Zen and Gone

by Emily France

  “I am,” Essa said. But at the mention of Puck, a new worry pierced her mind. Not about being up in the mountains and out of cell range, but about going back down. With Oliver. “So about Puck.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We can’t tell her. About . . . this.”

  “About what?” Oliver grinned.

  “About whatever is happening here.” Essa motioned between the two of them.

  “My lips are sealed.”

  Finally they saw the buildings of Gold Hill around a bend in the road. They walked down Main Street, past an old inn, a dilapidated post office, a leaning wooden structure with canned goods in the windows and a sign: gold hill general store.

  Next to the shop was a small clapboard schoolhouse with a weathered plaque nailed to the side: gold hill elementary. built in 1873 to serve the gold hill mine community. oldest continuously operating school in colorado.

  Oliver stopped. “Is this place for real?”

  “Yep. Told you it looked like a movie set.” Essa looked up the hillside behind the elementary school at a smattering of one-story log cabin houses. They all looked like they were built in the 1870s. They had mismatched windows, cloudy and hanging crooked. Chimneys leaned and jutted into the sky like straws reaching out of ratty paper cups. A donkey tugged at a patch of grass in a front yard. She looked down a side dirt road that branched off Main Street.

  “There they are,” she said as she pointed. Micah’s Jeep was idling beside a large cherry-red barn. She pulled on Oliver’s arm and led him down the road.

  “So there’s not a Gold Hill mine anymore, but people still live here, right?”

  Essa didn’t get a chance to answer. She was cut off by the sound of a long, low whistle.

  “You found your way in record time, Ess.” It was Micah, apparently so impressed with Essa’s navigation skills that he let out a second whistle. “Did you even take one wrong turn?”

  Essa pulled the water tube from her pack and took a drink. She rubbed a hand on the back of her neck where a thin layer of dust clung to her damp skin. “The view helped. I triangulated our position relative to Apache, Kiowa, and Audubon. Guessed we were near either Sunshine Canyon or Lefthand Canyon Drive before I even looked at the map.”

  “Impressive.” Micah’s smile disappeared. He studied Essa’s face. “Are you okay?”

  “Totally. It didn’t take us that long, and we had plenty of water—”

  “No, I mean, you look kind of . . . weird.” Micah raised an eyebrow and took a swig of water from his Nalgene bottle.

  Essa tried to control her face, to will any evidence of blush out of her cheeks, to erase any trace of joy from her lips. Was their kiss that obvious? Had Essa and Oliver come out of the woods different than when they went in?

  Essa avoided Micah’s stare and climbed into the backseat of the Jeep. Oliver stood next to Micah with this satisfied grin on his face. She shot Oliver a look that she hoped was clear: Cut it out.

  She reached for the door to pull it closed, but Micah stopped her. Leaned in.

  “Something’s up,” he said softly, his face close to hers. “He’s cool, right?” He glanced in Oliver’s direction. Oliver was making his way around the front of the car. “He didn’t try anything or—”

  “No.” Essa cut him off. “No way. Chill out.”

  Micah paused. “Then why won’t you look me in the eye?” He fixed his deep brown eyes on Essa.

  She looked at him for a moment, but then glanced away. She focused on the side of the cherry-red barn and the rusty horseshoe tacked above its gaping door. She wondered when someone had hung it, if it had been up there since the 1800s, if it had brought the family any luck. She thought about Oliver’s family and her own. Maybe they both needed horseshoes above their front doors.

  She looked back at Micah. “Everything’s good.”

  “If he’s a creep and tries to get with—”

  “That was awesome,” Oliver said eagerly as he climbed into the backseat from the other side. “How often do you guys play this?”

  Essa just looked at her lap as Micah glared at Oliver, sizing him up. Neither of them answered his question. Her phone pinged from the depths of her pack. “Must have service here,” she said, pulling it out. “Got a voice mail.”

