We Can Save Us All

by Adam Nemett

  The Big Bang took the girls over, asserting the power of that plant medicine. Nyla and Britt both puked (Britt missed her bucket), but not Zoe. In time, Haley saw them all reach that shared space she knew well by now—past the ego veil to the vast expanse where, despite the abyss, the human certainty of death, it’s clear everything’s gonna be okay.

  “There’s beauty coming together,” Haley said once they were all back on Earth again. “You are gorgeous, badass women. Brilliant and skilled. We’re all trying to remain heady in this space, while at the same time internally grappling with this new energy, of what you just came out of. And of them. And each other. So, brutal honesty time.”

  Haley sat beside the woodstove, feeling its radiant warmth, too much but just enough. At her feet, Nyla, Zoe, and Britt lay on yoga mats spread diagonally across one another, grounded again.

  “This is an amazing space,” Nyla said, scanning the domed ceiling, its intricate arrangement of chestnut triangles and octagons. “It’s like a big sweat lodge.”

  “I didn’t like that,” said Zoe. “Not at all. Don’t make me do that again, please.”

  “I was feeling it,” Nyla said. “Maybe the thing is it’s too easy to have that difficult an experience. And too easy to come back from it. Like, I don’t know if I earned that.”

  “I thought it was wild,” said Britt, shrugging. “Y’all are too uptight.”

  “You know, every time I’m with a group of girls,” said Zoe, “we all inevitably talk of supporting and protecting each other, and the whole time we’re just triggering each other—usually unintentionally, sometimes on purpose—because that’s what we do. That’s just what we do.”

  Haley pointed toward the backyard, where she’d exiled the boys. “That’s what they do also; they just do it differently.”

  Britt piped up, stretching her arms and legs skyward like a cat after a nap. She crawled over to Zoe and hugged her. “I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing there. I’m just not easily triggered,” she said. “I am already infinitely impressed with the women that we are and whatever we are becoming inside this really intense moment of history.”

  “Well, I’m terrified as fuck,” said Nyla. “Of all of you. All this. Whatever that was.”

  “I’m also scared,” Zoe concurred, sitting up now and hugging her knees to her chest. “Y’all are insanely beautiful, and if you’re here that means you’re smart, too. I’m used to being the only cool, smart girl in my school. I used to be the unicorn. Is that how you feel, Nyla?”

  “Hell no,” she said. “I wasn’t cool at my prep school. And I was the only black girl. Different kind of unicorn. Black unicorn.”

  “That’s a kickass superhero name,” said Britt.

  “Maybe for someone else,” said Nyla. “Not for me. I know what I am.”

  “I see all of you and you see me,” said Haley. “I am another yourself. And I saw from this side of hyperspace where you all have decided to go next. You’re right, Nyla, you’re no unicorn. I believe you’re some kind of soldier.”

  Nyla’s eyes widened and she turned to Haley. She asked if Haley had seen the same thing she’d seen. Haley wouldn’t say yes or no, but she was beginning to think of this as one of Cap’n Cunt’s special powers: under even the slightest bit of DMT, she received visions of those around her. Sometimes it was as vague as a color or aura, sometimes she heard a sound or phrase or incantation, and sometimes she saw a fully formed persona. She didn’t want to overpower or prescribe something that didn’t come from a place of truth for each person—she could be wrong, she realized—but she also wanted to share what she saw in hopes that it would validate the outcome of each person’s Big Bang explosion. One by one, Haley called the girls up to the fire for individual blessings. They shared what they felt, what they remembered, what they saw, and Haley asked the right questions, guiding them back through the foggy details of a fever dream.

  “Close your eyes,” Haley said to Nyla, who went first. “Start with the feet.”

  This trick was drawn from Haley’s stint in high school drama club. Find the right footwear and you’ll discover your character, Mrs. Klassel told them. Haley liked this. She’d built up Cap’n Cunt starting at the bottom, with those rad over-the-knee pirate boots.

