Out of Reach

by Carrie Arcos

  Tyler wrapped his arms around his chest.

  “You wanna move closer to the fire?” I asked him.

  “Sure, if you want to.”

  We walked toward the nearest pit. A tall, leggy girl smiled at Tyler and started talking to him. The fire cast shadows across her face, and I could tell she was wasted. Tyler seemed at ease talking to the girl, but he kept glancing in my direction. Irritated, I walked away.

  People huddled together, talking and smoking cloves, pot, and cigarettes. As I peered at their faces, most people nodded in my direction as if they knew me. A group of girls in bikini tops and shorts danced and laughed. Some coupled up and made out, not caring who watched.

  I saw Dillon huddled around another fire pit with some guys. They drank out of red plastic cups. Dillon looked like he was in the middle of telling them a funny story. He wasn’t a bad guy, I decided. My hands were cold away from the fire, so I shoved them into my pockets, where my fingers touched a small piece of paper. I pulled it out and saw that it was the number from Micah’s pants. My body tensed. It couldn’t be that easy.

  Tyler made his way to me in the dark.

  “Where’s your friend?” I asked coyly.

  “What friend?” he responded just as coyly.

  “Dillon’s over there.” I pointed and put the number back inside my pocket. No, it couldn’t be that easy.

  We watched as everyone around Dillon started cracking up. “Entertaining as usual.”

  Dillon saw us and waved us over. He introduced us to his group.

  “Tyler’s a musician,” he said to a guy named John who sat in the sand and picked at a guitar.

  “Yeah, what instrument?” John asked.

  “Bass, mainly.”

  “And guitar and he sings, too,” Dillon said.

  John held out his guitar to Tyler.

  “No, man. I’m good.”

  “Come on,” Dillon said. “Play something.”

  Tyler grinned in my direction and took the guitar from John. He started strumming a song that Micah had written two years ago. It was called “Stalker Girl,” after this girl who used to follow him around from show to show. Sarcastic, with a cool hook, it kind of became their signature song. I had heard it many times, but always with Micah’s voice and with a full band. Tyler never sang lead. He harmonized here and there, but you couldn’t really hear him that well.

  Tyler sang the opening line, “She’s standing in the corner, red lips pouted in my direction,” and I was shocked. He could sing, maybe even better than Micah.

  Someone offered me a smoke and I passed. Already dizzy with pot fumes, I didn’t need to be taking in any more.

  Acoustic, the song had a totally different feel from the way I remembered. Tyler didn’t seem at all shy about singing, either. Who knew? When he finished, everyone applauded.

  “Keep going,” John said.

  Tyler glanced at me and I nodded. It’s not like we had anywhere else to go.

  Tyler launched into the Beatles’ “Love Me Do.” Then something funny happened. There was this kumbaya kind of moment where everything clicked. It was like when you’re driving and a song comes on the radio and changes everything. You’re transported somewhere else, even though you’re just sitting in traffic or driving to school.

  By the time Tyler began the second chorus, we were all singing with him. I couldn’t say it was the most amazing sound, but it was pretty awesome. People started gathering around us. Another guitar appeared and requests were shouted out from the audience. After a couple more songs, Tyler handed the guitar back to John and we untangled ourselves from the crowd.

  “I didn’t know you could sing like that,” I said as I plopped down on the sand a little closer to the water. I lay back to take in the night sky. Next to me, Tyler did the same.

  The sky was huge and seemed extra full of stars. “Why didn’t you ever take the lead in the band?”

  “Micah’s more of a front man. I don’t mind being a supporting player.”

  Which meant Micah probably did, I thought.

  “They’re beautiful,” I said, watching the stars. The sand felt cold beneath me, but it was so peaceful lying there with the sound of the ocean, I didn’t want to move.

  “I guess. You know, they’re only giant balls of gas burning billions of miles away.”

  “You did not just do that,” I said, but I couldn’t help grinning.

  “Maybe.”

