8: Eden & Jude

By S.M. Rune

In 2008,

a Queer teenage runaway

on the streets of San Francisco

discovered an Elsewhere.

This is his story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.M. Rune
• Release date: Jan 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088088357

Book preview

April 2008 - Greyhound

What's that you're writing, dear? Hellen's question brought me back to Earth. The sunset reflected off Pacific waters. The toilet in the back of the bus was no longer in service, and the smell of human waste permeated. My back was stiff from sitting for hours.

I looked at Hellen suspiciously. No one had taken an interest in my writing before. But in her silver-framed face, I saw she was simply bored and trying to pass the time. 

It's just a fantasy story. You'd probably find it tedious, I answered.

Nonsense. I have eight grandchildren, she said, and I love hearing their stories. Besides, still another hour or so before my stop. Tell me your story. What's it about?

Well, I guess it started as a story about Adam and Lilith, I said.

Who?

Lilith. Adam's first wife, before Eve.

I haven't heard of Lilith.

"That's probably because she isn't in the Bible. The earliest references I could find of Lilith were in Jewish myths, as a demon who ate babies. She was later reappropriated in a profane book called the Alphabet of Sirach, which details her banishment from Eden for demanding equality with Adam.

The book was lewd and satirical. It wasn't supposed to be taken seriously; yet priests and rabbis took the story and re-reappropriated it as a cautionary tale for women who might rebel against the patriarchy. It's kinda funny because these days, she's been re-re-reappropriated as a patron saint of feminists. You might have heard about the Lilith Fair.

That's interesting. No, I haven't, said Hellen.

Yeah, I'm full of interesting, useless information.

So your story is about Lilith, then?

"More like she's pulling the strings. Lilith was banished to Nod, which is this harsh, bleak place where she lives underground because the winds are so deadly. 

Meanwhile, Adam and Eve rule Eden. They were made perfect, so they're immortal, but because they ate the Forbidden Fruit, their children grow old and die. Millenia has passed. Adam is obsessed with breaking the curse that kills his children. Lilith is obsessed with revenge against Adam and even God. My characters live in Eden under Adam's rule.

Hellen smiled widely. That's fascinating! And you know the Bible! How wonderful. It's so nice to see young men who read the Lord's book.

No, I've never read the Bible. My mom raised me, and she claims to be Christian, but she isn't, really. She took us to church a few times, but I don't believe in the Christian God. 

That surprised Hellen. She looked offended. Then why are you writing about Bible stories?

Because I grew up on them. They're what I know, and they're entertaining, but I don't believe in Jesus any more than I believe in Superman.

Hellen wrung her hands. It's disrespectful to reduce our holiest icon to pop fiction. Even if you don't believe, can you at least show a little respect for those of us who do?

Mm. No. See, because Christians systematically wiped out entire cultures. You devoured pagan myths and plagiarized them as your own. You demand the respect you deny others. So, no. The most I can offer you is my sympathy, and that's only when I have the patience to give it.

Hellen was white in the face, stunned to silence.

I leaned in for the finisher, whispering, And by the way, I'm gay as Hell. That's why I chose San Francisco: I'm gonna go fuck some guys. Like a train of guys. It's gonna get weird.

Then I picked up my spiral ring notebook and mechanical pencil, ignoring Hellen again. It was awkward for a minute after that. Thankfully, the bus pulled into Portland, where Hellen and her friend got off. 

I'll pray for you, she said in lieu of goodbye.

Save your breath, I hollered back. No one sat next to me for the rest of the trip.

As the Greyhound bus carried on to California, the ocean waves outside my window carried me back to Eden.

Chapter 1 - The Serpent

The crowd surrounding the square erupted in cheers of jubilee. Crescent hadn't won the Perigee Tournament since before Rafael was born, and to be victorious at only fourteen years old was a remarkable achievement.

Everyone was ecstatic. Well, almost everyone. 