  Nyla described a different kind of boot, the steel-toed variety, something meant for construction or combat. Her legs and torso, she said, were also clad in something thick and protective. She described something around her waist, something utilitarian, holding lots of stuff, and eventually came to the phrase “tool belt.”

  “What’s on your face or head?” asked Haley.

  “I don’t know, I don’t want to talk about that,” Nyla said, eyes still closed. “I want to talk about what’s in my hand.” Nyla’s pointer finger curled at something invisible.

  “At the risk of triggering you,” said Haley, “what kind of trigger are you squeezing?”

  Nyla sighed and smiled. “Whyyyyy did the black girl’s trip need to have a gun in it?”

  “Was it a handgun?” asked Haley. “Or was it something else with a similar shape, like a power drill, maybe?”

  “Maybe it was a drill,” said Nyla, opening her eyes now, a new seriousness taking over. “But since we’re on the subject, what do you do for security around here?”

  “It’s a supersafe neighborhood,” Haley said. “We’re talking about installing an alarm but—”

  “No,” Nyla said. “Not asking what y’all do for security”—she waved her hand toward the boys outside—“I’m asking what do you do? Do you have a sidearm? Or has the thought not occurred to you that one of these boys might…”

  Of course it had occurred to her. She said as much, wiping sweat from her neck. Sometimes she felt like the trick was you just had to put out the vibe that you’re not worth the trouble. Like in prison. Do something batshit crazy or beat up the scariest bitch in the room on the first day and then nobody will fuck with you. Or will everyone fuck with you then? Being the alpha was weird. And as a woman, she had to be the alpha but also the beta and everything else she’d already taken on.

  Still, Nyla was right: knowing how to handle a gun might be important.

  “Did you learn to shoot on the streets?” asked Britt.

  “Thanks,” said Nyla, sighing, “but no. I mostly grew up in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Navy brat. They’ve got no ‘streets’ in Portsmouth—I learned on the base, at the shooting range, which was pretty much the only way I got to see my dad when he wasn’t shipping me off to school. And after the Exeter shooting? You’d think I’d never want to touch a gun again. I felt that way for a while, for sure, and I’m not about that ‘the only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun’ NRA bullshit. I mean, the NRA used to love gun control back when it was Black Panthers arming themselves in self-defense. I hate assault weapons and crazy assholes being able to buy a gun like it’s a pair of pumps, but it’s not the worst idea for a group like y’all to know how to carry and clean firearms. You think police won’t mess with this because it’s Princeton kids? Or because most of you are white? I guess this is the place to be, though, because when disasters hit, black folks are the last people they save. I could be carrying my grandma through floodwaters and still get shot because someone thinks I stole her.” She turned back to Haley. “When you do this drug, do you usually get some set of lessons? Like one, two, three, this is what you have to do next?”

  “In my very limited experience,” said Haley. “Yes. It’s different from mushrooms or acid. I’ve only done it twice. First, with just Mathias and David, and the second time with all of them.”

  Britt propped up on her elbows. “Brutal honesty time: Are you fucking both of them?”

  “Who?” Haley said, feigning surprise.

  Zoe and Nyla and Britt all cocked their heads to the side as if to say, C’mon.

  “Are you joking?” Haley felt her face getting flushed despite herself. “I couldn’t do that! Everyone’s already call
ing me a slut and a fucking stupid cunt.”

  “First of all, you’re Cap’n Cunt!” said Britt. “You flew through fire! And second of all, cunts are not stupid. They’re fucking magic.”

  With that, something happened. Something triggered Haley, and the tears came. Not deep, full-body sobs, just water from her eyes. She’d been sweating by that woodstove, and maybe it wasn’t sweat at all but pent-up tears finding an alternate exit. But that dam had now broken and it poured forth from her, and she curled onto the floor, and the women circled her, kept her hidden from any prying eyes outside. Nobody talked; they just let her cry. Shoulder to shoulder, they built a shell around Haley, bowing their heads over her, their hair falling down around her curled form like the tendrils of the backyard weeping willow tree she used to hide beneath as a child. After so long gone, Haley was home again, back in her body, in this container of women, in The Egg, in the womb of the world.

  iv.

