the real story

1

ekborg swallowed too much acid up at st. johnsbury academy and jumped the ’89 highway bridge in late august before he was supposed to leave for college.

2

he got busted the summer after i left in ‘88 for dealing and didn’t want prison. i read about what didn’t really happen in the alumni magazine.

3

see he removed the bottom of his bunk cause his big brother joined the marines. a desk pulled in. lots of microscopic carvings of initials on the bedposts and the slats above his craned neck while he listened to pink floyd with headphones. chisel more symbols and ancient glyphs.

4

and it’s late at night now outside his main street window, even though he isn’t there anymore. an old econoline 150 gurgles and churgles up the hill. then exhales and burps and revs the stoplight. the red brake lights catch the edge of his grandmother’s mirror—then drift—and are swallowed somewhere inside the cherry border. and the truck cuts toward the chilling fall and up 91 towards canada. some reason. or another.

5

and when ekborg shows up for my english 12 class the morning after spring break ends he falls asleep in the back row halfway through my lecture with pre-planned socratic questions such as are we making assumptions? why is willy so unhappy? will he ever build his dream house for biff and happy? his mouth is open like an exposed cave. like an old man with carp lips. for us to throw anything in. and if we all stop and peer in and look down and take turns it’s so dark odysseus is hiding under his tongue. and if we all squint we see the big bang behind his droopy eyelids. but no one does. throw anything in that is. and no one was there either. to catch him when he jumped.