Deer Valley, North Georgia USA. Population, 95,063. A college town that borders the state of South Carolina. I’ve always heard from my parents, who moved here when I was just three years old, about how fascinating it was that such a nature-filled border city an hour away from both Athens and Augusta felt so lively compared to other cities of its size. Like a hidden civilization in the forest. Supposedly, the town’s economy initially thrived due to its convenient location between Atlanta GA and Columbia SC.

Traveling between the two mountains only to be greeted by the beauty of Lake Irma from up on Finklemann bridge made it quite the popular scenic route for heading up north or even down south to Florida as well. Due to the influx of wealth streaming through the town thanks to what could be described as mother nature’s blessing, one of the past mayors decided to invest that money into creating Deer Valley State University, the city’s crowning financial achievement. With its income as a tourism destination now working hand in hand with its success as a college town in the southeast, Deer Valley became a relatively wealthy and successful city despite its secluded geography.

However, like all areas that pull themselves out of poverty, a rise in the cost of living created a lower class that unfortunately couldn’t keep up with the sudden changes in prices. From housing to groceries and the essentials, the wages of many of the older residents who worked menial jobs could not keep up with ballooning prices that had adjusted to tourists and out of city students.

Over the past half century, there has been a visible sign of that growing income disparity on the far west side of Deer Valley, particularly in those areas that exist outside of the “Sun Line”, which is a colloquial term for the communities of Deer Valley whose sunlight isn’t blockaded by the large mountains around the city. Said income disparity has manifested itself in rundown streets and a growing homelessness epidemic that ill-suited such a small border city.

I hadn’t ever visited these areas beyond just driving through every now and then. The city council didn’t do much to alleviate the growing issues along this side of town, which only exacerbated the creation of what was now a slum. These factors are essentially what resulted in Bucktail, a community that existed below the Sun Line, becoming the crime and poverty center of Deer Valley, and also potentially why I had never truly been there despite living in this city for most of my life. Could you blame me for being on edge then when, suddenly, today of all days, I had been taken right into the heart of said crime and poverty center with zero warning?

“Uh, Gwen?” I asked. “Should we really be here? I mean…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nevermind…”

The backdrop of the mountain towering nearby added an ominous aura to the neighborhood. I’d never felt like as much of a pampered suburban kid as I did in that moment. Gwen, who looked completely within her element in this rundown part of town, locked her car after parking it on the side of the street and started making her way even deeper into the slum. The only thing she carried with her was a leather jacket that she had fit underneath her armpit. The narrow two-way street, one that would most likely run into congestion issues if two large trucks decided to make their way through, felt as unwelcoming as Ben had been to me earlier today.

The surrounding hulking apartment buildings appeared as if they hadn’t seen even a hint of the word ‘renovation’ in decades. The discolored brick layered in moss seemed to be a staple of Bucktail architecture, while the rotting wooden doors were the centerpiece of each composition. Ran-over plastic bottles and shattered glass littered the streets, like fallen soldiers whose bodies told the tale of neglect and degradation that Bucktail has suffered in the past few years. It was obvious that wherever the city council had been allocating most of the yearly budget, this neighborhood hadn’t seen as much as a cent of it.

“Are you fucking coming, or what?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

Gwen, who despised getting dirty, seemed to have no issues visiting this run-down part of town. It suddenly dawned on me that I had no idea about the kind of person she was. Maybe she lived here? It was possible. Even ignoring the complex that she had with germs, she has a car, and she dresses quite stylishly too. It was only normal to assume that she lived somewhat decently, but I could have easily just been viewing the version of herself that she’d wanted others to see. Perhaps I had been too quick to judge her.

My thoughts were muddied by the sudden spike in anxiety I’d felt as I began to notice the eyes following us around. There weren’t that many people hanging out in the streets. A few men who looked to be in their late teens to twenties loitering around street corners, some older, middle-aged men sitting on the sidewalks drinking beers out of paper bags, kids on bikes riding past while shooting us curious gazes. I also couldn’t forget to mention the pungent scent of marijuana that practically hung over everything like a ghost. Lance would love it here, I’m sure.

“Oh, Sam!”

Just when I thought that this place was becoming too unwelcoming for my taste, Gwen ran up to a middle-aged man in tattered clothes who was walking outside of a 7/11 with plastic bags galore in hand. He perked his head up at her call, then flashed her a wide smile that seemed to lack more than just a couple teeth.

