For an evening in June, it was frightfully chilly. Margot pinched her jacket tightly around her torso and shivered. Again, she glanced at her watch. 11:58 p.m. Midnight couldn’t come soon enough. Every few moments, the image of her parents knocking on the door of her empty room flashed through her mind like a shooting pain. Margot wasn’t the sort to sneak out of her room to do drugs, drink alcohol, or screwing boys or whatever it was her mother was always convinced she was doing behind her back. Claiming that she was on top of a hill, trying to confirm an urban legend would never fly, and would make the last two years living at home unbearable hell.

Why was she out here anyway? The Wednesday Cry rumor Taylor was spreading was patently retarded. Wednesday didn’t have a voice, because Wednesday was a human concept, its beginning and ending definied centuries ago by some dudes who might just as well have preferred a 14-day week cycle. So how could it cry when it died? So it made absolutely no goddamned sense that Wednesday cries at its weekly expiration.

And besides, in New York City it was already Thursday, while in Honolulu it’d be Wednesday for hours still. Does a different Wednesday god die every

But Taylor was swearing up and down that she had heard it. Taylor must have been bluffing, but it turned into an argument, and Margot had promised that she’d go out disprove it.

“I’m not gonna go with you,” Taylor laid it down. “‘Cause you have to go out and listen alone, exactly at midnight. It’s just the cry is so, so quiet. Just someone ele being there, breathing could cause you to miss it.”

So there she was, alone, counting down the seconds till midnight. She glanced back toward her house. The only sounds were her breathing and the sounds of crickets chirping. “Oh God,” she thought, “crickets. I’m gonna get to school tomorrow–tired!–and I’m gonna say I didn’t hear it and she’ll be all like ‘Were there crickets?’ and I’ll say ‘Yeah,’ and she’ll be all ‘Well then they probably drowned out the sound; try again’ and I’ll just tell her to fuck off.”

Margot glanced at her watch again. 12:01. She’d missed midnight while playing tomorrow’s scenario in her head, but she also didn’t hear a thing. She knew she wouldn’t. Of course. The Wednesday Cry made no sense at all. Margot turned back to her house, down in the valley, and began the walk home.


About John D. Moore

Writer, cartoonist, filmmaker, and student of Japanese language, literature, and cinema at the University of Utah.

2 responses »

  1. Logan says:

    n.b., Japan is on the other side of the dateline from us and it would be Thursday there as well. Saying 'Hawaii' instead would work.

  2. Thanks, Logan. I fixed it. For some reason, my instinct is that the IDL is in the Atlantic.

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