Fiction

by rachel sapir

Martin Luther King Jr. Magnet High School

The mist boat

James is the great artist of the mist boat, possibly the greatest vape cloud ever made. When I think of James I think of some of the most beautiful smoke in the world; I mean he used his pen like a magic wand. I wasn’t dumb, so I never tried to use that thing. I look around at the kids to either side of me: the two to either side of me used his pen, and they were the first to come to this hospital. But then, I was third.

When I think of James I think of his boat. Let me describe his boat. I mean, it looked just like a boat. Imagine a boat. It looked like that. It was just what we imagined a boat to be too, but we lived in landlocked Nebraska so it was kind of wild that he had even seen a boat well enough to make it in smoke? We all asked him where he got this idea from. He just said, “man, it’s the vibe of the vape, you know? you’ve gotta vibe with the vape.” We only half understood what he said. All we knew was that we needed to capture this boat. We all decided to call it the mist boat without ever saying it.

For some reason, looking back, I feel like that means we did catch it, in some way.

But in the ways that mattered we absolutely did not. Someone reached for a phone to take a picture, somebody tried to catch it — and that person who did that was dumb as shit, because he just messed up the whole boat. It disappeared as fast as it arrived. James just shrugged, but I was enraged. A real boat, man. I hoped, like everybody hoped, we’d see that boat again.

I dreamed about that boat. It was clear white and bounced on the wide open blue sea (I have never seen the sea.) It just bounced and floated. It came closer and closer to me. When it got close enough, I could see “you’ve gotta vibe with the vape” written on its side. I tried to ask how? but then the boat sped past me. I thought I saw James waving from the back. Then I would wake up, feeling lost.

I mean that boat changed my life. I never paid attention in bio but I paid even less attention after that. Mist boats weren’t on this dumb old person curriculum. How was I supposed to know anything if I couldn’t know mist boats?

All those dumb posters kept popping up. “Vaping Makes You a Lab Rat,” with a picture of a rat in a magnifying glass. Never said anything about mist boats.

James would come to our sessions in the absent physics teacher’s classroom. Absent as in he would leave his room unattended whenever we showed up (because one of us knew he was having an affair with the art teacher; I’m not saying who knows though.)  James’d make rings of smoke, little birds, menorahs on Chanukah. But I’ve seen all of those. I’d never seen a boat before. I didn’t want to ask him to make it again though. The mist boat was supposed to come unexpected, I knew that somehow.

No moments were clearer than those clouded in smoke. Now I can't remember the feeling of vaping without my chest hurting and the oxygen tube tickling my nostrils. But I remember that clarity. Electric air. The sound of the air conditioner loud as a motor. We all felt like we could talk to the birds outside the window, because of their piercing eyes, but never tried. We never tried flight either, although our bones were so light. Never tried rowing away when the mist boat came because we thought we were too big and the boat too small. And we’ve never seen a boat before.

Now I think that we could have rowed away, precisely because we’ve never seen a boat before.

We’d come to class smelling like smoke and the teachers would smell, but they’d already given up on us so it didn’t matter. Now life is giving up on us. I still think that, if biology was about electric air, and all the stunning creatures found in mist, and ephemeral mysteries, I wouldn’t have to keep living on clouds.

Called into the principal’s office one day. Called into the principal’s office two days later. Saturday school a few days later. Saturday school the next Saturday. My parents have since apologised for calling me a disappointment for all those Saturday schools, and forgiven themselves. I’m small and smoke is killing me; unfortunately, I think the principal, my parents, biology class were all right. If I had known, if I had known this would happen…

...that my parents would be forgiven, that I would be small as a lab rat, that the smoke would kill me one day despite bringing with it mist boats, and sentient birds, and supercharged air, I would have rowed away...

Imagine a boat. That’s what the mist boat looked like. James was actually the first to tell me that, and he was right. It did look like that. But the mist boat was real, and strong, and sturdy, and my mind was about as good as putty that had been microwaved and then deep fried. Nothing I ever thought could become real, unlike James. Even my vaping skills were pretty lame. Once, I tried to make a ring, and for a terrifying minute I thought the ring was getting bigger and bigger, and I thought I saw a nose form, and eyes, and it looked just like the principal. My boys laughed because the ring looked busted as hell. I laughed too. James, though, James noticed all the fear I was trying to hide and lifted a brow. “You can’t let anybody stop you from vibing with the vape, man,” said James.

James, I don’t think he would be here. In a white room. Dying.

We were on the news, you know? We’re becoming another poster against vaping. Well, not really, but you know what I mean, right. If I was interviewed, I wouldn’t say stop vaping. I don’t know what I’d say, but not that. It’s too simple to say just that. But I’ve given up on words a while ago, and words have given up on me. So I wouldn’t say anything.

If I wanted to, I could talk about the mist boat. But if I talk about it, it won’t be real anymore. I don’t know how I can put it in words for people to hear and receive. I guess I never could catch it, if I can’t talk about it. Language is everyone’s greatest weapon, but I’ve been unarmed for a while. Maybe mist boats aren’t for the ill-spoken. So why did it come to me? Us? Was it a taunt? Was it James, pure James, who it was for? Was it for James? I understand why it would be for James. I’ve never met a guy like James. The most beautiful smoke I’ve ever seen.

I see that smoke now. It’s lovely, but I also know I am dying. I don’t know why. Imagine dying. Yeah. It’s like that. I can see smoke, but I can also feel the fire. My heart burns. My heartbeat screams on the monitor. My boys to either side of me look over; one opens his mouth. A little rasp flies out. I look at my boys. I feel so bad for them. I want to die with them. They don’t deserve to see me like this. What do I deserve? I don’t know what I deserve.

I see James. That’s all I do at first. I see him. Then I notice him. Then I see him again. Then I notice his ventilator and the bed, and that he’s pale. “James,” I rasp, but he reacts like he hears my real voice. He notices me too. Imagine what happened next. No, that’s wrong. The smoke began to close in. It really did. But, James. James, he looked at me, and all around him in my eyes was the most beautiful smoke in the world. Anything’s possible, I think. James could be dying too. And he knows it. We talk a little, as two boys in smoke would talk. Smoke-speak. We say, through the smoke, that we don’t have to die. Not if we’re together. More smoke. Nurses approaching. He says our parents. I said, forgive them. Teachers, forgiven. Principal, forgiven. Saturday, forgiven. We forgive the world for not being made of smoke, and then make smoke. Pretend that’s a metaphor, if you want to feel better.

We laugh when the mist boat comes, the boat that looks just like a boat, except it’s the mist boat. It has “you’ve gotta vibe with the vape” written on the sides, both sides, both white, wooden sides, and the letters are whiter still. Two seats, four when my boys to either side are ready. We don’t try to catch it. We get in. We just row away. And we row away on the blue sea, to the away that has been waiting for us.

After, we’re declared dead, but that’s forgiven too.