Clear Skies, No Wind, 100% Visibility

by Theodora Armstrong

  “Take whatever,” Kate says into the mirror, naked from the waist up. She snaps on a pink bra with rhinestone-­studded straps. Her breasts are perfect, round like halved peaches and bigger than those of most of the girls our age. Mine are practically inverted — I mean, like raisins poked into raw dough. Maybe not that bad, but nothing to prance around with topless. “That bra’s pretty,” I say, turning my back to take off my shirt.

  “Have it.” Kate unhooks the bra and tosses it at me.

  “It won’t fit me.”

  “Stuff ’em.” She walks to her dresser and pulls out some inserts, chucking them at me.

  “Thanks,” I say, my back still turned as I tuck the pieces of foam into pockets inside the bra and adjust the straps over my shoulders.

  “No biggie.” She puts on a lacy black one and a low-cut black tank top.

  Earlier we napped in Kate’s basement on the Hide-A-Bed, legs intertwined, everything cool and peaceful underground. The only noise was from the wheels of her sister’s roller skates as she spun circles on the concrete floor. Her family is always in the basement. The TV’s down there and the video game box and her dad’s office too, which has been a shrine to their old family life ever since he moved out last winter. It actually isn’t really an office at all, but just a space in the corner of the rec room with a desk, a swivel chair, and a maroon rug. There’s a stash of porno mags on a top shelf above the desk, neatly arranged in grey file folders. Kate pulled them down once and showed me a page featuring buttholes. None of the girls had pubic hair and I realized I’d eventually have to get rid of mine. Since that day I’ve never liked Kate’s dad.

  “Put this on,” Kate says, passing me a light pink tank top. “It matches.”

  We do our makeup in the bathroom, sitting up on the vanity. The canyon water washed my face bare: small eyes, pale lips, hair gone wild again. Nothing I can do will tame it.

  “Be right back,” Kate says, disappearing through the door.

  I paw through the drawers and find some face powder, spreading a thin layer over my skin before snapping the compact shut and putting it back where I found it. The bathroom door swings open and Kate glides across the floor, pulling a half-full bottle of Grand Marnier from under her hoodie. “Drink up,” she says, handing it to me. “It’s all there was. That and whiskey.” She unzips her hoodie and examines her face in the mirror.

  “Your mom won’t notice?” I ask, taking a gulp and passing the bottle back to her.

  “She doesn’t drink. It’s my dad’s old booze.” She takes a sip, staring at me. “Your hair.”

  “I know.” My hands involuntarily go up to my head.

  “Overall it’s better, though.”

  “I got this conditioner,” I say, pulling the strands into a tight bun. “They use it on horse manes.”

  “At least you don’t have that tumbleweed-on-fire look going anymore.”

  “Fuck you,” I say, laughing. I put down the toilet lid, sipping at the Grand Marnier, getting used to the burn down my throat.

  “Should I go on the pill?” Kate looks in the mirror like she’s addressing herself.

  “Why?” I ask before even hearing her question properly.

  “You’re so pure,” Kate laughs. She hops off the counter and kisses me on the lips, soft and quick like a hummingbird. I blink, surprised, my cheeks flushing. She turns back to the mirror, sweeping her lids with shimmery pink shadow and flawlessly tracing them with black liner, smudging the lines so her eyes are shadowy and cat-like. “You need some of this,” she says, handing it to me. Beside her I lean into my reflection, running the black tip of the pencil along each lid and rubbing the line with my pinky carefully, like Kate did. I sit back and look at myself: a pale feline, lonely dark eyes. It’s better overall. “Meow,” I whisper at the mirror.

  “You’re really weird sometimes,” Kate says, digging into one of the drawers. She pulls out a pack of smokes, taking out a single cigarette and cranking open the bathroom window. “So?” she says, lighting it and resting her chin on the window ledge.

  “What?” I brush thick coats of black mascara on my lashes. I can’t stop staring at myself.

  “What do you think of him?” Kate blows smoke out the window.

  “He’s all right,” I say, joining her. I take a drag from her cigarette. “You should wait.”

  “For what?” Kate says, smirking at me. “For you? That could take forever.”

