We All Looked Up

by Tommy Wallach

  “Excuse me,” the woman said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Um, your friend?” She pointed to Eliza. “Are you Eliza Olivi?”

  “What do you want?” Eliza asked.

  “I can’t believe it!” Without waiting for the all clear, the woman wrapped her arms around Eliza, squeezing the baby between them.

  The woman’s husband lingered at the edges of the hug, looking as nervous as if he were in the presence of royalty. “Are you showing up late for your own party?” he asked.

  “It’s not really my party. I didn’t even think it would happen.”

  “Everybody thinks you’re dead,” the woman said, finally letting Eliza go. “They’re going to freak out when they see you, like Jesus coming back on Easter or something. I can’t believe we got to meet you. Thank you so much.”

  “There’s nothing to thank me for. I didn’t do anything.” But the starstruck couple were already skipping off toward the hangar. Eliza shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

  “Don’t get what?” Andy said.

  Eliza didn’t answer, but her face was thoughtful in the firelight. They walked on, through the overlapping Venn diagrams of luminescence put off by the torches and past an empty stage equipped with a piano and a couple of microphones. Farther on, a small cadre of volunteers in red shirts stood outside the hangar, helping to manage the foot traffic. A big Hispanic guy was holding a clipboard and shouting at people, so Andy figured he must be in charge.

  “Hey,” Andy said, “we’re looking for Chad Eye.”

  The guy gave them the once-over. “You’re Peter’s friends, aren’t you?”

  “How’d you know?”

  He pointed at Eliza. “I saw you once, through the window.”

  “At Friendly Forks,” she said.

  “That’s right. Actually, Peter’s the whole reason I’m here. Just before he stopped coming into work, he mentioned you were putting this party together. I never forgot about it. So a few days ago, I drove up and offered to make some food. They already had plenty, so they put me on door duty. Beats moping around at home, anyway. Hey, Gabriel!” He called out to another volunteer, a tall black guy with a long scar across his chin. “Come over here.”

  “What’s up?”

  “These are Peter’s friends. Can you take them up to see Chad?”

  “Where’s Peter at?”

  A long silence. “He’s gone,” Eliza said.

  Gabriel nodded. “I see. Come on.”

  He led them around the side of the hangar to an unmarked black door. Inside, a long staircase stretched upward into a darkness that was by turns purple and green and orange, shifting with the light from the faraway dance floor. Votive candles floated in glasses of water on every other step. They ended up on a latticed metal catwalk built into the very eaves of the hangar. Beneath them roiled a Pacific Ocean of humanity, rolling in waves, writhing in the shimmer of light and sound.

  “How many people are down there?” Andy asked, but Gabriel couldn’t hear him over the music. The thrum of the bass made the catwalk shiver like a ride cymbal. Halfway across the hangar, they came to another door.

  “Chad’s in there,” Gabriel said. “You come back down and let me know if you need anything else.” He took a few clanging steps back the way they’d come, then stopped. He turned to face them. “Peter was all right,” he announced. Andy waited for him to go on, but apparently he’d said everything he had to say. He turned around again and kept on walking.

  The office beyond the door was lit entirely with candles. Kora music tinkled out of a small set of speakers, though it was mostly drowned out by the beats from down below. Chad, dressed in a suit of off-white hemp, sat in a cheap folding chair in front of a window, looking down on his party.

  “Yo,” Andy said.

  Chad swiveled his head toward them, and his face exploded with joy. Sid the beagle leaped off his lap as he stood up.

  “You made it!” He took them all in for one huge hug. “I knew you would.”

  “That’s a lot more than we knew,” Andy said. He knelt down to pet Sid. “We thought you got locked up.”

  “I did. But the guards let me out when they found out I was in charge of the party.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. There have been some nice surprises along the way, haven’t there? Speaking of which, did you notice your stage on the way in?”

  “The one with the piano?” Anita said. “That’s for us?”

  “Of course. You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”

  “Kinda.”

  “Oh ye of little faith! Anyway, you better get out there soon—a lot of people are already skywatching out back. Now”—he put a hand on Eliza’s shoulder—“let’s talk about your performance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve got to say something to the crowd, Eliza!”

  “Why would they want to hear from me?”

  “Are you kidding? The only reason they’re here tonight is your blog.”

  “My blog? What good was my fucking blog?”

  Chad stared hard into Eliza’s eyes, like he was trying to find someone he used to know in there. After a moment, he turned back to Andy and Anita. “I set up a little greenroom for you at the bottom of the stairs. Go get yourselves warmed up. I’d like to talk to Eliza alone.”

  Andy hesitated. It didn’t seem right to leave Eliza behind. The end was only a few hours away; every parting felt like the last one.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “I’ll see you down there.”

  Andy walked back along the catwalk behind Anita, trying to make out faces in the crowd beneath them. There were more old people than he’d expected—little streaks of silver hair like patches of dead grass on a lawn. He wondered if Mr. McArthur or Mr. Jester or that security guard from Bellevue Mall had made it. And what about Jess and Kevin and the rest of the Hamilton crew? He liked to think they were all down there somewhere, surrounded by friends.

