“Everyone’s lost someone they loved.” A knowing look. “And we feel crappy about being the one who survived, but that’s life and since you’re still alive, you just gotta live.” She shrugs and takes a sip of water. I want to ask how she knows, and who she lost, but my tongue is a swollen lump of sodden paper in my mouth.
“I’m done. Lecture over.”
I still can’t talk. She must think me an idiot for just standing there, scrawling the tip of my sneaker through the sand.
“Let’s run. Keep up if you can.” She takes off down the trail, and I’m chewing dust as I race after her.
She’s already sitting on a rock in the desiccated creek, stretching her legs and sipping water, when I eventually catch up.
“You’re fast.” My shirt’s soaked. The air would feel so good on bare skin, but I’m not going to strip in front of her. I’m not supposed to expose the scars to direct sunlight anyway. A snatch of juniper on the bank provides anorexic slivers of shade.
She has no problem taking her shirt off. Just in a black sports bra and shorts, she spills water down her cleavage and onto a stomach that’s flat as a skateboard. Muscular too, with those furrows girls have running parallel from ribs to hips.
“You’re staring,” Mya says with a grin.
“Sorry,” I mumble. My warm face is made hotter by a rush of blood.
“You can look all you want. I know you’re not interested in girls.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” My hands ball into fists of their own volition. Out here no one would hear her scream—I shake the ugly thought from my head. This is my friend Mya, not the bitch who deserves a steak knife through her heart.
“I know you and Daniel were close,” she says, using her fingers to form quotation marks in the air. “I think everyone does. They just ignore it, you know.”
Everyone? The whole town probably did know. Danny didn’t try to hide what most people called artistic tendencies. I tug my hair over my face, wishing for the umpteenth time that I had died in the fire.
“Is it a problem?” I ask her.
“Is what a problem? That you’re gay? Can you even admit it?”
“Jesus, Mya, you’re not shy.”
“Should I be?” Her lips quirk up into a grin that on the other Mya would’ve been a sneer. “So, have you ever admitted it? Said it out loud?”
I shred the petals of a yucca flower. Destroying the pretty bloom makes me feel better. “No, I haven’t.”
“Well, are you gay?” She leans forward, her breasts plumped up together. I stare a while at the canyon between the flesh. Mya’s stunning, athletic and curvy with a pretty face of evenly spaced features. She’s a walking wet dream. Not like Shira. Shira’s straight up and down like a boy, her short hair only accentuating her lack of femininity. Maybe I’m leaning toward being bi, but I reckon given a choice between sex with a stunning girl or an average guy, I’d rather do the guy. Guess that makes me gay.
“Yes,” I say.
Mya leans back and smiles.
“Feel better?”
“Feel the same.”
She scratches her head and narrows her eyes. “OK, try this. Repeat after me: I, Kyle Scarface Wolfe, am gay.”
“How’d you know my name?”
“Small town.” She winks.
“You didn’t go to my school.”
“Nope, went to school in Farmington. Just in Coyote’s Luck for summers with my dad. He works on the mines.”
“How come we’ve never met?”
“Yeah, that fire cooked your brain. We’ve met. I was working in Santa Fe last summer though. I’ve also filled out some.” She looks down at her breasts.
An awkward silence settles between us as I rack my brain, trying to remember her face. Nothing. Guess I don’t pay much attention to girls.
But Mya isn’t the only blank in my mind. My memories all seem a little confused, like I’m trying to view them through murky water. Post-traumatic stress according to my mom that, given time, will pass. I reckon it’s just more weirdness I can chalk up to Obscura.
“So…” I start, struggling around the sudden lump in my throat.
“Go on.” Mya flips her hair over her shoulder and starts braiding it. I’m so hot under my own sweat-laden locks, but tying it up reveals my deformed ears.
“I…” A deep, shuddering breath. “I, Kyle Scarface Wolfe, am gay. Mostly, I think.”
She kicks sand at me. “Cheat. That’s not much of an admission.”