  Mathias took David to the backyard. He wanted them to smoke a cigarette together, which made David feel special. Mathias was still jumpy, eyes scanning the trees for signs of flashing police lights. David smoked. With each exhale he felt the satisfied, melty feeling of something having gone exceedingly right. And with each inhale his stomach warmed as he wondered if this was the night—his best shot—the night he might try to kiss Haley Roth.

  His confidence couldn’t have been higher. After all, the bonfire had been his finely orchestrated freak-out. Sure, he’d pulled the concept from a Hawthorne short story and he’d let Mathias play the role of head honcho. But those on the inside? They knew who was really in charge.

  Haley knew. Since her own Big Bang initiation at the hospital, she’d been a fixture at The Egg. She’d seen David in action—plotting it on paper, gathering images for the slideshow, rehearsing with the group. And then calling on her to be the main event. The Divine Resurrection of Cap’n Cunt. She didn’t know why, but she knew he wanted it for her, that validation.

  He wanted her to be a superhero.

  David marveled at how far he’d come. A few months ago he was crying into midnight meatball subs over his dearth of nookie. And look at him now: the aloof cool guy, hanging with an even cooler guy, plus a harem of hotties. He’d devised a collective spiritual experience and was now hosting the most exclusive after-party of the semester. What a night what a night what a night.

  “What a night!” Mathias said, and David again wondered if he’d just read his mind.

  Mathias took a drag, smiled, and hugged David, strong and long. David craved these rare moments when Mathias allowed him to believe he was the favorite.

  “We’re going to be pretty huge, I think,” David said.

  “Careful,” Mathias said. “Substance over celebrity.”

  He took David by the shoulders, and for a second David thought Mathias was going to kiss him, and David realized he didn’t know what he’d do if Mathias did lean in. Dodge and weave? Curl into a ball? Kiss back? Surely, it would be another of his koans…

  Instead, Mathias turned David around so he was facing the windows. A celebration was under way. Fu was taking the rest of them through his latest musical innovation:

  Gather the group in a circle. Start a basic beat or “pulse” with your feet, swaying back and forth. Fu steps into the center of the circle and leads the group in a looped musical pattern, using only voice and body percussion. Keep it going. Then he splits the circle into segments, leading each in a call-and-response of a new musical idea or layer. Think in terms of instrumentation: drums, bass, guitar, horns. After four or five layers are added, he chooses another to take his place in the center. Eye contact and body motions model dynamic changes. Raise or lower your arms to adjust volume and achieve a balanced mix.

  This was the “Human DJ,” as taught by Golden Echo.

  Orchestrated voices had taken the place of Fu’s digital music-making machines, pouring a deep and dirty beat into The Egg. And Golden Echo was working on a way to expand it by modifying wireless earbuds with radio receivers and fixing a microphone in the center of the circle to amplify the sound. It was becoming democratic and participatory, with a much lower power draw than amplifying lots of individual instruments and voices.

  “Look,” Mathias said. “Look what you’ve created.”

  “Fu created that. And you created all this,” David said. “I’m just along for the ride.”

  “Ha!” He stomped out his cigarette, opened his pack and lit two more. “I can be the queen, moving anywhere on the board I need to. But you, my friend, you are the king. And we’ll protect you. Make no mistake.” He ruffled David’s hair. “Those bulk face masks were a stroke of genius. I balked when you bought a thousand, but seriously? Cat’s pajamas.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Perfect way for us to be anonymous, to strip away individuality and bring everyone into the fold. It’s classless, collective. Fucking genius.”

  “It’s Branding 101.” David shrugged. “Best practices.”

