by Tyler Keevil
‘Is that how the story ends?’
‘If she answers.’
Bea took the cork for the mezcal and pushed it back into the bottle. There were only a few ounces left, and I guess she didn’t want to drink it dry.
‘It’s a good story,’ she said.
‘I made some of it up, for you.’
‘I know.’
I sat with my fingers laced behind my head, smiling reminiscently. I told Bea that I thought the story of my trip was one I was destined to retell – the definitive tale of my life. And each time it would get a little more grandiose, a little more incredible, until, when I reached my grandpa’s age, it would have taken on almost mythic proportions.
‘The strangest part is,’ I said, ‘the things that actually happened seem the most outrageous. I mean, who’s ever going to believe I had a shoot-out in a karaoke bar?’
‘I know I sure as hell don’t,’ she said.
‘Me neither.’
As we considered that, I saw something flash behind her head. Then came another, and another – like bright streaks of chalk against the slate-black sky. They were shooting stars.
‘Oh, my God,’ Bea said. ‘The sky is falling!’
‘It’s the end of the world!’
‘I remember hearing about a meteor shower.’
We gazed skyward, hypnotised, until our necks began to ache. Then Bea said that if we were going to watch the world end we should at least be comfortable enough to enjoy it. The hammock seemed like the best solution. We stretched out on the netting together, lying side by side. She kept one foot on the deck to swing us back and forth. It was like being in a cradle. As we hung there, Sprite and Belle crept out – obviously wondering what the hell we were doing. They sniffed around before curling up beneath us, in their yin-yang position.
‘You might have a hard time separating those two,’ Bea said.
‘How would you feel about having a cat?’
She reached down to scratch Sprite’s ears. The cat emitted a little meow.
‘I like that the name of my pets together would mean “Beautiful Spirit”.’
A huge star skittered across the sky, as if to seal the decision. After the initial burst, they’d settled into a slower rhythm, flashing every few minutes – sometimes bright and glaringly obvious, other times so faint you wondered if you were imagining them.
‘There’s another,’ I said, pointing.
We shared a cigarette and watched the stars dart left and right, pointing them out to each other. Eventually we stopped doing that – understanding that we could both see them.
Bea said, ‘They look like aircraft contrails.’
‘They remind me of my vision quest.’
In relating the story of my journey, I’d kind of skimmed over that part – about how on my peyote trip I’d seen threads of light dripping from the sky. My lame little hallucination hadn’t seemed like an important detail, but Beatrice wanted to know, so I explained it to her. I said, ‘I guess I was trying to have some kind of epiphany.’
‘You did,’ she said. ‘That’s just like Black Elk’s vision.’
‘Whose vision?’
Apparently Black Elk was an Indian chief her dad had told her about. For Black Elk’s vision quest, he’d climbed to the top of this mountain. When he got up there, he saw threads of smoke or light coming from all the trees, all the stones, all the animals, all of everything.
‘Holy shit.’ I drew back to look at her. It was hard since our heads were so close, and the curve of the hammock kept pulling us together. ‘Did he figure out what it meant?’
Bea traced a circle of smoke with our cigarette. ‘Each of the threads was tied to the others. He’d found the place where all things join together and become one. Everything in the universe, the seen and unseen, is related. It’s a lot like Indra’s net of gems, in Buddhist philosophy, and interconnectedness. Or Jung’s synchronicity. It’s all the same shit, really.’
‘In my vision, one of the threads was attached to me.’
‘Of course. You’re connected to the universe, too. You’re part of it.’
‘You are it,’ I said. ‘As my hitcher said.’
‘Or thou art that, as the Hindus say.’ Bea yawned, stretching her jaw and baring her teeth, like a lioness. As she finished she added, ‘It’s supposed to be the key to Nirvana.’
‘If the key is that simple, why doesn’t everybody know it?’
‘Everybody does. The hard part is understanding. That takes a lifetime.’
‘I don’t think I’m that dedicated.’
‘That’s okay – us hedonists have more fun, anyway.’
