once he realized he was looking above him; he had to be at least six feet tall. A lot of boys had their growth spurts that year, but this kid was massive.

“Who is this guy?” Koan asked, pointing to the backpack.

“That’s Rick, from Rick and Morty. You’ve never watched Rick and Morty?” The little dude asked.

“Obviously he hasn’t watched it if he’s asking who it is, dumbass.” The bigger guy shoved, the smaller one by the shoulder.

“Whatever. Look man, can I have my bag?” Hazelnut looked at Koan and extended his hand forward. Koan reluctantly handed him the backpack only because the black-haired boy had become physical.

In the exchange, the hazelnut boy dropped a square rustic gold wrapper. It was a condom wrapper covered in dirt. The larger boy quickly swept the condom off the floor and hid it in his hand. “Ha! It’s mine now,” He said.

“Fuck!” The shorter boy said to himself, zipping up his backpack. He tightened his lips and focused his eyes on Koan, “This is your fault man, I found that shit and you made me lose it.”

Koan rolled his eyes. Why would anyone pick up an old condom off a park floor? He thought. “That has to be expired.” Koan said.

“What?” Hazelnut asked.

“Condoms don’t expire, Dude.” Said the black-haired boy.

“Sure. Use the floor condom with dirt on it.” Koan said.” Whatever, man,” His attention had started to move past the conversation and over to the odd culmination of stones by the left end side of the park.

“What do you know anyways, freak.” The black-haired boy said, shoving the condom deep into his jeans pockets. The other boy followed close to him, bookbag and ugly expression in hand.

“They’re so stupid,” A higher voice says from behind Koan.

Koan turns to his right to see a short girl with black hair and a fuzzy pink sweater, thicker than his winter jacket, standing beside him. “Aren’t you hot in that?” He asks.

The girl ignored him. “I saw them find the condom earlier; it was under a rock.”

“Okay.” Koan said. Figures, he thought. I hope he uses it.

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” she said. “It was so mean of everyone to think you’re the reason Jeremy went missing. It’s not your fault he went missing. Pure coincidence, I think.”

Koan thought of Jeremy, the hamster, the class pet. The hamster was giant for its breed and had golden fur. Koan admired the chocolate patch of hair that grew from his neck and spread to half his face; he thought it looked like a mask. His eighth-grade class had adopted and named Jeremy on the first day of school. Koan hadn’t voted on the name Jeremy though; he had liked the name Morningstar instead, but nobody voted for that.

“I didn’t kill Jeremy.”

“I didn’t say you did! Are they saying you killed him? Boys are so stupid.” She looked to Koan for a response, but none came. “I don’t think you’re stupid, or a murderer.”

He looked her straight in the eyes. She and Koan had never spoken before; Koan habitually kept his distance from most people. “Why not?” He said.

“Why don’t I think you’re stupid?” She asked, tilting her head to the side. Her hair was plaited into two pigtails tied off with pink bands. “Cause you stay away from everyone else. I would if I could, but –”

“But what?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She looked down at the ground and pointed aggressively; her charm bracelet, packed with the entire rainbow, jingled. “I like your shoes.”

Koan looked down at his tattered shoes; they were coming apart. He doesn’t like change, and they’re comfortable. “They’re raggedy,” He said.

The girl with the pink fuzzy sweater put her hands on her hips, “If they’re raggedy, get new shoes. You look like you’d like Converse.” She said, huffing and putting her arms back down at her side. “Your shoes are worn; it makes them look cool; and comfy. You should learn to take compliments ’cause I like to give them out a lot.” She said, looking at Koan. She seemed to be waiting for an answer, Koan thought.

Koan smiled; his teeth were small and slightly crooked. He always kept to himself in his classes. He thought it best to refrain from speaking if his words were going to be misconstrued. The only people he was close with were his two older brothers, who he didn’t get to talk to too much since they were both in training for the military. She could be different, he decided. “You’re Ember, right? Cool name.” He said.

She smiled back, “Amber, but thanks.”

“Amber. That’s cool too. I’m Koan.” He said.

“I know your name, I pay attention,” She said. I don’t, Koan thought. Amber tilted her head sideways, this time in the opposite direction. Her pigtails followed. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like the Once Ler, from The Lorax? No offense or anything.” She said.

