Welcome to the Slipstream

by Natalka Burian

  I felt the heat from Chantal’s body as she leaned over my shoulder.

  “Van, Alex and I are going to step outside. Take all of the time you need in here, all right?”

  It was the second time in half an hour that I felt this rush of relief over Chantal’s presence. I couldn’t believe how different things were since only the day before.

  I was already beside Ida. I didn’t remember moving, but there I was.

  “Thanks. Thank you, Chantal.”

  Standing there with Ida, I let all of the fear and exhaustion and tension of the day pulse through me. I collapsed on the end of the bed. I lay across the bottom, over the lumps of Ida’s legs, my own legs hanging off and my feet nearly touching the floor. For a while I timed each of my breaths with the rise and fall of her chest. I thought about how we were all breathing together: me, Ida, and the machines around her. Like backup singers. God, I was so selfish. If I hadn’t let Mom run off like that, Ida wouldn’t have worked herself up so much. She wouldn’t have landed here.

  I reached down and wrapped my hand around Ida’s ankle underneath the covers and just held on for a little while.

  “I’m going to make it right, Ida. I’ll bring Mom back here, okay? Everything will be fine.”

  I rose from that spot on the bed. I walked the length of Ida’s body and leaned over all of the blankets and tubes and tape and kissed her.

  “I’ll be back soon.”

  Okay, honey, I imagined her saying. Then I left to find Chantal and Alex.

  They’d waited by the door the whole time. I felt another swell of gratitude for both of them.

  “Chantal talked the nurse into letting us stay after visiting hours. She could probably convince them to let you stay over tonight with her if you want.”

  Chantal examined me in one efficient sweep of her eyes.

  “I think Van needs to rest, Alex. She needs to put that call in to Marine. Let’s get her home, and then we can regroup in the morning. We’ll come back and see Ida then.”

  “No,” I said.

  “No?”

  “No. I actually spoke with Marine. While I was in there with Ida.” The lie was out of my mouth before I could stop it. “She told me to come to Sedona right away—I need to get going. Will you guys drop me off at the bus station?”

  “The bus station?” Alex said.

  “Marine’s going to pick me up. We’ll all come back here together. My mom needs to be here.” I threw each sentence out with vicious force. The force was more for me than for Alex or Chantal. I needed to galvanize. The longer I had to think about resting beside Ida, maybe even sleeping there, the harder it would be to convince myself that I could make the trip to somewhere I’d never been, alone, to do something I’d never done.

  “No one’s going anywhere tonight. It almost two in the morning!” Chantal said.

  “It’ll be fine. I told you, Marine will be there waiting.” I shivered under the lie.

  Chantal and Alex looked at one another. Chantal sighed. “I’ll drive you back to the hotel. You’ll need to change at least.”

  I looked down at my soggy, wrinkled robe. She’s right there, I thought.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I slept in the back of Chantal’s car. I must have, because when we jolted to a stop and I heard the engine putter out, I lifted my head from Alex’s shoulder.

  “You two go pack up—Van, get changed. I’ll get your ticket. Meet me back in my office when you’re ready.”

  Alex and I unfolded ourselves out of the car, but Chantal stayed in the driver’s seat looking out into the darkness.

  A cluster of three figures by reception called out to us in unison as we walked by. “Is she okay?” they asked together, their faces all formed into the same expressions. Like three backup singers; I thought about the breathing machines in Ida’s room.

  Alex just nodded over my head, like I was already asleep.

  When we got back to the suite, I was grateful almost to the point of tears when I saw that the housekeepers had cleared away all evidence of Ida’s fall and the EMTs’ trampling. They’d cleaned the room and left out handfuls of turndown chocolates on the dining room table beside a stack of Marine’s astrological charts.

  “I’m going to pack,” I told Alex.

