Anuradha Bhowmik
112 Battle Lane
Chapel Hill, NC 27514
Aletheia
1
Wes trailed through the dirt path of the arboretum at dusk, walking back from the
dining hall towards his dorm. He made his way through the path which winded along the
pond, the lily pads faintly visible through the dim twilight. His hands shuffled in the pockets
of his corduroy pants, fingering over the post-it notes and ball point pen he used earlier in
the day to annotate The Aeneid. The navy and green-striped flaps of his flannel hung over
his pockets, the sleeves rolled up to expose the corduroy interior on the underside of his
shirt sleeves. His ear lobes were pink, exposed to the chill autumn air underneath of his
baby blue beanie.
As he approached the clearing towards his dorm building, he heard a faint girlish
sob underneath of the weeping tree branches a few feet away from him. Under the molten
light, he could see the shadowy outline of a petite girl, black wavy hair framing her deep,
dark eyes, sitting on a bench. Despite the tear-stained streaks across her cheeks, Wes could
not help but stare at her for a moment, frozen in his path—she was strikingly beautiful.
Wes looked down at his two year-old New Balance shoes, shifting his balance from one
black shoe to the other as he hesitated to walk towards her. He felt the crunchy, barren
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ground beneath him as he looked toward the lighted clearing towards his dorm. As he
looked between the clearing and back at her, he shifted his steps away from her,
remembering the decision he made this summer. He knew it was always better, and less
painful, for him to be alone. He stopped himself from his urge to look back towards the
crying beauty as he opened the door to his dorm, his steps long and heavy as he turned the
corner and made his way up the stairs.
2
The professor walked into class, rustling with papers nestled under his left arm, a
suitcase and coat gathered in the other. Wes followed behind, entering the first class of his
college career. The desks in the classroom were set up into a semicircle. He had anticipated
that there would be quite a few of the eccentric kind when he enrolled in a creative writing
class, but he also knew that probably meant there would be plenty of shy, nerdy kids who,
like him, would want to be alone. He sat down in the far left corner of the classroom,
making sure he kept at least one empty seat beside him on each side, hoping that no one
would want to sit next to him. Students walked in with their thick, black-framed hipster
glasses, scarves, cardigans, and button-down shirts. One boy walked in with blaring
Tchaikovsky music, slipping nonchalantly into the desk to the left of Wes. He let out a loud
sigh, knowing that the boy could not hear him.
As the professor scribbled “Dr. Schiavo English 132” onto the board, the last
remaining students shuffled into the classroom. Wes placed his phone on the desk in front
of him, pretending to text, although he knew he did not have any texts. He would look
through the notepad on his phone when he would try to avoid conversations or saying hi to
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people he didn’t really know. He would write down quotes from books he read here when
he didn’t have post-it notes and a pen with him, although he now tried to carry them with
him at all times.
The sound of boots clicking against the floor reached the desk to the right of Wes,
yet he refused to look up, for fear of making awkward eye contact, or worse—it being
someone he knew, and then having to make awkward conversation. So far, he only knew
the stranger who sat down next to him wore brown cowgirl boots with stitched designs on
them and that she smelled of strawberries.
“Good morning class, my name is Dr. Schiavo,” said the professor. “Welcome to
English 132, Intro to Creative Writing. We’ll start class by going stating our names and
hometowns, since your first assignment will be to write a piece describing your
hometown.”
Wes’ mind drifted off as his classmates stated where they were from. He knew he
wouldn’t remember any of their names anyways, especially since at least two girls were
already named Emily. Nothing surprised Wes anymore, at least as far as people were
concerned.
It came to be his turn, as he monotonously stated “I’m Wes, from Clemmons, North
Carolina.” His task of speaking to strangers for the day was completed.
The stranger with the cowgirl boots beside him was up. “Hey, my name is Aletheia.
I’m from Northfield, New Jersey.”
Wes remembered learning about the term aletheia when he was reading about preSocratic philosophers. It meant “truth” or “being unconcealed” in Greek. He looked up to
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catch a glimpse of the stranger with the pretty name, and instantly caught himself doing a
double-take, staring.
