by Ina Zajac
The lobby was quiet, thank God. Pastor King was still on announcements, the weekly laundry list of the ails of the congregation, so everyone knew who to pray for and why. Via’s youth group puking-fainting incident three weeks earlier had landed her on that damned list. She had claimed a wicked stomach flu, though she had heard the pastor’s bitchy wife Sarah had been fanning rumors of an unwed pregnancy.
She opened the church nursery door with care so the jingle bell wouldn’t wake up any sleeping babies.
“Thanks so much for coming in,” Beth said, relief evident in her voice. Beth was her kind of Christian—upbeat, but not too chipper.
She felt herself snap into Church Via mode—responsible, respectable. Lies, lies, lies, she thought. She was at church, after all, the place where little white lies popped out of her mouth by the dozen. Yes, this raspberry torte is delicious; it’s impressive you know the book of John by heart; my, your daughter is lovely. Being nice all the time was exhausting.
Beth handed her a baby named Sophia with pink splotchy cheeks and a mess of brown curls. Via had very little experience with babies. In fact, they made her nervous. What if she dropped one? She pulled the baby in and nestled her, taking in the scent of her sweet skin. Her little tendrils smelled like baby shampoo, until she began to smell a new aroma, sweet yet foul.
“I think she may need a change,” Beth added, apologetically.
Crap, literally. She had never actually changed a poopy diaper; she’d dodged the issue a couple weeks back using the same handoff maneuver Beth had just pulled on her. But this time there was no way around it, short of pulling the fire alarm. Her future mother-in-law was going to see firsthand that she sucked at caring for babies. Maybe it won’t be so bad, she prayed to the painting of gentle Jesus on the wall. It was her favorite Jesus: the one surrounded by little children.
She put the baby down and pulled out the changing supplies. Dan’s mother was already talking about something, Dan maybe. She slipped off Sophia’s little shoes and tights and reached over for the plastic tub of baby wipes. The baby crinkled her eyes for a moment and then frowned, thrusting out her arms and legs. It was like she could tell her baby business wasn’t in good hands.
Via smiled down, but the baby wasn’t having any of it. Her spastic legs were making the wiping-of-the-poop process impossible.
“Why do parents insist on dressing baby girls in full-on Easter dresses and tights every single Sunday?” she asked Beth. “These ruffles are a nightmare.” Sophia kicked again and poop smeared inside her frilly tights. “I can’t do this. Help!” Via confessed, her horrendous mothering skills on full display, right in front of Dan’s mother.
Beth looked horrified, rushed up, and placed the other baby in Via’s arms while nudging her out of the way. “Gosh, let me get her for you.”
The new baby’s face was round, red, and concerned.
“Please don’t cry,” Via whispered. “I’ll sit and rock with you, okay?”
The baby relaxed against her and grabbed onto some of her hair. Go ahead, Via thought. As long as you don’t cry.
She couldn’t change a diaper, but at least she could change the subject. “Beth, do you ever wonder if maybe babies are the enlightened ones?”
“What do you mean?”
It was something Grandma Daney had mentioned the day before, that life was just an instinctual dumbing-down process. Life on earth was a timeout from eternal enlightenment. It made sense to Via because she felt like the older she got the less she seemed to know. Maybe death was just the remembering of what people knew before they were born. She sure hoped that was the case because then the details of her life wouldn’t be so disastrous. Dying for her would be like waking up from a nightmare.
“Like, what if babies know the meaning of life, but forget it as they get older. So when we think we are teaching them, we are actually distracting them.”
Grandma Daney had said it was the reason children were better at living in the moment. They hadn’t forgotten how to play yet. What a cool woman.
Beth didn’t say anything, just put the tights into a Ziplock bag. She wiped down the baby and set her in one of the lullaby swings. Still silent, she pulled the sheet off of the changing table, put that into another bag, and then rubbed her hands with sanitizer.
It was quiet except for the creaking of Via’s chair.
“I’m sorry, Beth. Did that sound crazy?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Beth said. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something much more important.”