  I went into Mom’s room first, rifling through her drawers and closet. Looking for clues, I told myself. Clues about what she’d been thinking. And if I was honest with myself, clues about who she really was. It was the thing I was most curious about in the whole world, because if I knew who Mom really was, I’d know who I really was. I couldn’t help feeling we were these composite people, that our lives were like a two-dimensional slide show. I’d get these vivid flashes from her every now and then. Sometimes, when Mom touched me, I remembered things. I felt things. Sometimes they were good things, like sleeping on the grass in Mom’s arms. Sometimes they were terrible, memories of feeling so sick and weak it was like breaking in half. They weren’t always my memories, though. It was like these flashes were the best and the worst in both of us, and that was all that existed. There was none of that sticky middle-ground stuff that made up most of the world’s lives.

  • • •

  I don’t know if I was just too tired and dull, or if there weren’t any clues to find, but I uncovered nothing. I knew I was really going to have to call Marine.

  But this wasn’t Marine’s job. It wasn’t Marine’s job to look after Mom. It was mine. I untied the filthy robe and peeled off my underwear. I hunted around for any clean clothes. I chose a striped navy dress from a pile on the bed and pulled it over my head. It fit pretty well, I thought, landing just above my knees. It felt right, somehow, to wear something of Mom’s. Not comforting exactly—talismanic.

  I hurried into my room and plucked out a pair of jeans and a couple of T-shirts and found a dirty sweater under a chair. My phone and charger still dangled from the wall where I’d had that last phone conversation with Alex. From when Ida was orchestrating the ruse from the living room.

  I paced the room and called Marine, pressing the phone to my ear. I listened as it rang, the long tones like languid drops of water falling out into nowhere. Maybe she wouldn’t answer, I thought. Maybe I could just leave a message.

  “Allo?” I’d already forgotten what Marine’s voice sounded like. Right, I thought, she’s from France. God, I was really tired.

  “Marine?” I said. “It’s Van.”

  She sighed like she was letting a whole day’s worth of air out of her lungs.

  “Van,” she said. “My dear, dear Van. I’m so glad you called. Your mom is doing great.”

  I felt a breeze of relief. “She is?”

  “Yes. Great.” Marine’s words were too clipped and too small to encompass the miracle that was Mom-doing-great. “You know, I think we will be back in Las Vegas very soon.”

  “Actually,” I began, “I’m coming to meet you in Sedona. You guys are still in Sedona, right?”

  Marine was quiet for so long I thought she’d hung up on me. “We are here, yes.”

  “Great. At what address, exactly?”

  “It’s not important. I think it’s best that you stay where you are.”

  “What? I can’t—”

  “Yes, definitely for the best. I repeat, do not come. It will be much too disruptive.”

  “But, you don’t understand,” I said.

  “I understand, dear. Stay put, okay? It’s best for you, believe me. Bye-bye!”

  I heard a beep and then Marine was gone. I tried her again and was sent to voicemail. I called again and again—nothing. Marine had dismissed me. Well too bad, I thought as I slung my bag over my shoulder.

  When I came out, I found Alex in the kitchen. Marine’s astrological charts were spread out in front of him on the counter. From a distance, they looked like pages from a child’s coloring book.

  “Hey,” he said, squinting down at the charts. “I just talked to Carol.”

  “Yeah?”


  He shook his head. “It’s not important. Let’s go find Chantal. I’m sure she’s going to want to head home eventually.”

  Of course Chantal had better things to do than chase me and my mom around the southwestern United States. Alex probably wanted to go home, too. The sooner I was on my way, the better for everyone.

  “Yeah, let’s go.” I grabbed Mom’s wallet from the counter.

  • • •

  Chantal had her computer open and the light from the screen washed her face in a sickly blue.

  “Okay,” she said, while still looking at the screen. “I have your ticket here.” She slid a single sheet of printer paper across the top of her desk. I took it and quietly folded it into thirds, like a business letter, the way Mom had shown me a long time ago.

  “Your bus leaves at six A.M. It’s—what is it? Almost four now? You should go.”

  “Thanks, Chantal.”

  “Listen,” she said. “If you change your mind for any reason along the way—or once you get there—you can call us. Someone will come get you no matter where you are, all right? I hate to send you out there alone, but if you’re sure Marine will be waiting there . . .” She sighed, a sigh for three people. “Maybe I should touch base with Marine.”