He watched her, even more beautiful in the light. Even more beautiful smiling. Even
more beautiful than when he walked past her last night, crying.
3
Wes sat in the dining hall alone at a high-table behind the deli section. To the left of
him stood stacks of wheat and white bread beside piles of American, Swiss, and provolone
cheese. Students stood in line for grilled cheeses and turkey and cheese wraps as he sunk
his face into The Sorrows of Young Werther, his post-it notes and pen handy in his pocket
for annotating the pages. Wes always liked underlining and commenting on his favorite
lines in books, looking back at them whenever he felt alone. Which was often, as he always
ate his meals and studied alone on campus. He felt that books could make up for any
company he would ever need.
Beside his books, Wes had a glass of soy milk and plate of chick peas, spinach, and
rice. He had been a vegetarian ever since he read Eating Animals this past summer for his
freshman summer reading. As he put a spoonful of chickpeas into his mouth, Wes felt a tap
on his shoulder and whipped his head around, wide-eyed.
A half-smile came across her face as she lifted her hand gently to wave, and slowly
motioned to pull a piece of her wavy black hair behind her ear. Her voice trembled as she
spoke. “Sorry to scare you,” she said, blushing warmly. “You’re Wes, right? From creative
writing? I noticed you sitting by yourself, and was hoping I could sit with you… if that’s
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okay…” Her eyes darted from the bowls and plates held within her hands and back to Wes,
as she shyly made eye contact with him.
Wes swallowed and grinned back at her, her awkwardness instilling a sense of
endearment within him. “Sure,” he said. “Your name’s Aletheia, right?” he replied, as he
stuffed a napkin into his copy of The Sorrows of Young Werther to bookmark the page and
shuffled it off onto the side of the table. He placed his hands into the pockets of his
corduroy pants, hoping to compose himself, placating the sense of surprise within him.
Aletheia placed a bowl of tomato soup and a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich
onto the table as she pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. “Yeah, I looked
over at you and wondered ‘hey, I think he sits next to me in class.’ But then again, my
eyesight is really bad, even with contacts in, so I was worried you would catch me staring at
you, trying to figure out who you were. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that. Sorry, I’m
strange. I always have awkward conversations every time I first meet someone, and I
worry they’ll be like ‘oh, she’s weird. I’m never going to talk to her again.’ I didn’t offend
you did I?”
Wes stared back at her to meet her worried gaze. Her eyes were perfectly round,
chestnut-colored, glimmering underneath of her mascaraed eyelashes in perfect unity with
the black glossy depths of her curly hair, which she twirled out of nervousness in strands
around the index and middle fingers of her right hand. He watched her contort and lift the
sides of her mouth as she spoke, the flawless symmetry of her crimson lips, her head tilting
from side to side with each word. There was a sense of comfort and adorability within her
quirky mannerisms.
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“No, not at all.” Wes said softly, shaking his head lightly, releasing a soft laugh in the
space between them. He looked up to watch her cut her grilled cheese into diagonals, into
four triangles. The gold ring on the middle finger of her right hand emphasized the tininess
of her hands. He glanced at the dangling dreamcatcher necklace around her neck, draping
over the curves of her breasts, her faint cleavage exposed over the neckline of her white
sweater. He hoped she wouldn’t look up to notice him staring at her.
Aletheia smiled with relief and picked up one of the grilled cheese triangles, dipping
it into the tomato soup. “So…” she started, her eyes darting from Wes to the sandwich in
her hand, “what’s your favorite kind of cheese?” she asked, taking a bite.
“Um… I don’t know,” Wes said, pulling on the sleeves of his sweater, with a shy smile
on his lips. “I really like American, I guess…What about you?”
“I really like the cheese with the holes in it,” she said, her eyes gazing upward while
she poked a series of holes with her index finger in the space between them. “Do you know
what I’m talking about?” she asked, as she tilted her head to gauge his response.
Wes let out a chuckle, his teeth parted to expose his uncontrollable grin. “Yes, of
course. I like Swiss cheese a lot too.”
