{"id":1902,"date":"2023-04-21T00:00:00","date_gmt":"2023-04-21T07:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/?p=1902"},"modified":"2023-06-28T17:56:53","modified_gmt":"2023-06-29T00:56:53","slug":"pufflings","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2023\/pufflings\/","title":{"rendered":"Pufflings"},"content":{"rendered":"\n\n\n\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
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Pufflings<\/h1>\n\n\n<\/div>\n \n \n By<\/span>Ryn Daniel<\/strong>\n \n April 21, 2023<\/span>\n <\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
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Puffins remind me of my little brother. They\u2019re small and inquisitive, like him, and have sensitive, upturned eyebrows. They stand with their flippers pointed out, puffing their belly with their wings folded back. Just like five-year-old Finn, with his hands on his hips, that same puffed-up belly full of peas and mash. I remember images of puffins in Iceland\u2014little white birds perched on mossy rock cliffs. And then I think of my little brother wearing his Christmas footies.<\/p>\n

Looking at him now, I suppose most of his puffin qualities have left. Although, he still has those upturned eyebrows, which makes it hard to tell how he feels. Most times, he looks sad, but maybe I just say that because I\u2019m a girl. Well, I\u2019ll turn twenty in November, so I guess I\u2019m grown-up. Finn\u2019s just sixteen\u2014he\u2019ll turn seventeen a month before my birthday.<\/p>\n

I can see his eyes working under the fluorescents, probably under the cover of a dream.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, you up?\u201d<\/p>\n

Finn\u2019s eyelashes flutter open. When I was younger, I always hated that my brother was prettier than me.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s just grandma.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHuh?\u201d<\/p>\n

He adjusts his eyes, wrenching himself from the elbow of his plastic bench. Doing so makes his dark bangs sway sideways, and he fixes his hair before looking at me.<\/p>\n

He says with a cracked voice\u2014\u201cI had a dream that you were worried about a sea squid in the kitchen, but it was grandma baking cookies.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich grandma?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe looked like Gerty, but her hair was whiter.\u201d<\/p>\n

I ask him, \u201cWas it a sea squid because you like the ocean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think so. It was more like the giant tentacles.\u201d<\/p>\n

Oh well, I guess puffins don\u2019t historically roam around with giant squid.<\/p>\n

Seeing him sit up more, I slide myself forward on my opposing bench\u2014my fingers slip along the wet white plastic. Outside, you can barely see beyond the walls of the ferry. There\u2019s only the darkness of deep blue waters dragging us across the channel. Some cigarette smoke peeking around a pillar. It\u2019s eerily quiet\u2014I feel a great relief now that Finn is awake, since my headphones died thirty minutes ago. I try to catch his gaze, but his brown eyes look utterly dazed as he scratches slightly at his nose. And although he tried to fix his hair, his whisps still stick out in all directions. Suddenly, I feel an immediate want to hug him tightly over the shoulders. Like that time he broke his arm after falling from a tree. Shit, maybe it\u2019s my period. Besides, Finn doesn\u2019t really like hugs.<\/p>\n

He gets up\u2014\u201cI\u2019m gonna go take a piss.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOk, just don\u2019t fall over the side.\u201d<\/p>\n

He exhales a laugh before turning towards the back of the boat. I watch him whisk around the corner, his oversized hoodie trailing behind him, and I check my phone: five-thirty six. We should pull into Rocky Harbour at sunrise. Then, we\u2019ll finally be 1000 km from home. I wonder if the harbour is really made of stone, and if we\u2019ll have to wedge an anchor on a rock cliff to take us to shore. Even though Newfoundland is only across the gulf, I feel like we\u2019re sailing to the Arctic\u2014somewhere cold and flat and empty. I don\u2019t want Finn to feel like that.<\/p>\n

It took everything for Mom to send him here. Something cracked in our quiet house. The nights became too dark\u2014a restless passivity that made the air thick and daunting. Finn became a sort of ghost as he locked himself away in his shuttered bedroom. Mom would knock on his door, and he\u2019d pretend to sleep. Because Finn is like me in any confrontation: he shuts down. Except, it was always harder for him to come back from an argument. Over those summers when I\u2019d come back from college, Mom would try to get me to \u201ctalk to him.\u201d But most times, the two of us would just lie around listening to The B-52\u2019s. I\u2019d draw while he\u2019d play video games. Sometimes I\u2019d peer over his shoulder when his pixelated knight uncovered a treasure chest.<\/p>\n