  Anish came barreling out of the general store looking ridiculously pleased with himself. He jogged toward the Jeep and got into the front passenger seat. “Check this out,” he said, holding up a yellow-and-green glass bottle with a picture of Bob Marley on it. “You guys heard of Marley’s Mellow Mood? It’s, like, a drink with some sort of herb in it that chills you out. Cashier says to watch out. He’s passed out a few times after drinking it.” Anish smiled and looked for a reaction, but Oliver was staring out the window, Micah was staring at Essa, and Essa was trying to hear her voice mail.

  “And look.” Anish tried again. He held up a small wooden llama about the size of a grapefruit. It was a little rough around the edges, obviously carved by hand. Its legs were all different lengths, and its head was unnaturally crooked at the end of its long neck. But the llama’s eyes had a warm, sweet depth to them. “So this off-the-grid-looking woman was in there carving these. Wild. Says she has ten real llamas at home. Always takes one hiking with her because they calm her down and make her take it slow through the woods. So she takes in all the scenery, you know? Called them her therapy llamas. Says her carvings have, like, won wood carving awards. Were you all aware of a wood-carving subculture in Colorado? Man, I love subcultures.”

  Everyone was still ignoring him.

  “Um,” Anish began. “Is something up?”

  “Guess not,” Micah said, sighing. He slid into the front seat and started the car.

  “Yes,” Essa said, leaning forward. “There is. Get me home.” She tapped on Micah’s shoulder. “Fast.”

  “I knew it,” Micah said, turning. “Is Oliver creeping you—”

  “No,” Essa interrupted. “It’s Puck.”

  20

  ESSA

  The message wasn’t clear. All Essa could hear was Puck sobbing, punctuated with a few words Essa could barely understand. Something about their mom. Something about a map. And a photograph.

  Essa tried to call her back, but the call wouldn’t go through. As soon as they pulled out of Gold Hill, her service dropped. She sent text after text, but a red exclamation point popped up beside each one: Failed to send.

  The drive home felt like it took hours. Even when Essa’s cell service came back, Puck wasn’t answering. By the time they pulled up to the house, Essa was frantic. She raced to the front door and started fumbling with her keys. Her hands were shaking so badly, she couldn’t get her house key lined up with the lock.

  “Here.” A hand reached in and steadied hers.

  Oliver.

  She didn’t realize he’d followed her out of the Jeep and up to the porch.

  “I want to come with you,” he said. “You shouldn’t be by yourself. If something really bad—”

  The sound of Essa’s phone cut him off; she had the volume turned up all the way so she could be sure not to miss a message from Puck. It was a text from Micah: Gotta drive Anish home. You okay with Chicago?

  Essa looked over Oliver’s shoulder and saw the Jeep still idling at the curb. Micah and Anish waved and flashed weak smiles. They looked worried, like Essa was venturing up a poorly marked mountain trail and they feared she might not come back in one piece. She waved at them to go ahead.

  “Ready?” Oliver had turned the key in the lock. He held his hand against the door and raised an eyebrow, silently asking for permission to open it.

  Essa didn’t know how she felt about him seeing her family, such as it was, or witnessing whatever crisis was unfolding at her house. But she didn’t have time to send him away; she barely had time to realize she didn’t want to.


  She nodded, and Oliver pushed open the door.

  “Puck?” Essa walked into the living room, the kitchen, and then glanced out the backyard. No one was there. She ran down the hall, hoping to see Puck’s door shut; she always closed it when she was inside.

  It was open.

  Essa ran past Puck’s room and into her mother’s and, for the first time in her life, hoped her mom was in there making out with somebody. Essa wanted Puck to be upset about something usual, something Essa could handle, familiar emotional territory that she could Big Sister her way through. Essa had comforted Puck a million times when her mom brought home dates. Essa and Puck would hole up in Puck’s room and play with a bag of runes from Above the Clouds or assemble a new kite or just lie on the floor and stare up at the ones hanging from the ceiling.

  Her mother’s room was empty.

  The purple velvet bedspread was crumpled in a ball in the center of the bed. A multicolored glass pipe lay on the bedside table, her mother’s favorite bowl. It was filled with dark black resin, the leftovers from a smoke. The room always smelled bitter and swampy. She couldn’t tell if her mother had recently been here or if this was just the usual scent.