  “Quote The Lion King.”

  “Pumbaa is one wise warthog.”

  I laughed and sat up. “Do you think he’s still here? Be honest.”

  “If I were Micah, I’m wondering, what would keep me here?”

  As Tyler spoke, a small black shape came toward us. It emerged slowly from the water, gradually getting bigger as it approached. As it got closer, I realized it was someone carrying a surfboard. A few seconds later, the large surfboard stuck itself in the sand next to me.

  “Hello,” a guy said, and shook his wet hair, getting some of it on my legs. “Sorry about that.” He pulled a towel out of a bag that lay in the sand close to where we sat.

  “No problem,” I said.

  “Here.” He took his towel and wiped off one of my legs.

  “I’m all right, thanks.” He was a bit too forward for my liking.

  “Awesome night.” The surfer toweled off and faced the dark water.

  Tyler had sat up and moved closer to me.

  “You were surfing in the dark?” I asked, pointing to the black sea. I sometimes stated the obvious. I liked to think of it as processing out loud.

  “Yeah. Not much in terms of waves, but I like to just sit there. Think. Commune with nature. Whatever you want to call it. It’s a bit freaky because you can’t see shit, but it’s kind of cool, too. You should try.”

  “Oh no,” I said. “I want to be able to see whatever’s going to eat me.”

  The guy laughed.

  “Nothing’s going to eat you,” Tyler said.

  “There are sharks and jellyfish and who knows what else swimming near the surface in the middle of the night. I’ve seen the movies.” Actually, I watched Shark Week every year. It was one of Micah’s and my favorites; well, it used to be. We hadn’t watched it this year. “My brother loved sharks. He wanted to go cage diving with the great whites before he died.”

  “South Africa, then. That’d be the place to do it.”

  “You been before?” Tyler asked.

  The guy shook his head. “Name’s Eric, by the way.”

  “Tyler, and this is Rachel.” We all shook hands as if we were at some business meeting. “You live around here?”

  Eric nodded. “A couple miles in. You?”

  “No. Visiting.”

  I was about to ask him about Micah, when Eric unzipped his wetsuit and peeled it off his muscular body. He wrapped a towel around his midsection to change and I looked away.

  “All right.” Eric pulled his shirt over his head and stuffed his wet towel in his bag. “Enjoy.” He picked up his board and started walking up the beach.

  “Nice guy,” I said. Tyler remained quiet.

  “Not too bright.”

  I detected a tone. “Seemed fine to me.”

  “Surfing at night without a buddy? Stupid.”

  I wanted to argue, but I didn’t. It had been a while since someone had been jealous over me.

  Dillon stumbled up on us from behind, and I mean stumbled. He fell on top of Tyler and kind of flipped over in the sand.

  “Been looking for you guys all over. Thought you might have bailed.”

  “You found us,” I said, not thrilled.

  He crawled over to where I sat. “I got two more leads.” He put his arm around me, and I had to pry it off. I hated being around people when they were drunk.

  We helped Dillon to his feet. He was kind of, well, as he would have said, shit-faced.

  “I got it.” Dillon pushed us away and steadied himself. He closed his eyes and stood with his arms
out at both sides, like a guy balancing on a wire. “Ready,” he said, and opened his eyes.

  We walked back up the beach to Dillon’s car.

  “Keys.” Tyler held out his hand to Dillon in the parking lot.

  Dillon looked as if he might challenge, but he just unchained them from the loop on his shorts and tossed them to Tyler. It took a bit of maneuvering, but we ended up leaving the lot like this: the three of us crammed together in the front with Tyler driving and me in the middle. My bare legs touched both Dillon’s and Tyler’s, so I scooted more toward Tyler.

  Dillon directed us away from Mission Beach and inland. We drove down a narrow suburban street with eerie yellow streetlights. Shadows grew and became more prevalent in the low light, suggesting danger. I imagined eyes following Dillon’s car as it slowly made its way down the street. Total darkness or total light would have been better.