  “I just talked to her. She’s going to pick me up.” I didn’t like lying to them, so I added something true. “You guys have done more than enough for us.”

  “Do you need any money?” Chantal asked.

  “No, I’m good.” I patted Mom’s wallet where I’d zipped it into my bag.

  “Well, please try to sleep. And Alex,” she continued, “make sure this child gets something to eat before she gets on that bus. And make sure you sleep a full eight hours before I see you back here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “All right, Van,” Chantal said, half standing over her chair.

  Nobody standing in Chantal’s office knew how this goodbye was supposed to go. Chantal didn’t appear to be a natural hugger, and a handshake now seemed like going backward. She settled on a wave and I waved back.

  • • •

  The bus station was terrible. It was one of the more depressing bus stations I’d seen, and I’d seen quite a few. Maybe it had something to do with the hour. When that late night bleeds into early morning, nothing looks right. I was early. A few people slept on benches, but most people slouched underneath the smell of the room. Alex looked around and wrinkled his nose.

  “You have some time. Let me take you out for a real breakfast,” he said.

  “I don’t know,” I began. “What if my bus leaves early?”

  “Van, a bus has never left early, not once in the history of recorded time.”

  “Okay,” I said over my growling stomach. “But only if I can take you out for a real breakfast. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Sure.” Alex smiled and looked down at his feet.

  In Las Vegas, our dining options weren’t as limited as four-thirty-in-the-morning-by-a-bus-station breakfast choices elsewhere. There were two diners and a donut shop, all open and doing a brisk business. I chose the less busy diner, because I was still worried about the time. Under the bright light of the diner, Alex’s eyes looked puffy. I didn’t want to know what I looked like. I smoothed my hair down, thought twice about it, and twisted it into a knot on top of my head. I could feel Alex looking at my neck and tried to push through the slush in my brain to think of something to say. Something not depressing or weird.

  “Thank you so much, Alex, really,” I said. “You didn’t have to stay with me.” I pulled over one of the steaming coffees our white-haired waitress had deposited on the table between us.

  “It’s no problem,” he said, and grabbed hold of his own coffee cup.

  “I know you’re going to be busy with your classes and Chantal and everything, but . . . can I ask you for one more favor? I know this is incredibly selfish, but I hope you won’t say no.”

  Alex forced his swollen eyelids open wide and nodded at me to continue.

  “Will you check on Ida every day? Please? I can’t believe I’m just leaving her alone like this. I need to know someone I trust is watching out for her.”

  “Of course I will.” Alex smiled with half his mouth. He looked so tired. “Ida’s important to me, too. She’s important to a lot of the people she knows here.”

  I was overwhelmed by a terrible wave of nausea.

  “Oh God,” I said. “Did anyone tell Ovid?”

  “Chantal told him last night. Don’t worry. We’ll all be checking on her.” He reached a hand out across the table, palm up.

  I slapped my own hand down on his, like some weirdo high-five. Even as I did it, I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do and cringed into my coffee.

  “So, when I talked to Carol, she told me you went home with Marcos,” Alex said.

  “Yeah, he gave me a ride.” I watched him closely. The tension around his eyes loosened and he looked, suddenly, much less tired.

  “Oh, I guess Carol was exaggerating. I told her it didn’t sound like you, going home with someone like that.” He means sex, I thought, mortified, but indignant. What, I can’t go home with someone and have sex with them if I want? It’s not like he has any right to care.

  “Do you think you’re going to see him again?” Alex continued, lightly.

  “What? Maybe.” Who knows? Maybe I will, I thought.

  “So you like him? Even though he got all crazy with Joanna?”

  “I think he’s just enthusiastic, not crazy. He was really complimentary about my guitar playing,” I said.

  “Yeah, I bet he was,” Alex mumbled.

  We looked at the table until our aged server slid two plates in front of us, breaking up the awkwardness.