4
Wes sat at his desk, clenching his clammy palms in his red corduroy pants. He spent
ten extra minutes this morning contemplating on what to wear, deciding upon the grey
striped grandpa sweater he got from Goodwill. He considered layering it with a green
flannel underneath, but he realized it was wrinkled and felt that ironing a shirt to go to
class was pushing it.
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He heard the door open followed by the clicking of her cowgirl boots against the
linoleum floor and looked up to meet her smile. She wore a draped orange dress with flowy
sleeves which bunched at her elbows, with brown leggings underneath.
“Are you cold?” she asked him, letting out a small giggle and motioning towards the
beanie on his head.
“Oh…I forgot I still had this on…” Wes replied, motioning to pull the hat off of his
head, cheeks flushed.
“It’s all right, you should keep it on,” she said, smiling. “Hey, I have to leave class a
few minutes early today to go to a doctor’s appointment. Do you think you could let me
know if we have anything due for next class?”
“Yeah, sure,” he replied.
She pulled out her leopard print pencil bag from her teal backpack covered in Hello
Kitty pins. Wes smiled, looking at the dangling Pikachu stuffed animal keychain. Her name
was written in white embroidered letters across the top of her L.L. Bean backpack. Nerd.
She pulled out a set of sandwich-shaped post-it notes from her pencil bag. She took
out a sparkly, pink Hello Kitty gel pen and scribbled down something onto the note. “Okay,
here’s my number,” she said, pulling the post-it note off and handing it to Wes.
“Okay, cool,” replied Wes, his insides glowing with delight. It was the first time a girl
had given him her number while at college. He hated going to parties and not many cute
girls preferred to hang out on the fourth floor of the library at the spot where he always
went, with the floor-length windows which allowed him to see the sunset over the pages of
the novels he read, watching the tops of buildings of the campus underneath.
Bhowmik, Aletheia 8
She smiled back at him, pulling out the anthology which contained the reading
assignments due for class that day. Wes gazed at her every few minutes, pretending to look
at the direction of the door at entering classmates, each time catching another glimpse of
her. She had a tiny beauty mark on the surface of her left cheek and a small crescentshaped birth mark behind her left ear.
As she pulled her hair back behind her left ear, Wes fixated on the bracelets on her
hands. There was a white hemp dreamcatcher bracelet with a threaded Rasta one
underneath. There were two beaded bracelets with scintillating Swarovski crystals, pink
and aquamarine. She also had a spiral threaded bracelet which had varying hues of blue
along its edges. Wes watched her gaze down upon her bracelets, dangling a couple inches
below her wrist, covering the flesh there completely. Wes wondered if the flesh there was
paler than the rest of her skin. She bit down on her lip and slowly shifted the bracelets up
to the base of her wrist, exposing the flesh underneath.
Wes felt his heart drop, staring at her exposed flesh, horrified. He watched her
stroke the scabbed, scarred flesh beneath of her desk. Successions of bloody, inflamed cuts
trailed down beneath the bracelets which now left the lower portion of her wrist exposed.
She began to scratch the rough skin, perhaps out of habit, the friction of dry skin audible as
she rubbed off the disfigured flesh. Wes stared motionless, ceasing to blink as she pulled
the bracelets back down onto the lower portion of her wrist, the evidence of mutilation
veiled under its façade.
Wes clenched onto the thin fabric on the insides of his pockets, his shoulders tense.
How could he ignore what he just saw? He began to feel guilty about walking away from
her in the arboretum while she was crying. Did she cut that night? he thought. Why would
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she cut? She looks so happy. She’s so quirky. Why isn’t she happy? This is what happens when
you talk to people. It’s so much easier being alone. Did she see me look at her wrist? I wonder
if she noticed me staring at her this whole time. Doesn’t that hurt? Why would she do that?
She seems so happy though. She makes jokes about cheese. And she’s so pretty. How could she–
“Are you alright?” she asked, tilting her head, looking over at Wes, as he jumped,
hitting his knee against the top of his desk. “You’ve been really quiet and shaking your leg a
whole lot. It feels like an earthquake over here.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” Wes replied, scratching his head and rubbing his knee which
now ached. “I’m just…hungry. I didn’t eat breakfast this morning. I shake a lot…when I’m
hungry.”
