by Ina Zajac
How had the universe prodded her ahead, past the number four, and looped back around to opera again? Back to her parents, and their last year. Lately it seemed everything brought her back to her parents. Her mother was so beautiful. She wanted to be beautiful.
“Hey, Isoldey,” he was saying. “Where did you go? You just full-on zoned out on me.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. Her sincerity was absolute. Being in the past was hard work, and she wanted to play instead.
“We understand each other,” he said. “You’re not crazy to me and I don’t feel so crazy when you’re around.”
“Like we cancel out each other’s insanity,” she said. “Can two negatives make a positive?”
“We can make whatever we want,” he said. “Forever is now, so let’s just remember how we feel right now and we’ll always be good, okay, Isoldey? I’ll love you in a free way.”
“You want to love me on a freeway?” He had thrown a bucket of happiness in her face, and she was drenched. She closed her eyes and laughed for what felt like an hour. Time kept speeding up and slowing down. Her eyes were watering.
He was changing the music again. “Did I miss the Clash?”
“No, this is the happiest song in the world—ever,” he said. “Jimmy Cliff.”
“I Can See Clearly Now” floated through the speakers and ruffled the air around them.
She climbed up into his lap and straddled him. “You really like old music, huh?”
He nodded and closed his eyes while she brought her hands up to his cheeks and investigated the dark stubble on his face. It was sharp against her fingertips. He was leaning in toward her touch like a pet. She started running her hands through his hair.
He opened his eyes, and squinted at her. “I see purple wavy lines behind your head. No wait, more like indigo,” he said. “I see the same color sometimes when I’m meditating.”
“You meditate?”
He nodded. “G-Dane suggested it, for stress. It works.” He leaned in and grinned, like he had anticipated the little kisses she began to bestow upon him, just below his jaw line. She felt little prickles jumping out at her lips. She just wanted to stay like this forever. He pulled her close and she snuggled in against his chest.
His voice was warm against her. “Tell me more about you. Tell me something.”
Of course, she had something. She had once confided in Dan. Matt was not Dan, she told herself. Dan always felt too good for her somehow—too healthy and too entrenched in his faith to understand.
“I won’t laugh,” he said. “Even though you laughed at me.” He moved his hand through her hair again. The motion felt supernatural.
She felt safe enough to venture out of her emotional den and sniff the air. “A few times I’ve seen pretty colors,” she said. “Pretty lights.”
“Tell me about them,” he said. “Like stage lights? When I’m on stage, under the lights, it feels amazing.”
“They’re bright, in colors so rich they’re unreal,” she hesitated. He waited. “I first saw them when I was eleven, when my parents died. They talked to me. They know me.” She hadn’t meant to say that, but at the same time, she didn’t regret telling him. He understood her in a way nobody else ever had.
“I didn’t know,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Please don’t feel sorry for me,” she said. “People have always felt sorry for me. Being an orphan is embarrassing. I hate it.” She couldn’t believe she had uttered the word orphan. She had never said that word aloud.
“Okay, I promise,” he said.
She felt him pull her in even more. “So, these lights,” he said. “Are they angels? Spirit guides?”
“I think they’re a place,” she said. “Like another reality or a kind of peace. I don’t know.” She was high as a kite; the wind was free, and there was no string to ground her. He seemed to be trying to grasp her inner being, so she couldn’t reveal much more. She was having second thoughts. He felt perfect, but he couldn’t possibly be perfect. He could hurt her. He was a man, after all. If he never learned her truth then he could never beat her with it.
She sat up and crawled onto the leather couch, which felt cold against her skin. “Leather is weird when you think about it,” she said. “It’s skin from dead animals.”
He looked right into her. “Tell me. Trust me.”
“What?”
“I know it’s something big. Was he abusive? I mean—” He paused and continued to look into her eyes for what felt like a thousand fairy tale years. “I mean, we don’t have to get into it all right now, Isoldey. Just give me a ten-word rundown.”
“I only need two,” she confessed. And she just let them escape, “Murder, suicide.”
He bit into his lower lip, holding his breath before letting it out, slowly. Maybe it was a meditation thing. He didn’t look away. When he put his hand on top of hers, he projected so much acceptance onto her that she shivered. She felt caught up with him, in a loop of time back to that first night, when he had painted her. When she had opened her eyes and found him waiting.
“I’ll never tell,” he said. “But….”
Her heart caught. “But?”
“But, we can talk about it anytime you feel like it. Anytime. I mean it, anytime.”
Relief sprang out from every corner of the room and pounced on her like a pack of fluffy puppies. He hadn’t laughed or run away. He still sat there. He was still there. He wasn’t going anywhere. “And also,” he added. “Have I told you today?”
Her smile was irrepressible.
“You’re pretty.”
Calm, and only slightly embarrassed, she looked for her glass of water. “Let’s talk about something else. Anything else.” She grabbed her glass and sat with him again. Sex would be good, she thought. He could tell her what he wanted to do to her. That would work. She felt so close to him now, so hot for him.