Gwendolyn Avalyn, Lyn to her family, was in many ways a typical 8-year-old. She had been sitting for several hours and grown restless as the tournament dragged on. Whenever her brother fought, Lyn got excited, but the final match was over, and Lyn was eager to leave.

It was Apple's duty to take care of, manage, and interpret for Lyn, and she was devoted, not that Apple had a choice in the matter. Apple was a capuchin monkey familiar, given a higher sentience by Godfather Adam Himself. 

Some creatures spent their lives wondering about their purpose in life, but not Apple. She was blessed and cursed to know precisely why: to serve the Avalyn family and interpret for Lyn.

Apple was given to Lyn when the girl was just two years old. When Godfather Adam heard news that Lyn had been born deaf, He created Apple to be Lyn's lifelong companion. 

Steward Avalyn graciously declined, but the Godfather insisted. Apple would be Lyn's teacher and interpreter, and that was the end of discussion. Steward Avalyn could say nothing more but offer his gratitude for such a generous gift. After all, no one else on the island of Crescent could afford a familiar.

Although today, a few wealthy visitors brought their familiars with them. By accessing the Aether, Apple could 'remember' their memories. The Aether connected Apple to every familiar on Eden and to their memories, knowledge, and experiences, living or dead. When Apple first arrived on Crescent six years ago, Steward Avalyn forbade her from sharing her memories. But Apple could still access the public memories of other familiars. 

Presently, Apple was trying to distract her ward by describing the memory of a visiting lion familiar who witnessed a man falling face-first onto a pile of horse manure. Lyn chuckled at the story but kept glancing nervously at the Good Brother seated next to her father. Something about him clearly upset her. 

Apple told Lyn not to worry, but the stranger had a malevolent aura about him that made Apple's fur rise. Something about the creepy smile that never left his face.

'The tournament is over,' Lyn signed. 'Let's go play in the garden.'

Apple could think of no compelling reason to stay, so she told Lyn's grandmother Henrietta their plan, then followed Lyn as she snuck quietly away. No one would question their sudden absence. It was Lyn's prerogative to disappear for hours at a time. She was a wild, solitary child, prone to emotional outbursts. Most of the castle staff ignored her. And though her family loved her unreservedly, they were so busy with matters of state and duty that they rarely had time for Lyn.

Consequently, Apple was more than simply Lyn's servant and interpreter. She was Lyn's best friend, her ever-present shadow, and even a surrogate mother. It was a responsibility Apple cherished dearly. 

They ran downstairs and crossed the castle courtyard to reach the garden. It was lush, beautifully maintained, and several acres wide, with tall trees and an array of native flowers. Bees and butterflies filled the air and flew out of reach of the island princess.

Lyn was in high spirits again, far from the unnerving, smiling stranger. She spun in circles and laughed, basking in her sweet return to freedom and relative solitude. The bright sun made her short black hair shine like onyx. Lyn's dress, a formal blue-green skirt, spun around her, aloft in the breeze, as if it might lift and carry her away, a flower petal on the wind.

She stopped and looked at Apple; a pure, child-like grin lit her face. 'Let's play Hide and Seek,' she demanded. 'Close your eyes and count to 20, then come find me.'

Hide and Seek was one of Apple's favorite games. Despite her vast intelligence and magical sophistication, she was still an animal and loved to hunt and play. They played several rounds, taking turns, finding each other in trees, behind bushes, and under garden supplies. In time they grew hungry, and Lyn decided they should sneak into the kitchen for supplies.

Stealing food from the kitchen was another game they often played. They knew every corner of Castle Moondial, every secret path and shortcut - or at least, they thought they did. One such hidden passage led to the kitchen. 

Lyn and Apple waited patiently until the guards had passed, then darted down the hallway, stopping abruptly to open a small grate before crawling into the small, dark opening in the wall. It was built to allow fresh air to flow to the deepest rooms of the castle, but they were small enough to fit. As she crawled on her hands and knees, Lyn calmly brushed a mouse aside and more than one spider out of her hair.