  We stopped in front of a plain, one-story, stuccoed white house. It was almost invisible because it looked like so many others. A hedge of small shrubs separated the perfectly manicured yard from the neighbors. Behind drawn blinds, light shone from a couple of rooms. Someone was home.

  “So . . . you think Micah’s here?” I asked.

  “Maybe.”

  Dillon leaned back on the seat and closed his eyes. “When you get to the door, just ask if they have any shit.”

  “Shit?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  I was confused.

  “It’s what people call meth when they go looking for it,” Tyler said.

  That hadn’t been on the list of names my research had turned up. “Why?”

  “Because it tastes like shit,” Dillon said, slurring his words. “Are you going to go or what?”

  “Maybe you should stay in the car,” Tyler said to me.

  “No,” I looked at Dillon, whose eyes were closed like he was already asleep. “I’m going.”

  “Just stick close to me, please,” Tyler whispered before we left the car.

  I followed Tyler up the small brick pathway to the front door. Tyler knocked three times and the door opened. A young woman with short blond hair, wearing a pink sweat suit, stood in the doorway and looked us up and down.

  “Yes?”

  “We heard you might have some shit,” Tyler said.

  She opened the door and motioned for us to come inside. I hesitated for a moment, getting this feeling that if I crossed that threshold, there would be no turning back. Micah’s face flashed in my mind, giving me courage. I held my breath and entered.

  Inside the house, everything looked like you’d expect it to from the outside: a living room with a couch and a love seat, a TV mounted on the wall, a hallway with doors to what were probably bedrooms. The TV played one of my favorite shows, and some people sat on a couch watching. One guy, a surfer type, turned his head and nodded “hey” when he saw us standing there. No Micah.

  I was about to show the woman his picture, when she asked, “How much?”

  “Just a hit,” Tyler said, holding out some cash.

  What was he doing? I pretended that buying drugs was a normal part of my life and that I did it all the time. Which meant that I looked away, shoved my hands in my pockets, and acted disinterested.

  The girl took the money and went into the kitchen. “Cute” was written on the butt of her sweatpants. While she was gone, one of the doors opened down the hallway and a man in a tie and gray slacks walked past us. I recognized the smell on him—kind of like a shower curtain. He smelled like Micah did when he used.

  “Here,” the girl said when she returned. She held out a small clear bag with some crystals. “You can use the room with the open door if you’d like.”

  “Thanks,” Tyler said, taking the bag and my hand. She went to sit with the others on the couch.

  Tyler flipped on the light switch and closed the door behind us. A single bed lay against the wall next to a desk with a lamp. There was also a small chair with a basket of children’s books next to it. A basketball hoop, the kind that you played with a Nerf ball, was attached to the back of the door. Micah had had one when he was younger.

  I sat on the bed and wondered, Had Micah ever sat here? It’s not like he would have left me a sign like Micah was here, scratched into the wall, though I looked for any clues. My hands felt the blue comforter. Maybe he’d smoked and sat in the chair reading Curious George, a childhood favorite.

  Drug paraphernalia, a pipe and a lighter, rested on the desk. A one-stop drug house. Convenient. Tyler set the bag of crystals down next to the pipe.

  I got up and stood next to him. The bag was so small. So insignificant.

  “Doesn’t seem like much,” I said.

  “It’s enough.”

  I picked up the bag and cradled it in my hand. Crazy to think how the mess with Micah started with this. Opening the bag, I dumped its contents into my palm. It hardly weighed anything at all. I bent to smell it. Nothing. Odorless. My body suddenly shook like it was cold, except it wasn’t. A strong desire came over me; I wanted to try it. I wanted to see what Micah saw, to feel what he felt. To know what it was that stole him from me, as if then I might understand it better. All I needed was a small glimpse of his world. I could taste the crystals, just a little prick of the tongue. No one would know, except Tyler. Who would he tell? It probably wouldn’t even make me high.