“Oh, okay!” she said, rustling through her teal backpack. “I always carry snacks with
me incase my blood pressure gets low. I passed out once and it was embarrassing and I
don’t want to pass out again, you know? Because then no one would want to be my friend
anymore.” She pulled out a package of M&M’s and handed them to Wes. “I hope you like
peanut M&M’s. They’re a great source of protein. If not, I also have pretzel M&M’s in here.”
“Peanut’s fine, thanks a lot,” replied Wes, his mind still racing as he forced a halfsmile. He could not understand how any of this made sense. He ripped the edge of the M&M
package and slipped a couple into his mouth. He focused on the sound of his chewing to
placate his thoughts.
Wes ate the M&M’s slowly, focusing on the sounds of the rustling candy wrapper
and his chewing while classmates took turns on reading descriptions of their hometowns.
He began to think of his own hometown, the life he left behind, and the summer before
college where he watched his now ex-girlfriend drunkenly throw herself on top of his then
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best friend. He remembered his fingers hungrily edging her waistline, their half-naked
bodies illuminated by the light exposed from the doorway from which he stood, watching
them. He remembered her looking back at him lustfully, screaming “Wes, baby, come over
here!” while his best friend pulled her under the tangled sheets, her giggles muffled by their
mouths drowning out their heaving breaths. He remembered when he walked away from
the open doorway, hearing her giggles and moans echo through the barren walls as he
descended down the steps and out the door of her house, into the cold summer night. He
remembered it was then that he decided it was always better to be alone.
His thoughts were interrupted by Aletheia shifting out of her desk, gathering her
backpack to get out of the door. She smiled at him as she waved goodbye, and he smiled
back at her, painfully. He watched her walk away, out of the door, the fabric of her dress
draping behind her, emphasizing her petite figure. He heard the echo of her footsteps
against the linoleum floor before the door shut behind her.
Wes spent the remaining minutes of class ruminating over Aletheia. Does anyone
know? Should I tell someone? Is that what her doctor’s appointment is about? His racing
thoughts led his eyes to the empty seat to the right of him, which he realized what was not
actually empty. As class ended, he lifted up the brown North Face jacket which Aletheia
had left behind. “Oh, now I have an excuse to text her,” he thought. As a pebble-like noise
reverberated from the floor, Wes looked down to see what had fallen out of Aletheia’s
pocket. He placed the baby blue tablet into his palm, “ZOLOFT” engraved into it, the back
imprinted with “50 MG.”
He stared down at the pill in his hand, clasping it into his fist. Holy shit.
Bhowmik, Aletheia 11
5
Wes sat on the rocking chairs on the porch outside of his dorm, staring out at the
church next to the arboretum. He once watched a couple holding hands and sitting outside
of the benches there, beneath the stain-glassed windows. As they alternated taking hits out
of a bowl, he watched their faces illuminate under the flame of the lighter, their smiles
devouring all their nostalgia for the present. He forgot what it felt like to have the warmth
of someone else, to feel them in your bones. He forgot what it was like not being alone.
He pulled out the sandwich-shaped post-it note from his pocket, smoothing out the
creases before pulling out his phone to check the time. Two hours had passed since class
had ended. He began to dial her number, instantly regretting it. He always hated calling
people or when people called him, thinking the act of calling showed a sense of urgency and
impatience over something that could not be said over text. The phone started ringing
before he could hang up and change his mind, and that would have been unbearably
awkward.
She picked up after three rings. “Hello?”
“Hey Aletheia... It’s Wes…”
“Oh hey, Wes! How are you?”
“Oh I’m good,” he replied, focusing on the swaying of the rocking chair beneath him.
“I just called because you forgot your jacket in class today and was wondering if you
wanted me to bring it back to you. It’s kind of cold out today…”
“Oh my god, you found it?! I’ve been looking for it all day!” Wes smiled as he heard
the varying pitches of her voice. “I was so worried. I’m so happy you found it! Thanks so
much! Where are you?”
