by Amy Zhang
“Ununoctium?”
“Us,” I say. “You and me. We’re the last element, you idiot. I love you more than anything.”
“I love you more than everything.”
Janie and Micah. Micah and Janie.
after
DECEMBER 5
Dewey is reaching for me and he is missing, his voice in my ear. He spits fuck shit goddamn at me, and the moment splits: us, here now, and also not us, not here.
Dewey’s fist is slamming into my jaw, his voice in my ear telling me to never fucking talk to him again.
His eyes are all pupil and the fire is burning higher in them.
I am falling but also already on the ground, and the smoke is thick and my glasses are shattering and Dewey is on top of me. His spit is flying and splattering on my face.
“You asshole.” He says it like he means it. “You asshole, you little fucking asshole. You piece of shit, you actual fucking piece of shit—”
And me on the ground. I look up at him through smoke, so much goddamn smoke, and seeing my blood on his knuckles, his hair in his eyes, blue eyes eclipsed by his pupils.
A memory within a memory: I shouldn’t have said that.
I should have kept my fucking mouth shut.
And then—pain, searing but dull. Focused but everywhere.
Here, now, my head hits the ground.
The impact shakes the memories loose, and they come back in floods.
Helium on her breath. Her voice rising higher as I wondered if it was okay that it turned me on.
Janie climbing the Metaphor. Arms spread wide as I squint and try to find where her hair ends and the trees begin.
The sky and fireworks. The secrets and elements.
She climbs into my bed. We huddle under the covers. The air is humid with her sobbing.
Wings. I remember the wings, I remember them burning. A fire, a different one.
Janie pulling on my sweatshirt and transfering her rocks, her markers, her matches into its pockets.
They come, they fall, faster and faster.
Anything, everything: they’re almost equal, but not quite.
I have always needed her more than she needs me.
“Goddamn,” Dewey gasps in my ear. We’re on the ground and the night is dark and I’m cold, I’m freezing. “Goddamn it, Micah, goddamn, we’re getting out of here.”
He drags me to my feet, and I sway.
“She declared an apocalypse here,” I tell him.
“Good for her. Can we go?”
“Right. Go. Barn. We have vodka in the barn. We’re out of champagne, though. We drank it all that night. Didn’t mean to.”
I am swaying from the memories. Dewey hitting me Janie sobbing fire burning. Drink, drink to forget.
“No, not the barn, we’re fucking going home—”
But I’m stumbling toward the barn already, Old Eell’s where there are ghosts. Ghosts. Janie’s ghost? Maybe.
Maybe we drank here too much. We had a stash in the winter to keep warm. And in the summer, to stay hot. That’s what she said, anyway.
“Micah, will you just hold on—”
I push the barn doors open and almost fall over. I see the blurry shape of the boat and remember the treasure hunt, remember how easy that was. How she was waiting. How I always expected her to be waiting. Needed her to be waiting.
“Micah, please—”
“Back here,” I say, stumbling in the dark to the rusty tractor. It’s dark; I lose my balance and then my footing. It doesn’t hurt. Something is poking into my elbow. Dewey stops next to me and uses his phone screen to shed a bit of light on us and I see
I see
Matches and Skarpies and rocks. Rocks, but only a few.
“What the hell is this?” Dewey asks. He crouches down and starts sifting through the papers, squinting. “What the fuck? Hey, Micah, look. Plane tickets.”
“What?”
He opens a brochure. “Cool. Look at this. You want to go to Nepal?”
He understands faster than I do. He snaps it closed and shoves it out of sight, and glances at me with his mouth tight. I sway on my feet.
Tickets to Nepal.
Janie is in Nepal.
But
but if the plane tickets are here
then
she’s not.
And if she’s not in Nepal, then
then
I scramble for the rocks. I yell for Dewey to turn on his fucking flashlight app, and the light is sudden and burning but when the stinging stops and I blink the water away, I see it.
Black against the other ones, smeared by her fingers.
Fear no more.
I can’t claim to know Janie Vivian. I don’t know if our souls are connected. But I do know this: she would never go anywhere without this rock in her pocket.