  Alex and I devoured everything on our plates without talking, passing ketchup bottles and little discs of butter back and forth like people who’d been eating breakfast together for decades. As I ate, I realized much of my peevishness had been hunger related, and as the pinched irritation I felt eased under the enormous breakfast, I reminded myself that Alex really had done things an acquaintance didn’t have to do. A renewed gratefulness to him and Chantal swelled through me as I leaned back into my side of the booth.

  I paid for breakfast, and we walked out into the very early morning. I surprised myself and grabbed Alex’s hand as we crossed the empty street to the station. A few people were already lining up for my bus when we got back.

  “You should go,” I said, adjusting the straps of my backpack. “This is no kind of place to wait around.”

  Alex looked at me, at my whole body, which made me feel a little weird.

  “Do you have a jacket?” he asked.

  “No, but I think it’ll be fine.”

  “Just take this, please,” he said, pulling the midnight blue sweatshirt over his neck. He shoved it into my arms. “If I thought there was time, I’d make you go buy a jacket right now.”

  “If there was time,” I said, smiling. “Nothing’s open!”

  “You forget, Van,” he said as he shook a finger at me. “This is Las Vegas we’re talking about. The city that never sleeps.”

  “Pretty sure that’s New York.”

  “Maybe. Well.”

  “Well,” I said as I tried to reach out to him. With the clunky backpack behind me and Alex’s sweatshirt in my arms, I couldn’t really initiate any hugging. He drew me in close and wound his arms around me, even around my backpack.

  “Be careful, Van,” he said. “I’m really going to miss you. Call, okay?”

  “I’m going to miss you, too. And thanks. Thanks for everything.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  When I stood at the curb beside the enormous bulk of the bus, it seemed like everything was moving in slow motion. The driver heaved the bags into the guts of the bus with the urgency of a well-fed, old cat. His oversized rectangular nametag—GEORGE—was scuffed and chipped. It looked like George had been driving buses a long time. He’d probabl
y seen it all. My anxiety to move was nothing to him. I kept standing up and sitting back down in my seat. I willed the others to hurry up and climb inside.

  I slumped back on my seat and waited, drawing my knees up just as I had on the plane that had brought us to Vegas. I realized, then, that this was the first trip I’d be taking alone. When George started the bus and pulled out of the depot, it was definitely after our scheduled 6:00 A.M. departure time. The sky was already pinking, and I could nearly see that wall of desert heat strengthening and pushing against the air-conditioned window.

  The bus wasn’t even half full. There was me, an elderly couple from the Midwest, their accents climbing out of their mouths across the bus, two grown Boy Scouts at the back in dull olive uniforms, and a large Spanish-speaking family sprawled throughout the middle: a dad, a mom, four little kids, a grandma, and maybe an older auntie. The kids smiled and chattered. The mom held the one that was still a baby and rubbed her eye with her shoulder.

  I pressed my forehead against the greasy glass and watched the desert open up around us. Thin streamers of cloud hung in the blue-pink sky. A hawk listed and dipped in the wind like a dark slip of paper. I didn’t want to think about Mom, or Ida, or Alex. I wanted to pretend, for one minute, that it was just me in the whole world, me and that hawk.

  I woke up a few hours later with a completely numb ear. I stretched my neck and pressed the tingling cartilage between my fingers. The bus smelled like other people’s food and portable bathroom chemicals. The elderly couple and most of the kids and the dad were asleep. The mom still held the baby and looked at me where I stretched. Her gold-brown eyes pored out at me, like she knew why I was on the bus. Like she felt sorry for me.

  “I’m going to make a stop at the next rest area. Ten minutes, please,” George said, and cleared his throat over the PA.

  A block of bathrooms and a vending machine jail were set at the precipice of an orange-gold canyon filled with afternoon light. Everyone got up to use the bathroom and loitered in the scenic viewing area. The kids stuck their hands in between the iron bars that caged in the vending machines. They slapped their little palms against the plastic, over the chocolate bars and bags of pretzels. The grandma shooed them away.