“Oh, good day ma’am. How’re you doin’ this fine evenin’?”

“Eh, could be better. Are those groceries for Omar?”

“Yea you bet. Lil runt needs some more protein in his diet, so I got us some chicken meals,” he said, lifting the plastic bag up. “Also got some greens too. Few salads should keep ‘im nice n’ healthy.”

“That’s cool. I’d love to stop by and see him sometime. How old is he again?”

“’Bout seven. Or eight? Can’t remember honestly. His birthday just came n’ went the other day.”

“Wow Sam. If my parent forgot my age, I’d be pretty fuckin’ pissed, you know.”

“Hey now, we threw ‘im a nice party on the corner over there. Lots of people came out to sing for him. He can’t be too mad.”

“Aw, that’s sweet of you.”

“By the way,” he said, looking over my way. “Is that yer boyfriend with the swollen eye? Er, Benjamin?”

“Nope. He actually just got his ass kicked by Ben earlier, though.”

“Haha! Fightin’ for yer love, huh! It’s nice bein’ popular, ain’t it Gwen? I’d love to hear ‘bout that sometime!”

I suddenly felt like it was time to head back home.

“Another time. We’re hanging out at the Cage tonight so I wanna get there before it starts.”

“Oh, nice. Haven’t been down there in ages, since… ya know. Anyhow, don’t let me keep ya.”

“Sure thing, I’ll see you around Sam.”

He did a sort of half-salute at her, then at me before excusing himself off to our right down a strange alley. Gwen turned back to me and jerked her head away with wide eyes, urging me to keep moving as if it were as obvious as 2+2. Though I followed behind her, my mind was occupied by how familiar those two were with each other. If she wasn’t a Bucktail resident, then she must’ve frequented the area enough to belong here in spirit. How else was I supposed to reconcile how at ease she was in a place like this? I wondered if Ben knew about this side of her, and if it was part of the reason that he’d fallen in love with her initally.

Though such thoughts were running around at the back of my mind, the truth is, I couldn’t escape from myself and my own insecurities. The situation was emasculating. If this place really was dangerous, then shouldn’t I be the one confidently leading her? Yet the roles were completely reversed. Gwen was in her element here, and I, the man, was terrified of what I’d run into. In the first place, I had no idea what the “Cage” even was.

“Hey Gwen, where are we going?”

“Shut up. We’re almost there.”

Well, I supposed there was no point worrying about it. She didn’t appear to want my help after all. After I found myself sighing at her snap back, she suddenly stopped, sliding on the large leather jacket she was carrying. At first, I wondered if my response had just pushed her even further, before she suddenly pinched her nose and took a sharp turn through an alley on her right. I stopped as my eyes followed her and found a dilapidated space with trash strewn about the large cans set up in the area. The scent was enough to repel me on its own.

“Gwen, seriously…”

She popped her head back out. “And here I was, thinking you were sooo brave for standing up to Ben like that.”

Her voice sounded nasally since she had been pinching her nose, which I found slightly amusing.

“Yeah, but…” I stopped myself. As goofy as she sounded, she was right. Protesting was pointless. I wasn’t going to force her to head back home and ruin her birthday when I’d already agreed to come with her. Not after everything that had happened today. “Fine, I’m coming.”

I pulled the collar of my T-shirt over my face and forced my legs to carry me into the alley. The realization that I had misjudged Gwen as a spoiled rich girl was becoming increasingly more ridiculous as time went by. This girl is made of tougher stuff than I am.

“It’s right here.” She pointed to the crimson red door to my right. I looked up and found that the frame was decorated in iron bars, presumably due to the theming of the establishment, alongside a large sign above it with the title “The Cage” spelled out, bold enough for anyone crossing through this deserted alleyway to find. After a moment of admiring the decorations that were so out of place in such a dull, gray alley, I was brought back to reality by the sound of the door creaking open at the hand of Gwen, who had already wiped the handle down.

“Wait, wait, slow down!” I followed behind her as she walked through like a duckling about to lose itself in the wilderness.

We traversed down a dimly lit hallway with iron bars clinging to the brick walls surrounding us. The theme of the place was apparent enough at that point. It was only when we opened the second door and the blue lights enveloping the main room of the establishment burned into our retinas that I realized just what kind of place I’d found myself in. It had the vibe of an ambient lounge or a club. There was an undertone of soft jazz simmering alongside the murmuring of the crowd inside.