She shifted around in the hammock, trying to get comfortable. I lifted an arm for her to slip under. She was a little too tall to fit, but we managed it. We were all tangled up in the mesh. Holding one side in each hand, I wrapped it around us, like our own personal cocoon.
‘It’s tragic that you’re leaving,’ Bea said.
‘How will we start your new religion?’
‘You’ll just have to go forth and spread the word.’
She slid her hand across my chest, angling herself towards me. I held her like that. I could feel my heart beating, and I could feel her heart beating, too. The rhythm was the same but the timing was completely opposite. Mine would beat, and then hers would beat, like two small animals communicating with each other.
‘Remember,’ she said, ‘we’re staying up to watch the sunrise.’
‘I don’t know if I’m going to make it.’
‘Don’t bitch out on me, Trevine.’
Her head was tucked under my chin, so that I was breathing through her hair. It smelled of smoke and honey. I closed my eyes. Some time after that we seemed to be back in the karaoke bar, with the bikers from the biker gang, and the ladies from ladies’ night. Except this time the hitchhiker was with us, too, and his brother, and Sunita, and Pigeon and his hunter friends. All the people from my road trip were at the party, even that one-armed bartender from Reno, and the old couple from the gas station. A big space had been cleared in the centre of the floor for me and Bea. We seemed to be sparring with each other, and dancing at the same time. Everybody else stood in a circle around us, clapping their hands.
chapter 74
Then came a falling sensation, followed by an impact that jolted my whole body. I was lying on the deck, with one arm folded awkwardly behind my back. Above me hung the hammock, swinging gently. I’d tipped out of it somehow.
I got up, massaging my collarbone. The table was set with three plates, a jug of orange juice, and sun-silvered cutlery. In the water by the deck I could see a bunch of moon jellyfish, hovering just beneath the surface. From out in the bay a freighter moaned, low and mournful, a monstrous rooster announcing the start of a new day.
Beatrice came out with a coffee pot and mugs.
I smiled at her. Shyly. ‘We missed the sunrise.’
‘You did. I figured I’d let you sleep.’
‘I dreamt me and you were doing this weird dancing-fighting thing.’
‘Like capoeira?’ she said.
‘Almost.’
‘I wondered why you were twitching and kicking me.’
We sat down to eat, blinking and bleary-eyed. Bea had bought a paper. We divided up the sections. She read the arts, and I read the sports. We sipped our coffee. We smoked. For a few minutes we were like a married couple.
Then Bea said, ‘Trevor?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I think you just ashed in my coffee.’
We looked. It was true. My ashes were floating around in there – even though I had no recollection of doing it. I guess I was just incredibly tired. We both started laughing, and Bea asked, ‘How about some breakfast?’
‘I’m about ready to eat again.’
She brought me toast and an organic free-range egg, poached to perfection. The white was firm, and the yolk bright and yellow, like a miniature sun on my plate. I sawed off a bite-sized slab, slid
it on to my fork, and lifted it to my mouth. The yolk was warm and gooey and leaked over my tongue. My stomach shuddered. I doubt I’ll ever taste another egg that good.
Halfway through breakfast, Venus appeared, looking leaden-eyed and bed-headed and completely dishevelled, like a revenant back from the dead.
‘Morning, baby,’ Bea said.
Venus shuffled over and fell into a chair and lowered her forehead to the table. We treated her very delicately. I poured her some coffee. Bea brought another egg out. While Venus hacked away at it, Bea told her about the meteor shower, and how she’d decided to keep the cat. Venus didn’t seem all that interested. She kept rubbing her eyes and massaging her temples. Every few minutes she hawked and spat into the water.
‘What’s the best route north?’ I asked them.
‘Take the Number 1 highway,’ Venus told me, her mouth full of toast. ‘Less traffic at this hour. Better views, too.’
Afterwards, while Bea and Venus were clearing the table, I said goodbye to Sprite. I scooped her up and sat with her on the sofa and stroked her until she started purring. Her coat had a soft sheen to it now, like ermine. I buried my face in it and blubbed for a bit.