“Micah.” Dewey’s voice finally reaches me, frantic. “Micah, man, can you hear me? Oh, shit. Oh, goddamn, shit goddamn—okay, it’s fine. I’m taking you home.”
I reach up and clutch his collar, and try to say his name. My lips are slow. “Fuck,” I say. “Oh god. Wait. Dewey, wait. I remember. I think I remember.”
He doesn’t listen, or he doesn’t understand. I can feel his body heat and his breath. No one has been this close to me since Janie, that night.
Janie in my arms, hot breath and fingers clutching, lips on mine.
“Oh, Micah.” Her voice is everywhere, that night, tonight, every night. Forget. Forget. “Forget everything. Burn it all.”
“Shit, you weigh a ton. Okay. Fuck you, fuck this. Fuck this. Stay here.”
I don’t know how long it takes me to realize that I’m alone.
before
OCTOBER 10
“No, we always play Never Have I Ever,” I whine. My head is in Ander’s lap and they’re all here on the floor in the basement of the house I fucking hate but that’s finally good for something, Piper and Wes and Jasper (who they all call Big Jizz because he spilled milk on his lap in, like, middle school) and Gonzalo and Jude. Happy happy happy birthday to me. “I’m out of Never Have I Evers.”
Ander’s hands are wrist deep in my hair, and his fingers play with it like it’s water. “What, then?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “Something fun.”
“Never Have I Ever,” Piper insists, and we all ignore her.
“We could play beer pong again,” says Big Jizz.
“We’re not playing beer pong again,” I say, and my tongue feels fuzzy. I am spectacularly bad at beer pong. “Oh, Flubber! Let’s play Flubber! Wes, get the cards.”
“What the hell kind of a game is called Flubber?” asks Gonzalo.
“FUBAR,” Ander explains. “Janie doesn’t like that, so she calls it Flubber.”
“Flubber is such a cute word,” I say, and giggle, and can’t stop giggling. Flubber, flubber.
“It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” Wes says, coming back with another bottle of vodka and the deck of cards, which he rains down on my face. He drops down by Piper and takes a swig of Keystone Light, and I roll out of Ander’s lap and pull the cards across the carpet to me as he explains: one shot for an ace, two for two. Pick three people to drink for three. Answer a question for four. Five for five. Six, everyone drinks. Seven, a round of Never Have I Ever. Eight, everyone drinks. Nine, rhyme, loser drinks. Ten, everyone drinks. Jack, guys drink; queen, girls drink. And king, what do we do for king?
“Waterfall,” I say. Trip, stumble, bubble, burp. “Dealer drinks and then the next person drinks and the next person drinks and you drink until you can’t drink anymore. Like chicken but more fun.”
“It’s a stupid game,” Jude says, but he takes the deck from me to deal. “All right, let’s go. Jizz and I gotta head out after this. My parents are getting back from Des Moines tonight.”
“Why does Jizz have to go?” I ask.
“I’m his ride, remember? You’re such a lightweight, Janie,” says Jude, and throws a card at my face.
“Am not,” I say. “You guys are cheaters. You never drink when I get the ball in your cup. At least I’m not Gonzalo.”
“Yeah, Gonz.” Ander laughs, leaning over to slap Gonzalo’s shoulder. “Dude, he’s out. Damn, he had like, what, seven shots?”
“Piece of shit,” Wes snorts. “I brought the hard lemonade for the asshole and he gets wasted on the good stuff. Typical. Jude, fucking deal.”
“Shove it,” Jude says, but he flips a card at him. Ace. Wes throws back the last shot of the old bottle and flicks the tiny bit of leftover vodka at Piper, who’s sprawled on the ground in a crop top that barely covers her bra. I try to remember what Dad said about the carpets when we first moved, but I only remember that they were expensive. It doesn’t matter anymore. We’ve spilled enough that it doesn’t even pay to worry. I’m in one of Ander’s shirts because I spilled beer on mine. It has his name across the back in big red letters: C A M E R O N.
Piper flips him off and Wes grins at her, a big blurry grin. Jude hands her a card. Seven.