Maybe then I should’ve opened my mouth and reached for him from across the room. But I don\u2019t think I\u2019d find anything to say. None of us did much\u2014we didn\u2019t have any hallway crushes or game day jitters. Back in tenth grade, when I told him I liked girls, he said \u201cOk,\u201d and asked if I wanted the rest of his mac and cheese.<\/p>\n

Maybe if I\u2019d \u201ctalked to him,\u201d he wouldn\u2019t have swallowed that bottle of pills last December.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow much longer till Rocky Harbour?\u201d<\/p>\n

I look up from my daze to see Finn with his hands in his pockets. Those upturned eyebrows.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust a few more hours.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nods, then plants himself on the opposing bench.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou went to Newfoundland once with Dad, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

I think back to when I was five, but I can\u2019t visualize anything beyond my Dora the Explorer backpack. Instead I tell him, \u201cYeah, I think my favorite part was the ocean. All the moss and rocks were nice. But I\u2019m sure there\u2019s more there to explore.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I\u2019ll probably find something.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd there\u2019s lots of stuff to take pictures of. You\u2019ll have to send me some.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know if we\u2019re allowed phones.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh.\u201d<\/p>\n

A wind whistles through the cabin, and a leaf drifts into Finn\u2019s hair.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust, make some drawings when you send letters back, ok?\u201d<\/p>\n

He nods, and the leaf falls on the ground.<\/p>\n

I hate it when it feels like I can\u2019t understand him. I used to when he was younger\u2014I could look into his eyes and gravitate everything about him that was simple and complex. I wish he\u2019d let me practice my makeup on him in high school. I feel like I could figure out all of his working parts with a sharp line of eyeshadow across his gaze. A splatter of blush that could tell me if he\u2019s sweet or if he\u2019s daring. Probably sweet.<\/p>\n

I rub my eyes and forget that I\u2019m wearing mascara. \u201cDid you bring any books?\u201d<\/p>\n

He looks up\u2014\u201cYeah, I brought two Percy Jacksons and some Naruto manga.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNice, nice. So, no Shakespeare then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d say Percy Jackson is pretty Shakespearean.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYup, that sounds right. I never got past the first two books though.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re pretty good. I always loved the whole idea of having water powers. I think those are the coolest out of the bunch.\u201d<\/p>\n

Yeah, he\u2019s definitely a puffin.<\/p>\n

\u2740\u2740\u2740<\/p>\n

Some thirty minutes have passed since I came back with snacks from the vending machine. In the end, I threw away my stale animal crackers because they gave me anxiety\u2014as did the incessant buzz of the ferry motor below my feet. I also decided to sit next to Finn, because the lean of the boat made me feel uneasy, like I was gonna fall forward and spill all over the floor. I feel much more comfortable with Finn\u2019s hoodie folded next to my hip.<\/p>\n

Across from us, a girl about his age is leaning against the banister. She\u2019s probably trying to seek out the sunrise on the horizon. From here, we can\u2019t see over the walls, only white plastic. I notice that she\u2019s wearing an oversized hoodie, like Finn.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think that girl\u2019s going to the same program as you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Finn looks up from his jittering knee and quirks his head to the side. Her dyed-blue hair sticks out.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe looks the same age as you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou should go talk to her.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looks back at me, works at those eyebrows.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want to freak her out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy would you freak her out?\u201d<\/p>\n

He shrugs\u2014I scoot closer.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know, she\u2019s really pretty.\u201d<\/p>\n

At that, Finn scrunches his face. An awkward huff.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you agree she\u2019s pretty?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think I want to go talk to her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell then you\u2019re fine if we gossip from here, right? I mean, assuming she\u2019s in your program, we should probably think of things to start a conversation. You know, for when you two finally meet.\u201d<\/p>\n

Instead of responding, he fidgets with his hoodie drawstring.<\/p>\n

\u201cOr, you could just go talk to her now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Looking away, Finn tucks his bangs behind his ears. After a few seconds, he ties his drawstring into a little knot, which he quickly unravels. He focuses to get his knee to stop shaking.<\/p>\n

Then, he gets up with a sigh, and gives me a flat smile before turning towards the banister. I watch him weave through those white plastic benches, avoiding the old drifter snoozing on the far side. He taps her shoulder, and the two of them say hi. Finn finally takes his hands out of his pockets. The girl smiles. Facing each other, the pale light from the water reflects over their cheeks\u2014their freckles and eyelashes. I turn away to give them privacy.<\/p>\n

