The Insomniacs

by Marit Weisenberg

  “Tell me what you remember again,” I said.

  Van pointed and we took a right, me falling slightly behind him. He slowed until I was right next to him. An elementary school stood on the right and a line of bungalow-style homes to the left. The school’s marquee was lit with a dim yellow bulb and advertised a chili cook-off.

  “Not much,” Van said. “It’s more like screenshots. The sliding glass doors and looking into the backyard. Those figures coming out of the greenbelt. And then Max, standing there shirtless, close to a girl who may or may not have been Caroline. Wilson shoving me so I couldn’t see. What I don’t remember is walking Caroline home and what I could have done to make her ghost me for days.”

  “Okay. Well, what are some possible explanations?”

  “I walked Caroline home and I have no recollection.”

  “That’s one.”

  “I was passed out and all of this was a really, really vivid drug-induced dream.”

  “That’s another explanation. Also, I’ve seen the lock screen photo on your phone—the one of you and Max and Caroline and you’ve obviously been swimming. Wilson has the same one and it reminded me: In it, Max is shirtless and he has his arm around Caroline. You see it every day, constantly. Maybe you mixed that into a dream?”

  Van sounded happy when he said, “That’s totally possible.”

  “And with the shove? That night you could have been staggering around, so messed up, that Wilson wanted you to lie down. Where did you wake up?”

  “On the floor in my bedroom. In vomit.”

  “Oh, wow.” I had to duck so I didn’t get smacked by a tall Pride of Barbados plant arching into the road.

  “Careful! Sorry to be gross. Just giving you the full picture.”

  Van’s voice was unconcerned and almost joking. It had been a theme, though—a few comments here and there about how shocked I must have been by his behavior.

  “You know I don’t think you’re a delinquent, right? Max and Wilson, I wouldn’t necessarily say the same,” I half joked.

  “Yeah, I can’t keep up.”

  I almost mocked him—he was out every night between 1 and 4 A.M. But I let him save face. It was his excuse for why his friends were getting ahead of him.

  “Do you mind—that Max and Wilson are, I don’t know, I guess ‘changing’ would be the right word?” I held my legs out to the sides as we traveled down a small hill, feeling like a kid again.

  “If I could go back in time, I would. To before Caroline, even before the band. When things were normal.”

  After weeks of saying very little, that said it all about how much he missed his friends.

  “I also care that Wilson is showing up at your house uninvited.”

  I looked over at Van. He was on his bike next to me, his eyes on the broad city street up ahead, glowing signage in the distance. We’d almost made it out of the neighborhood. It had been his idea to go biking, and it took pressure off the awkward question of whether we wanted to try to sleep with each other again.

  “Why do you care if Wilson comes over?” I finally asked.

  Van’s brake squealed as we slowed our speed to a stop and waited for the light to turn. “Did you want him to come over?”

  “No! I mean, he’s Wilson.”

  There was a long pause before Van answered. He fiddled with his gear. “You were our best friend. It’s weird.” He stared straight ahead at the red light on the other side of the crosswalk.

  I went quiet and found I couldn’t immediately recover.

  When the silence was on the cusp of growing awkward, Van jumped in to fill it. “I’ll back off if you want me to.” Now he sounded weirdly formal. The light turned and he took off on his bike ahead of me.

  Because of my celebrity adjacent-ness to the famous stepmother I had never met, I was used to a bit of excessive interest. And I was good at knowing when people were checking me out. But I never knew with Van. Even when he’d held my hand in eighth grade, I had never picked up on him having a crush on me before that. I had zero radar when it came to him. But now I finally knew how he saw me: I was the friend. I mean, that should have always been obvious so I hated my disappointment. What had I thought? That maybe he was interested in me now that he was single?

  Just to piss him off, I didn’t comment on what he’d said about not interfering. Let him think I was having second thoughts about Wilson. I liked that it bothered Van. I cleared my throat and caught up to him. “Back to what we were talking about—Max and Wilson are changing, we’re all changing, but do you really think they would lie to you?”

