by Daniel Riley
They fell from the tight quarters of the restaurant into the cool alleyway and the breeze of the street. It was still May—the temperature was still diving in the early evenings. The men pulled on light jackets, Jack’s tenting him, twice the size of Will’s. Jenna wore nothing but her dress and looked entirely unbothered by the breeze. The bones in Whitney’s shoulders poked through her cotton sleeves and she huddled herself up in her arms.
“I should’ve brought something,” she said to Will, privately.
“You can get a sweatshirt here,” Jenna said, without looking back, pointing to a tourist shop on the corner. “Look, this one has the salamander from Parc Güell on it.”
Whitney’s mouth cracked wide, a little disbelieving.
“It looks warm,” Jenna continued. “And actually kinda like the new Gucci…”
“I’ll be fine,” Whitney said.
They weren’t off in any direction in particular, but Jenna and Jack were in the lead. They were walking up the alley, not down. They were following the alley to its end. Will and Whitney hung back.
“What the fuck is her problem?” Whitney said.
“What do you mean?” Will said.
“That pretentious bullshit in there,” she said. “That fucking list and those smirks and knowing little laughs. The way she went after you two. The way she was nipping at me the whole time.”
“I mean, I know she says some obnoxious stuff, but that just seems to be what you get with her, right? It’s non-discriminating, at least.”
“That Buddhist bullshit. That Houellebecq crap. That line about getting older—my skin and tits and ass? And now this fucking sweatshirt?”
“I think she just was saying that you could get a sweatshirt there if you’re cold. She’s a little much, but I don’t think there was anything that was more than—”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Am I? I don’t know, I just don’t really think there’s anything malicious going on.”
“Every little thing’s a provocation. That shit about new kinks and keeping things hot? Did you fucking blab to her last night about what we did?”
“Whit, Jesus. Of course not. I haven’t told anybody, let alone a loony tunes chick we met at a party.”
“Then what the fuck was that about? Just another dig? What about fate, what about love and sex? What a precocious little twat.”
“All right, well, I guess that’s that, then. Don’t need to do this again.”
“I know you can’t see past that tight little body, but there’s some serious bullshit going on, and it’s getting me a little—”
“You’re making way too much of this! I don’t think there was anything there that should be perceived as direct, specific shots at you. Okay? I thought it was super nice and fun most of the time. She needled me, too. Right after my dumb list. And if anyone has grounds, isn’t it Jack? She’s especially vicious to—”
“Right, right. Defend him, not me. You’re an idiot. Jenna Fucking Leonard. She’s got you both by the cocks. Her legs wrapped around your neck like a fucking femmebot. Sweet Jack and Predictably Susceptible Will. Stuck with this old crumpled bag. I always forget that that thing up there has been your fantasy forever. Manic Pixie Dream Bitch behavior that you’ve always had a weakness for. Someone to slap you around a little and get you off with some fucking Snapple-bottle philosophy. I’m surprised that wasn’t one of your freebies, a girl like that. Find someone to tell you about all the books she’s bought but never read, and then step on your balls.”
Will laughed incredulously. “You’re unbelievable. It’s un-fucking-believable to me how quickly you escalate this shit. How quickly you get to the red rage without a warning bell. You always do—”
“I don’t always do anything. This isn’t my fault. Don’t start hitting back at me with shit like that. I’m glad you found a compadre in Jack, and that you both find it all so irresistible. But she’s gonna destroy him. And she can destroy you, too, for all I care.”
Will started up the alley in their direction. They were pulling away, and they’d notice if he and Whitney didn’t start walking soon.
“I’m gonna go home,” Whitney said, staying put.
“What are you doing, seriously?”
“I don’t want to go that way. You’re more than welcome. I’ll take the key and you can buzz up when you get home and I’ll let you in. I’m exhausted. And I really don’t want to go wherever they’re going.”
“Please don’t make this more than it is. She’s a bitch. Does that do it? We’re on the same page now? She’s a needling pain in the ass who knew some spots to go to the last two nights. But I don’t understand why you’re letting her get to you. I don’t know why you can’t just ignore her. C’mon. Let’s not make a scene right here. Please just come along.”