Still at the door, our IDs were checked by a man who appeared to be working security. I’d hoped that being 21 years old wasn’t a necessity for entering, and I was relieved when he handed us back our IDs, along with two red, feathered masks. The design slipped around our eyes via a black strap that wrapped around the back of our heads. Once we put them on, Gwen told me to go on ahead and find us a table.

It posed a challenge to pick one with just how many people were at, well, whatever this place was, but I managed to find a nice spot near the wall in the somewhat crowded interior. It was a surprise compared to how empty the place looked from the outside. From what I could tell, we were seated at a dining area before a large stage clad with the fancy designs of trees and a blue sky dotted with small birds flying about.

For a place called the cage, the decorations did nothing to highlight the theme of the establishment. The door was essentially the only part of the interior with any cage bars. And speaking of bars, there was also a literal bar with expensive liquors off to the side where adults were enjoying themselves. After doing that precursory surveying, Gwen found me then took a seat at the table.

“So uh, what is this place?” I asked.

“It’s a comedy club.”

“Huh, really?”

“No.” She grinned at my displeased face. Was she the opening act or something? “It’s not, but you’re pretty close.”

“What does that mean?”

She squinted at me. “Can’t you just have fun with it? Why not try guessing? Or just wait until the show starts.”

Gwen appeared to be adamant about not telling me what this was. The eerie atmosphere and the masked people all around us gave me the impression that I was sitting on the set of the film “Eyes Wide Shut”, but I couldn’t possibly imagine Gwen willingly engaging in something like that. Worst case scenario, I decided that whatever it was would most likely end up boring me to death and that I’d have to feign interest in it until we left.

“So... the photography club, huh?” I glanced over at Gwen who was looking down at her phone when she asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Jaz invited me.”

“Jaz, huh? Do you like her?”

“Like her… how?” She looked up from her phone and squinted her eyes at me as if I asked a dumb question. Perhaps it was a dumb question. “I don’t know, probably not… I mean she’s nice and all, but…”

“But what? You like Zoey?”

I nodded then followed it up with a nervous laugh.

“So, you’re not going to try talking to someone else even though Zoey doesn’t like you?”

“Haha, I don’t know...”

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“God, why are you so boring?”

“I’m boring?”

“How are you not? Are you ever going to take a strong stance with that girl? You know she doesn’t like you, so what the fuck is left for you there? Heh, maybe this is so crazy to me because last week you were like a completely different person. It felt like you had the entire world in the palms of your hand back then. Tell me, where’s that Tristan? Because the one sitting in front of me right now is a boring waste of oxygen.”

“You really think that I’m boring…?”

“You are.” She flicked my forehead gently.

“Ow.”

“Really? That’s it? Ow? You’re not gonna fight back? Call me names? Leave? Don’t you have, like, any fight in you?”

I rubbed my head. “Not really…”

“God, you’re such a little... Yeah, never mind then. Don’t talk to Jaz, or anyone else for that matter. I don’t know any girl who would bother dating someone like you. Sure, you might do something exciting every now and then. You’ll destroy Ben’s gift, and you’ll order me to ruin my life at gun point. But one burst of excitement a week isn’t enough to carry a relationship. 99% of the time you’re just…”

My silence and downtrodden appearance seemed to stop her in her tracks, causing a sigh to escape her lips.

“Great, now I’m the bad guy. Look, don’t take it the wrong way, because I really do want to think highly of you. But what exactly is it that’s eating you alive all the time? Who are you, Tristan? Why does it feel like you’re walking on eggshells most of the time then at the most random times you’ll flip flop into borderline insanity? Why won’t you rip into me when I say such cruel things to your face? Can you just bring out the other Tristan for me already?”

The other Tristan didn’t exist. I wanted to say it to her. The Tristan she was talking about was just a version of me that had inherited Zoey’s traits. I can’t be like Zoey, I realized as much after I smashed that bottle and was overcome with guilt. But how could I tell her something like that? How do I explain that the version of me she likes so much is one that’s modeled after her worst enemy?

Before I could offer up a response, however, my senses were assailed by the screeching of a mic that had apparently been powered on. We both turned to the stage where the emcee, a black male who, despite his feathered mask, appeared to be at least in his forties, stood tall with a smile on his face.

“Sorry ‘bout that ladies and gents, but it wouldn’t be a Cage session if it didn’t happen at least once, eh?”