They turned several times, having memorized the labyrinthine paths of this particular crawl space long ago. Finally, they saw the lights of the kitchen shining before them, like the sun at the end of a tunnel. They looked out into a spacious room lit by an enormous fire.

The cooks and kitchen staff were hard at work preparing the feast Steward Avalyn had ordered for Rafael's celebration. Delicious smells of cooked meats, vegetables, and sweet and savory desserts filled the air and made both Apple and Lyn's mouths water. Apple had her eyes on a fruit torte, and Lyn pointed at a pecan pie with a greedy expression. But, of course, they couldn't simply grab their spoils. They needed a proper diversion. 

Together they carefully removed the grate that separated them from their objectives. They were beneath a chopping table. The kitchen staff were all busy at their tasks. Now comes the challenging part. If they failed, Lyn's father would be angry and send them to bed without dinner. It was all or nothing. Apple would provide the distraction while Lyn stole the food. 

Apple waited patiently and chose her moment carefully. When she was sure no one was looking, she dashed out from their hiding spot to slide under the center table where the chefs were preparing food. It was cramped, even for her, so she crawled on her belly to the other side of the room and waited once more for the perfect moment to strike. 

Several minutes passed, but her opportunity presented itself in the form of a young assistant. He entered the kitchen with his arms full of clean pots and pans. He couldn't see the ground at his feet, so Apple jumped out from under the table and screeched in agony as if he had stepped on her tail. The young man jumped and hollered in surprise, dropping one of the pans in his arms, making a loud clamor, and surprising the entire kitchen.

Be careful! Apple yelled at the poor boy, who turned bright red in the face and profusely apologized, looking confused and a little scared. Apple felt a stab of pity for the boy, who would no doubt be reprimanded, but not too severely. She ran out the door before anyone could say another word and sprinted down the hallway to where Lyn would surely be waiting with their spoils.

She found Lyn next to the grate opening with a mouthful of pecan pie, two fruit tortes, and an enormous grin on her pecan-smeared face. Lyn even nabbed a fistful of caramel crickets, a favorite of Apple's, and together they munched happily, laughing all the while. 

Apple! Someone shouted. Apple looked up to see Captain Reynard marching toward them with purpose. At first, Apple thought they would be reprimanded for stealing from the kitchens, but Reynard didn't seem to care about their stash of desserts.

I have a task for you, he said. Apple began interpreting Captain Reynard's words, but he told her to stop. This would be a secret mission, and Lyn didn't need to know. Apple felt confused and uncomfortable but did as she was told, as always. 

But in all her life, Apple had never failed to interpret anyone's speech for Lyn. Not doing so now felt like a terrible betrayal. Everyone ignored Lyn from time to time, but never Apple. The young girl reacted in anger, charging Captain Reynard and beating him with her tiny fists, but he hardly seemed to notice. The captain simply grabbed her arm and held her away from him, firmly, not with cruelty, but without question. Lyn tried to break away, but his grip was like steel. She jerked violently in vain, then, from the bottom of her lungs, she summoned an angry, frustrated shriek.

Captain Reynard waved his hand and cast a spell to silence the girl, then resumed addressing Apple, ignoring Lyn. Apple watched helplessly, knowing Lyn felt violated, ignored, and silenced. 

Rage and passion swelled in Lyn's tiny body until it found a new form of release. All the candles and lights around them began to brighten. When Lyn realized she was releasing her fury, she doubled her efforts to punish Apple and Reynard. The lights became blinding. Reynard raised his arms to cover his eyes, but still, it shined through. Then, as quickly as it began, it stopped, and Lyn collapsed in exhaustion.

A full minute passed as Apple and Reynard blinked the stars out of their eyes, having been briefly blinded by the light's intensity. Once he could see again, Reynard removed the silence spell from Lyn and carried her up to her bed. Then he examined her as if seeing her for the first time. Finally, Reynard pulled a chair next to Lyn's bed and began to sign directly to her, something he had rarely done before.

'I am impressed,' Reynard signed. 'Not many humans can wield magic, let alone 8-year-olds.'

Lyn managed a weak smile.