At first, he was quiet, then a wide smile sprang across his face and he jumped up. “I know exactly what we should do—get up, Isoldey!” And so she did, so excited. He bent over. “Jump on my back.” She thought about the story of The Gingerbread Man that her mother used to read to her.
“I don’t know. Are you a fox? A wolf maybe?”
“Not a big, bad one,” he said. “Just moderately sized, and cool.”
“Okay, but no biting,” she said.
She thought she was hilarious, but all he said was, “Spaz.”
She loved the way he said “spaz,” like it wasn’t a bad thing. Like her awkwardness was acceptable, endearing even.
He gave her a piggyback ride over to the bottom of the staircase, paused, and readjusted her. He made his way upstairs; the paisley carpet pattern swirled under his feet like magic. She leaned forward like a jockey. “This could be a really awkward emergency room story,” she said.
“Trust,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
She smiled and thought, he’s going to ravish me. She had been thinking about it for hours, maybe days. She had spent countless rainy afternoons tucked away in her room at Bethany Christian reading about torrid sexcapades. Now she was finally going to have one of her own. Neither Thomas Seldern nor John Parrish counted because they’d been high school boys. That had been awkward, guilt-ridden Christian high school sex. This would be different. This wouldn’t be like Dan, who tasted like toothpaste. This would be awesome Buddhist sex with someone who knew what he was doing, and she couldn’t wait to learn what that felt like.
Matt made it to the landing and she smiled at the sight of that happy orange painting. He readjusted her again, and then started back up the second set of stairs.
“Where are you taking me?” Her stomach was tingling, and her cheeks were stuck in a smile.
“I want to wash your hair.”
“My hair?”
“It will feel better to you than anything I could ever do with my dick,” he said. She began laughing uncontrollably. She couldn’t wait to find out, to compare and contrast.
>
He carried her down the hallway and stopped just short of Nick’s bedroom.
“Wait,” she said. “Let’s look at Nick’s posters.”
“Do we have to?” he asked. “I hate thinking about you in his bed.” He put her down and she turned to face him.
“Nothing happened between you two that night, right?”
Oh God. She didn’t know what to say.
CHAPTER 16
NICK
NICK WALKED UP the stairs and pushed his dirty hair back off of his face. No more thinking about Matt and Short Skirt, he promised himself. It was none of his business. But he had never seen Matt look at a girl like that before. He didn’t want some engaged chick to Courtney Love his best friend.
“Nicholas is here.” Mrs. McGinnis’s announcement was followed by the hellos of several of the residents who sat playing cards in the front visiting room. Every time he walked through the doors at Wesley Gardens he went through an emotional reboot. The blush-colored walls and soft classical music brought down his stress level and elevated his overall mood. He felt like an actor walking on set and slipping into character, Nicholas the Great. His role provided him the chance to feel like a good citizen for a couple of hours. He had come twice a week since she was admitted the year before.
He smiled and gave them all a wave, taking a moment to adjust his eyes to the sour sting of ammonia. His old boots squeaked as he made his way across the linoleum. He passed by the official front desk, which was never staffed by anything other than the latest quilting project. He was happy to see the administrator’s office was dark because rent was due and he wouldn’t have enough money to cover it until they unloaded another ounce of blow. His grandmother’s house was paid for, as was the bulk of her Wesley Gardens rent. But there were extras, and he wanted her to have them. He could not imagine having to transfer her to some crappy place. Carlos had already fronted him thirty-four hundred bucks, and he didn’t want to ask for more. He hated being Carlos’s bitch boy.
He made his way toward the nursing station. Behind the long white desk, Nurse Amy was typing something into one of their ancient computers. The nursing staff at Wesley Gardens always seemed to be on their feet.
Nurse Amy was wearing baggy blue pants tied at the waist, a top printed with kittens, and a sweet smile. He liked to tease the nursing staff that the real reason they got into healthcare was so they could wear children’s pajamas to work every day without looking lazy or insane.
“Cute kitties,” he said. His tone was intentionally perverted. “It was nice to see you at the home tour, wearing street clothes. You clean up nice.” He loved to watch her blush, but knew he was pushing it. He brought his hands up in front of his face to defend himself from the imaginary slap she was inflicting with her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop,” he said on his way back toward room 218.
He hugged his grandma, took in the comforting smell of lavender, and then sat in his usual spot on the sofa next to the window. On a clear day, her view extended down the wooded hillside to Puget Sound, across the water, and out to the southern tip of Vashon Island. She seemed to enjoy her view, which was good considering units like hers, on the west side of the building, were an extra eight hundred dollars a month. He wished the view fee could be based on number of clear days per month. The past month had only been worth about two hundred bucks.
She seemed to read his mind, which was something she had been doing ever since he could remember. “The rain is beautiful.”
The weather, he thought. Is she really talking about the weather already? It was never about the rain or the wind or the sunbreaks. Nature’s talents were just launching off points into something deeper for her, pools of hippie love and forgiveness. He knew he should want to soak in her profound insights, like Matt did. He knew his time with her was precious. There were no guarantees. He could get a call any day. Still, at the same time, appreciating her wisdom was draining.