Via felt relief fall upon her until Beth came over and sat down in the rocking chair next to hers. “Sweetheart, I am so sorry about your parents. Such a tragedy.”
The word “tragedy” scared away that sense of relief before it could take hold. Now, she was desperate to disappear, to be raptured up to heaven in a white pillar of smoke. No. He didn’t, she told herself. He wouldn’t. Had he really outed her? He had promised never to tell a soul, not until she was ready.
“Dan called in this morning and prayed with the Elders about you. He said the holidays are hard for you. Gosh, we can all see why.”
The elders knew? The Pastor and his bitchy wife Sarah knew?
“He wants us to keep you company, keep you busy,” Beth went on.
He had promised not to tell. Vashon was supposed to be a fresh start, a place where nobody would know about her past. She bit the inside of her lip until she tasted blood. She would keep her church face on, sit and half-listen. She took in the gurgling miracle in her lap. Was she really going to marry Dan, have his babies?
She needed to venture off somewhere else, in her mind. She imagined being high out of her skull. She thought about Matt and the drug Molly he mentioned. Thinking about him, the way he looked at her, made her feel safe and uneasy at the same time. He had given her a rain check. He hadn’t mentioned it at the home tour; they hadn’t had any alone time. But still, she assumed it was a standing offer. Ecstasy, what a great name for a drug.
Beth kept talking. The baby on Via’s lap had fallen asleep while grasping a handful of her hair. Though she wanted to tell her well-meaning future mother-in-law to shut her trap, it was impossible. She gave a subtle smile, looked just over Beth’s head, and felt her eyes soften into the rainbow that spanned the wall behind her. G-Dane said the way to see auras was to soften your gaze. They hadn’t had time to talk about orbs and lights. Her pretty lights, she was desperate for them. Where were they now?
It was Day 77. How was she ever going to make it?
Matt. She would think about him. He had texted that morning. He wanted to see her again. That knowledge felt amazing.
The repetitive creaking of their chairs punctuated Beth’s pity. Via heard wind chimes from somewhere outside. Her body continued to rock, her arms continued to hold, but her throat tightened. She braced herself for that damned expression. If Beth says it, it’s a sign, she told herself. If she says those words, it’s God’s permission to go back and take him up on his offer. Say it. Say it, she thought. Her heart rate sped up.
And then those tired, trite words popped out of Beth’s well-meaning mouth.
“We have all been praying for you.”
CHAPTER 15
VIA
SHE SAT AT the dining room table and admired the teacups on display in the dark lacquered hutch in the corner. Each sat upon its saucer. Some were edged in gold, others had flower designs. No doubt they were Grandma Daney’s, safe and sound behind the cabinet’s thin glass door.
Her stomach was iffy. Mind over matter, she told herself. She wanted to be a bad girl. She wanted to play Vixen again. She needed to psych herself up. Had she really just called him like that? She was back in the house that was beginning to feel like home. Just that easy. Well, not that easy, exactly. Nick had pulled him into the kitchen. She could hear their discussion.
“Dude, you are not thinking this through,” Nick was saying. “Rolling with a girl you’re already super into.”
&n
bsp; “Why would I want to waste Molly on a girl I wasn’t into? Listen to yourself.”
“She’s engaged.”
“She’s not married yet, and she’s too young anyway.”
Nick laughed hard. “You’re doing her a favor then?”
“Maybe.”
Maybe, she thought. She couldn’t wait to find out. Fate was in motion. She would blame fate. Like the real Violetta, it wasn’t her fault. It was the role her parents had chosen for her. In La Traviata they used the word courtesan, but it didn’t matter. Whatever—courtesan, bad girl, party girl, whore—whatever.
“She’s gonna burn you,” Nick said. “Do not tell her you love her.”
“Got it,” Matt said, in a snotty little kid voice. “Can I tell her I like her?”
“Fine, bro, laugh it off. Just remember I warned you.”
“She’s waiting. Can I go now?”