'You depleted your mana when you brightened the lights. Sleep is what you need now. When you wake up, maybe I'll teach you how to do magic properly so you don't exhaust yourself.'

But Lyn was already asleep. As the captain left the little witch to rest, her familiar Apple snuck out the window, as she had been instructed.

The perigee moon illuminated the outside wall. Apple leapt from branch to stone to branch along a complicated path. On the docks below, Apple saw bustling crowds of partiers celebrating the occasion. Apple shimmied along strategically placed foliage, then dropped behind the cliff wall into a secret tunnel.

The entrance was cramped and riddled with dead-ends, but Apple knew the correct path. She had done this several times. She climbed until her tiny claws grabbed hold of a ledge and pulled herself up.

A thin strand of light shined from behind a wall. A tiny pinhole revealed the inside of the room, elegantly decorated, with a crackling fireplace warming the air. Apple saw Brother Timothy standing in front of a large ornate mirror. But instead of a reflection shining back at him, it was the Father Almighty himself, Adam. Apple began to tremble.

The Avalyns are downstairs celebrating Rafael's victory in the Perigee tournament. Presumably, they'll be at it well into the night, so we aren't likely to be interrupted. Apple was listening to the steely-smooth voice of Brother Timothy.

Holy Father Adam didn't respond. His ancient face betrayed nothing. 

Brother Timothy continued in a slow drawl. I contacted you because when I landed on Crescent, I sensed Fae magic immediately. Spellworks permeate the island. I can't determine the nature of the spells, but I can smell them in the air. This castle reeks of it.

At this declaration, Adam took interest. Remnants, perhaps, hiding out on an island at the farthest corner of the world. The Holy Father mused. The loneliness must be unbearable. Miserable creatures. I should have been more thorough.

Well, you certainly tried your best, said Timothy derisively. The audacity! To speak so flippantly to the Holy Father! But evidence of fae magic isn't definitive proof that the Avalyns are conspiring against you. 

Adam paused for a moment. There's a familiar hiding in the wall, spying on our conversation. Seize it.

Brother Timothy turned to face the wall where Apple was hiding. She dived for the tunnel, but inexplicably, her body lurched sideways and broke through the wall. She screamed and squirmed, but all the same, she landed in Timothy's calm, outstretched hand. Timothy's other hand grabbed her head to snap her neck. 

Instead, he turned her to face her maker. Holy Father Adam considered her with dispassion. The jewel in Father Adam's crown grew bright like a beacon, and Apple relaxed. She could neither move nor speak.

That's better, said Adam. Now we know they're afraid. Why else would they send a spy?

More to the point, what do you intend to do about it? Shall I kill it? Timothy asked. Adam was silent. The jewel in his crown glowed horribly.

No need, Godfather said, finally. Fix the wall and send the familiar back, unharmed. Feign ignorance. Adam looked into Apple's eyes. The jewel shined ever brightly, and Adam's orders flowed into her mind like the foundation of truth.

April 2008 - San Francisco

My bus arrived in San Francisco around midnight. 

I grabbed a map of the city and found the nearest public library.

I love libraries. In school, when other kids ran to the playground during recess, I went to the library and read fantasy stories in a comfortable corner. I learned to research at an early age, so I knew I'd find the information I needed in a library. 

The main city library was beautiful. Eight tall stories high, built of granite, with a glass ceiling, providing lots of natural light. Rows of staircases and bookshelves spiraled upwards, resembling a double helix. 

I went to the information desk and asked for help finding homeless shelters and job search centers in the city. The librarian didn't seem surprised. Skinny teenagers must have been inquiring about homeless services with some regularity. She printed a few pages of information, and that's how I learned about Larkin Street Youth Services.

It was 2008. Some rich bankers had gambled with everyone else's money, and millions lost their homes. The economy was in freefall. Austerity was the word of the day. Social programs were slashed nationwide. Homelessness was an epidemic. Hundreds of thousands of people from across the nation had come to San Francisco, fleeing poverty, hoping for a better life. In the harsh light of day, I saw them sleeping in abandoned doorways and huddling together for respite from the cold April winds. 

