The Insomniacs

by Marit Weisenberg

  There were more worrisome things, like how I’d run a red light yesterday and how I’d end up at a destination but not remember a thing about the drive. I still owed Mike that phone call. I had two missed calls from him since he’d asked me to call him. His voice mails were kind and encouraging, urging me to give this new therapy a try. It was so unlike me—every time I picked up the phone, I found an excuse for why it wasn’t a good time to talk.

  I had once been the strong one, just one of the boys who teased Van from the higher perch in a tree. If this was a competition to see who could survive on less sleep, he was kicking my butt. But if he could do it, I could do better.

  Some of the air went out of my sails when I went back to my paper and attempted to figure out where I’d left off. I closed my eyes and let the adrenaline roar through me. Even if I wanted to sleep, it would be hard to come down now. I was tired but never sleepy.

  I heard the swoop of a text land perfectly on time.

  Change of plans tonight. You up for a party?

  We didn’t go to parties together.

  Where? I typed. There was a tremor in my hand.

  Guess.

  It was like when a neighbor has to invite you to their party because they know you’ll hear the noise.

  Maybe things were getting back to normal with the boys—Max and Wilson were partying that night and Van wanted to join. He wouldn’t want me there. I declined Van’s invitation and then I had to sit with that.

  I stood at the window overlooking the lonely, silent ranch house. Around 1:30 A.M., I saw two figures expertly sneak into the back gate, getting around the loud scratch I knew it made. If I hadn’t been watching, I wouldn’t have known anyone was there.

  My phone buzzed, illuminating my room.

  Come on.

  I’d thought he’d accepted my answer and moved on.

  I don’t want to go back inside, I wrote, and hit send. I also didn’t want to see him with his friends, getting high. I didn’t want to interface with popular, partier Van. Of course he would act different.

  I don’t either. Just come. I want to look at the frames on the wall. See if anything is broken.

  Fine, I relented.

  I’ll meet you outside.

  He was going to escort me.

  * * *

  I traded out sweats for a pair of jeans and Converse. I stood in my bra, unsure of what to wear on top, when I heard the downstairs door open. I snatched a random shirt and hauled it over my head. When I looked down, I saw that it was a Swedish soccer jersey my grandfather had sent me last Christmas. Great.

  I skipped down the stairs and headed through the kitchen where Van stood inside, the back door closed behind him. He was a sight for sore eyes. Today, it felt like I’d had to wait forever to see him, my sort-of partner.

  “I didn’t want to let the bugs in,” he said in greeting. “Nice shirt.”

  I opened my mouth to explain and then decided to let it go. Van most probably saw me as his sporty neighbor friend, so it didn’t matter what I wore or that I was embarrassed.

  One hand on the chrome door handle, Van put a finger to his lips and I rolled my eyes, gesturing to him that of course I knew to be quiet.

  Van and I were out the door and I was closing it behind me when Van drew up short. Wilson was standing on my property, watching us.

  “What are you doing?” Van whispered.

  “Seeing where you went,” Wilson said in a normal, if not overly loud, voice. He looked from me to Van, as if he was trying to figure this out. Van shushed him. “What?” Wilson said. “You were the one who said Kevin was out of town.”

  Van shook his head and walked ahead. I glanced at Wilson, who made an After you gesture.

  Tonight there was only a sliver of moon, and it was so dark, I had trouble making out Van’s back. When he opened the sliding door to the abandoned house, it was only moderately brighter inside. Wilson brushed against me. “Pardon,” he said. Then he placed a hand gently on my back, urging me into the house.

  It didn’t smell any better. But now that I knew the layout and that others were present, the house wasn’t as creepy, as if there was safety in numbers.

  Wilson moved ahead of us so he could lead the way down the short, dark hallway. Van slowed. He gave me a quick backward glance over his shoulder and pointed to one wall. There were framed photos, just like he’d mentioned. It was a Christmas series. From when she was maybe kindergarten age, it was the little girl sitting in Santa’s lap at the mall, the little girl standing in front of the Christmas tree, and the little girl next to a dollhouse with a red bow taped to the top.

