Welcome to the Slipstream

by Natalka Burian

  I swooped into the front seat of Alex’s car and could barely look at him, afraid my eyes were glowing with that same frenzy of Mom’s.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  “Wow, that was fast,” he said, and we drove out into the night, just like Mom and Marine had only a little while before.

  • • •

  The university wasn’t far. It was a lot closer to the strip than the Silver Saddle.

  “There’s the library,” Alex said, pointing out the window to a sleek modern building topped with an arc of glass that curved into the sky. An up-lit row of palm trees stood by the entrance like sentinels. It looked nothing like the colleges that Mom had been looking at on the Internet for me. Those were all columns and white marble, some knockoffs of the ancient, and some truly old.

  “Do you live here? On campus?” I asked Alex.

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “The dorms are pretty pricy. I live in an apartment. With roommates. My neighbor’s the one throwing me the party.”

  “It’s not at your place?”

  “No, but that’s for the best, for sure. My neighbor’s place is much bigger. Besides, if Joanna’s crazy ex showed up, I’d rather he trashed Mike’s.”

  I tried to keep Marcos at the back of my mind, but my palms were all sweaty and I felt that low hum of anxiety as we walked up the steps to the third story. I turned to Alex, who looked a little nervous. His mouth was pressed closed in a tense line.

  When the door opened, the intensity of volume hit like a wave of heat from an opened oven. There were way too many people crammed into the apartment. A heavily muscled but short dude in a tight T-shirt bounded over to us and wrapped Alex in an enthusiastic embrace. “Oh shit,” he shouted over Alex’s shoulder and into my face. “The birthday boy is he-ere!”

  “Hey, man, thanks for doing this,” Alex said, clapping Mike on the shoulder. “Oh, and this is Van,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder with his other hand.

  “Va-an,” Mike bellowed. “Come get drinks!”

  From what I could tell, it looked like all of these people had already hit the drinks pretty hard.

  “I’m going to go look for Carol and Joanna,” I shouted at Alex.

  “Carol!” Mike snickered. “Don’t look too hard for her. She is pissed!”

  “Ugh, there you are.” Someone grabbed my shoulder, and I spun around to Carol’s glower. “Where the fuck have you been?” she asked. “Why are you covered in dirt?”

  “What?” I said, looking down at my sweater and jeans. I was still dusty from the parking lot chase with Mom. Mom, I thought, and felt a twist of guilt in my stomach.

  “Just, never mind. Come on, let’s go help Joanna. Fucking Marcos cannot grasp the leaving gracefully concept.”

  “What, like we have to kick him out?” I asked, an upsurge of nerves sweeping through me.

  “Yeah, killer,” Carol said, giving me a once-over. “You’re gonna have to escort him off the premises. You think you can handle it?”

  “What?” I felt my entire head empty of blood.

  “Oh my God, I’m joking. Calm down. And take off that obscenely bad sweater.”

  I automatically pulled the sweater over my head, while Carol regarded the plain black T-shirt I wore underneath.

  “Hmm, maybe the sweater was better. At least the dirt was kind of badass.”

  “Guys!” I heard Joanna’s voice thread through the noise of the building crowd. “Let’s just play this before it gets too crazy for anyone to care.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Carol answered. “Where’s fucking Marcos?”

  “He, uh, he’s fine. He’s going to stay to watch us play,” Joanna said.

  “Oh Jesus, J, you didn’t get back together again, did you?”

  Joanna shook her head and looked out into the crowd. “Let’s go.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “He wants to talk to Van, though, after.”

  Me? What?

  “Fine, let’s do this before we all graduate,” Carol said as she slogged through the room, pushing people out of our way.

  Carol slipped back behind the drums and Joanna stepped up to the mic. She flashed a grin out into the crowd.

  “Thanks for coming. We’re the Terrors.”

  Carol counted us in so fast, I almost didn’t realize we were starting. I fumbled the intro a little, but picked it back up. I felt exhilarated and powerful—like some creature of ancient Greek mythology—like Mom, I thought.