‘You goddamn cat,’ I said, sniffling. ‘You were all I had out there.’
She eyeballed me, in that way of hers, as if to say, Keep it together, buddy. We had our time. Now that time is over. I’m happy here.
I put her back down. She strode away with her tail in the air. ‘Don’t get all snooty with me,’ I said. ‘I used to wipe your wormy ass!’
I didn’t have much to pack – just a few clothes and the dregs of my mezcal. Bea gave me a couple of her rollups for the road, and Trevine’s wig as a souvenir. She said it would keep me in touch with my feminine side. I put it on, then put my visor on over it. ‘How do I look?’ I asked her.
‘Like a complete psycho.’
‘At least I’m complete.’
Then there was nothing to do but say goodbye, and go. Bea and Venus followed me out to the street. Beatrice had Sprite cradled in her arms. Even big Belle came, bouldering down the front walk, wagging her tail. At the car Venus gave me a hug. I held her gently, as if she were an ice sculpture that might break in my arms.
‘Look after yourself,’ she told me.
‘You, too, eh?’
Then I turned to Bea. I didn’t hug her because the cat was in the way. I didn’t know what to say to her, either. I just thanked her, lamely, and got behind the wheel. ‘Well,’ I said, adjusting my visor, ‘there’s no place like home, right?’
‘Drive safe, Dorothy,’ Bea said. Then she slapped the door with her palm, making the metal ring. ‘Now click your heels and get a move on, you hear?’
‘As you wish,’ I said, and put the Neon in gear.
As I rattled away I could see them in my rear-view. They were strolling back inside. Then, just as I was about to round the corner, Bea turned and raised her hand and made the heavy metal sign – the devil’s horns. I honked and did the same out the window.
Two blocks down, I saw a news stand. I stopped and hopped out and bought one last postcard. I’d figured out what I should have told Bea. On the back of the postcard I wrote: I love you like the sun – for your light, your warmth, your generosity. Then I dropped it in a mailbox, got back in my Neon, and kept going.
On the way out of town, I crossed over a bridge. It was a long suspension bridge, with two sets of upright supports, imposing and monolithic. They looked like giant doorways, painted red. Stretching between them were strands of cable, also painted red, gleaming in the sun.
‘No way,’ I said.
I looked over at the passenger seat, to where the cat should have been. That was the first time I really missed her.
‘This must be Golden Gate Bridge,’ I whispered.
I passed through the second set of supports and felt a shiver of shadow – as if I’d gone through a portal. By the railing I saw a sign: Marin County Line. That was where Venus had told me I’d find Sausalito. At the far side of the bridge, I expected to see the actual golden gates, but there weren’t any. There was just a lookout called Vista Point.
I turned in at it.
The lookout had a visitor centre with a parking lot, surrounded by a waist-high stone wall and a circular walkway that overlooked the bay. From there you could see the whole of the bridge, arching back towards the city. I found an information board that explained they’d named it the Golden Gate Bridge because of the waterway it spanned: Golden Gate Strait.
A set of steps led down to another platform, with those tourist telescopes you can pay to use. I saw an old couple peering through one, and a pack of schoolkids playing freeze-tag. Then I noticed this family: a man, a woman and a boy. They were strolling along, taking in the view. The man had his back to me, and was wearing a bomber jacket and baseball cap, but I still knew it was him – even without the mailbag.
‘Hey!’ I called out, and waved to him.
He looked back, hesitated, and raised his hand. He didn’t seem all that stoked to have been recognised, but I trotted down to meet him anyway. The woman and boy walked a little further on, giving us space.
‘Nice disguise,’ I said.
‘I’d worn out my travelling clothes.’
We shook hands and man-hugged. It was fairly awkward.
‘So,’ he said, ‘you finally put my brother in his place.’
‘Only through sheer blind luck, like you said.’
‘I’m glad. He deserved it.’
He had both hands in the pockets of his jacket, and was moving them back and forth – making the jacket flap like bat wings.
‘And you?’ I said. ‘You finally made it to Sausalito, and delivered your letter?’