On the left wall, there\u2019s a poster advertising a karaoke bar in Newfoundland. I observe a stock image of twenty-somethings frozen in mid-dance\u2014all of them with stringy hair and tugged smiles. The text above is in neon purple: Lobster Cove\u2019s Premier Karaoke Bar. I imagine Finn going to this karaoke bar, cracking into a lobster dinner, and consequently stepping up to stage to sing Rock Lobster. It makes me laugh.<\/p>\n

While Finn and his friend talk on the left side of the ferry, I decide to walk over to the opposite banister. We now have our backs to each other\u2014if I jumped out, I could swim all the way around the ferry until I reached his side. But I won\u2019t do that. Instead, I\u2019m accompanied by a wrinkled woman wearing a cigarette behind her ear. She\u2019s probably saving it for when we disembark. I\u2019ve only smoked weed before, but I imagine Newfoundland is better suited for cigarettes. Fisherman\u2019s cigars\u2014cigarettes for the women. Both of us look over the water, and I try to match her contemplative gaze. But the wind whips my hair in all directions, and the sea sprays into my eyes. Suddenly, I\u2019m trying desperately not to cry. To not think about my ferry ride back.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s a lass like you doing so far up in Newfoundland?\u201d<\/p>\n

The wrinkled woman looks at me with kind eyes, her mittens on the banister. I frantically wipe away the seawater from my face, pull my hair back.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I\u2019m traveling with my brother.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou two got a place to stay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, no. He\u2019s going to a\u2026um. I\u2019m just dropping him off, you know. I have to go back to college in a few days.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you studying at your college?\u201d Her Irish tongue wraps around every word.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I don\u2019t really know yet? Which I know is bad, but\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, it took me twenty years to figure out what I wanted to do. It took two marriages, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

She takes a second to sniff in the cold air, and exhales\u2014\u201cWhat I mean is, you don\u2019t need to be worrying about who you are, what you want to do. Not yet at least.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I guess I feel like I\u2019m\u2026 lost. Sometimes I think I want to be a writer, but other times\u2026 I don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell the world sure needs new writers. Maybe writers who feel just as lost as the rest of us.\u201d<\/p>\n

The woman\u2019s wrinkles are actually quite beautiful, especially when she smiles.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that your brother back there?\u201d<\/p>\n

I look back at Finn and his new friend. The two of them have become quite a pair, both balancing on their toes to peer over the banister. They look like puffins pointed to catch a fish.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s my granddaughter Katie over there, with the pretty blue hair. Is your brother going to the same program as her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026Yeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

She reaches her mittened hand over mine, and I tear my eyes away from Finn.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know it\u2019s scary, bringing them out to the island. But let me tell you, I grew up with my mam\u00f3 in Newfoundland. The waves are always pleasant, the trees are always the deepest green. There are misty mornings and great beautiful cliffs. I caught crabs every Sunday, I skimmed my knees, I ran down the hill for fresh bread in the morning\u2026 Your brother is going to be ok.\u201d<\/p>\n

My hand feels warm under her mitten. I notice that her accent sinks into the word \u201cbrother,\u201d a slight dip in her breath. \u201cYeah, I uh\u2026 read about the program. How they do a lot of stuff outside. I guess that\u2019s better than putting him somewhere else, like an institution.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, it\u2019s hard to let go of our children, and send them somewhere away from reach. Unimaginably hard. There\u2019s so much sadness in this world, so much pain. You just wish you could take it away from them.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nod, my neck creaking. I feel like her grip over my hand is the only thing keeping me standing. I try not to shake.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut, you understand, no matter how much love you pour into them, they need to find it themselves. They need to find that reason to live that\u2019s buried somewhere deeper than the rest of us. And that\u2019s the hardest truth. The most painful truth.\u201d<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t help it. I crack completely, and the tears stream down my face, burning my cheeks. The wrinkled woman takes me in her arms, her puffer jacket enveloping my whole body.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, sweetie. You can\u2019t blame yourself. You can\u2019t carry it with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

She cradles my head with her mitten, and I fall apart even more.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll always be his big sister.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2740\u2740\u2740<\/p>\n