Koan laughed. “None taken. No, no one’s said that before. I see it, though.” He said, thinking of the same comment his brothers always made.

“The Once Ler is like a baby tree though, tall and still stick thin. You’re more like a nicely shaped and trimmed bush.” She said. Koan had no idea what she was talking about, and he decided to keep it that way and ignore it.

“Do you know what that is over there?” Koan pointed towards the gathering of rocks he had seen earlier.

Amber started trotting over to the rocks, wearing shorts, and Koan began to look at the scratches on her calf as he followed her. “That’s the Shakespeare Garden. The fifth-grade class from Trinity donated it like, twenty years ago or something. It’s pretty, but it’s just rocks and flowers arranged in a pretty pattern with one bench in the middle. I mean I guess there’s these like stone benches that you could sit on but my butt would hurt after sitting on that for a while.” She said.

Koan and Amber hadn’t even arrived halfway towards the garden, and already Amber had made Koan excited and disappointed in the garden within three minutes. How much can she have to say? Koan thought.

Amber continued, “My thing is just like, why would you only put one bench in the middle of the thing?” As they started getting closer to the garden, she turned around and started walking backward. “It’s cute and all and there is the factor of money and how much they could afford to raise but if the city wasn’t so cheap then maybe they could have expanded the garden or something.” Amber said as they reached the edge of the garden.

It was just as Amber had described it. No more than about thirty rocks were arranged in a pattern that almost looked like the hippie peace sign. In each section the pattern created was a pathetic arrangement of flowers devoid of their red color. Plant Vampires, Koan thought. Three wooden stumps and two stone stumps were oddly placed around the perimeter, and it looked more like mother nature’s bedroom floor than a decorated garden. In the very center of the garden was a single wooden bench, identical to the ones on top of the park’s hill where they stood by earlier.

“What do you think?” Amber asked.

“I love it.” Koan said, “It’s awful.”

“Right! That’s why I like it too,” Amber said, smiling.

Koan preferred to remember all of his and Amber’s best memories. After their meeting at the flagpole, and their journey to the garden, Koan and Amber had become close friends. The day of their trip, while walking back to school, they grew closer over conversations about the different attitudes of their peers – whose personalities were ever-changing – and they talked about their favorite movie to book adaptations, agreeing that the book should be evaluated separately from the film.

For two years, Amber’s black hair and pigtails changed into an emo shag; Koan remained friends with Amber while her other friends laughed. The two continued their friendship when Amber became popular again, sporting her shiny, thick lip gloss and long, hot pink acrylic nails. When Koan’s brothers passed away in a tragic car crash on their way home from training, Amber held his hand and gave him a safe place to cry. Koan had come to trust Amber like no other.

Koan tucked away the envelope, placed his hands on the warm pavement, and jumped down to the rocks. It’s low tide today; it’s perfect for a walk. He thought about where it could have gone wrong. Koan started to move across each rock, as slowly and animated as physically possible, practicing for his puppet future.

Koan never had many friends at school; he was always regarded as odd, even in Elementary school; he always said the wrong thing. In middle school, his father passed away from an aneurysm, and afterward, talking to other children got worse. They never wanted to talk about heavy topics like death or be reminded of it, but Koan didn’t have much else to think about than mortality. The latest episode of Spongebob, or the most attractive girl in the grade, was not interesting to Koan, and soon he developed the idea that it was below him. By Freshman year of high school, he had worked past his pain enough to be at peace during the day, but his anxieties and distaste of classmates never entirely disappeared. He thought he couldn’t be blamed; if any ordinary person were to listen in on a thirteen-year-old conversation, they would also be abhorred.

At age sixteen, in his Junior year of high school, his brothers’ deaths meant Koan had to relive everything he had gone through with his father’s passing. He spent countless nights awake, unable to sleep without having uncomfortably vivid dreams of his family. He was convinced he caused misery to everyone around him; even his mother had become a husk of a person, prescribed so many medications that Koan began to think the government was experimenting with zombies.