“It’s a start.” I’m smiling; I actually feel better having said it. I’ve never admitted it, not even to Danny. Thinking of Danny just brings a tide of black emotion crushing down on me. It was precisely because I couldn’t admit it that we’d been fighting that week before the party, and why I’d been so keen on chugging back tequila.
“Now it’s my turn.” She pulls her shirt back on. “I’ll tell you a secret.”
“I’m listening.”
Sitting up straighter, she meets my gaze, “When I was eleven, my brother died. He was only thirteen at the time. Cool kid, ran with older guys that were always teasing me. So one day we’re out at this swim hole; you know the pond out by Briar’s?”
I nod; been used by kids for generations, till the drought dehydrated it.
“They want me to jump in, off the embankment. And they’re teasing me, I mean being pricks, real cabróns about it. We all know we’re not supposed to jump in, the rocks and all, but they’re going on at me. I got pissed and shoved Benny, my brother. Shoved him off the bank into the water.” She takes a deep breath. “It would’ve been fine except his foot got snarled in a root or pond muck, something, and he tripped, fell back onto the rocks. They reckon he died instantly, head cracked open like a watermelon.” She pauses, battling to maintain composure.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say, echoing ten dozen people who’ve said the same thing to me.
After a moment of awkward silence, we both laugh. It’s laughter infused with bitterness, but it’s a bitterness shared, which lessens the taint.
“There’s this memorial for Daniel,” I say as we pick our way along the thirsty creek, watching out for rattlers.
“His funeral was boring. I think he deserves something a bit more creative.”
“You were at his funeral?” Not sure why I’m surprised.
“I lurked around the back.”
“Shira reckons it’ll give us closure.”
“If closure’s what you want.” Mya kicks a rock ahead of her, and I return it in an ambling game of soccer.
The words are simmering, sure to spill from my lips, but I just can’t tell her about my double life. Not yet.
“Did you want closure after your brother?”
“Yeah, but it took years to find it. No memorial service is gonna magically make things all better. It might help though.”
“Would you come to the memorial?”
She stops kicking the rock and looks at me. “I’ll make a deal with you, Scarface.”
“OK, what deal?”
“I’ll come to this memorial, but in return, you have to come to the Fourth of July dance with me.”
“Whoa, that was fast. Don’t you have a boyfriend to con into going with you?”
“If I did, you think I’d be asking you?” She raises a thin eyebrow at me.
That stings a little and I guess it shows.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. God, put foot in mouth and shove down throat. I meant…no, there’s no way to fix that. Sorry.” She seems genuine.
“It’s OK. I’m not exactly Prince Charming.”
“You’re perfectly charming. Smelly though.” She wrinkles her nose, scrunching up the rash of freckles across her cheeks into a single dark band.
“As long as I don’t have to wear a Stetson and cowboy boots, I’ll go to the stupid dance.”
“Fine, you can wear a sombrero.” She sticks out her hand and we shake. “So when’s this memorial happening?”
> Chapter Six
Shira’s dead
“Hey, cielo. Wake up,” Danny whispers in my ear before nibbling on the cartilage.
“What time is it?” I sit up, rubbing my eyes. Danny’s loft. We’re both naked. Danny puts a hand on my chest and presses me back against the bed. My hair brushes the headboard, sending the tangle of rosary beads fixed to the wood into a jangling chorus of crucifixes. Seems impossible to escape the piercing eyes of dying Jesus.
I’m so dizzy the world is spinning, the ceiling undulating in violent waves. I close my eyes and it only makes the nausea worse.
“Shh, if we’re quiet, we can have another go before school.” He’s kissing me before I have time to process what he just said. The nausea subsides and I drag my fingers across his spine. No ridge of keloid tissue, just knobbly vertebrae.
“What day is it?” I manage between kisses, hooking my fingers through the leather thong around his neck. The St. Anthony medal is cool against my skin.
“Friday.”