  Essa glanced in the direction of her mother’s bathroom, the setting sun blaring through the window inside it. She didn’t squint fast enough as she walked in, and the strong western sun got in her eyes. All she could see for a moment were spots.

  “Mom?” Essa called, half blind. She hoped that she would find her mother soaking in the bathtub, a book of poetry in her hand. Or maybe with her earbuds in, jamming to a Dead album. Instead, as Essa blinked the sun spots out of her eyes, she saw that no one was there. The tub was bone dry. So was the sink. A lone, ratty towel sat crumpled beside her mother’s toothbrush. Essa picked it up and placed it on the towel rack beside the toilet.

  When she looked back at the sink, she saw what was underneath the towel: a mala. Essa took the necklace in her hands. They weren’t the expensive amazonite beads that Puck wanted; they were a much cheaper wooden version. Essa hoped her mom had gone into Old Tibet while Essa was chasing Puck into the public bathroom and bought them for Puck as a gift. Puck would be so happy; she wouldn’t care that they weren’t the exact ones she wanted.

  Another thought came to mind.

  Mom wouldn’t have gone into Old Tibet and bought these for herself . . . would she? After Puck asked for them?

  Maybe that’s what the fight was over. Puck’s mom was just insensitive enough that Essa could actually picture it: Puck pointed out a gift she wanted and their mom decided to buy it for herself. A sad attempt to stay cool and wear the things that her younger daughters liked.

  Essa felt her stomach ease a little. As bad as it would be if Puck had called her about a fight over a necklace, Essa could definitely repair that.

  “She’s in here.”

  It was Oliver calling from down the hall. His voice sounded tight, tense. The mala clattered to the tile floor as Essa dropped it and ran.

  She followed Oliver’s voice to Puck’s darkened room. She stepped inside, let her eyes adjust. Puck had duct-taped several of her mom’s tapestries to the windows; barely any light was getting through.

  Essa heard a sniffle. It was coming from a small mound in the center of the twin bed.

  Puck.

  She was under the covers, crying.

  “What took you so long?” Puck asked, her voice muffled.

  Essa sat on the bed and slowly lifted the blanket. Puck yanked it back down, but not before Essa caught a glimpse of her little sister wadded up in a ball, a pile of used tissues tucked around her. “I’m sorry,” Essa said. “We were up near Gold Hill playing—”

  “Gold Hill?”

  “It’s this old town,” Oliver explained. “An old gold mine. We were—”

  “It’s not an old gold mine.” Puck’s voice was still muffled by the covers, but the fact that she was beyond annoyed came through loud and clear. “There wasn’t an actual mine in Gold Hill. They panned for gold in streams.”

  Essa sat down on the bed. “Why are you so mad about—”

  “Thanks for inviting me,” Puck snapped. “You said I could go on one of your day trips. But I guess you wanted to be alone up there . . . with him.”

  Essa closed her eyes as a strong wind of regret blew through her. She suddenly felt horrible for letting Oliver kiss her; she should have known better. Micah could tell, and now she felt like Puck could tell, even from her fortress under the covers. It must be obvious; the air around Essa and Oliver must have changed, their connection charging the space around them. Some small part of Essa had held onto the hope that Puck wouldn’t be upset if she dated Oliver; he was the first boy Puck had ever been nice to.

  “Is that all you’re mad about?” Essa asked. Another sniffle was Puck’s only response. “That we went without you? Or did Mom do something? I’ll fix it. I’ll—”

  Essa stopped midsentence when she saw several pieces of paper sliding out from under the covers. Puck was shoving them toward her. “Here,” Puck said.

  There was a bumper sticker. Keep Portland Weird. The words were printed against a backdrop of a Portland city map. Every street was named “Weird Ave.” Underneath the bumper sticker was a page ripped out of a magazine and folded into a square. Essa picked it up and slowly smoothed it out. It was an advertisement for a mobile home.