He nodded. ‘That’s my ex and our kid.’
The two of them were waiting, watching us. The kid was about twelve, and dressed like a rapper: gold chains, baggy black jeans, and a huge LA Lakers jersey that hung down to his knees. His mom was an Oriental woman with long black hair and a serene, serious face.
‘They look nice,’ I said. ‘How’s the whole family thing going?’
‘We’re not back together or anything,’ he said. ‘It’s complicated. She’s got this new boyfriend. But I can see them, at least. It’s a start, right?’
I agreed that it was a start. He glanced over at her, and held up a finger to signal that he was almost done. I noticed a strip of bandage wrap poking out from under his baseball cap.
‘What happened to your head?’ I asked.
‘Oh.’ He reached up to feel it. ‘I banged it on the sink, trying to fix the toilet.’
I stared at him, sceptically, and he started to fidget.
‘Anyway, man,’ he said, ‘it’s been good seeing you.’
‘Sure. Take care of yourself.’
‘Take care of your self.’
I smiled. I was going to miss his little parroting trick. I told him to look me up if he ever made it to Vancouver. He said he would, but we didn’t exchange phone numbers or anything. Then, as I turned to go, he asked, ‘Hey – did you sort things out with your girl?’
‘Not really. But I’m coming to terms with it.’
‘Well, there’s plenty of other –’
‘I know, man. I know.’
I couldn’t bear to hear him say it. I hadn’t driven halfway across the continent just to learn what I already knew. He hustled to catch up with his ex and kid, and I kept walking. I looked back once but couldn’t see them. They’d slipped away, like his brother at the bar.
On my way to the car, I passed a phone box. It gleamed like a beacon in the sun. I circled it a few times, trying to decide, then locked myself inside and filled the coin slot with quarters. The booth was quiet and secluded as a cloister. I picked her number out on the keypad. On her end it rang and rang. Then, just when I’d decided she wasn’t going to answer, she did.
‘Ahoj?’
‘It’s me.’
I heard some fiddling and rustling
on her end, as if she was adjusting the phone.
‘I’m glad you’re okay,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘Your parents called. They couldn’t get in touch with you.’
‘I incinerated my cellphone.’
I was gazing out across the bay. The flare of sun off water hurt my eyes, making me squint and grimace like a wounded soldier. I was feeling fairly cinematic.
‘I miss you,’ I said. ‘I guess I always will.’
‘I’m glad. Can you hold on a sec?’ She must have covered the mouthpiece. I heard some muffled voices, and then she came back on. ‘Sorry – but I can’t really talk right now.’
‘Are you with him?’ I said. I was trying to sound casual, but of course I sounded jealous, and probably a little insane. ‘Just tell me if you are.’
‘With who?’
‘This guy you’re fucking.’
She sighed. ‘No – I’m still at work. It’s not like we’re together or anything. It was just a stupid thing that happened.’
‘Oh.’
I twisted the phone cord, trying to decide how I felt about that.
‘I’m in San Francisco right now,’ I said.
‘Bea told me.’
‘She did? What else did she tell you?’
‘Not much. She said I’d have to hear it from you.’
That was a relief. At least she didn’t know about Tao and Trevine and everything.
I said, ‘Maybe I could call you when I get home.’
‘That would be good. We need to talk.’
There was a pause. A gust of wind rattled the phone booth door.
‘My evening class is starting,’ she said. ‘I should probably go.’
‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘Just hold on a second, will you?’
I closed my eyes and listened to her breathing. The credit on the phone was counting down, down, down. Then it ran out, and we got cut off.
chapter 75
North of the city, I took the Number 1 highway like Venus had suggested. It wound its way along the waterfront, like a crooked spinal column, linking the vertebrae of coastal towns and communities. I drifted through San Rafael, Tomales and Bodega Bay, floated on through Jenner and Stewart’s Point, and washed up in Mendocino. I recognised that name, but didn’t place it until I took a wrong turn and passed a tattoo parlour – Voodoo Ink – down one of the side streets. It was the spot Bea had mentioned, where she got all her ink done.