Koan dreamt of himself as an old doctor, so immersed in his retirement that he started to grow mad. Every dream was the same: the doctor wore the same lab coat and conducted his own experiments until he finally ran out of test subjects and started taking his concoctions himself. The doctor called himself, The Puppet Master.

When Koan’s father passed, his dreams changed, and The Puppet Master finally stopped using himself as a subject for experiments. The Puppet Master had started creating his own human-like puppets, starting with Koan’s dad. When Koan’s brothers passed, Koan’s dreams changed once again. The Puppet Master had acquired two more subjects to work on.

Each dream started off the same. The Puppet Master would hold the three men in a dark, damp room below ground. The light fixtures on the high ceilings flickered, and the buzz of electricity filled the room. The ceilings and walls had gray moss overtaking every surface visible to the eye, except for the white tile floors, which had been regularly cleaned by The Master. The expansive room held the five cement slabs to the far right, with three occupied by Koan’s father and brothers, who were chained, standing up and gagged at the mouth. The odor was putrid; it smelled of years of human excrement accumulated, the type of smell that didn’t pierce through your nose; it invaded and swelled, taking over your sinuses and creeping down your throat. Whenever Koan had these dreams, he would hold his breath, convinced he could feel the fecal matter particles in the air entering his mouth.

The Master would operate on the men individually on his operating table in the middle of the room. He would lay the men down on the metal table and slice them open directly in the center, from the top of their cranium to the bottom of their ball sack so that it lined up with their ass crack. The screams of the men came out almost muted – what seemed to only increase in volume was the sound, drip, drip, drip, that came from the cracks in the crawling. He thought, the moss is peeing, on me as the inevitable end of the dream came.

The room would flood with the murky water, and Koan would wash up in front of a stage, where The Puppet Master would put on his new production. Koan would sit chained up to a stone chair and gagged at the mouth with bloody bandages, unable to move or scream as he waited for his father and brothers to perform on stage and do a little dance.

Koan was convinced that he was the reason that The Puppet Master would put on this show. He believed he was the reason his family was up there; he didn’t have to guess who those two extra stone slabs were for: his mother and Amber.

Koan had never told anybody about his dreams. As much as he trusted Amber, he believed it was unlikely he would ever tell her about them. He didn’t want to cause her to run away. She was one of the only consistent good things in Koan’s life. He promised he would never leave her; to his content, she promised the same.

Koan couldn’t help but think of where he went wrong. He continued walking, mimicking a puppet as best he could, turning and looking toward the top of the highest rock, where he and Amber had their last conversation. It was time to confront this. Koan lifted his arms above his head and converted his hands into sharp claws, running bow-legged, slightly hopping side to side towards the rock, screaming as loud as he could; if anyone was around, it would be shattering. Koan used so much force in his steps that he could feel the jagged rocks on his feet as if he were stomping toward the earth’s center. Koan arrived at the bottom of the rock and started to carefully climb it, enough adrenaline having left his body from his scream that he was clear-headed enough to proceed with caution.

When Junior year started, Koan’s graduating class had to make decisions about going to college. Koan was immersed in his own world, still mourning his brother’s death, but he could still enact his plan to follow Amber anywhere she went. He imagined they could share an apartment and move out when they start dating other people and get engaged. They would travel together to Egypt like he’s always wanted or visit Amber’s family in the Caribbean. Koan’s plans changed when decision letters finally came in the mail their senior year of high school six years ago.

Amber held the large white envelope in both her hands. She wore the same pink fuzzy sweater she wore four years ago on that field trip; this time, her black hair was detailed with chunky blonde highlights. Koan sat next to her with his feet touching the cliff’s edge in his raccoon-striped shirt and brand-new Converse that Amber had gifted him in anticipation of graduation. He stared at his mysterious island intensely, readying himself for Amber’s decision letter to be opened.

“Koan, can we please talk about this?” Amber said, placing a hand on his shoulder, urging him to turn.

Koan shrugged off her hand and crossed his legs, so he was no longer as close to the water. “Can we not?” He said.

Amber withdrew her hand from Koan’s shoulder and stood up, waiting for Koan to turn around. Koan stared at the clearest tree in sight on the island. It was the tallest, but its branches were strong and shaped differently than the others.