  I took a step closer and gently touched a fingertip to the glass on each frame. They were all intact.

  Van and I locked eyes. Then he shrugged one shoulder and shook his head, indicating I guess it was nothing.

  “What are you doing? This way,” Wilson said. Van led us into the front room. With its low ceilings and painted brown walls, the room was a dusty, depressing cave. A phone flashlight was turned on, aimed at the ground but lighting our way. It belonged to Max, who sat low to the floor on a shiny red beanbag that reflected the light. I saw his red hair, and a younger girl I recognized from school sat draped over his lap. Their heads were close together and at first, they didn’t seem to notice us, they were so involved in one another, their noses nearly touching.

  It was hard not to stare, witnessing Max act so un-Max-like. He wrapped the girl’s dark hair around his fist and then dropped a kiss on her nose.

  Max and the girl looked up. “Oh hey, Ingrid,” Max said with a slight question in his voice when he saw me. “This is Nina.” Nina held up a hand in greeting.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  “Hi,” Van said simply. He didn’t let on if he was surprised by this development in Max’s love life. Max had a girlfriend. Or someone he was hooking up with. And she wasn’t Caroline.

  Wilson scooted past me and sat down in the middle of a tweedy brown-and-green sofa, immediately reaching for the lone bottle of vodka in the middle of the coffee table.

  My eyes searched for Van. He sat in an armchair and gestured for me to take the only other empty space, on the sofa next to Wilson.

  “What’s the occasion?” Max asked Van.

  “What do you mean?” Van asked.

  “It’s been a while. Since the last time we were in this house,” Max said. “It’s good to see you.” Max didn’t sound sarcastic. He sounded like he meant it. I didn’t know about Van but I started softening toward the boys. They seemed to genuinely want things to go back to normal with Van.

  “Yeah, I’ve been busy with band stuff,” Van said, his tone more open.

  “You guys want a drink?” Max asked, nodding to the bottle of vodka in Wilson’s hand. Wilson held the bottle, momentarily distracted, listening for something. Van took it out of Wilson’s hand and poured straight vodka into a Solo cup. He handed it to me and then poured one for himself.

  The only advance warning was the whisper of the sliding door. Then, like she had materialized from thin air, Caroline abruptly strolled into the living room, at home even in the dark. It must have taken her eyes a moment to adjust because she carried herself like she thought she was alone and didn’t know we were there, sprawled on every available piece of furniture. She drew up short when she made out our figures in the dark.

  “Hi…?” Van said, a question in his voice.

  “Hey, everyone!” Caroline said brightly. She stood stock-still, taking each of us in. Her eyes landed on me and the drink in my hand. “Hi, Ingrid.” Caroline actually sounded let down, like she’d had higher hopes for me.

  Van stood up and walked over to greet her. He slipped his hand around her waist and leaned close, whispering something in her ear. She removed the red Solo cup from his hand and took a long drink.

  Caroline would never tell anyone on the diving team that she’d seen me here but it made me aware of what I was doing: drinking, not training, not sleeping. Seei
ng myself through Caroline’s eyes was a reminder that diving was all I had. These weren’t my friends. Van wasn’t my boyfriend. In fact, his girlfriend was standing right in front of me.

  I stood up. “I better go,” I said.

  “No! Stay,” Wilson said emphatically, and grabbed my arm. I saw Van take note and give Wilson a strange look.

  “What’s up?” Van asked Caroline, questioningly.

  “Seba let me know you guys were hanging out,” Caroline said. Van dropped his hand from her waist.

  “Wow. How’s it going, Max? Wilson? Things look awfully PG-13 in here.” Caroline and Wilson held eyes. Wilson looked away first.

  Caroline took a step away from Van to consult her phone. She turned away to type something and then faced us again. “Seba’s on his way.”

  Van murmured something I couldn’t hear and Caroline nodded. The two disappeared down the hall and I heard a bedroom door shut tight. We all watched them go.

  “Well, they’re about to fight or they’re about to—” Nina said.