“Ugh,” Piper says. “Okay, okay. Um. Never have I ever . . . never have I ever finished a large order of fries from McDonald’s.”
“Bullshit,” says Wes. “Bull. Shit. Seriously? Girls, man.” All fingers down. Mine too. One large order of fries? Please. I’ve had five. Micah and I went through a phase where we’d go to McDonald’s every Metaphor Day. We built Jenga towers out of fries and threw them at ducks.
“There you go, Janie,” Wes says appreciatively as my finger goes down. He snaps my bra strap and snaps it again, picking me like a guitar. “At least you know how to live.”
How to live. I am living, living, living.
Jude hands me a three. “Me,” I say, “Ander, Piper.”
We throw our heads back and the vodka rushes down my throat and drowns all of the butterflies. If it didn’t taste like burning, it might have tasted like apples. Apple vodka, one of my dad’s fancy bottles. Micah once told me that he thought that he hated vodka. I don’t hate vodka. Vodka is easy. I don’t even need a chaser for vodka, not for vodka.
They cheer me on.
Ander gets a ten. We all drink. Jizzy gets another seven. We all drink again. Jude pulls a nine. “Nine,” he says.
“Wine,” says Wes.
“Swine,” says Piper.
“Line,” says Ander.
“Vine,” says me.
Sign, dine, mine, incline, aine. “Aine?”
We all look at Ander, who’s very, very blurry.
“What?” he says. “It’s a word. Old English or some shit. It was in the Shakespeare we read in class. Right?”
“No, shithead,” says Wes. “This is America. We play American FUBAR. Drink.”
He drinks.
And we go and go and go. Queen, five, ace. Ace, three, nine.
“This game is too complicated,” Jizzy complains, probably because he only has two brain cells: one that’s in charge of making sure his hair is perfect every morning and one that’s a balloon in his head, pushing on the sides of his skull so he thinks he’s smart. He grabs a bottle of vodka for the road and kicks Jude. “We should go.”
“Yeah, sure,” says Jude, and he leaves the deck while Wes calls them faggots.
“I don’t like that word,” I tell him. I try to frown. Come on, caterpillar eyebrows. Work with me.
“I don’t like you,” he says, and it’s true. Wes told Ander when we first started going out that he’d rather jump into the quarry than date me.
I don’t mind him. Wes is the kind of person that isn’t worth the effort of disliking.
“We’re going,” says Jude. He tries to pick up Gonzalo, who wakes up long enough to shout “No homo!” and stumble out. I wave at them, and it’s exquisitely funny that Gonzy can’t walk. He misses the door and hits a wall.
“Well, fuck them,” says Wes, and throws a two at Piper, who bats it away like her hand is heavier than gravity.
“I’m tired,” she mumbles, and curls up like a kitten. I pet her and laugh and laugh and laugh.
“Jesus, Janie, shut the hell up,” says Wes, and digs through the deck until he finds a ten. “Dude, you start,” he tells Ander, and Ander throws back the rest of his can.
I go. Wes goes. Piper raises her head long enough to lap at her cup.
Ander. Me. Wes. Piper. Ander. Me. Wes. Piper.
Ander.
Me.
Wes.
Piper.
Until the world is swimming in us and we’re swimming in the world.
“Ugh, I’m done,” says Piper, curling back up.
Ander, me, Wes. Ander, me, Wes. Eye contact and middle fingers, until Ander lunges forward and knocks Wes’s shot glass out of his hand and all over Piper. Piper squeals and her voice echoes in my brain. Wes tells Ander to fuck himself, but “Whatever,” he says, “I was done anyway, I’m not fucking insane.”
And then it’s just Ander and me. The whole world is just Ander Cameron and Janie Vivian. Ander and Janie. Janie and Ander.
Wait, that’s not right.
But I want to win.
Except the glass is spilling and spilling and spilling, and suddenly it’s not in my hand anymore, and I try to catch it but Ander is cheating, somehow, and I can’t move, I can’t move right.
Wes shouts “Champion!” and slumps onto Piper, who rolls her eyes and starts getting to her feet, pulling Wes with her, heading for the door. I try to watch them go, but just then Ander’s syrup eyes wrap around my wrists, “Sorry Janie I guess I’m just better sorry I’ll make it up to you.”