Larkin Street Youth Services' federal budget had been cut in half. It would endure more cuts before the economy rebounded. All 50 beds in the Lark Inn were full. I wrote my name at the bottom of a long list of names, and they told me to check in every day to move up the list. It would be five weeks before a bed opened. They also gave me a paper bag. Inside was a thin PB&J and a banana. A few doors down was the Larkin Drop-In, where homeless youth could rest and eat during the day. Next door was an employment and training center. I asked around, and everyone gave the same advice: make a friend. Find a couch.

I wasn't very good at making friends and didn't know how to trust people. So instead, I explored the city, looking for a place to sleep outside. I spent days walking to every corner of the water-walled city. At night, I retrieved my luggage and brought it to the safest place I found on my search. I trespassed at a dozen places or more. No construction site, dark alley, or stairway escaped my consideration. I jumped fences and slept in trees. I passed a thousand homeless people curled up on the sidewalk. Those wretched dark and shivering doorways seemed unambitious. I wanted something more.

I found it on the third day of searching: the rooftop of a parking garage. To reach it, I took an elevator up five floors, stepped out onto a fire escape, climbed some stairs and a ladder, crossed the roof, descended a different ladder, and then jumped onto another roof. But seeing the stars and city at night made it worth the trouble.

My rooftop had a broken water tower, with a man-sized tube for me to crawl in to take shelter from the misty rain. Most nights, the winds carried the music of a homeless saxophonist playing for change on the street below. I gave him more money than I could spare. In truth, it was one of the happiest times of my life.

But nights in San Francisco can be cold and long. Some nights I couldn't sleep. I'd walk up and down Market Street, stopping at a 24-hour fast food joint to stay warm. The security guards would wake me up whenever I closed my eyes. What little money I had only lasted long enough for my food stamps application to process. When my food stamps ran out, as they did on the third week of every month, I stole food from Walgreens or Safeway. 

Next, I started looking for work. Larkin's employment center helped me improve and print my resume, and by May, I was working as a teller at a check cashing store in the Tenderloin. Locals call the Tenderloin 'an island of poverty in a sea of immense wealth.' My store's clients were mainly disabled veterans and societal rejects, either denied service by banks or through their own deliberate disavowal of mainstream society. Some were noble, many were swindlers, most were sad and miserable, but it was a living. By late May, my name reached the top of Larkin's list, and a bed opened up in the Lark-Inn Shelter.

I dragged my belongings to the shelter and secured them in a locker beside my bed. I shared the room with three other people. Having secured my basic needs, I explored San Francisco and returned to the library to research how to be gay. I read about Castro Street, Harvey Milk, Marsha P. Johnson, Stonewall, and some history of Queer civil rights. 

I also learned about cruising. In the before time, pre-internet, gays would walk down the street and try to make eye contact with passersby. If someone met their gaze, they'd turn around after passing to look again. 

Since Grindr wasn't a thing yet, and I had limited access to the internet, I figured I would try my hand at cruising. I walked to Castro Street, San Francisco's affluent gay district, and found a seat with a view of the sidewalk so I could watch as men passed by.

Like everything else in life, I thought of it as a game or experiment, practicing how to meet people, how to have sex, how to fall in love. And I did want to fall in love. 

But what I really wanted was for someone to fix me. I felt broken. Unlovable. I wanted someone to help me put back my broken pieces and quiet my screaming mind, to hold me tight and tell me I was safe and it would all be okay. 

Sadly, that's not what the men on Castro Street wanted from me. 

See, I dropped out of high school when I was 16 to work two jobs, and I was never good at making friends, anyway. So my exposure to people outside of my immediate family was limited. I'd never even kissed a boy until three days prior, but that's a story for a different book. The point is, I was about to be told, over and over again, by total strangers that I was attractive, relatively speaking. Think Ryan Reynolds, but 19. 