On sunny days, back when my brother and I were little, our family would all pack into our Honda Civic and ride along the Trans-Canada Highway to the beach. Finn took the booster seat while I sat on Mom\u2019s lap. Looking out the window, I\u2019d count all the ships over the horizon, wondering if I could ever be a sailor. I didn\u2019t like the ocean, because the seawater gave me a rash, and the shells hurt my feet. So, when we got there, I spent my time building sand castles instead, watching little Finn in his diaper. He always loved waddling along the shoreline and stomping his feet. When I wanted to decorate my castle, I\u2019d ask Finn to pick up some seashells to bring back. And he\u2019d always listen, he\u2019d always say \u201cI\u2019m comin\u2019 Laurie.\u201d And a second later, he\u2019d come running\u2014squatting beside my sand castle to present me with a fistful of pearl-white seashells.<\/p>\n

I know that the most beautiful shells are washed up on the Newfoundland shore. I know that they\u2019re waiting for Finn Wilson to be the one to find them.<\/p>\n

We\u2019re about to reach the dock\u2014I can see the Lobster Cove Lighthouse peeking out from our left side. Some people have started queuing up at the front of the Ferry. I notice Katie and her grandmother holding hands, looking over the bow. Beside me, Finn has his hoodie zipped up against the crisp morning cold. I can see him shivering under his hood.<\/p>\n

\u201cFinn.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me give you my jacket.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looks at me through his bangs.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, no it\u2019s ok.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHere you go.\u201d<\/p>\n

I hand him my thick windbreaker I borrowed from Mom\u2019s closet. Finn\u2019s cheeks are so pink that his freckles poke out like little pebbles.<\/p>\n

He hesitates.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not gonna let you go without a jacket.\u201d<\/p>\n

We look at each other for a second. Then, Finn starts unzipping his hoodie.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll give you my hoodie then. For the ferry ride back.\u201d<\/p>\n

He puts it in my hands, soft and gentle. Without thinking, I rub my thumb over the worn-through cotton thread\u2014it\u2019s comforting.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou sure?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

The both of us let the cold wash over our arms before we pull our jackets on. I help Finn secure the windbreaker straps on his wrists.<\/p>\n

\u201cFinn?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know that sometimes it\u2019s hard for me to talk about stuff, but I just wanted to tell you that, you\u2019re gonna be ok.\u201d<\/p>\n

Instead of letting his arm fall, I hold onto his wrist.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know, the world isn\u2019t ready for all of the amazing things you\u2019re gonna do. You\u2019re gonna do so many things, Finn. So many things.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looks at me, his eyes an amber honey in the morning light.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo are you.\u201d<\/p>\n

We both smile, a quiet smile, reserved just for us.<\/p>\n

Then, I look over his shoulder and spot something extraordinary.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh my god, look!\u201d<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a gathering of puffins, maybe twenty of them. They\u2019re all poised on a mossy rock cliff, just like I imagined, tilting their beaks with a sensitive curiosity. One of them dives into the water with their flippers pointed out. Another nestles close with a mate, tucking into their love. I can spot a little gray puffling buried somewhere in between all the white feathers.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s you, Finn!\u201d<\/p>\n

His eyes are filled with wonder.<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t help tearing up\u2014\u201cYou\u2019re, those are\u2026god, they remind me of you. Puffins.\u201d<\/p>\n

He takes my hand, and I notice he\u2019s tearing up, too.<\/p>\n

Three squeezes mean I love you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

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Ryn Daniel<\/strong> is a freshman student at the School of Cinematic Arts. She has a passion for screenwriting and creative storytelling and is super excited to be among California kool kids as a Georgia native. She loves Adventure Time<\/em> and making doodles of hot ladies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":288,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[48],"tags":[52],"class_list":["post-1902","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-spring-2023","tag-prose"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nPufflings<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2023\/pufflings\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Pufflings - Palaver Arts Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2023\/pufflings\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Palaver Arts Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/palaver.arts.magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2023-04-21T07:00:00+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2023-06-29T00:56:53+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/175\/2023\/06\/palaver-logo.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"710\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"198\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"akcannon\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2023\/pufflings\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2023\/pufflings\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"akcannon\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/live-usc-dornsife.pantheonsite.io\/palaver\/#\/schema\/person\/8ac801b3c8176b6860207b43ecbe9e78\"},\"headline\":\"Pufflings\",\"datePublished\":\"2023-04-21T07:00:00+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2023-06-29T00:56:53+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2023\/pufflings\/\"},\"wordCount\":1,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/live-usc-dornsife.pantheonsite.io\/palaver\/#organization\"},\"keywords\":[\"Prose\"],\"articleSection\":[\"Issue 13: Spring 2023\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2023\/pufflings\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2023\/pufflings\/\",\"name\":\"Pufflings - 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