The room erupted into chuckles. Is this what she meant by ‘similar to a comedy club’? Gwen seemed to have already forgotten about our conversation and was focused on the stage now.

“Once again, welcome to The Cage’s monthly spoken word poetry night. We are just about all set and ready to go. Just a reminder that the theme for tonight is, ‘Romeo and Juliet’. Of course, you’re free to come up on stage and perform whatever it is you please but do keep in mind that this is the theme for tonight. And remember, the real cage is everything outside of these walls. It’s in here that we’re truly free let it all out.”

I had heard the term ‘spoken word’ in passing, but I wasn’t quite familiar with what exactly the medium entailed. As far as I was aware, it’s a poetry performance where you express the feelings of your written piece, sort of like acting out a script. Since I had my own script to direct, the prospect of learning something here excited me. But the real question was, why did Gwen want to be here? Wasn’t she just your run of the mill cheerleader?

“Our first performer is a long-time cage bird. Been coming here for fifteen years.”

“Oooh.”

“A round of applause for Randy!”

A middle-aged businessman came up on stage in his work attire, his comb-over hair and rectangular glasses that had fit awkwardly over his mask, making a strong impression on just how much damage aging has done to his physical body.

“Good evening, Cage Birds. My piece today is titled ‘Her Gentle Heart’.”

He cleared his throat and lifted his phone up to his face.

 

The abuser on the corner, burnt lips and fingers like daggers, tearing into his own throat,

The night worker on the corner flaunts flesh for sale on hangers before her overseer in a violet coat,

The bull-headed cowboys with pieces strapped to their waist, ready to die to defend their property,

The red and blue lights dancing through the streets that we’re based, the monsters in blue coming out to humble me,

You and me, they and we, all of us and all of them, victims and sinners, bear and deer.

And yet we’re all mere children in the eyes of Lady Irma.

 

“Cult poems are so lame,” Gwen muttered.

I supposed that the Order of Lady Irma would have had outreach here in Bucktail. Preying on people who needed assistance was the easiest way to siphon in new members. Though I had to admit, judging by his dress and appearance, he had completely subverted my expectation of what a cult member would look like, He seemed like your run-of-the-mill businessperson. Someone who was more preoccupied with selling insurance or managing their investments than preaching the ideals of some cult.

The man finished his poem, and scattered claps pattered throughout the hall like droplets of rain. Gwen refused to clap; I assumed out of principle. It appeared that she wasn’t a big fan of the way the cult used spoken word nights to force their religion down people’s throats.

“I mean, they won’t all be like this, right?” I asked.

“Not usually, but there’s always at least two of these guys preaching some sort of shit here. Pisses me off.”

Sure enough, the next few pieces performed weren’t by any cult members as far as we could tell. They were all far better received than that first one too, so Gwen’s sentiment might have been one that was shared by most of the people here. But after watching a few, I started to recognize that there was a pattern to the way they all spoke.

I wasn’t sure if it was a slam poetry thing or just a bird cage in-house culture, but everyone seemed fond of using the same vocal intonation that almost sounded like they were giving a motivational speech of some kind. I was personally fine with it, but, in my opinion, a performance that’s the same as the last one isn’t entirely interesting to me.

“Next up birds we have… a first timer coming up on stage. She’s been coming to The Cage for a while now, but this will be her first time getting up on stage performing for you all. Introducing… Gwen!”

When her name was called, I almost jolted out of my seat in surprise. My gaze centered onto her small frame of the girl who had just gotten out of her chair. I hadn’t expected her to be performing tonight, but this must have been her plan all along. If she wanted to try doing this for her birthday, then I’d just have to be there to support her.

“You got this,” I said.

She looked down at me with a strangely unreadable smile, then headed up to the stage. Why did she smile like that, I couldn’t help but wonder. As far as I can remember, it was the first time she’d ever smiled my way, and yet it didn’t make me feel happy at all.

Just what was she going to say up on that stage? When I saw her standing up there, before that microphone, she looked so vulnerable. Not at all like the foul-mouthed girl who made it her life’s mission to berate me at every turn. She was small, I realized. Much smaller than even most girls our age. What surprised me the most though, is that what she lifted from her pocket wasn’t a phone like the people who went before her, but some folded, wrinkled pieces of paper.

Her eyes settled down on the words that were etched onto them, and she opened her mouth.