And then he’s kissing me, his hands in my hair and his lips on my lips and his breath hot and wet and too loud.
“No,” I say, but it gets lost on the way out of my mouth and Ander swallows what’s left of it. He kisses me again and again, and his hand—where’s his other hand? His other hand is in my shirt, his shirt, and crawling crawling crawling up.
Far, far away, Piper says they’re leaving, and I don’t, I don’t want her to leave.
Wait, wait, wait for me, Piper. “Piper, no, stay. Stay.”
I see her look back, her eyes my eyes and the moment is still, but—
But she turns.
She pulls Wes after her and they go up the stairs and they’re gone.
And suddenly I’m freezing, frozen, and Ander is drawing slow circles like he’s trying to warm me up with his ice fingers.
“Ander, Ander, stop. No.”
“It’s fine,” he says. He’s in my ear, kissing and licking, and then his hand is too high in my shirt and I try to tell him, I tell him I’m tired, I’m so tired.
“Okay,” he says softly, his breath is in my mouth, his arms are behind my head and knees, big strong wrestler arms, and the world is spinning. I blink and we’re on the stairs, and then he’s pushing the door to my room open and I’m on the bed. It’s okay, I think, it’s okay okay okay—
—but then—
It isn’t, it’s not at all, because Ander is there too,
and me not knowing, not knowing, but knowing now, knowing that I don’t want to, I don’t, I don’t. He’s on my bed over me and he’s kissing, kissing, kissing. Touching, touching, touching.
“Ander,” I say. “No. Stop.”
“I have a condom,” he says, and kisses me again before I can say no again.
“Wait,” I say, and he says, “Don’t worry, they’re gone, it’s just us, it’s just you and me.”
Not you and me, never you and me, not Janie and Ander or Ander or Janie. Where’s Piper? Piper has to come back soon, she will, she will. I want to be Janie, alone, just Janie—
But then he’s pulling at my shirt, and I try to keep it on but he says it’s his shirt, it’s his. I try to get to my rocks, my Metaphor rock, Fear no more, but it isn’t there, it’s his. And the bra, the pretty pretty bra that gave me cleavage, real cleavage, is gone. And then the panties, matching and matchingly gone, and the world—
—it freezes, it stops turning an
d we are forever and infinitely trapped in this moment, this moment of Ander and Janie together and I fucking hate it, I fucking hate it, I fucking hate it.
“Just relax,” he tells me.
And I close my eyes and think, Maybe it won’t matter. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and I won’t even remember this. Maybe it will never have happened.
THE JOURNAL OF JANIE VIVIAN
Once upon a time, a princess took a few shots of apple vodka. She took a few more and fell asleep. A prince kissed her awake, but all she really wanted to do was sleep.
She told him that, but he didn’t stop.
She did tell him. She told him no and stop, but did he listen?
Did anyone, ever?
PART II
HAPPILY EVER AFTER
after
DECEMBER 6
Forgetting is the easy part. This should be unsurprising, but it surprises me. Forgetting was easy. Remembering is endless and it hurts, endlessly.
On the night of the bonfire, on the last night that anyone saw Janie Vivian, it was too cold to be outside. I was in bed with my laptop on my chest when Janie came up the stairs. She had been gone all day. She was gone most days, actually. I see less of her now that she’s living in the basement than I did when she was at the new house.
She stood in the doorway, and I knew something was wrong.
Her eyes were almost colorless. Her hands were deep in her pockets and her pockets were full of stones. I could see them, knuckles and rocks.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her. “Where have you been?”
She leaned her head against the doorframe. “What are you doing?”
“Senior thesis,” I said. “Have you heard of Thomas Müntzer? He said the world was going to end in 1525. Listen to this: he dies under torture and gets his head cut off, so I guess it was pretty damn apocalyptic for him.”
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for homecoming?”
I shrug. “I’ve got time.”
“Micah,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
I blinked up from my screen. Her hair was falling into her eyes and she didn’t move it away. “What?”