  They’d almost made it to the bottom of the interminable staircase before Andy realized he was about to be alone with Anita for the first time since they’d kissed. He felt anxious and excited—her hips moved sinuously with each step, and that red dress clung in all the right places—but also weirdly guilty. Why had it taken him so long to figure out how he felt about her? How had he let himself get distracted by a girl who’d told him on day one that she wasn’t interested? Why had he wasted so much precious time?

  The “greenroom” was just an old office outfitted with a busted-up guitar and a couple of couches. Battery-powered “candles” with perfect flickering flames had been placed all over the room.

  “It’s nice in here,” Andy said.

  “Yeah. Totally.”

  “You want something to drink?”

  “Sure.”

  There were a few bottles of water inside the dark, unpowered refrigerator. For just a second, Andy was gripped by the ridiculous fear that he wouldn’t be able to twist off the cap. A drop of sweat dripped from his armpit down his belly. What if she hadn’t even wanted to kiss him? What if she’d only let it happen because there hadn’t been any way to stop him? He tried to remember if she’d really kissed him back, but it had all happened so fast. Maybe the best thing was just to forget about it. There were only a few hours left before the end of the world anyway. It was stupid to be worrying about love and sex at a time like this. He and Anita would just play their songs together and be friends and that would be enough—

  “I don’t want to die a virgin,” Anita said. She immediately covered her face with her hands. “I know it’s crazy to say that right now, with everything that’s happened, but it’s the truth.” She straightened up, took a deep breath, and looked him straight in the eye. “I like you. If you’re into it, then I’m into it.”

  Andy was speechless. H
e’d forgotten that there was actually another person in the room—someone with her own needs and desires and shit to freak out about. But it was funny, or better than funny, that sometimes two people could be feeling the exact same thing at the exact same time. He burst out laughing. Anita’s eyes went wide, haughty and hurt for the one second before Andy was there to kiss her.

  “We have to warm up,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Andy said. “We should definitely do that.”

  Anita

  ANITA HAD ONCE READ THAT all trivial questions had a single answer, but when it came to important questions, every answer was equally valid. Was life too short? Of course—there was never enough time to do all the things you wanted to do. And of course not—if it were any longer, you’d appreciate it even less than you already did. Was it better to live primarily for the good of yourself, or for the good of others? For yourself, of course—it was madness to take responsibility for other people’s happiness. And for others, of course—selfishness was just another way to isolate yourself, when everyone knew that true happiness was all about friendship and love.

  Did Anita feel any different after sleeping with Andy?

  Of course she did—losing your virginity was always a big deal, and for her, it represented the end of a journey begun just six weeks ago (and how was it possible to fit so many lifetimes into six weeks?), when she left her parents’ house with only a carry-on suitcase and a boatload of angst. More importantly, sex with Andy had brought her close to him in a way she hadn’t even known was possible, a way that was grounded and wordless without being either mental (God knew she already spent more than enough time in her head) or spiritual (which she didn’t really buy into). Their connection now was physical and human and earthly. It was the purest denial of death that there could be: the stubborn ecstasy of the body, the indefatigable heart. Anita felt like she finally understood why love was symbolized by that grotesque pumping organ, always threatening to clog, or break, or attack. Because the heart was the body’s engine, and love was an act of the body. Your mind could tell you who to hate or respect or envy, but only your body—your nostrils and your mouth and the wide, blank canvas of your skin—could tell you who to love.

  At the same time, it was silly to think of herself as totally transformed—she and Andy hadn’t done anything that billions of other people hadn’t done before them. It was just a few minutes on a plush purple couch. Only a hurried undressing and a bit of pain (less than she expected) and a bit of pleasure (less than she expected), some funny faces and some nervous laughter and then that sweet little shiver and something in his eyes that Anita imagined you only saw in boys’ eyes at that exact moment, incredulous and vulnerable and masculine at once.

  Did she love him?

  Of course not—she barely knew him.

  And of course—because her body told her so.

  “Should I have been more careful?” he asked.

  “I think the biggest morning-after pill in the universe is on its way. If we’re still here the actual morning after, we can go find a real one.”

  “Cool. I mean . . . cool.”

  In spite of all the male bullshit she’d heard about “scoring” and “getting laid,” Anita felt more empowered now than she had in a long time. In fact, it was Andy who seemed the more fragile one; maybe that’s why it was always “getting laid” instead of “laying.” In the end, girls had all the power, and boys were just lucky to receive some of it. Anita definitely understood Eliza a whole lot better now.

  “Let’s get dressed,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  Andy scrambled around the room like some gangly white spider, finding all her clothes before searching for his own. She helped him into his hoodie as if dressing him for the first day of school. The thought made her laugh.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Just, you’re great.”

  He smiled in an I don’t know what to do with my face sort of way. “You wanna actually warm up?”