I strain over his shoulder to see my watch, but I’m not wearing it. A moment of panic laces my veins with ice. Weeks ago. Before the fire. Before the whole world went to shit. If I could just hold on to this moment then maybe I can change things.
Then I can’t think anymore as Danny’s lips move lower, his teeth on my collarbone and chest. Tears trickle out of my eyes. Maybe I’m dreaming, or maybe the rest was all a nightmare and the fire never happened.
“Run away with me,” he says, lips on my hips.
“Where?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Friday morning, April 6.
“To New York. We could elope.” He pauses and looks up at me, eyes expectant.
“Danny…” My voice catches in my throat.
“I know it’s kinda soon, but I love you, cielo. Let’s get outta this shithole of a town.”
“And live the bohemian life in the Big Apple?” I hear the words, but can’t feel myself saying them. It’s a fragment of memory; it’s not real.
“Sounds good to me.”
“Not to me. I’m going to Rice. I don’t want to be some flamboyant faggot in the Village. No one even knows that I’m…about us, I mean.” I stammer, unable to admit that I’m gay to Danny’s face.
“You embarrassed to be with me?” Such hurt in his eyes, his cherub mouth turned down at the corners.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, pulling him into an embrace.
His hands on my ribs, squeezing, crushing until I can’t breathe. Pain flares between my shoulders, down the backs of my legs. When I open my eyes, I’m looking up at leering faces. A moment of recognition. I think it might be Mya’s admirer Nicholas as he raises his fist…
The scenery shivers and I’m falling again, plummeting from the tree. Obscura winks blue between the gaunt branches of the oak tree.
Dad’s still crashing around upstairs, banging on my bedroom door, so I couldn’t have been out for long. Gingerly, I peel myself off the ground and test each limb. Nothing broken, I think, but my whole left side is throbbing, jaw included. Must’ve landed lopsided. Gently, I probe my bruised side. I think I might’ve cracked a rib. Every breath is a knife through the chest.
Thursday, June 28. Again.
My car keys aren’t in my pocket. I fumble in the dark, scrabbling through dirt until I feel cool metal.
Ten minutes later, I’m standing outside Danny’s house. His mom’s hung up a fresh batch of chilis outside the kitchen window. I knock quietly and don’t wait long until Gabriela opens the door.
She lets me in with a scowl.
Danny’s lying on the couch. “You okay, Kyle? Your dad didn’t…”
“I’m fine. Got out the window.”
“Dios mio, man. His drinking that bad again?”
I settle next to him, pulling his deadweight legs onto my lap.
“Just didn’t want a black eye. Think I broke a rib though.”
He leans forward and prods my side. A stab of pain makes me gasp as his fingers find the tender spot.
“Your dad?”
“I fell out of the tree.”
He chuckles and I smile though I’m about two seconds away from spontaneous combustion. I can’t keep living like this. I have to tell someone.
“Daniel…” I start, but we’re interrupted by his dad, who flicks on the lounge lights.
“Thought I heard voices.” Juan’s accent is thick, curling over the ends of the words.
“Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Dad at it again?” There’s regret on his face. Maybe he thinks he’s to blame. But Dad getting laid off just gives him another excuse to drink.
I nod and avert my gaze. Since we were kids, I’ve been sneaking into Danny’s whenever I could get away.
“You boys get some sleep, eh? I’ve got to be up in a couple of hours.” He passes me a cushion from the other sofa and tousles my hair. Danny’s folks don’t blame me for what happened. They think it’s the result of God’s divine will, not some drunk kid with matches. That they don’t blame me actually makes me feel a hell of a lot worse.
We wait for his dad to close the bedroom door, before I stretch out next to Danny, resting my head on his chest, his arm around my shoulder. The pain in my side is worse like this, but I don’t care. I just need to be close to him, hold him for as long as I can stay awake. When I wake up, he’ll be dead.
* * *
The smell of coffee, fried beans, and toast pulls me from sleep. Danny’s in the kitchen with his mom making breakfast. I’m still on the couch, a puddle of drool on the cushion.