Jack and Jenna were two blocks ahead of them now and they still hadn’t turned around. They strolled slowly, Jenna taking two strides for each of Jack’s. Jack rested his open hand on the top of her head. From distance, it looked like he was palming her like a basketball.
“Let’s please not make this a thing,” Will said. “Let’s just catch up and say good night and then walk our own way. Just please don’t make me go up there alone.”
“Always so concerned with what others will think. Quaking at the thought of someone perceiving conflict.”
“Whitney, c’mon. Jesus. I didn’t do anything. Don’t lash out at me because some fucking college chick hurt your feelings.”
Whitney laughed and shook her head. “Give me the keys, please.”
“Strike that last line from the record,” he said. He couldn’t help himself. Each time he’d climb up to the edge, he’d fall back down and wind up deeper in the hole than before. “Just walk to the intersection and say goodbye. You don’t even have to walk home with me. I’ll stay behind you and won’t say a thing. Please just go up there and say good night.”
“Give me the keys.”
“I’m not giving you the keys until you come up the hill.”
She one-eightied and started down the alley in the other direction.
“Whitney, Jesus,” Will said, and chased her a quarter block and stood in her way. “Remember what this is over! This is over a fucking sweatshirt.”
“Don’t make me sound trivial. Get out of my way.”
“This is my least-favorite version of you, period.”
“Move.”
He moved with her like a lineman. “This is the part of you I can’t stand.” He said it sweetly, softly, to keep his voice down.
“Then all the better that we’re parting ways. Have fun with them. Hope you end up at a nightclub again. Hope you meet your third.”
“This is ridiculous! Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“Maybe you guys can both take her home tonight. Maybe they’ll let you watch. That’s the ultimate dream for you, right? You don’t even want to be involved. Your dream basketball player. Your dream blonde—built just the way you really like them. Grapefruit tits and a parfait French accent. I had to hear it for years, how the girls at college were nothing compared to the girls back home, right? The California girls, wowweeee. Congrats on proving your point. You can watch to your heart’s delight and jerk off in the corner.”
“Just tell me what this is really about,” Will said. “Find a way to articulate it, please. Is it just the wine? Is it the fucking salmon toasts? Is it the fact that she, and not you, gets to go home with Jack? What is it?!”
“Fuck you,” she said.
“The worst version of you, period,” he said. “Sloppy logic. Dripping envy. You’re fucking drunk.”
“Get out of my way,” she said, and she grabbed him by the shoulders to force him aside. He held his ground and she lowered her head and butted him in the chest, hard as she could. His feet pedaled backward and he grabbed her by the arms. They locked and started stumbling down the alley. They found their collective footing and stood there straining against one another, Wil
l stronger by enough to contain the effort, but needing to focus to do so. He felt the flash in his chin before he saw it coming. She’d lifted her head swiftly and uppercut him with her skull. He stumbled backward again, stunned. She stood there with alarm in her eyes, her head ringing loudly. They hadn’t fought like this in years. That’s when they heard it.
“Hey!” It was Jack. They were coming back down the alley. But they were far enough away still to have missed it. “What happened?” Jack shouted.
“I dropped my wallet,” Will said. He said it quickly, softly, still at the volume of their low-volume fight. He pulled it from his pocket and shook it in the yellow light. “Found it, though.”
Will wouldn’t look at Whitney, and he didn’t hear her sandals moving away, either. He didn’t notice Jack and Jenna noticing her, and so figured she must still be steps behind him, in the shadows of the alley.
“What is that, anyway?” Jenna said, as she approached. “Tom Ford?”
“Give me a break,” Will said.
“You guys still cold?” Jenna said, a tone like a Rorschach test, sweet or sarcastic depending on how one intended to hear it. “I know an outdoor bar with some heat lamps.”
“I’m actually…I think we’re gonna head home,” Will said. “Don’t know about you guys, but we got a little beat up last night. Not sure how you do it, but we’re too old now.”