“Does she know what she’s in for? She said she’s never dropped before.”
“What’s up, Nick? You crushin’ on her?”
“Nah, whatever. Just concerned.”
“Why do you get so goddamned moral when your dick isn’t involved?”
Finally, she spoke up. “Guys, I can kind of hear you.” She was dying to ask Nick what he had meant when he’d said ‘balance of power,’ but decided against it when she saw them come back into the living room. Neither looked happy.
Matt came over and handed her an icy glass of water. “I want to explain this all to you, what it will be like, and then you can decide.”
She took a sip. “Okay, I want to.” She had already decided.
“No wait,” Matt said. “We’ll be high for five or six hours, but you shouldn’t drive for eight, just in case. You should stay the night.”
“Okay.” She didn’t have anywhere to be.
“Doing Ecstasy or acid or anything like that is serious.” He had taken on the tone of a high school principal. “Never, ever, roll with somebody you don’t know or trust. You have to make sure you are in a safe environment. No walking around in parks.”
“Roll?” She just wanted to get on with it before she changed her mind.
“They call it rolling because the high comes in waves,” Nick said. “It’s cool that way. You’ll think it’s mellowing out and then another peak will hit.”
“Great.”
“This is super pure so there won’t be any side effects other than maybe a slight headache, again, I would never do tabs,” Matt continued. “They can be sketchy.”
“Tabs?”
“Tablets,” Nick said. “When most people do E, they take a pill. Some are strong, bound to jack you up, some are okay, but most are cut with a bunch of shit. That’s what makes people feel like ass when they come down.”
“You swear a lot,” she told him in an attempt to mellow his hard expression, but if anything, he looked more annoyed.
“Then there’s Molly,” Matt said. “It’s pure MDMA powder. Now, a lot of people will claim they have Molly, but it’s just ground up tabs. Crap included.”
“Fine. And?”
“I have unadulterated MDMA,” Matt said, beaming. “It’s the shit. You’ll just dip your pinkie in it and take the slightest bit onto your tongue, then wait half an hour. The guys in Portland said it’s the best they’ve seen in a long time.”
“I feel honored.”
“You should,” Matt said. “But you have to trust me.”
She noticed Nick was trying to get Matt’s attention. “And?” Nick asked.
Matt shot him a dirty look. “And,” Matt said. “We’re probably going to have sex.”
“Probably a lot,” Nick added.
She let out a nervous laugh.
“I’m just saying. If you aren’t up for that, tell me now,” Matt said. “It would kind of suck to drop and then have to restrain myself, but I totally will. I’ve done it before. Usually, people do Molly in groups—blow bubbles, go dancing, discuss life. It’s a bonding thing for sure.”
“Maybe I’m up for sex with you.” Saying the words revived her resolve.
“Really?” The guys asked at the same time. She drank down half of her water and wondered why projecting brazen craziness should feel so good. Maybe it was because they didn’t know her. They didn’t know they should feel sorry for her. She could be anyone now. Matt was looking at her, his eyebrows raised like he wasn’t quite sure. If he only knew about the erotic episodes that had been playing inside her head since that kiss. She could still taste him.
Nick got up. “I’m gone,” he said and made his way for the door. “Before things here get freaky.” He grabbed his coat from the rack and his keys from the skinny table at the bottom of the staircase.
“Love to G-Dane,” Matt said. “Make sure it’s a nice, long visit.”
Nick smiled and gave a little-girl curtsy, but then stopped and looked quite serious. “Dude, make sure she drinks a lot of water, and Via, stay away from my drum set.” He shook his head as he took the blue beanie from his coat pocket and put in on, pulling it down over his ears. “Later.”
“Tater,” she shot back, hopefully.
He was supposed to say, “tot,” but he just left.
“Cool,” Matt said before the door had even closed. “I’m going to go get it.” He ran up the stairs, but stopped just before reaching the landing.
“And don’t worry,” he yelled down over the banister. “This won’t just be sex. It’s about bonding, sharing secrets.”