  At first, the crowd didn’t react much. They seemed kind of confused, actually. But Joanna whipped them up. Soon no one could take their eyes off of her. A clump of people gathered in front, close. I felt the heat from their bodies and the force from their feet as they stomped along with Joanna.

  It was over too fast, and I couldn’t stop smiling. Joanna staggered over to me and grabbed my arms. “Shit, Van!” She shouted into my face. “Don’t you feel great? That was perfect! Carol, don’t you feel great?”

  Carol shrugged and ran a hand through her shimmering hair. I could see the sweat on their skin, and I could feel it on mine. My smile didn’t go away.

  “You wanna do one more?” Joanna asked.

  I nodded and she bounded back to the microphone stand. “One more, okay?”

  The kids in front of us roared and pushed against each other and clapped.

  I’d never felt so great.

  After the show, my vision wasn’t quite right; it was all blurred, with the edges of things disappearing.

  “Van!” Alex practically leapt into my arms. “You were amazing!”

  “Carol and Joanna were amazing,” I said, looking up at Joanna, who was already starting to move the equipment out of the way for the next band.

  “You guys were so good!” Alex slapped me on the shoulder with every word.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry, sorry,” he said. Alex stiffened as a thin, familiar figure approached. “I’m going to make Carol say something nice to me. She’s going to hate that so much. Best birthday present ever.” He hopped over to where Carol was packing up her own things.

  “Hey! It’s the girl who owes me coffee.” It was the spindly guy with long, dark hair I’d nearly decked in the Silver Saddle lobby. A worn T-shirt advertising the Cure was stretched across his narrow chest.

  “So you’re Van, huh? Marcos,” he said, touching his hand to his chest.

  “You’re Marcos?”

  He nodded. “I thought you were a guy, with a name like Van.”

  “What?”

  He looked at his hands while his face reddened. “Sorry,” he said, “that came out weird.” He looked up at me and brought his eyes level with mine.

  “You’re really talented,” he said. “You could be in a way better band than this.”

  “Thank you,” I said, looking at him warily as I snapped his guitar into its case.

  “I mean, if you ever want to play together sometime, just let me know,” he said.

  “Um, thanks, I guess. But how would we do that, considering we’d only have the one guitar?”

  He laughed, an incongruous, high-pitched giggle.

  “Yeah, you’re right!”

  Is this guy stoned? Is this what stoned people sound like? Oh my God, you are embarrassingly juvenile, I told myself. I shook my head.

  “Thanks for lending me this,” I said, rapping on the rectangular case. “But, it’s yours, and you should take it back now. I’ve got to get my own, anyway.” I thought about Mom again—I had to get home.

  “Well, if you need any help, let me know.”

  “Uh, thank you,” I answered. “I actually have to get going. I wasn’t even supposed to go out.”

  “Wow,” said Marcos.

  “Wow,” I agreed. “It was really nice meeting you. And thanks again,” I said.

  “Wait, can I give you a ride?” Marcos asked.

  “No thanks. I think maybe Alex is going to.”

  “Alex? That asshole? Wait, are you with him, too?�
� Marcos snarled.

  Too? My heart sank. Of course Alex was dating someone. “What? No, we’re just friends.”

  The thought of meeting Alex’s girlfriend made my throat feel tight.

  “Uh, actually, Marcos, if you could give me a ride, I’d really appreciate it,” I said.

  “No problem,” he mumbled, looking out over my shoulder.

  I turned and saw Joanna with Alex and Carol. I could feel my pulse thrumming under the thin skin at my throat. I needed to get out of there—I’d left Ida alone, in the middle of a crisis.

  Marcos drove an ancient minivan I’d seen parked outside the Silver Saddle. He didn’t open the door for me or anything, like Alex had on our trip to the Venetian, but I kind of liked that. It made me less nervous, to maneuver myself in and out of the car free of scrutiny. I positioned my seatbelt carefully, just in case Marcos really was on drugs. He pressed a button and music, the Cure, filled the car. He looked up at me, grinning.