He braced himself for the metaphysical mumbo jumbo.
“Via was such a nice young lady,” she said.
The name caught him off guard. He sat up and readjusted the floral pillow behind his back. His grandmother’s couch had entirely too many pillows.
“I sense she’s a free spirit. She had to go in such a hurry, but it sounds like Matt met her at an art gallery. He said something about a painting.”
Nick chomped down on his lower lip so she wouldn’t detect his amusement. He couldn’t exactly clarify. G-Dane was progressive, but had no idea they worked at a strip club or the extent of their job responsibilities.
“She’s just a sweetheart,” she added.
Yes, he thought. Sure. Not to mention a drunk, an exotic dancer, and already engaged to somebody else.
“So, what else is going on?” he asked. “You been avoiding that bingo night drama?”
She acted like she hadn’t even heard him, just leaned in and searched his eyes. “We can talk about something else.”
Her eyes were still bright, but she did that thing she did with her smile. It was subtle, but he caught the way her lips flexed into the creases of her cheeks. He felt her energy downshift and sputter. Oh God, he realized, she’s going to die someday, and I’m going to hate myself for shit like this. He thought fast.
“The music is good though,” he offered. “Making progress on that new material.”
She sat back. Her it’s-fine-dear smile relaxed into a real one, which made his real, too.
“Have you decided what to do, about that other band? You said they invited you to do a jam with them.”
It felt good to laugh. It had been a decade since she had turned her basement over to a bunch of boys and their rock-n-roll toys, but she still couldn’t get the lingo right.
“What was their name again?” she asked. “Animal Sunshine?”
“Yep, Animal Sunshine.” That’s what he had told her because he couldn’t be honest about their real name. He would die before saying the words “Anal Sunshine” to his grandmother.
“I’ve been too busy to jam with them.” His fingers found a frayed edge on the pillow at his side. He started messing with a loose string. He regretted having told her about that. “I’ve been working on some stuff, but some lyrics would be good. Matt’s been distracted.”
“I see,” she smiled. “You know…” She looked out the window.
“What?” he asked, not sure he wanted her to drop any wisdom bombs.
“It’s your journey, it’s your decision, but it seems to me that you should talk to Matt. Maybe you two aren’t on the same page anymore. And, that would be alright, right?”
“If he gave up on the band?” Another loose string demanded his attention.
“I know he would be happy for you, if you pursued this other opportunity.”
“Obliviot just needs its own material. We can record then, and get bigger venues. We’ve got that holiday show at the Showbox, you know.” The room was feeling smaller. He was past ready to wrap up the convo. He looked at the clock on her desk, next to the picture of him and his mother. He looked away, and waited for that familiar zing to dissipate from his chest.
“You’ve always been so sure, so focused,” she was saying. “You know what you want and I adore that about you. But I hope you’ll accept Mattais’s dreams too.”
“He doesn’t have any,” he said. His cheeks were getting splotchy; he could feel their heat. “He just wants to screw around, be happy.”
Her husky laugh made him shut his mouth. “Isn’t that enough?” she asked. “Isn’t that what life is all about, being happy?”
He made himself let go of the pillow. “I get you. I’ll tell him about the offer, okay?” He felt guilty because he was pretty sure it was a lie.
Her gentle slate blue eyes beamed to him the same unconditional love she’d showered on him as a kid. The older he became—the older she became—the more meaning that look carried.
“Oh dear, you are so good for my soul,” she said.
He wanted to be th
ere for her, always. She didn’t seem to understand that his hesitation about the new band, about leaving town to tour, wasn’t really about leaving Matt behind.
CHAPTER 17
VIA
VIA JUST WASN’T SURE. She didn’t remember much about that first night, other than a generalized feeling that she had made a fool of herself. Had she hit on Nick? She didn’t have a clue, but it didn’t matter. Matt mattered.
“Why are you so worried about Nick?” she asked.
“Everybody loves Nick,” he said. “He’s great, but…”
“What?”
“He’s just crazy-talented. He’s getting impatient with me, with the guys, with Obliviot. He is so ready to get on the road, to get on a festival tour, to see the world. But I’ve been slacking, I guess. I’m what’s holding him here. Never mind. Forget I mentioned it. Please.”
He was already headed into the hall bathroom. She followed him, thrilled to just drop the subject. He pulled back the clear plastic shower curtain, leaned over the claw-footed tub, and began running the water.
“It’s an old house,” he said. “If the tub were bigger I would get in with you, but we’ll make it work. My bathroom just has a shower.”
She went over and felt the water pouring out of the silver spout. It’s warmth beckoned, and she couldn’t wait to slip into it. He came back in carrying a stool. He put it at one end of the tub and then started looking at the array of plastic bottles on the high window sill.
“I’m getting undressed,” she announced, and pulled off her shirt. She was surprised when he didn’t immediately turn around to take in her naked body.
“I’m sorry but we don’t have fancy stuff here,” he said. “I hope you aren’t super picky about brands.”