  “Shut up!” I grab the bottle off the counter and take a longer sip, catching a dribble down my chin with the back of my hand. “Let’s go.”

  “Show-off,” Kate says, tucking the bottle under her hoodie. She kisses me again, a little harder. This time I’m ready, though. I smile and kiss her back.

  WE ENTER MOSQUITO CREEK through Rana’s backyard. She was my lab partner through most of grade eight, and she told me her mom is always complaining of either bears or teenagers in their backyard, shit or beer bottles. The beer bottles are better any day; there’s nothing worse than bear shit. Rana likes to describe the scat in detail — berries, grass, fur, and bones.

  Kate and I crouch low past the big picture window that looks out on their perfectly manicured lawn to the break in the hedges and the steep dirt path leading to the creek. On the trail, my eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark yet and we forgot a flashlight, but Kate’s an owl or a fox, dragging me by the arm as she skips ahead. Every few steps we stop to take swigs from the bottle, more for Kate than for me. It’s her booze, I guess, and it doesn’t matter because I’m already feeling a buzz. Kate trips over a stump, barely catching herself from falling, and I haul her back onto her feet. “What’s the hurry?” I say, but she’s already ahead of me.

  We’re past the neighbourhood and working our way up the mountain when I see the glow of a fire. We can hear music through the trees, but it’s hard to judge how close things are in the dark and all of a sudden we’re there. A group of grade elevens chat around a fire burning in a ketchup tin, and past them kids walk along the paths or sit on the rocks in groups of two or three. Deeper in the forest, at the source of the music, a larger crowd is gathered. We wander around the creek chatting with friends, trying to find a group we want to hang out with. Rana’s sitting on a stump with a bunch of drama club kids and when she sees me she stands, waving me over. Kate and I join their circle and drink from the two-litre of shit-mix being passed around. When I spot Elgin coming toward us through the trees, I turn my back to him without saying anything to Kate, but she sees him anyway and squeezes my hand before disappearing with him into the forest. “Are they together?” Rana asks, passing me the two-litre, but I don’t bother answering her.

  A few minutes later, Kate comes back alone to lead me up one of the paths along the edge of the creek. At the base of a big evergreen a lighter flicks on and off and Elgin’s voice calls out from the dark. I can see the outline of someone sitting beside him.

  “Who’s with you?” Kate says, still hanging onto my hand.

  “Max,” Max says. He lights a joint and the flame briefly illuminates his face.

  “I can’t see anything out here,” Kate says, letting go of me and sitting down beside Elgin.

  “Hi,” I say to no one in particular — Max or Elgin — just so everyone knows I’m here. I can barely see my own hand in front of my face.

  “I know you,” Max says, passing me the joint.

  “Yeah?”

  “We were in elementary together.” He laughs like it’s a joke.

  “Yeah, I remember,” I say, taking a puff. The smoke tickles my throat and my lungs tighten. I cough as I pass the joint to Kate.

  “You liked My Little Ponies,” Max says.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You did. At recess you’d be brushing their hair and shit.”

  Kate starts giggling and Elgin joins in. “Why do you remember that?” Kate says.<
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  “I have a good memory,” Max says, the joint back between his fingers, embers growing as he sucks in the smoke.

  “Well, you don’t,” I say, “because that wasn’t me.”

  “Whatever,” Max shrugs.

  “I think I’d remember that,” I say. The glowing tip of the joint comes toward me and Max touches my hand as he passes it to me. I pull it back quickly and even in the dark I can tell he’s smiling. The joint goes around the circle again before anyone says anything.

  “This guy has the best weed in North Van,” Elgin says, slapping Max on the back hard enough that he drops the roach. “Maybe the whole Lower Mainland.”

  “Fuck yeah,” Max agrees, searching on the ground.

  “We’ll be right back,” Kate says, grabbing my arm and pulling me over to the creek out of earshot. She’s close enough I can feel her breath and the moonlight cuts down through the branches brightening her face. Her cheeks are slack and her eyes are wet like a sick dog. The pot’s creeping into my face too. “I’m really stoned,” I say, rubbing my wet eyes. We’re both sick dogs.