  “Is that a tape, like a cassette?” I asked.

  “Uh-huh,” he said, delighted. “My parents still have a ton.”

  “Wow. Sounds like they have good taste. Are you close with them?”

  “Yeah. They had us young, so we kind of like, grew up together. How about you? Your parents have good taste?”

  “Not exactly,” I said, picking at a curl of plastic—an old sticker—taped to the dashboard. I thought about Mom, and wondered whether she was still in Marine’s passenger seat, maybe on the same highway.

  “But you do. I can tell.” He looked over at me longer than I thought wise.

  “Maybe. So you’re a big Cure fan,” I said, looking out of the passenger side window, hoping he would turn back toward the windshield.

  “Oh yeah.” On the edge of my sightline, I saw him pluck at his T-shirt. “Whenever I’m into something, I try to surround myself with it, you know, swim around in it.”

  “Huh.” I heard the surprise in my voice. “I like how you said that.” I turned back to look at him, his profile handsome and dim in the night-filled van.

  “What happened with you and Joanna?” I was embarrassed, surprised that I’d let the question out into the air between us. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me. Not like it’s any of my business.”

  “No, I don’t mind telling you,” he said. I could see his grimace in the dark. “It was a hard breakup. For me. I thought I loved her, but really I loved her talent. I really thought she was, like, this prodigy. Like John Lennon or something.”

  “She is really talented. You’re not wrong about that.” I pulled my hair back and held it in a twist at the nape of my neck.

  “Yeah, she is. But not as talented as I thought.” He looked right at me then, and I was flooded with embarrassment, like had there been a bathroom nearby, I’d have run to it. “I’ve never seen anyone play like you.”

  “Oh, well. You must not get out much.” I wondered if Marcos could tell how red I was, even through the murk.

  When we got back to the Silver Saddle, Marcos didn’t try to hug me, and I registered faint disappointment.

  “Well thanks, Marcos,” I said, opening the silver passenger side door.

  He smiled out at me, that same beatific grin. “I really liked talking to you. And I loved seeing you play. Do you want to meet up again? I mean it, about that coffee.”

  I felt a sudden, unwieldy rush of relief. “Yeah, that would be great. Thanks for the ride,” I said, then shut the door and started waving like an idiot before I said anything weird.

  Whatever happened now, I’d played a show. I may have been the world’s worst and most selfish person, but I’d played a show. Mom, I thought, the guilt hot in the place behind my eyes. I took the elevator up to the suite and got into bed. I lay awake for a while. I thought about the audience, all of their shuffling sounds, their voices, the focus of all of those eyes. It was stabilizing and thrilling all at the same time.

  Mom going missing blinked around at the perimeter of these thoughts, but I wasn’t ready to let it in. Not right then. I held on to the power I’d felt performing, and I curled into a ball.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The second I opened my eyes, I found that all of my euphoria from the show the night before had disintegrated. My clothes smelled like the smoke from the party and were covered in the stubborn dust from the parking lot hunt.

  I turned on the shower but I stood there, waiting. Like, if I didn’t have to leave that bathroom, I wouldn’t have to figure out what was waiting for me out there. Then I eventually did get in, and I just kept on lathering and lathering, comforted by the suds underneath my hands—it was like I was wrapping my body in a soapy, protective layer. I didn’t think it was strange, until I stepped out, that Ida hadn’t banged on the door during that whole long stretch of washing. I wondered if she knew that I’d left last night. I wrapped a towel around my hair and put on a robe emblazoned with the Silver Saddle logo.

  Opening the bathroom door was like stepping out of a dragon’s mouth. The steam floated out around me and into the freezing hallway.

  “Ida?” I called.