  Max looked to Wilson before clearing his throat. Wilson slid farther down the couch and dropped his head heavily to the back. I noticed the beanbag had exploded at a seam and plastic beans spilled out over the floor.

  Why had Caroline, Wilson, and Max all seemed to immediately go on edge when they found themselves in the same room together? Maybe she made them tongue-tied and nervous simply because she was Caroline Kelly. Or maybe they just resented the hell out of her because, even tonight, she monopolized their best friend.

  “Ingrid?” Wilson said, waving his hand in front of my eyes.

  “What?”

  “How’ve you been?” Max asked.

  “Fine. Good.”

  “We heard you had an accident. You okay?” Wilson asked.

  “Yep. I’m good now.”

  “Van said you had a concussion.” Any second someone was going to say I pulled a Greg Louganis but so far Wilson in particular had been almost courtly.

  “A minor one,” I lied. My brain was swimming with what could be happening in the room down the hall. An ache spread in my chest at the thought of them in a bedroom together. I stood again. “It’s so late, I really better get back home.”

  “Oh, wait, let me show you something.” Wilson stood, too, and scrolled through his phone. I saw photo after photo of nature shots from the greenbelt. It made me wish we had pictures of those long, golden days when the four of us explored around the creek. Wilson finally found what he was searching for and leaned in close, not seeming to mind that our shoulders were touching. “Look at this one. I took it accidentally when I was trying out lenses. I swear, I don’t usually point the camera at your window.”

  “He thinks he’s a professional photographer now,” Max scoffed.

  It was a photo of me standing at my bedroom window—big surprise. It must have been just before I caught Wilson aiming the camera in my direction. Even I had to admit it was a good photo. It was me in profile. My arms were loosely crossed and I was brushing one cheek with my shoulder. I was almost peaceful, staring out onto the street, most definitely at Van.

  “I promise you I was not being a stalker,” Wilson said, getting a little nervous when I didn’t say anything in response.

  “Wow. I mean, it’s weird that you took it,” I said, joking, “but will you send it to me?”

  “For sure.”

  What was up with Wilson being so sweet? “Can I give you my cell phone number?” I asked. Wilson handed me his phone. His cell had the same lock screen as Van’s—that image of Van, Max, and Caroline in the water. Max and Caroline noticeably skin-to-skin. With Max and Nina across from me, I saw the photo differently this time. And I could see how it might be misinterpreted. Max was probably only posing for the camera.

  I was putting my number in Wilson’s phone when someone appeared at the end of the hallway. We all looked up, alert. The figure paused, watching us, then stepped into the room. It was Seba, trailed by two girls I didn’t recognize.

  “The party started without me?” Seba asked. He was slightly breathless.

  “It’s all good,” Max murmured, shifting Nina on his lap so he could sit up higher.

  “Sorry it took me so long.” Seba crossed to the other beanbag next to Max and Nina. I saw Seba kick Max’s leg out of the way. Hard.

  Seba slouched down into the beanbag and let his gaze drift from Wilson to Max, slowly shaking his head. He seemed to be in a foul mood. Finally, Seba stopped staring mutely and bent his head to light a joint, shielding the flame with one hand. He tipped his head back and blew a plume of smoke to the ceiling. The room seemed to relax, hoping the tension had melted away with his long, continuous exhale. Seba passed the joint to one of the girls who had settled near his feet. Then he produced a second one and handed it to Max. I was thinking how Seba clearly liked the role of Mr. Generous, passing out joints, always playing host, when he pulled yet another one from his shirt pocket. He offered it to me.

  “Ingrid,” he said. Though we’d gone to school together for years, I was still surprised on some level that he acknowledged me. One of the girls kneeled behind him and began to rub his shoulders. As Van would say, gross.

  “Actually, I need to get home. Here, take my seat,” I said to the girl at Seba’s feet.

  “Okay, then.” Seba half laughed. “Enjoy your night. Take care, you hear?” he said, sickly sweet. Perhaps his bad mood hadn’t passed.

  “You too,” I said automatically. But Seba had already lost interest and was deep in his phone, ignoring everyone completely.