  “I thought they were acting like something was up, but lately I’ve been thinking maybe Wilson and Max were just being assholes because I was spending all my free time with either Caroline or the band.”

  “Then why do you keep watching from my window? What’s still bothering you?”

  “That I may have hurt Caroline and I don’t know what I’m capable of. That feeling that everyone around me is lying to me. Oh, and the feeling that I saw something I wasn’t supposed to but I can’t grab hold of the memory.”

  It struck me that what Van said last was exactly what I’d been feeling.

  “But, again, maybe insomnia has made me paranoid,” Van said, shrugging lightly.

  “I think it was the drugs. Now it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe we just agree to let it go because we both can’t fully trust our minds until we sleep. For instance, I saw a light go on in that house, you didn’t. The brain is the ultimate unreliable narrator. It’s a mystery.” I had the thought: Or maybe we don’t want to know the truth.

  “You’re right. I got messed up on something I’d never taken. Then I mixed it with alcohol.”

  “The house right next to us is creepy. We focus on it because we’re awake.”

  “So, there’s nothing going on?” Van’s tone was joking but he was also asking permission to let that night go and trust his friends.

  “It’s just a vacant house that was broken into a few times. Nothing more has been going on there. We would know,” I said. “And Caroline is strong. She wouldn’t have stayed with you if you’d done something bad to her.”

  I was aware that we were building a case designed so we could quit worrying. One that provided easy explanations and turned things right-side up and sunny again. Neither of us mentioned the girl who came tearing from the house and into the greenbelt, who, in addition to terrifying me, also vaguely corroborated Van’s vision.

  “What about us?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s still the mystery of why neither of us can sleep,” he said.

  Except for last night, with each other.

  “It’s a coincidence. Not a mystery,” I said. “People can’t sleep all of the time.”

  “You don’t think it’s weird that it’s happening to us both? And started around the exact same time?”

  We pedaled in silence for a moment. I listened to the tick of a loose spoke.

  “You ready?” Van asked as we passed an empty Shell station.

  “For what?”

  “The race to the karaoke place!” Van took off ahead of me.

  “You know I’m going to beat you!” I yelled after him. He had me smiling again. I pedaled at full speed. He won, but only because he got a head start.

  * * *

  The all-night karaoke spot was sandwiched in a mini mall between a dance studio and a check-cashing place. Van flung open the door and stood aside, gesturing for me to go in first. I’d never been and I was skeptical because, when we entered, it looked like a dental office replete with blond wood floors and fluorescent lighting.

  “I don’t want to sing, Van.”

  “Come on now! No, seriously, you’re back diving in two weeks? This is all going to end soon. We gotta make the most of it.”

  He’d kept track. My hiatus was more than halfway over. My aunt’s email coupled with Coach Mike’s now-daily check-in had played in the back of my mind
all night. I didn’t blame Mike for his increasing intensity. As my coach, he thought it was his responsibility to help me turn the accident around. I couldn’t keep making excuses for why I wasn’t training in the slightest. I wasn’t totally sure why I wasn’t. For a second, I imagined standing on the board in front of everyone, then turning around, climbing down, and becoming a cautionary tale.

  “Just for a little bit,” Van coaxed. “I love this place.” His eyes sparkled and he seemed happier and lighter than I’d seen him since he’d first showed up at my front door, paranoid as hell.

  Van insisted on paying and I waited, reading the quote on the wall behind the welcome desk: MUSIC. IT’S WHO I AM.

  A host who looked like an exhausted K-pop artist led us down a hallway with numbered doors to our tiny room lined with two floral couches and a coffee table squished between. The microphone stand and karaoke machine were tucked in the corner. When he asked us what we’d like to drink, I had the feeling they’d serve us whatever we asked for.

  “Two Cokes,” Van said. I looked at him quizzically when he ordered for me. The server disappeared.