  “I’m gonna go with Elgin,” Kate says.

  “Okay.”

  “I’m not asking your permission.”

  “I know.”

  “Don’t come find me if I don’t come back,” she says, heading back into the trees. “I’ll find you later.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” I say, following her back toward the guys. Kate looks at me as if it’s the stupidest question in the world and before she takes Elgin’s hand she leans in close and whispers, “What about Max?” I’m still shaking my head no as they disappear into the dark. “Now what?” I say, sitting on a rock. I can hear the crack and snap of underbrush as Kate and Elgin make their way further into the bush. My eyes have adjusted to the dark and I can see Max’s slouchy outline against the tree. He comes to sit beside me and I give him a weak smile he probably can’t see. “Are they gonna fuck?” he says, relighting the joint and passing it to me.

  “Why are you asking me that?” I take a toke and give it back to him. I can’t decide how I feel about sitting with him, but I don’t want to walk out of the trees with him either. It’s easier to smoke weed until I figure it out.

  “Curious, I guess,” Max says.

  “You’re sick.”

  “I thought you guys talked about shit like that?”

  “Not with you.” When I look over at him, he’s smiling his weird lopsided grin and I can’t help laughing. “Should we go?”

  “Let’s finish this first,” he says, blowing on the tip of the joint and we smoke in silence awhile, listening to the music down the creek. At one point I think I hear Kate laughing and my heart trips out of my chest, but the sounds are coming from a different direction. The weed is making me paranoid and I rest my head in my hands, taking some deep breaths. “Your stuff is strong.”

  “Yeah,” Max says with pride in his voice. “Why do you tie your hair back like that?” All of a sudden, Max’s fingers are squeezing the bun on top of my head. He’s always been that way, inappropriate with physical contact. I remember him reaching into my pocket for an eraser when we were in elementary school.

  “My hair?” I swat at his hand. “I don’t know. It’s easier.”

  “I like it out.” He probes my bun.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Wait a sec.” He has both hands on my head now, pulling my hair out of its knot. “There,” he says, shooting the elastic into the brush.

  “I need that.”

  “Who gives a fuck what people say? People suck.” He massages my head until I start laughing.

  “That feels pretty good.”

  He sits back, smoking quietly for a moment, and I can feel him staring at me in the dark. “It’s cool,” he says, before flicking the butt into the bushes. “I bet one day you’ll really like your hair.” We stand up and his lips brush against my cheek in the dark. “We don’t have to go back yet,” he says, turning in a circle as though there’s a lot more to see in the forest.

  “Okay, where should we go?”

  We hike through the trees, higher up to a plateau where there are large, flat rocks, and sit together, throwing stones. Far down the creek bed, shadows move around the fire. There’s a waterfall nearby, the sound of frantic water pouring through my weed-wrecked brain. My head starts to spin and I lie back on the rocks. When Max lies beside me, I know I’ve given him a signal without meaning to, but I figure that’s okay. For once I want to be like Kate freefalling in Lynn Canyon. “Are you cold?” Max says, leaning into me. I tilt my chin up and he kisses my neck, but then stops, waiting to see what I think. His saliva smells like beer. When I reach down to unbutton his jeans, he freezes for a second. He helps me slide them off, then he pulls off my jeans and I take off my bra under my tank top. His hands slide underneath my shirt to find my nipples. We kiss awhile, rolling on the cold rock, and when he reaches inside my underwear I don’t stop him. He asks me if it’s okay, if I want to do this, and I say sure. I keep my underwear on and he has to pull them to one side, his hipbones digging into my thighs as he pushes inside me. It hurts, but there’s something wonderful about it, like I’ve finally accomplished something real. His face is pressed into my neck and I look up into the tree, branches criss-crossing the night. When he stops and asks me what’s wrong, I realize I’m not making any sounds, I realize I’m barely breathing. For some reason, I need to concentrate really hard, and by doing that it’s like I’m holding my body together, keeping everything in one piece. I tell him nothing’s wrong, I tell him I’m really stoned. He starts laughing and I wish he’d stop.