  I began navigating my way around the coffee table.

  “Hey, Ingrid,” Max called out softly. I spun around.

  “Yeah?”

  “Why did you stop hanging out with us?” Max asked.

  The question surprised me so much I found I didn’t know how to respond. It sounded like Max actually cared.

  Then I saw Van had quietly reentered the room. He leaned against the wall, also waiting for my answer.

  Everyone was watching me, including Seba and his friends.

  Caroline appeared behind Van. When Seba saw Caroline, he immediately rose to greet her, knocking the girl’s hands off of him.

  “Walk me home?” Caroline said softly to Van.

  “What’s up, Van,” Seba started in, sauntering over to them.

  With everyone’s attention diverted to Van and Caroline, I slipped away without another word.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  WEDNESDAY, APRIL 13

  Back in the absolute stillness of my bedroom, I closed my tired eyes. I could hear the sounds of dogs barking, the muted wail of sirens, and the forlorn bells of a distant train crossing.

  I opened my eyes and found my discarded pajamas, then stripped off my shirt. A sudden creaking sound set my teeth on edge. I heard the back door open. Clutching my shirt to my chest, I didn’t move. I listened.

  I heard some loud, intentional throat-clearing carry from the empty downstairs.

  I’d been so confident that Van was occupied that I’d even changed out of my clothes. Quickly, I reached for an old sweatshirt to cover up, hurriedly putting it on and struggling with an inside-out sleeve as I walked to the top of the stairs to meet Van. What could he possibly have to say? He needed to get back to his girlfriend.

  “Wilson!” The shocked surprise in my voice shattered the quiet.

  “Is it okay that I came in? Van comes in through the downstairs door, right?”

  I realized my hand was clutching a handful of the front of my tattered gray sweatshirt. “Oh my god. You gave me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry, sorry.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence. Wilson stood tentatively at the bottom of the stairs while I stood at the top.

  “Can I come up?” Wilson asked. It was like déjà vu from one of my initial conversations with Van two weeks ago.

  Did he like me? For a millisecond I tried it on—hooking up with Wilson. Would that same illegal feeli
ng, that Johnny Cash/June Carter ring-of-fire feeling I had about Van ever apply to Wilson?

  No.

  But I was seeing him in a new light. He was hot; you couldn’t argue with that. His body was perfect in that skinny, ectomorph, every-muscle-defined way. Wilson looked like he’d had dinner out with his parents earlier. He still wore a preppy dress shirt but he had changed into long soccer shorts. And the dress shirt was open one button too low. Whether that was intentional or not, I wasn’t sure, but it added to his lazy-rich-boy-who-smoked-too-much-weed vibe.

  Yet there was a tinge of sweetness in how he was battling shyness at the moment. Clasping his hands behind his back, Wilson looked both nervous and intent, waiting on my answer.

  What would Van think if something happened between Wilson and me? Hypothetically, it was interesting to play out.

  “Ingrid?”

  I was saved by the sound of the back door opening again, presumably Max coming to fetch Wilson.

  “Hey!” Van appeared in the shadows behind Wilson. Van looked to me and then back to Wilson. “What are you doing here?” Van asked Wilson point-blank, an irritated note in his voice.

  “I wanted to talk to Ingrid about something,” Wilson responded in a None of your business tone. Then, “Where’s your girlfriend?” Wilson asked pointedly, wanting Van to leave.

  Van had been put on the spot and he didn’t answer right away, only making me more curious about how he was going to explain his presence.

  “I walked her home,” Van finally said. But he made no move to leave and made no excuses for being at my house. Whatever the hell they were communicating, it was nonverbal. To me, it felt like a territorial standoff. I waited for Van to have no choice but to turn around and go.

  I started down the stairs to do something to defuse the cloud of testosterone.

  Van stepped up onto the lowest stair, positioning himself between me and Wilson. Van whipped his head around and looked up, his eyes scanning my bare legs, no doubt noticing my pajama shorts. Then he looked back and forth, like he was imagining Wilson and me together and trying to understand if it made sense.