Joy

Rena thought often about peoples’ dispositions— what made some sunny and some melancholic. She sat alone on the stoop of her apartment building watching the neighborhood kids play in the gushing water of the opened fire hydrant. It was a Thursday. The heat index was well above 100; much too hot to be working. Rena could feel the heat in her bones. It made her eyelids heavy. I wish I could play in the fire hydrant water, Rena thought.

Recently, Rena had been in what her parents called a rut. Her psychiatrist called it clinical depression. She didn’t care what people called it; she just wanted out. She wanted to play in the fire hydrant water. She sighed. Usually on Thursdays, Rena would be downtown in her office, working. She worked in marketing. Or used to. For the past three weeks, Rena had been on Personal Leave on account of the clinical depression. She’d only had to take Personal Leave once before, when her best friend Rebecca died. She was 25. So was Rebecca. Her death had preceded one of Rena’s worst ruts. She was out for six weeks. Her coworkers hadn’t texted or asked where she was.

Rena pulled out her phone and opened the least-terrible dating app. She clicked to look at her likes. There were five. One named Adam had sent a message, Hi gorgeous. She clicked out of the app without responding and rubbed her temples. A siren wailed a few blocks away. She watched the fire hydrant kids. She wished she could laugh with them.

She had promised herself she’d go to the store today. Eggs, yogurt, paper towels. She made the same list every few days and then ignored it. Her fridge held half a lemon, three opened oat milk cartons, and a squeeze container of ranch. At least she had ranch, she thought. The fire hydrant kids were now shrieking, shrill and joyful, chasing a plastic bottle through the arc of water. One boy slipped and fell hard on the pavement. Rena winced. He got back up, laughing. She suddenly wanted to cry.

Rena’s parents had named her after the Hebrew word for joy; a joyful song. Rena found this ironic, on account of the clinical depression. But she knew her parents couldn’t have known. Still, she felt sometimes they had jinxed her. She re-opened the dating app.

Hi, she typed. He was 5’8’’, two inches shorter than her. In his profile picture he wore sunglasses and smiled brightly. Sunny disposition, thought Rena. He was looking for A Life Partner. He hoped they were on the same page about: dogs. He wanted to know Your go-to drink order. Rebecca would hate this guy, Rena thought. She almost smiled.

When Rebecca and Rena were twelve, they made a pact. They were at Rebecca’s house, in her basement—the best basement for sleepovers, which they had at least once a week. Earlier that day, they’d played and won their soccer game. To celebrate, Rebecca’s mother took them to McDonald’s. Rena got a McFlurry with extra Oreos; Rebecca ordered one with extra M&Ms. They shared a small order of fries. The regular.

Now showered, changed, tired from their day in the sun, Rebecca and Rena had started a movie. Fried Green Tomatoes. Their favorite. Their mothers thought they were watching Because of Winn-Dixie. Rebecca had switched the DVDs in the cases, and each time they brought the case to Rebecca’s mother for approval, she smiled. Girls, don’t you ever get sick of that movie, she would say. Never! They smiled and scrambled back downstairs.

That particular evening, Rena had said to Rebecca: If we aren’t married by 35, promise we can live together. Rebecca laughed. Of course, silly. I hope we don’t get married by 35. They pinky promised.

Rena pulled at the silver chain pendent around her neck. It matched the one Rebecca wore at her wake. She thought of what Rebecca’s life would’ve looked like at 35. Her phone pinged. What are you up to this evening, asked Adam from the apps. Rena stared at the message for a long time. The heat was oppressive. She didn’t know how to answer. She was up to sitting on a stoop in the middle of a heatwave on the third week of her personal leave on account of the clinical depression. She was up to watching the kids run through the fire hydrant. She was not up to going to the store to buy eggs, yogurt, and paper towels. Not much, she typed. You? She deleted it.

She looked up. One of the fire hydrant kids had noticed her. The girl was maybe eight, wearing a pink swimsuit. Rena and Rebecca used to have suits like that. She stood, hair dripping, squinting in the sun, looking directly at Rena. Rena gave a small smile and waved. The girl tilted her head slightly and sprinted back towards the other fire hydrant kids. Rena felt a coolness on her shin. The hot breeze had carried the mist to her.

She re-opened the dating app. It was a habit now. She looked at the profiles of each of the men who had sent her a like. Adam, Mark, Ahmed, Danny, Dev. She scrolled past Adam’s Hi gorgeous what are you up to message. Mark looked mysterious, with tattoos. Somber disposition, she thought. Ahmed seemed cheerful and social. In his pictures he held pints of spilling beer. Sunny. She continued scrolling. She paused on Danny. He played guitar and read Murakami. She wondered what he would think about the contents of her fridge. Next. Dev looked playfully at the camera, arm around his sister. Or girlfriend, Rena couldn’t tell. His bio read Just trying to be a good man in a complicated world. She scoffed, then immediately felt guilty.

She remembered Rebecca swiping for her once. They giggled at bios like Looking for Short Term, Open to Long and Green Flags: short girls. He definitely uses three in one shampoo, Rebecca had said. Rena smiled, then felt the sting. That had been the last summer before Rebecca died. She leaned her head back against the stoop railing and closed her eyes. The sun pressed against her eyelids like a hand. Somewhere behind her, a window unit groaned to life.

Her phone buzzed again. The persistent abstractions of men continued. She wished they would stop. But she also knew she could delete the apps anytime. She never did. Might take my dog down to the river later, Mark said. Rena hadn’t asked. She set the phone face-down on the stoop. Across the street, the kids shrieked. The girl in the pink swimsuit had climbed onto the curb and was conducting the others like an orchestra, waving her arms through the spray. The mist carried again, brushing Rena’s cheek. It was cool, almost tender.

She felt her chest tighten. The first sign. The progression was familiar. Then her throat. By the time the tears reached her eyes, it was too late. Rena tilted her head back, hoping the mist would offer some relief. The sun only burned.

Clare

©️ Clare Culver 2025

Cover art: Jung Nowak