  There was no answer. I padded over to the living room, where I’d left her sleeping the night before. She was still there, asleep, in the exact position she’d dropped down in. I knelt down next to the sofa and looked closely at her face. I half expected her to be dead and half expected her to pop up and shout “Gotcha!” at me. I touched her dusty sleeve.

  “Ida,” I whispered.

  She shifted and snorted and cracked open an eye.

  “Hey there, sweetheart.” She rolled over onto her side and put a hand to her forehead.

  “Tell me I dreamed it,” she said.

  I shook my head.

  She rolled over onto her stomach and groaned into the couch cushion. She lifted her head. “All right. Let’s make some coffee and figure this out.”

  I nodded and headed for the kitchen.

  “No, wait! We’re going to order that coffee. We’ll get room service to send up a big breakfast for three. I bet you Chantal is watching every move we make from that roost of hers. What time is it, honey? She’s got a head start on us, that’s for sure.”

  “Should one of us call Chantal?” I asked.

  “Yeah!” Ida pointed at me like a game show contestant. “Wait no—let me just think for a second.” She put her hand up to her mouth and bit down on her index finger.

  I stood there, unmoving.

  Ida clapped her hands together. “This is what we do. You call Antonio, sweet-talk him a little bit. You know, last night was tough, my mom’s sleeping in. Maybe,” Ida looked up, her eyes lit with frenzy. “This is what you say. You say, ‘Look Antonio, baby, my mom was so upset, Ida had to put her to bed with a Scotch and a couple of sleeping pills, just so she could get some rest.’ Okay?”

  I just looked at her, not sure about any of this.

  “Or something like that—you can improvise. I’m going to order breakfast and lay the same story on Marisol downstairs. She’s got a big mouth on her, too, so it’ll get around that Sof is just recovering up here.”

  “I don’t know, Ida. Are you sure? Maybe we should just tell Chantal. And, maybe—do you think we should go look for Mom?”

  “Honey, I think she’s going to be okay. Physically, she’ll be okay. I think.”

  “Why did I let this happen?”

  “No, no. No, listen. We stabilize this situation here, and then I’ll call Marine.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll call Alex, you call the breakfast.”

  “Yes,” Ida said. “Yes!”

  I really didn’t feel like calling Alex. I remembered Marcos’s mention of Alex’s girlfriend. I remembered Chantal’s expression in her office the day before when she told me Alex was paid to show me around. She was positively flush with schadenfreude. I found my cell phone in the pocket of my jeans just as Alex’s name flashed up out of my palm.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Van? It’s Alex.”


  “Yeah, I know. I was actually just about to call you.”

  “You were?” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Yeah. I don’t know if you heard—”

  “Oh, I heard. Things got pretty weird, at least that’s the story I’m getting from reception.”

  “Yeah, they were pretty much on the front lines.” I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus on Ida’s plan.

  “I heard you and Ida were on the front lines. Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

  “I’m not sure,” I lied. “It got overwhelming. I just didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Is that why you left like that?”

  “Yep . . .”

  “Do you want to talk about it now? Is your mom okay?”

  “Oh, she’s fine—just resting. I think Marine went kind of batshit on her, you know?” I closed my eyes, prepared to do a lot more dumping on Marine before it was all over.

  “Um, Van?”

  “What?”

  “You were so, so great last night.”

  “You have to stop saying that!” I half shouted. I didn’t want to be reminded of what I’d done last night. Or what I hadn’t done. I’d do one good thing for Mom at least—I’d help her keep this job. “Thanks, though. I hope you had a good birthday.” I tried to say it like Ida would: charming.

  “Yeah, I did, actually,” Alex said. I wondered if he knew about my ride home with Marcos.

  “Great—um, one more thing? Could you let Erica know that I probably won’t be in class for a couple of days? I think my mom needs more time. To process.”

  “Yeah, Chantal’s been calling her.”

  “I know,” I lied. “She’s just really embarrassed. She needs to regroup. So she can focus on work again. Do you mind? Letting Erica know?” I asked.

  “Sure. I’ll let her know. Do you need anything?”