I only mention it because, from their perspective, I was fresh meat, vulnerable, inexperienced, and ripe for the taking. The way wolves look at a deer alone in the woods. That's how they saw me. I wanted someone to fix me. They wanted a meal.

I lost count of how many men there were. At first, I thought they wanted me. Then I realized it was my body they wanted. Once they had my body, they'd lose interest in me because that's the nature of wolves: they're hunters.

It didn't do wonders for my already shaky self-esteem. As my sex partners multiplied, so did the number of men who didn't call or text me back. Every time I returned to Castro to meet someone new, I grew a little more distrusting, a little more certain that something was broken in me. Why else would so many men take me and then forget about me completely?

And when my fears were confirmed, as they often were, the screaming would start. There were no words, not even a noise, just a blood-curdling scream of rage and pain and fear that echoed in my mind. My imagination would envision me pulling my hair and crying and banging my head into things. But in reality, I'd be sitting at a table somewhere on Castro Street, calmly drinking a hot cup of coffee as strangers walked by.

I met a string of fuckbois, narcissists, and drug addicts. I met men who never grew up. Men who tried to fill the void in themselves, sometimes with alcohol, sometimes with sex, or drugs, or money, or something else.

I met more than a few good men. More often than not, I messed something up, and they ghosted me. But I kept meeting people, and as I met more people, I learned more about myself and others. I learned how to communicate. 

But the more people I met, the more alien I felt. Alone in the city and utterly inept at intimacy, I had nothing and no one. But I had a few things going for me, namely being a skinny, pretty, white twink with sharp cheekbones and bright blue eyes. 

You see, the mainstream gay community is racist AF on the DL, with several prejudices, spoken and unspoken, running through it like veins. There are a variety of gay subgroups, most of which serve to reinforce the established hierarchy (adhering to the values of white supremacy, money, and masculine power), but everyone is fetishized and objectified to some extent by someone or other. Gays sort themselves into 'tribes' of furries, puppies, bears, cubs, otters, wolves, silver foxes, rice queens, white rice, sticky rice, daddies, bros, jocks, twinks, twunks, queens, queers, chubs, chasers of every variety, and many more.

Almost 8 billion people in the world, and everyone has different tastes. No matter who you are or what you look like, someone thinks you're the sexiest thing alive. But not everyone is in equal demand. Being young, white, and conventionally good-looking opened many doors while shutting a few others. Total strangers wanted things from me and gave me stuff, lots of stuff, just for showing up. And I traded on my good fortune. Alone in San Francisco, I was grateful for whatever reason people were nice to me. God knows not everyone was. Some people were outright cruel. Do you know the song Another Suitcase in Another Hall from Evita? I know. Musical reference. Gay. Whatever. That song sets the tone I'm going for here.

Anyway, I don't remember much. Partly because I was experimenting with drugs and alcohol for the first time and partly because I don't think there were many memories worth holding onto back then. 

But maybe I deserved it. I was insecure, impulsive, and dishonest with myself and, therefore, with everyone else. For that reason, I suspect, people didn't trust me. Even when I spoke the truth, people didn't believe me, so I lied more. With every strange man I met, I practiced a different version of myself.

That's how I approached each new encounter, like a game. I would envision a better version of myself. Perhaps I'd have no family. Perhaps I'd be visiting from Utah. Perhaps I'd be sweet and naive. Or maybe dark and stoic. 

He would take me to dinner somewhere, and I'd watch him watch me, observe his ticks, smiles, and frowns, like a scientist jotting mental notes. Little things like where to put my hands, how to use a knife and fork, how loud I should talk to waiters, fundamental stuff most normal people take for granted. I needed practical experience, and I got it from one man after another. Sometimes I had sex with them. Usually. Not always. Once, I traded sex for money.

I was dating someone at the time. Kevin. Had great hair, a cute dimple when he smiled, and the sex was excellent, but his mind was erratic.

Reviews for 8

[Envi Aloud · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Raw and inspirational. A moving and thought provoking story. “Eden & Jude” is a must-read for anyone that has ever felt like a misfit.