“Secrets?”
***
VIA
“I’LL NEVER TELL YOU,” she said. “Never, never.”
“Tell me,” he said. “What perfume do you wear?”
“I’ll never tell you,” she said. “You’ll figure it out someday.”
They sat together on the living room floor, swimming in a sea of record albums. Alice in Chains blasted through the speakers.
“How about the Beastie Boys?” she asked.
He frowned. “Sorry, they’re outstanding, but I don’t have them on vinyl, and we have the Beatles or maybe….” He was holding up a B-52s album in one hand and a B.B. King album in the other.
“Okay, it all sounds amazing to me,” she said. “Are we going all the way to ZZ Top?”
“Zappa,” he said. “All the way to Zappa.”
Overcome with appreciation, she watched him switch out Alice in Chains for the Beatles. What were the odds? That Hotties sign had pointed her right to him. It had to have been for a reason.
“I’m so happy you’re here with me,” she said.
“Truth, except, you are here with me,” he said. “This is my reality. But then again, I guess that in your reality, I am there with you.”
Her cheeks hurt because she had been smiling so hard for so long. It was okay though. Everything was absolutely okay.
He came back and sat in front of her. He leaned in close. “Reality is in the eye of the beholder,” he told her, their faces a foot apart. His pupils were expansive. “Did you know LSD was once used in couples counseling?” he asked. “Back in the day, before the government cracked down. It helps people access their feelings. It’s not like alcohol or weed—we won’t forget this, how we feel right now. We’ll always remember this.”
She swore she could smell his pheromones.
“Now is always now,” she said. “It’s bizarre when you think about it. Now is all we have because it’s always now.”
“Forever is now,” he said.
“Yes, exactly.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “Why did I meet this random guy?”
Astounded, she wondered how he knew.
“I’m exactly who you need right now,” he said.
Wow, she thought as she took in his words. He spoke the language of her soul. She leaned back and admired the precise geometric shapes etched into the living room’s wood paneling. The same paneling continued through the dining room, but fell short of the kitchen.
“I’ll write song
s about you,” he said.
“What if we’re like Tristan and Isolde and we fall in love today?”
“Tristan and Isoldey who?”
Opera, she thought. She wanted to share with him what it used to mean to her—and to her parents, how they reveled in its emotion. She wanted to tell him how it had suited her father’s flair for the fantastic—his critics called him grandiose—and how her mother had sympathized with the crest-fallen divas.
“It’s an opera,” Via said. “Wagner. It’s complicated.”
“Give me a ten-word rundown.”
She doubled over with laughter until her stomach hurt. “You want me to explain Wagner in ten words?”
“Come on. It’ll be fun,” he said. “Try.”
She thought about it and said, “Girl accidentally takes love potion with fiancé’s nephew. Heartbreak ensues.”
His eyes darted up toward the ceiling for a moment, calculating. “That was eleven unless heartbreak is one word,” he said. “Eleven is a good number. Two ones, I like repeating numbers.”
“Crazy you say that, because I don’t like the number four,” she said.
“Yes, I’m crazy,” he said, his voice sure. “We’ll need to talk about that, but first let’s start with your craziness. Four is considered unlucky in China,” he said. “Nick and I watched a show on the Discovery Channel. It sounds a lot like the Chinese word for death.”
No doubt, that was the truth. The shooting had been four days before Christmas. And that clock, her mother’s antique Swedish clock, had chimed four just before the gunfire. She had forgotten all about that old clock. Why was she thinking of it now? It was so odd. Some details were so clear, while others were cast in shadows a million miles away.
And another memory befell her, right into her lap. She was outside her father’s studio door—sitting on the floor, back against the wall, her feet pulled into her chest. The Verdi was loud. She was just waiting, wondering if Daddy was ever going to paint her picture. He used to say, “Violetta, you are growing up so fast, I must paint your portrait before you grow up.” Those were the happy days when he listened to Verdi or Mozart or Vivaldi. When he made promises.