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“I’m right near the arboretum, my dorm is right next to it,” he replied.
“Me too!” she exclaimed. “I mean, I live in the same dorm.” Wes felt himself smiling
at the exhilaration in her voice. “You want to come over? I just made some hot chocolate.”
Wes could not remember the last time he had spent time with another person since
the summer, nevertheless a girl. He looked back toward the bench at the church, thinking of
the illuminated couple underneath of the stain-glass church windows. “What room are you
in?” Wes asked.
“I’m in 225,” she responded.
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
6
Wes knocked twice, examining the dry-erase board hanging on her door.
Handwritten in cursive was: “It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do
anything.” He loved Fight Club too.
He heard her dragging her feet towards the door, opening it with a beaming smile.
She wore the same draped orange dress, now with Pikachu slippers. “Hey Wes. You can sit
on the futon if you want.”
Wes made his way over to the futon, a ladybug pillow pet placed off on the side on
top of a Hello Kitty fleece blanket. The wall above the bed was covered with dream catchers
and handmade Rorschachs, as well as pictures of Aletheia posed with a little boy, at Chuck
E. Cheese, riding horses, having picnics. Movie tickets and caricatures were collaged in
between, as well as snapshots from photo booths and pictures undoubtedly hand-drawn by
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a child. The little boy had the same nose and chestnut eyes as Aletheia had, that same
mesmerizing, eye-blinding smile.
“Here’s some hot chocolate,” said Aletheia, handing Wes a Snoopy mug as she sat
beside him. “It’s the kind with the mini marshmallows in it. I hope that’s okay.”
Wes looked up at her wide speckled eyes and down at the mug which engulfed her
tiny, fragile hands, grinning as he took it into his. He imagined how ecstatic Aletheia must
have looked making hot chocolate for that little boy in her pictures.
“I love marshmallows, thanks,” Wes said. He watched the marshmallows melt into
the warmth and depth of the hot chocolate before he lifted the mug to his lips.
Wes looked back up towards the collage of pictures. “So, who’s that handsome fella
in all of your pictures?”
Aletheia looked down into her mug, biting her lip as her eyes fixated intently on the
submerged marshmallows, sure not to make eye contact with Wes. She slowly traced her
fingertips up and down the side of the mug before letting out a long breath. “Oh, that’s
Grayson. He was—he is—my brother. He was my best friend. Although he was only six, he
was my best friend. He was killed by a drunk driver this summer.”
Wes watched the hot chocolate rippling back and forth in Aletheia’s mug as her
hands shook. Her lips began to quiver as she continued to look down into her mug. Wes
watched a tear begin to well in the side of her eye as his insides contorted and scorched. It
all made sense now.
Wes placed his hand over Aletheia’s mug, grabbing the edges with his fingers as he
used his other hand to grab onto her hand, motioning for her to let go. As she looked up at
him through clouded eyes, he grabbed hold of the mug, placing it onto the floor. With her
Bhowmik, Aletheia 14
hands still shaking, he took his hand and interlaced it into hers, as she looked up and him,
forcing a smile. “He adored me,” she whispered softly.
Wes clasped his other hand over the other side of her hand, cradling her hand
within his. He felt her eyes light up again, her face radiating once more. Through sniffles
and flushed, tear-stained cheeks, she finally said, “H-h-hey Wes?”
“Yeah?” he said, looking at her with a half-smile.
“Do you want to go on an adventure tomorrow?”
He let out a small laugh, “Yeah, of course.”
She began to laugh through sniffles and finally smiled. “Okay, meet me at the church
tomorrow at midnight.”
7
Wes walked past the benches beside the stain-glass windows to find her underneath
the gated archway above the entrance of the church, under the molten light of the moon.
She wore a black dress with sleeves that cut off at her elbows, the back cut deep to expose
her shoulder blades and the small of her back. A faint trail of delicate hair traced from the
base of her neck, intersecting the middle of her back, exposing her pebbled spine. The
tousles of her curled black hair blew back against the mellow wind, exposing her
collarbones, the skin pulled taut to reveal the lovely grooves of bone and flesh.