  Anita shook her head. “I’m plenty warm.”

  Holding hands, they left the office and walked back down the torch-lit path. The stage was equipped simply—a grand piano, an acoustic and an electric guitar, a couple of microphone stands. Andy switched on the amplifiers and tuned up. People were still coming down the path from the parking lot, and a few of them stopped to see what was happening.

  Was she nervous? Of course. And of course not. She’d been born for this.

  The electronic music began to fade out. From where she stood, Anita could see through to the other end of the hangar. Two fifty-foot projector screens switched from a screen-saver-style light show to a live video feed. The DJ stepped away from his station, and Eliza took his place. She adjusted the microphone to her height.

  “Um, hey. I’m alive.” Applause built and crashed like a wave. Eliza spoke over it, clearly uncomfortable with all the attention. “I don’t wanna keep you for long. I just thought I’d say a couple things. First, I wanted to thank my friends, Andy and Anita, who had the idea for this party. They’re gonna be playing some music outside in a few minutes. So you should, you know, listen. Also, Chad, who made all this happen. Finally, to those of you who read my blog back when it started, thanks for that. All I ever wanted to do was show people some of what was going on where I was. I never expected it to turn into anything. But I guess the last couple months have been all about learning how to deal with the unexpected. I—” Eliza choked on the next word. She seemed about to cry, but then she smiled instead. “I fell in love,” she said. “Can you believe that shit?” The audience laughed a complicit sort of laugh, as if Eliza weren’t the only one.

  “But everything ends,” she said suddenly. “It does. And I don’t want to bring you down or anything, because I know that’s the last thing any of us need right now. But it’s still the truth. There isn’t very much I believe in. Not heaven, or hell, or that any part of us will survive if . . . if it happens. But I can say that, for me, it was still worth it. I mean, it was still worth being alive. I really do believe that. Thanks.”

  Even from way out by the little stage, the applause sounded thunderous.

  “Not bad,” Andy said.

  Anita wiped at her eyes. “No. Not bad.”

  The DJ started spinning again, but much more quietly now. The moment had come.

  “Ready?” Andy asked. Anita nodded. It had been a long time since they’d practiced, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were here now, and together.

  As Andy began to play the first few chords of “Save It,” Anita wrapped her fingers around the microphone stand and closed her eyes. The audience was still pretty small, so it was easy enough to place herself back in her bedroom closet, singing just for the joy of it. When she opened her eyes again a minute later, the crowd had already grown. A dozen more unfamiliar faces, all looking to her. Before long, there were hundreds. But they couldn’t all be strangers, could they? No one could say who was standing out there in the darkness. Maybe that girl from Jamba Juice who’d claimed to be the best thing since sliced bread, or the other members of student council, or Luisa and her family. Anita tried to imagine the crowd was made up entirely of people she knew. And here were a few that she did recognize, coming to stand just at the lip of the stage—lovely Eliza, along with Chad and his beagle. And next to them, another man, gaunt and totally bald, with his arm wrapped around Eliza’s shoulders. Her dad. Anita smiled at him, and he smiled back.

  Andy’s thin voice reached for the high falsetto harmonies, so tight it sometimes felt to Anita as if she were singing both parts. She didn’t speak between songs, while Andy moved from piano to guitar and back again. Eliza had already said everything there was to say, and besides, Anita was seeking a communion beyond words.

  It seemed to end as soon as it began. She and Andy played every song they’d written together—maybe half an hour of m
usic altogether. A few days ago Anita would have seen that as the sum total of her short time on Earth, and she would have been proud of it. But now she had something more to be proud of. She and Andy stood at the front of the stage, looking out over the crowd, bowing and coming up again. He pulled her to his sweaty side, kissed her in front of everyone. What a marvel it was—the body and its puppy hungers. She looked up toward the sky, toward the implacable sparkle of good old Ardor, and saw that the two of them—she and the asteroid—were caught up in a battle of wills. In that moment, she stopped being afraid of it, even dared it to come, because she knew there was no way it could crave death as much as she craved life.

  Eliza

  IF ELIZA HAD SAT DOWN to write a speech—like, if she’d actually planned it—it probably would have turned out the exact opposite of the one she ended up giving. Even as she was walking off the stage, applause like a wash of white noise in her ears, she wondered who the hell this girl was, waxing poetic about love. It definitely wasn’t any Eliza Olivi she’d ever known.

  After Andy and Anita had gone off together—already something strange brewing between them—she’d been left alone in the office with Chad and his inscrutable beagle. And though Eliza had only spent a couple of hours with the weird old hippie, and that was weeks ago now, somehow he felt familiar.

  “What’s happened?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Eliza considered dodging the question, or lying, but she was too exhausted to do either one. “Someone died. Someone I cared about.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But you must know by now that the people you care about never really die.”

  Internally, she rolled her eyes. “I guess.”

  Chad watched her for a few seconds, waiting. When he spoke again, it was in the voice of a disappointed teacher. “Really? You’re going to let me get away with that?”