“Don’t exclude me from that,” Jack said. “I actually booted this morning.”
“You’re kidding?” Will said. His chin pulsed from the blow. But he acted genuinely surprised. He acted as though nothing was wrong between him and Whitney. He’d had the month of 1-2-3 to rehearse the illusion.
“I hadn’t puked in five years,” Jack said.
“December,” Will said, raising his hand. “Office party. November, that one…” Will said, thumbing over his shoulder, then turning to look at the face he knew better than any other. She was still there, but farther away than he’d expected. There was an organs-deep impertinence blaring back at him from down the alley. The temporary disdain was real; it was always genuine when it came for him. Color and temperature and shadow, those were the variables he keyed in on at the edges of her facial features. The hang in the hair that swept across her forehead. The weight of the slashes of her eyebrows. The mouth a little fuller and redder, just then, a puffiness from the rage that was boiling an eighth of an inch beneath the surface of her skin. “Election Night. She was up sick all night Election Night. Ruined the Thai place we’d ordered from. Haven’t been back.”
“Actually, last month,” Whitney said, looking at him. She’d intended it to sting. “When I was in L.A. Out too long, up way too late…” Her face was razor blades. She was speaking loudly and moving in closer, and her eyes were suddenly fixed fiercely in Jenna’s direction. “What about you?”
“I can’t,” Jenna said, yawning. “I’ve got”—she waved a hand in front of her throat—“no gag reflex.”
“That shocks me,” Whitney said, taking several additional steps in her direction. “I would’ve taken you for a morning, noon, and night type.”
“What does that mean?” Jenna said, twisting up her face.
“You just check the boxes of someone familiar with the inside of a toilet bowl.”
Jenna laughed uncertainly, and looked to Will and Jack to see if they’d registered it as a bad joke. “Hate to disappoint you…”
“But…no gag reflex. That’s cool. Is that true?” Whitney said, looking at Jack this time.
“Hey,” Jack said, raising his hands. “Leave me out of whatever this is.”
“Yeah, Whit,” Jenna said, flexing her eyes. “What is this, exactly?”
Whitney stepped closer still to Jenna, and this time she didn’t stop short. Whitney had six inches on her and she’d thrown her shoulders back into the posture of a ballerina. She tossed her hair and threw a long languid arm around Jenna’s shoulders and pulled in even closer and squeezed. For the first time all night it was Jenna who shrank, shorter and smaller than she’d been in the short, small history of their twenty-four-hour quartet.
“I’m just joking with you,” Whitney said, smiling with cold control. “We’re all just joking around with each other, I thought? Isn’t that what this has been?” Jenna stared at the paving stones and Whitney shifted Jenna in her arm. Whitney’s dominant hand traced Jenna’s neck and crept around the baby fat of her cheek. Then her fingers fondled the gold hoop that fell from the lobe of Jenna’s right ear.
Whitney tugged and Jenna flinched. The earring popped off easily.
“Oh, jeez,” Whitney said. “Is this a clip-on? You of all people?…”
Whitney still had Jenna in her arm. She leaned her back ever so slightly and tilted Jenna’s head up to hers, looking for something in her face.
“Why do you look so nervous?” Whitney said. “We’re all just having fun with each other, right?” Whitney clipped the earring back in place and Jenna flinched again. “Lighten up, Leonard. Not everything has to be life and death and theories of reincarnation.”
Just as Jenna looked like she might crumple to the street, she lifted the arm that was trapped behind Whitney’s body and slipped her fingers into Whitney’s hair.
“I don’t want to be all mushy,” Jenna said, meeting Whitney’s eyes, two faces locked in an angle, locked in a negotiation of wills. “But I just love this. I love how coarse it is. I wish mine was like it. Instead of this baby hair, so fine you can’t do anything with it. Yours, though, it reminds me of horse hair.” Her arms rose over Whitney’s shoulders and she ran the blue-black mane through the whole of her hands.