As she turned to meet his gaze, she waved daintily to him, a floral tote bag hanging
over her right arm. As he approached closer, she grabbed onto his arm, pulling him towards
the back of the church. “C’mon!” she whispered, her breath visible in the cool air.
Bhowmik, Aletheia 15
They approached a black metal ladder attached to the side of the building as
Aletheia mounted herself upward, her bag bouncing off the back of her arm as she climbed.
Wes watched her from beneath as she climbed hastily, the wind blowing her dress,
exposing her teal, elephant-printed, lace-trimmed underwear. Wes laughed silently to
himself as he followed suit, anxiously anticipating what awaited them on their adventure.
As Aletheia got off of the top of the ladder, she reached her hand beneath her as Wes
grabbed it to pull himself up. They stood side by side, walking and staring over the rooftop
of the church, peering out at the sleeping campus beneath them. To the left of them, they
could see the convoluted tree branches atop of the arboretum, the dusty, sanded trails
hidden beneath. The effulgent hues of the flora and shrubs were now muted by the silence
of the night. The bell tower struck at the hour, its roaring tumbles rumbling through the
dusk air.
She pulled out a baby blue fleece blanket, shaking it out upon the concrete pavement
of the roof. She spread her legs atop the blanket, her cowgirl boots dangling over the edge.
She patted the spot next to her, raising her eyebrows. As he smiled, he walked over, hands
in his pockets, to sit cross-legged beside her.
She began to take out Tupperware and sandwich bags from her floral tote bag, her
smile glistening in its depths. She pulled out a sandwich bag with “Wes” written on it in
Sharpie marker and handed it to him.
Wes took the bag, his face aglow as he caught sight of the sandwich, cut diagonally
into four triangles. He pulled out one of the triangles, pulling aside a corner of the wholewheat bread, crusts sliced off of the sides. The corners of his smile curved into the crevices
Bhowmik, Aletheia 16
of his cheeks. “I see you included your favorite cheese” he said, examining the holes within
the Swiss cheese.
She giggled, tilting her head down as she crossed her legs, taking out a triangular
sandwich portion from her own plastic bag. “Oh, I have something else!” she exclaimed.
“Close your eyes, and put out your hand.”
Wes shut his eyes, extending the palm of his hand towards her. He felt his insides
tremble with warmth. As she rustled within her bag once more, she placed a chilled
cardboard prism into his hand. He opened his eyes and stared motionless as his mouth
dropped.
She tilted her head from side to side, examining his shocked expression. “Wes, don’t
you like juice boxes?” She tore the straw from the side of her juice box, pushing the tip
down into the blanket to expose the bent straw.
Wes tore off the straw and pushed it into the juice box, the corners of his mouth
lifting as he smirked at her, the apple juice seeping into his throat. He watched her take a
bite of her sandwich, the perfect imprint of bite marks left behind.
He reached out and touched the surface of her hand, over the silk of her skin,
twisting the gold ring on her middle finger. He reached into the spaces between her fingers,
interweaving her palm into his, over the curves and ridges of their fingerprints. He traced
the cracks upon her palm, mapping the rivers in between, as their fingers knitted together,
moonlight melting into their fingertips. The silence of the stars fell beneath the music of the
wind as they radiated within the celestial glow.
He looked into her eyes, gleaming like crystals cut out of the sun. He turned her arm
to its underside, trailing the veins of her arm and making his way onto her palm. He slowly
Bhowmik, Aletheia 17
trailed over the array of beaded and hemp bracelets gathered at her wrist and watched her
tilt her head down, hiding her gaze beneath her half-closed eyelids and thick eyelashes. Her
shoulders rose as she took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, and he lifted the bracelets
up to her wrists.
He traced over the rough indentations of scabbed and scarred skin with his
fingertips, lightly stroking them. He lowered his head, allowing his nose to rub gently over
the rough surface. He placed his lips upon her scars, her mutilated flesh, and kissed them,
his lips remaining there.