  Afterwards, we lie next to each other and Max talks about getting more weed, about maybe finding someone who has shrooms. The forest is black, trees stretching right into the night sky; they are the sky, but starless and tangled. I pull my jeans back on and look for Kate’s bra, which has fallen somewhere between the boulders. Each time I stick my hand between the rocks there’s a cold shock of water at my fingertips. “Do you need help?” Max says, standing over me.

  “No.” I plunge my hand into the creek. “I lost something. You can go back if you want.”

  “I’m not going to leave you here.”

  Eventually I give up and follow Max back through the forest to the party. In the morning a hiker will find Kate’s bra downstream, glittering in the morning sunlight. When we reach the clearing where the dense trees open up onto the party, I veer off in the opposite direction from Max. He stops to look for me, stepping back into the forest to search for a moment, before disappearing into the crowd of kids.

  I SPEND THE REST of the night trying to get Kate alone so I can tell her everything that happened. We’re finally sitting together by the fire when I ask her how it was with Elgin. “Perfect,” she says. At the exact same time, a spray of beer hits her cheek and soaks her top. Next to us a group of plastered grade eleven guys are shotgunning beers. Kate turns to them. “Quit it,” she yells, wiping off her face. A guy wearing a yellow baseball cap punctures another can and points it right at Kate’s head, hitting her in the ear with the spray. After that I’m not sure in what order things happen. Someone’s swearing and someone’s laughing. It all sounds normal at first, but then Elgin steps up and, with the back of his hand, knocks the grade eleven’s yellow baseball cap off his head. The guy picks up his hat and puts it back on, stepping up to Elgin. A crowd collects, the fight a magnet drawing everyone together. Another grade eleven in a black hoodie joins in, swings and smashes Elgin’s nose. Blood gushes over Elgin’s mouth and down his T-shirt. He wipes at his face and rubs his bloody hand on his cargo pants. Kate gets pushed to the other side of the crowd and Elgin staggers in the middle of the circle, blood still gushing from his nose onto his white sneakers. He stands there for a moment as it drips down his chin. He spits and smiles, his teeth red, and then the two grade elevens beat the c
rap out of him. Every time they beat him down, Elgin staggers back up like he wants more. The other guys in the front row are laughing at him. Kate tries to push herself to the front of the crowd, but she keeps getting forced back. Black Hoodie knees Elgin in the stomach and he falls to the ground, curled up with his bloodied fingers wrapped around his head to protect his face. This time he doesn’t get up. One of the other guys gives him a couple kicks to his back and Yellow Baseball Cap pours the rest of his beer on him. On the outskirts of the crowd, Max watches, expressionless, and all of a sudden I feel ashamed.

  WE DON’T TALK ON the way to Elgin’s house. Kate and I each take one of his arms, but it’s hard getting out of the dark crush of trees. We keep tripping, Kate keeps swearing, and Elgin asks over and over, “What the fuck happened?” We creep into Elgin’s backyard and go in through the back door so no one will hear us. He leaves little drops of blood on the living room carpet. Above the TV there’s a poster-size photo of a younger Elgin playing hockey. He tells us to be quiet, not to tell his mom. We help him to the bathroom and he sits on the toilet seat, head in hands, his stringy hair falling all around his face. Kate pulls some toilet paper from the roll and hands it to him in a big crumple for the cut above his eye. She presses her lips to his forehead and then looks over at me. My hands suddenly feel empty. Elgin stands unsteadily and looks at his face in the mirror. He blinks a couple times like he can’t believe his own reflection. “Fuck.” He slams his fist against the wall. “Maybe you should go,” Kate says to me.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. We’re good.” She turns back to Elgin, inspecting his cut.

  “Okay, if you’re sure.” As I back out of the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The black eyeliner has smeared, my eyes lost in dark raccoon circles. I’m a creature of the night. The loneliness is still there; it’s worse now. “I’ll call you later,” I say from the hallway.

  “Close the door,” Kate says.

  IT’S STARTING TO GET light out, a blue band growing behind the trees. I think about taking the shortcut through the forest, but I don’t want to walk on the trail alone. I remember hearing something about bears feeding in the early morning. Or was it cougars? Maybe deer? It doesn’t matter.