  “Fuck branding. I know what I just said about celebrity, but we have to think on a larger scale.” His gaze locked on the boisterous living room. “There’s evolution in the offing. I get it: the superhero outfits mean everyone gets to have a secret identity. All these overachievers don’t want to throw away their futures because they still think there’s a future to be had. But if everyone’s disguised? And if the future’s up for grabs? If we zero in with enough heroes—a critical mass—these last months will be a collective paradigm shift we haven’t seen since…” He trailed off, gazing into The Egg. And then Mathias Blue said, out of nowhere, “What do you think of Haley?”

  David almost vomited on his own shoes.

  “What…” David said. “No.”

  “No what?”

  “I mean. No. I was gonna ask you what do you think of Haley?”

  Mathias cocked an eyebrow.

  “Stop.”

  “What?”

  “Just stop.” David tried to catch himself. “She said… she doesn’t make out with colleagues.”

  Mathias took a drag and looked sidelong at David. “I see, said the blind man.”

  “You see nothing, dude.”

  “I see just about everything, Infrared. Make no mistake.”

  “I am Business-Man.”

  Mathias took another long unblinking drag, smoking the rest of his butt in one single inhale. David could hear the cigarette paper crackling.

  “Or should I call you… Batman?” Mathias stared through David as he said this. “Did you ever tell her about Halloween, Batman? About what you saw?”

  David had wondered if and when Mathias would bring this up again. He hadn’t wanted to press the issue if it was all in his head. But now? Shit.

  “You shot me from the roof,” David retorted. “You were there, too, asshole.”

  “I know,” he said. “And Haley knows. My iPhone video was how they knew who to arrest.”

  “What video? Does… does she know I was there, too? Wait, am I in the video?”

  Mathias stomped his cigarette and placed a hand on David’s heart. Held it there.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he said. Then, laughing through his nose, he walked inside. Directly to Haley Roth. David watched him whisper in her ear, and when he was done she looked up incredulously and then promptly looked outside and gave David the finger.

  Oh, please no.

  David wasn’t sure what to do. So he found himself flipping the bird back at her for no particular reason. She headed outside. To David. She closed the sliding patio door behind her.

  “It’s cold out here,” she said.

  “What the fuck did Mathias just say to you?”

  “He told me to look outside and give you the finger. Why?”

  “Here, please steal my jacket for a while,” David said, momentarily relieved.

  “Only if I can steal your cigarette, too.”

  If I hadn’t burned it all, David thought, you could steal ev
erything I own. With a silent prayer to his forebear, David swung László’s blazer over Haley Roth’s shivery shoulders. It was cold. David wondered how long he could last before he started shivering, too.

  Inside, Mathias asked, “Who wants the tour?” And right on cue, Owen dropped to his back and put his feet into the air. As the crew disappeared up the stairs with a newly airborne Britt Childress, David realized that he and Haley were alone. Outside. Together.

  Had Mathias orchestrated this moment for him? To what end?

  Haley took a drag and looked up into David’s eyes. She looked tired and skinny. She was still dropping weight. Small brown circles had formed under her eyes, or else it was makeup.

  They hopped off the porch and went strolling in the grass. She’d performed beautifully, stepped effortlessly into her new larger-than-life persona. David marveled aloud at this.

  “Being in costume is being hidden,” she said, shrugging. “Dealing with people as myself? That scares the shit out of me.”

  “Same,” he said. “I should’ve chosen a more disguising costume.”

  “The suit suits you,” she said. “You’re the overseer, pacing in the background.”

  “I’m more of an arm-crosser,” he said, affecting an administrative stance of calm dismay.

  She got serious, eyes wide. “I could see everything tonight!” Haley whispered, nodding to The Egg. “When Nyla came up I saw her arms puff up, with this camouflage everywhere on her body, and she said she had the same vision of growing stronger like one of the warriors from Black Panther, or building huge houses with a massive tool belt. And Britt? I saw this beautiful yellowish light on her throat, but her body kept changing colors, so I think her persona is this constant chameleon changing costumes all the time. Zoe didn’t feel it as much, she got really scared, but I knew and she knew that she had to walk into the basement, in the dark, by herself, until she wasn’t scared anymore, and—”