  “Coke is going to keep us up for sure.”

  “Just wait.” Then he proceeded to ignore me while he flipped through the song catalog. I leaned my head back against the sofa and closed my sandpaper eyes. When the server delivered the drinks and clicked the door shut behind him, Van extracted a flask from his backpack and poured brown liquid into each glass. “I stole Kevin’s Japanese whiskey. I’m just going to give you a little bit. I know you’re not supposed to drink because of training.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “It helps. With the singing. And we rode our bikes.”

  “We can order fried chicken. They have it delivered,” I said, scanning the menu card.

  “Nah, it’s tradition to go to the diner after this.”

  I sipped my drink and then I sipped some more when I realized it mitigated my preoccupation with my aunt’s email and the dread that came with telling lies. I sat back and watched as Van began to show off his considerable karaoke skills. He goofed around, making sure I knew that he knew every word of every song he chose.

  “Wow, you’re really bringing the house down,” I said. My heart caught even as I crossed my arms and teased him. He was impressive.

  “Let me have my small moment of glory.”

  My limbs began to feel liquid and then I was laughing a whole lot. Van kept offering me a turn and I’d shake my head. But I was so happy and felt light as air. Then, when Van took too long to select yet another song, I stood up, wordlessly elbowed him out of the way, and picked one at random.

  “Give it to me.” I grabbed the microphone from Van, leaning heavily against him in the process.

  Next thing I knew, I was singing “Summer Nights” from Grease and doing both parts and I couldn’t keep up or keep track and I doubled over laughing. We were friends, right? Why be on good behavior. I was sick of perfect behavior. When I straightened and wiped sweat from my forehead, Van was watching me and he wouldn’t look away.

  “What?” I demanded. My laughter slowed.

  Van seemed to shake himself. “Nothing.”

  “Did I put you to sleep?” I teased.

  “I’m just admiring your terrible singing skills.” He quickly sat up. “My turn.”

  I collapsed on the couch and put my feet up on the laminate coffee table. Van, Mr. I’m the Lead Singer of my Band, had the best voice and now I got to hear him and watch him, up close.

  Earlier in the year, back when Van only played with his high school band, my school friends had invited me to a party and mentioned Van’s band would be performing. I’d actually made up an excuse and told Coach Mike I couldn’t stay after practice. For once, I didn’t want to be left behind while I watched everyone else go off to have fun on a Friday night. I wasn’t disappointed.

  So sexy playing his bass guitar, Van with his calm was in total contrast to his three other bandmates jumping up and down and going crazy. I’d stayed in the back where no one would notice me studying him closely—this boy I’d grown up with who’d transformed into someone so talented and self-possessed. And seemingly untouchable.

  I was preoccupied, thinking about that night months before, when I recognized the opening bars of Dire Straits’ “Romeo and Juliet,” my dad’s favorite song. The smile fell away from my face. I turned my head to look at Van, my cheek against the smooth sofa. Did he remember?

  Like stepping into a dream, I was suddenly sitting in the backseat of my dad’s fancy car next to Van, my cheek against that upholstery, looking at my dad in the front. I could see his strong profile as he drove us to the convenience store to buy Popsicles, “Romeo and Juliet” booming from his car speakers. All four windows down, my hair flying around me, my dad sang loudly and joyfully, hands smacking the steering wheel for emphasis and making us sing with him. Van and I sang and laughed, thrilled to be in my dad’s universe. My dad told us to get over it and sing the lyrics “made love” or he wouldn’t buy us anything at the store.

  My eyes were big as I watched Van sing.

  The past and the present converged in that moment. The barrier between them fell away, also taking down the one around my heart. It was clear Van loved this song.

  When he was done, I knew it had grown beyond a crush from afar. I was truly in love with Van.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THURSDAY, APRIL 14

  The nearby twenty-four-hour diner was almost empty except for a large table of college-age kids scarfing down their one order of queso and a bedraggled server whose beard was braided with beads. When he took our order, he sat down next to Van.