Friday, June 29. A glitch in the pattern. It should be Shira’s turn…but Danny’s still alive.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Danny calls from the kitchen. “Come get some breakfast.”
I feel hung over, bruised and disoriented, with a dry mouth and pounding head.
“Daniel tells me you’re planning a lovely memorial for Shira.” His mom sets a plate piled with toast and beans down in front of me. I nod and take a slurp of coffee, black and bitter.
“You just let me know if I can do anything to help. If you need catering, I make some great chili.”
“Thanks, Mom. I think we got it under control.”
“Clean up after yourselves, eh? I’m off to town.”
We don’t have to wait long before we have the house to ourselves.
I can’t stomach the beans, but I chew on some toast.
“So, you wanna hold the memorial before or after the Fourth of July?” Danny shovels beans into his mouth. Danny’s memorial is on July 3.
“Where’re we having the memorial?”
“Armadillo Park? It’s sorta neutral ground. Then her res friends will come too.”
Armadillo Park, the site of so many conflagrations. Problem fire-setter: they even had a term for me. And like everything else, it was my dad’s fault, easily blamed on his drinking and flailing fists. No one wanted to believe some skinny kid just liked watching things burn.
“You think anyone’s actually going to come?” I prefer to not think about lighting fires.
“Don’t be an asshole, Kyle.”
“Sorry,” I say. “Just not feeling myself today.”
“How’s the rib?”
I shrug and finish my coffee. “I think maybe we should do it after the Fourth.”
“Yeah, I reckon so. Everyone’s too hyped up about the street dance.”
I smile a little, thinking about the sombrero I’ll have to buy.
“You wanna go to the dance with me?” Danny flicks dark hair from his eyes. Sometimes I forget how good-looking he is. Then there are these moments when it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time again, and something melts inside me.
“As long as I don’t have to wear a cowboy hat and chaps.”
“That’s fine. You can wear a sombrero.”
I choke on my toast.
“Come on, it won’t be that bad.”
My choking coughs turn to chuckles, and th
en laughter. Danny doesn’t understand my hysteria, but he can’t help joining in. Pain erupts in my side, and again I’m left gasping.
“Ow, crap, my rib.” I’m holding my side, but the pressure of my hand doesn’t do much to alleviate the agony.
“So cielo, what you wanna do today?”
“Buy a sombrero?”
Danny rewards me with a smile.
It’s surprisingly difficult finding a sombrero in town. I have a dozen choices of Navajo headdress, but not a single damn sombrero. We’re pretty much out of options.
“Betcha we’ll find one at Garry’s,” Danny says. We don’t look at each other, but I turn down the road that leads to Route 64. Garry’s gas station is about half a mile out of town, just past the cemetery where Danny’s bones are buried in that other reality. I cast a glance toward the tombstones. The station used to be a decrepit set of pumps. Now it’s got a dingy diner tucked between “native culture” curio stores.
“Have you seen Shira’s mom since…?”
“Nope.” I tug strands of hair over the left side of my face.
“Me neither.” Danny tucks the strands behind my ear and I almost flinch, not wanting him to reveal deformed flesh. Only I’m not scarred in this life. I don’t know how I could’ve forgotten.
We pull into Garry’s and park outside the diner. There are more cars than I anticipated. Height of summer, the tourists are out in full force flocking to the Northwest to see the Native sights.
“I hope she’s not here.”
“Probably passed out at the back of the diner.” A bell chimes above our heads as I wheel Danny into the curio shop. The lady behind the counter looks up to greet us, and her ready smile is replaced by a frown.
I freeze. I can’t look this woman in the face.
“Hey, boys,” she says. “Nice to see you again.”
Danny wheels himself forward, forcing me out of the way. “Morning, Mrs. Nez.”
I don’t trust myself to speak so I just nod. Even though her husband died years ago, she still uses his name. Dead husband, now dead daughter. Some people’s lives really suck.
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