  Only $50,000. Zero deposit. Low monthly park fee. Most affordable mobile home community in Oregon! Call now.

  This was what Puck had meant in her voice mail. A map and a photograph. She’d meant this bumper sticker map of Portland and this photo of a mobile home.

  “I don’t get it,” Essa said slowly. “What are these?”

  “We’re moving there. Into a trailer.” Puck blew her nose.

  Essa looked back down at the advertisement. She could see Puck sitting on the porch of their new mobile abode, miserable, heading off to a new school, her talents getting overlooked and wasted with new teachers. Puck and Essa both friendless. Their mother jobless, trying to make ends meet in a new city and failing every other month.

  But why?

  “Mom wants to move there?” Essa asked, her eyes still wide as she stared at the Portland bumper sticker.

  Puck slowly lifted the comforter and peered at Essa with her red-rimmed eyes. “No,” she said. “Ronnie does. They’re getting married.”

  Puck broke into a fresh round of tears. Essa felt her chest cracking open, her arms and legs going weak like she’d just finished a ten-mile hike straight up a mountainside. She’d never seen this particular look on Puck’s face, like she was three years old again, like she’d skinned her knee and no one had responded to her cries for hours.

  Essa swiftly reached under the covers and pulled Puck into her arms. She rocked her sister back and forth while Puck’s tears kept coming.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Essa said again and again. She had to work to keep her voice soft and reassuring; rage was starting to shake her from the inside out. How could their mother do this? She’d claimed to be in love more times than Essa could count, but she’d never gotten engaged. She’d never actually made plans to marry anyone. And she’d definitely never threatened to leave Boulder. Mom was to Boulder what water was to a swimming pool. The town shaped her, molded her. She fit so well inside it that Essa was sure her mother would fall apart on the outside, disperse like someone had opened the drain.

  “I hear something,” Oliver said. He leaned out of Puck’s bedroom door and looked down the hall. “It’s a guy. What does Ronnie look like?”

  “Like a jackass. In Birkenstocks,” Essa said, still holding Puck tightly in her arms.

  Oliver looked again. “Yep,” he whispered. “I’d say that’s him. And he’s coming this way.”

  “Hey, Ess.” Ronnie came into the room, running a hand through his windblown hai
r. He looked like he’d been in the sun all day, warm and glowing and happy. Making plans to take his bride to Oregon.

  His bride.

  Essa wished that she’d stopped by Cheba Hut on the way home, that she’d ordered a Big Buddha Cheese and eaten every last bite of it . . . so she could throw it up all over Ronnie’s bare toes.

  “Don’t call me Ess,” she said. “Don’t call me anything.”

  Ronnie glanced at the Portland bumper sticker, “I know we hardly know each other, but it’s going to be great. You’ll see. Portland is awesome. Am I right?” Ronnie looked at Oliver, as if the other guy in the room would provide some backup, some camaraderie. Oliver just glared at him.

  “Come on,” Oliver said, crossing the room to Essa and Puck. “Let’s go.”

  “Stay a minute?” It was Essa’s mom. Standing in the doorway. She was in her favorite ripped jeans and a tank top that didn’t have a back. It just tied around her neck and waist with spaghetti strings.

  Puck lifted her head when she heard her mother’s voice. She pushed away from Essa and ran toward the door. Ronnie reached out and tried to stop her, but Puck was too quick. She sidestepped his grasp and disappeared down the hall.

  “Don’t touch her,” Essa said, looking at Ronnie. Her veins felt tight, like taut ropes twisting around her heart, thrumming with tension at her temples.

  “You want me to—?” Oliver pointed at the door.

  “Yes,” Essa said. “Make sure she stays here.”

  Oliver took off down the hallway, calling Puck’s name. Essa leveled her eyes at her mother. “How could you do this?”

  Essa’s mom sat next to her on the bed and reached for the butterfly clip at the bottom of Essa’s braid. Essa pulled away. “Guess you’re not going to introduce me to your boyfriend?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Essa said. “I can’t have boyfriends. Because of you.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous. You know I don’t care if you date.”

  So. Oblivious.