Trajan Hopkins is the prototypical adolescent male, genus
of the species, protected on all sides by the soft cushion of family. He
worships his brother, Langston, invariably from a crouched defensive
position in an effort to fend off the latest sequence of moves his
brother is working to perfect.
Langston is widely regarded around town as Preston's most
prolific fighter, steeped in martial arts, his ambition set on someday
reaching the Olympic stage. Trajan fits neatly inside his brother's
shadow, the dutiful second seed. When his brother dies, it's like one
leg of a chair going missing, a wave of debilitating aftershocks sent
rumbling throughout Trajan's existence warping his sense of connection
to anybody near to him. He ventures into the world alone, steps out on
the call of the wind, the rise of the moon, the tide pulling against
him. He returns at the end of the night to diminished ties, the weave of
familial cues strewn loose about him, waves crashing in, pushing him
ever further from the shelter of home.
It tells a story of dislocation. A mother loses her eldest son. The other son loses his only brother. The boys’ father, estranged from the family ahead of his son’s death, loses his hold on everything dear to him. A grandfather stands by, calling on his spirit gods to set things right again, to piece his family back together.