Amber started to fidget with the envelope, bending it back and forth as she paced along the rock’s edge. Koan’s tree was then blocked by a fuzzy pink sweater, and the wind blew little pieces into his slightly open mouth. She looked down at her black boots and then up to her face. Amber’s had her on her hips; she looks serious, he thought.

Amber sighed; she dropped her hands, crouching so they were at eye level. “I’m serious, Koan. Can you please be happy for me? I want to share this moment with you.” She said.

“What is there to talk about, Amber?” He said he stared at the envelope still clutched in Amber’s hands. “You’re the one that’s moving all the way to California to college and then asked me not to go with you.” Koan knew he acted like a child, but she broke their promise. “Why do you want to go anyways?” He asked.

“UCLA is a really good school and it’ll let me start over completely new. I can’t live in the same house with my parents anymore and UCLA is giving me a really good scholarship. Haven’t you ever wanted to just start over?” Amber said.

“I just don’t see why you have to do that without me.” Koan said.

“Can you please not be that way?” Amber adjusted herself, and Koan noticed she was getting tired of crouching. “I’m not trying to push you away, there’s so many ways to stay in contact. We already text everyday. I just don’t want you to plan the rest of your life around me, you need to branch out and find what you like to do.” She said.

“I know what I’d like to do. I’d like to go to California with my best friend. I’d like to just focus on getting a job and making some money. I’d like for you to not push me away!” Koan said. He had almost been yelling. Amber was betraying him.

“I’m not pushing you away!” Amber said, sounding desperate. Koan only glared at Amber; his eyes had glassed over. She tossed her envelope onto the rocks. “You need to grow up, Koan! You can’t chase me around forever.” Amber said. By the time Koan had finished processing Amber’s words, he had already grown cold toward her. Amber’s mouth opened, but no words left her mouth. A moment passed then Amber said, “I’m sorry, Koan. I was angry; I didn’t mean it.” She placed her hand on Koan’s knee.

“Get off me!” Koan said. Grabbing Amber’s hand and pushing it away from him and back towards her with a force he had not expected to exert. Amber attempted to steady her footing and started to stand, but she lost her balance and fell backward into the rocks and water below.

Koan’s mouth dropped open and locked in place; he could feel his body stop breathing, and his heart dropped past his stomach and straight into The Puppet Master’s room. What did I just do? Koan thought; only images of The Puppet Masters collection growing flashing in his mind. He quickly got on all fours and laid flat on the cliff, trying to get as secure to the ground as possible before peering over the edge. Koan’s eyes searched and found Amber’s body lying flat on the rocks below. He stared intensely, searching for a sign of blood anywhere to be seen. In what had been seconds but felt like hours to Koan, he caught sight of the pool of blood forming a steady stream down the rock where Amber’s head lays and into the water.

Koan reached the top of the cliff where he had witnessed Amber’s death. Residents of New Rochelle hardly climb toward the very top of those rocks anymore; it had turned out that Amber had been the first in many years to fall off of the rocks and die. Though, people are less frequent on the cliff because nobody believed Koan when he said it was an accident. It had been the same case with Jeremy; Koan only tried to give him a sweet chocolate treat.

His dreams now included Amber; he saw her perform every night. She was dressed as the prettiest ballerina, and the Master gave her the most beautiful glass eyes. Koan was jealous; he couldn’t wait to go on stage and perform with Amber. He missed his father and his brothers, who got to dance with Amber and help lift her during Swan Lake.

It was time to finally open the decision letter and determine if Amber had gotten into UCLA. Koan stared down at his worn-out Converse, where holes formed at his shoes’ soles. He took a deep breath before creeping into his jacket pocket and pulling out the envelope. The envelope was worn over time, and the paper had become soft. The paper was dirty around the edges from being held and moved many times. He reached back inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a letter opener. He was prepared for this moment. His chest hurt; he could feel his heart beating and gliding up his throat while he used the device to open the envelope, then remove the contents from inside. His hands were perspiring, and his fingerprints left damp marks on the single white sheet on top of the packet of promotional content.

Koan’s eyes scanned the top of the page, and he read the words:

“Amber, we regret to inform you.”