🐇❤ 𝕊𝕪𝓵𝐕ｉᗩ Ŝ𝐭𝒶ＮＤ𝐢ⓝᎶ 𝔞𝓛๏ⓝє. ♋︎✌
Eva "Cat" Kuhn
Sylvia standing on the other side of a glassy pond. Mayflies bobbing lazily across the surface. Sylvia’s full name printed neatly and sealed to the table with packing tape. Sylvia’s two braids tied back every day. Sylvia dancing on the patio. Sylvia hiding in the back of my closet. Sylvia in a tie-dyed T-shirt from sleepaway camp. Sylvia on a bicycle. Sylvia in an aquarium. Sylvia on the class field trip to the Bronx Zoo, where we sat by the lion exhibit all day. The gap closing between Sylvia’s two front teeth. Middle school pool parties behind Sylvia’s big, yellow house. Avoiding the weird statue that stared from the corner of her yard. Sylvia throwing a carton of milk at Logan Thomas. Detention with Sylvia. Sylvia promising she wouldn’t tell anyone I cried. That Halloween when we both dressed up as witches, the last one before stuff like that would matter. Sylvia’s new haircut, just above her shoulders. Sylvia’s white sneakered feet beneath the bathroom stall door. Sylvia through the window of a classroom—understanding I’ll always be the moon to her bright Sun. Sylvia’s warm cheek pressed against my stomach. Sylvia’s name like daggers from his lips. Buying makeup finally, like Sylvia always did. Sylvia in my nightmares. Sylvia on the phone. Suddenly noticing how tall I had gotten. A greying friendship bracelet in the back of my desk drawer. Sylvia on Owen Moore’s Instagram story. Sylvia asleep on my twin bed. Sylvia’s black Subaru, in my driveway less and less. Sylvia’s location, frozen at her house. Sylvia’s vacant gaze as I pass her on the street. Wondering if Sylvia ever liked me at all. Sylvia in the dark somewhere alone.
Sylvia’s locker unopened for months now. Sylvia’s prom dress on the returns rack at Goodwill. Sylvia’s face, placid and unaware, staring from the posters all over town. Three policemen greeting Mom at my front door. Having to admit a million times that I hadn’t spoken to Sylvia in a year or so. The silence after Sylvia’s name at graduation. Sylvia’s poor dad, alone in the tavern on a Tuesday night. Sylvia’s Subaru that her little brother won’t take. Sylvia’s birthday: I’ll notice every year. Owen at Sylvia’s vigil. Pictures from our middle school graduation on the local news. Sylvia’s Jansport backpack, found abandoned near I-81. Owen’s screams echoing down the school hallway. Sylvia spreading everywhere and onto everybody. Sylvia on the playground, blood running down her skinny shins. Standing by the bus stop, squinting against the rising sun to see where Sylvia went. Her small body and huge, pink backpack crouched by the side of the road. My eyes adjusting to the brightness, approaching and seeing a squirrel, squished flat on the road. I gag. Sylvia picks a daffodil from a nearby garden and lies it before the squirrel’s body.
Eva "Cat" Kuhn is a 23-year-old writer and creative living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Much of her work stems from her lived, hyper-emotional experience paired with her evocative rust belt heritage and surroundings. Cat loves video games, contemporary art, and debating about stuff that doesn't matter in the long run. She will graduate from Chatham University with a degree in English literature in April, 2025.