  As if he’d heard my thoughts, Tyler reached for my hand that held the bag and closed his around mine. He walked me over to the small bathroom attached to the bedroom. He turned on the hot water in the sink, but then he pulled away. He gave me the choice. I stood there for a while. In the end, I watched the crystals disappear down the drain. The water burned my hand, but I kept it there, even though it turned bright red.

  We walked back down the hallway. The woman in the pink sweats got up from the couch.

  “Thanks,” Tyler said.

  She led us to the front door.

  “I wanted to know if you’ve seen him,” I said, and showed her my worn picture of Micah.

  “No.” She didn’t even look at it. “You can try them.” She pointed to the couch.

  At least they looked at the photo, but no one knew Micah. The chances, of course, had been miniscule all along. We were at some random drug house. One out of probably thousands in the city. Was I prepared to go to each one?

  “You a girlfriend?” the woman asked me when I was back outside. She leaned against the frame of the door.

  “No, sister.”

  “Want some advice?”

  Not really, I thought. I shrugged.

  “Stop looking.” She flicked her cigarette down on the walkway. “When he’s ready, he’ll come to you.” Then she shut the door.

  As we walked to Dillon’s car, I rubbed the palm of my hand, which pulsed red and raw in the cool night air.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  In the car, Dillon was passed out in the front seat with his mouth open. Tyler tried waking him by saying his name and then shaking him, but he wouldn’t budge. I slapped him in the face. He only grunted.

  Tyler got behind the wheel again, and I sat on the other side of Dillon. We pulled away just as another car drove up to the house. I didn’t even bother to see if it was Micah because I knew it wouldn’t be.

  The first corner Tyler took sent Dillon sliding toward me. His head fell on top of my shoulder. I pushed him toward Tyler.

  “I’m driving.”

  “I know, but I don’t want him on me. His breath stinks.”

  We alternated shoving Dillon back and forth between us a couple of times before Tyler stopped at a curb.

  “Here, help me move him to the backseat,” Tyler said.

  He grabbed Dillon’s upper body, and I pushed the rest of him toward Tyler. As Tyler pulled him out of the car, I ran around and grabbed his legs again. I stumbled under the weight of him. For a short guy, Dillon must have been all muscle. Tyler lost his grip, and he and Dillon fell onto the asphalt. Tyler and I froze, waiting for Dillon t
o shout or something, but Dillon’s eyes stayed closed. I giggled.

  “Come on,” Tyler said, but he laughed too. He picked himself up, got hold of Dillon again, and backed him into the backseat. I struggled to help Tyler. Eventually, Dillon lay facedown on the black leather seat with his butt up in the air.

  I groaned. “We can’t leave him like that.”

  Tyler pushed Dillon into a sitting position, and I latched a seat belt around him.

  “Do you know where we are?” I asked Tyler when we got back into the front seat.

  “I have an idea, but my phone would be good right about now.”

  “Let’s just drive.” I leaned the side of my head against the window. “I don’t care where.”

  Tyler started the car again.

  “We could even drive straight to morning,” I said. It had to be past midnight already.

  “All right, straight to morning.”

  The day had been a total wash. No phone. No Micah. Car stolen. God, I kept forgetting about that one. No way home.

  Tyler turned on the radio and tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. He sang along to Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream.” He sounded ridiculous, but that was the point. He made me laugh, and I started to think the day hadn’t been a total wash.

  Tyler said he couldn’t just drive without any direction, so he decided to alternate between turning right and left at each intersection he came to. We zigzagged our way past homes and stores and gas stations. Nothing looked familiar and yet everything looked familiar.

  I glanced back at Dillon. He snored pretty loudly.

  “I would hate to sleep in the same bed with him.” I cringed thinking how that must have sounded. I hadn’t meant for it to come out that way. “I mean, you know—”

  Tyler didn’t even notice. “I know, think about his poor mom. You could hear that through the walls.”