“I always wished I’d had a little sister, you know?” Whitney said. “Just a different thing than with a brother. A little girl to look after all your life. I always wanted to be the guardrail for someone like that. Girls can be so smart and so fucking stupid.”
They existed for each other and only for each other. Will and Jack stood silently, watching without breathing, on the outside of the bubble that seemed to have sealed itself around the two women in the alley.
Will’s arms were crossed. He watched the two of them wordlessly. But if he listened closely, he could hear a low groan slipping from his lips.
“So do you guys want to go to this bar or not?” Jenna said, unlocking from Whitney, using the words as a wedge to separate from her.
“No thanks, I’ve really used it all up,” Whitney said. “Like I said…like you said: I’m not twenty-two anymore…”
“But you’ve got our numbers and email…” Will said, from a distance now, having slithered down the alleyway some himself.
“And looks like…” Jack said, pointing to the heavens, to the starless black, the black without holes, “…we’re gonna be stuck right here all over again tomorrow.”
“Until mañana, then,” Will said. And Whitney waved with both hands, and showed them her widest wide smile, a thick red ring of twenty-nine-year-old lips, lit up with pleasure and neon.
When Will turned back down the alley, pocketing his own waves, Whitney was already a storefront along, the gap widening, so that he was forced to lengthen his stride.
Jack’s “Bye!” barked in delay. For all the professional reflexes, for all the legendary hand-eye, his reactions were always a beat behind, like sound in a stadium.
Whitney turned the corner at first opportunity, down a darker alley that ran parallel to the boulevard. She kept a distance Will couldn’t collapse, in space or in spirit, for the entirety of the walk back to the apartment. Will had the keys still, but Whitney knew he wouldn’t dare be anywhere but right behind her when it was time to unlock the front door. He called her name, just once, and without stuttering a step, without missing a stride, she threw two middle fingers with bright painted nails up over her shoulders in reply.
Ljósmyndari
The photographer arrived by boat with four fishermen. The docks were burned badly and the harbor was filled with new rock. They anchored offshore a
nd dinghied in. He dragged his hand in the water. The sea was cool again. As they reached the black beach, they could see the rivulets of basalt that had burned their way into the surf. He poked some with a stick. When it pressed back firmly, he smelled the end of his poker and it smelled like rotten eggs.
They tied down the boat and the fishermen set off on foot for the village. The photographer trained his eyes skyward, to the flowering of black clouds above Holudjöfulsins. The air was still warm and dense with particulate. When he waved his stick, a fine ash swirled around him. He uncapped his water bottle and took a swig. He pulled a piece of wintergreen gum from his vest. He had two cameras with him, and he pointed the first one up.
He shot for an hour. He shot the volcano and the ashcloud and the burned-up homes and livestock. The lava had descended the mountain in spokes that carved the valley floor into ribbons of fortune and misfortune. This home had been turned to ash, but the neighbor’s stood unscathed. He took pictures of good luck and bad luck.
The cloud illumed every now and then, crackling from its center, a weather system all its own. Against the protests of the fishermen, he set off up the slopes of the volcano for a closer look. He climbed for half an hour, pausing only when the rumblings beneath his feet froze him in his boots. The cloud was an impenetrable trap, a light-suck composed, he imagined, of every element in the periodic table. It was black, but marbled. It was so outsize in scale that it was like its very own idea—a tropospheric mass he’d heard was now the size of a continent. It was less than a week old. Astonishing.
He shot from the slopes for an amount of time that was impossible to measure. There were none of the typical reference points. It was an alien landscape at alien altitude, the up swirling imperceptibly with the down. It was a place of pure science, of chemistry and physics, of solids that looked like gases and gases that looked like solids. It was a place he was convinced must be devoid of life altogether. He felt himself moving closer to the cloud. He felt his body lifting from his boots and rising toward the mass above him, as though in the tractor beam of an alien ship. He felt light and he felt small and he felt he would never worry too hard about anything ever again now that he had had his perspective shifted, now that he had come face to face with the ashcloud.