  After the waiter shuffled off, I stretched out my legs under the table, touching Van’s feet with my own accidentally. Van didn’t move but I slid my feet away like he was on fire.

  “What’s up with you tonight?” Van rested his head against the booth and crossed his arms. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew some ChapStick, gliding it on while he waited for my answer.

  “Nothing!” I didn’t like the overly bright lights of the diner, where he sat across from me and I had to maintain a poker face. I was in love with him. Now I was looking at him differently and I was sure he’d be able to tell.

  The diner was his idea. I would have much preferred sailing next to each other on our bikes, in the dark.

  Van studied me and then quickly looked away, as if he had seen something he didn’t want to notice. He stared out the window into the black parking lot.

  In case something was on my face, I wiped at it with my scratchy beige paper napkin while his attention was elsewhere. “What’s up with you and Kevin?” I asked.

  Van looked back to me. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. It seems like you two are in a war.”

  Van shifted lower down in the booth. He took his napkin and wiped away a ring of coffee on the table.

  “I caught him cheating on my mom,” Van said dispassionately.

  “Wait. Are you serious?” I exclaimed. One of the college kids, a lanky redhead, looked us over. Van stared back until the boy turned around.

  “Yeah, I’m serious,” Van continued. “Do you want to know how people get caught having affairs? They forget their text messages appear on their computer screen.” Van kept scrubbing at the stain, not looking at me.

  “Does your mom know?”

  Van shook his head. “No one does, except for me. And now you.” Van raised his eyes to mine in warning.

  “I promise I won’t say a word. You know that,” I said.

  Van nodded. He did know. Over the past several nights, we’d sometimes had moments of understanding and shorthand, a product of growing up together. To me, it felt like an amazing relief, that I wasn’t alone after all. It also reminded me how weird it was to be in love with someone I’d known since childhood. But that also made it deeper somehow.

  “Yeah.” Van crossed his arms tightly. “The text popped up o
n the family computer. Luckily, it was me who saw it.”

  “What did it say?” I asked, morbidly fascinated.

  “Stuff about a night away.” Van shook his head. “What an amazing asshole.”

  “He knows you know?”

  “Yep. So he’s pissed and overly focused on me. That’s part of the reason why I stopped messing around with Max, Wilson, and Seba. And then Caroline came into the picture and, between her and the band, I had excuses to avoid them anyway.…” Van trailed off.

  The mention of Caroline made me want to ask about their breakup. But, of course I didn’t. “I can imagine how well Kevin’s dealing with this.”

  Van smiled an evil smile. “You can only imagine.”

  “You won’t tell your mom?” I asked, right as our food arrived.

  It took a minute for our server to unload the tray. He was so slow he had to have been stoned and Van seemed to have ordered half the menu, unable to decide between breakfast or dinner. Van reached out his fork and took the first bite of my pecan pie. “Seriously?” I laughed.

  “You order better. You go for the thing that’s probably the best on the menu.”

  “It’s true.” I shrugged one shoulder and smiled flirtatiously before I caught myself. “Your mom?” I prompted.

  “I just want my mom to be happy.”

  “But he’s a jerk!” In my mind, the story I told myself was that Lisa married Kevin far too quickly after Van’s dad died and then became overwhelmed with kids and quit working. Now she felt stuck.

  Van picked at his food, which drove me crazy because it was looking to be an incredible waste. His parents’ money had in fact rubbed off on Van in certain ways. “I don’t want her to lose husband number two. She loves him—which I’ve never understood, but okay. He’s a good dad to his kids. And he’s tried with me.”

  “It’s like you have two separate families in one house,” I said. “I might be making that up.” I retreated quickly, not wanting to let on that I’d been observing their dynamics from afar.

  “No, you’re right. We do. Kevin has always wanted to parent me and it makes him insane that I won’t let him. It’ll be fine—one more year and I’ll be out of his hair. It will just be his family in the house.”