Wake

by Abria Mattina

  Willa answers with a skeptical “Ha!”

  I get the sense that she hasn’t been treated well before; at least not romantically, anyway. That can be remedied.

  By you?

  Shut up.

  *

  When I get home I find Elise in my bedroom, arranging clothes across my bed and folding them into an overnight bag.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, you’d just pack anything,” she says. “It’s nice when things match sometimes, you know. I’m putting together an outfit for—” She looks up and sees how dangerously close she is to having her neck wrung. “Er…do you want to bring your blue shirt or the grey one?”

  I point to the door and she drops my clothes with a huff.

  “You’re welcome,” she says moodily.

  “Thank you. But get the hell out.” I shut the door and she blows a raspberry at me from the hall.

  I fold and place the change of clothes she gave me in my overnight bag, along with an extra shirt and a pair of pajamas. Then the real packing starts. I fill a smaller bag with medication bottles, clean syringes, swabs, tape, gauze, and hypoallergenic toiletries. The gear it takes to keep me alive weighs about as much as my normal luggage. I throw the bag of toiletries in with my clothes and zip it up.

  When I go downstairs I find Eric in the kitchen with a packed bag of his own. He’s cramming snacks for the road into the last remaining spaces.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Ava said she’d give me a ride to Ottawa.” Of course, he wants to see Celeste. I have no idea why he would want to do anything other than punch her in the face, ever, but everyone has their quirks.

  It’s five-thirty by the time Ava and Emily get here. They’re driving Emily’s mom’s minivan, which is a lot comfier and smells better than Ava’s Gremlin. Not that I don’t appreciate the suspicious stains all over Ava’s car, or anything.

  Eric and I throw our bags in the trunk and pile into the backseat. Ava drove here, so Emily is driving back while Ava plays DJ with the sound system.

  “So we’re dropping you off at Celeste’s house?” Emily confirms with Eric as we head toward the 416.

  “Much appreciated.”

  Ava makes a disgusted noise in her throat as she flips through a CD wallet. “I don’t understand that bitch,” she says. Ava would think nothing of referring to someone as a bitch in casual conversation with the person’s best friend.

  “What are you talking about?” Eric demands. He knows to take Ava with a grain of salt (lime and tequila optional), but he’s loyal enough not to let a remark about Celeste slide past.

  “All the attention she gets. I guess she’s hot and all, but girls that prissy never know what to do with a guy.” Ava turns around in the front seat and flicks her tongue past her lips suggestively, showing off her new stud. The piercing sits forward on her tongue—she didn’t get that with Phil in mind.

  Eric laughs at Ava. “Is somebody bitter? You know she’d turn you down if you ever asked.”

  “I wouldn’t ask.” Ava turns around in the front seat and chooses a CD. She slides Rammstein into the CD player and Emily makes a little sound of displeasure. She’s more of an R&B girl; any kind of metal doesn’t do it for her.

  “Oh come on, what did the Germans ever do to you?”

  Ava smiles so sweetly in the face of Emily’s glare.

  *

  Morgan, Kyle and Caitlin are already at Ava’s house when we get there. When we come in the front door Ava’s brother bellows from across the house, “Where the fuck did you put the Pop-Tarts?”

  Ava screams back: “Up your ass, you stunned twat!” which is pretty much the normal way these two hold a civilized conversation. Kyle takes the box of Pop-Tarts off the coffee table and hides it under one of the throw pillows in the couch.

  Caitlin gets up to give me a hug. She’s dressed to go out: short skirt, low cut top, too much makeup, and ridiculously high heels. “Geez, you’re thin,” she says as she lets go the hug.

  “It’s the chemo diet.”

  She laughs and says she has to tell her fat bitch boss about that one. Caitlin isn’t exactly the sensitive type. She oversubscribes to the idea that whatever doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.

  Ava disappears into her bedroom with Emily, and I take a seat on the chair across from the others. They’re all dressed for a night out. I’m not.

  “Plans for tonight?”

  “Ava got us tickets to a gig,” Kyle says. It’s been forever since I’ve felt up to going out on a weekend, never mind the way we six used to. I’m not exactly prepared for it, but I want to do it anyway. I miss the sense of normalcy I get from hanging out with these people.

  Ava’s brother comes in, eating out of the box of Cap’n Crunch, and flops down on the couch next to Caitlin. He doesn’t say a word to anyone, but turns on the TV and changes the channel to Spike.

  Then he notices me. “Who are you?”

  “Jem Harper. We’ve met.” Hundreds of times.

  Both his eyebrows go up. “Oh. Shit. Didn’t recognize you, dude.”

  Ava (sort of) spares me from the awkward moment by returning to the living room in an obscenely revealing blue dress. “Is this merely slutty or full-on whorish?” she asks. Her brother doesn’t even look up from the TV. If Elise tried that shit, Eric and I wouldn’t let her out the door.

  “You know what would go well with that?” Kyle says. “A pearl necklace.”

  Ava takes her shoe off and whips it at him.

  “Easy, you’ll scare away your customers.” Everyone but Ava laughs—including her brother. She gives Kyle the finger and retrieves her shoe from the living room floor.

  “To hell with you all, I’m wearing it.” As she slips her spike heel back on she turns to me and asks if that’s what I’m wearing tonight. I have on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved cotton tee. It’s a ‘sit at home and do nothing’ outfit, not a ‘go out and get wasted’ ensemble.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “I’m lending him one of your shirts,” Ava says to her brother, who grunts at her through a mouthful of Cap’n Crunch. The shirt Ava finds in his room is too big, but it’ll work for one night.

  “Where are we going, anyway?” The usual haunts are dive concert halls. Live music is essential to a good night out for us.

  “The Plains. Biocide is playing.”

  I have a feeling that Ava has a special relationship with the band’s drummer, but I don’t want to ask.

  *

  We’re all underage in Ontario, but four of us are legal in Quebec, so we’ll be going to Hull tonight. Caitlin and Morgan will have to rely on fake IDs. As is traditional, we pre-drink at Ava’s house because it would piss her dad off if he ever found out.

  Kyle sets up six shot glasses along the coffee table and uncaps a bottle of tequila.

  “Just five,” I tell him as he’s about to pour.

  “Are you the driver tonight? You can have a small one, man.”

  “I can’t. It screws with the meds.”

  “Not even a little bit?”

  “Nope.”

  Kyle shakes his head. “You don’t even sound disappointed. Small town life—makes people boring and complacent.”

  Emily punches him in the shoulder. “Shut the hell up, Kyle. He has cancer.”

  “No I don’t.”

  There’s an awkward pause before Ava grabs the bottle from Kyle and starts pouring out shots. “None of this cancer bullshit,” she says. “We’re all gonna live forever. Sláinte!”

  They all toss their shots back. Emily is trying to look anywhere but at me, and I’m doing the same with Ava. I thought she was just being Ava last time I saw her, but this clinches it: she can’t let go of the old me; the one that Emily couldn’t find. She wants to continue to live the uncomplicated existence of a normal teenager, and for me to be a part of that again. I can’t. Life doesn’t work backwards.

  They pre-drink awhile longer. As the only sober one, I en
d up being the driver as we all pile into the minivan. We’ll have to park at least three blocks from The Plains because this setup screams high schoolers.

  The usual Saturday crowd is out and in fine form. Ava knows the bouncer from her last gig here and manages to get us inside without too much of a wait. It’s nice to know people in low places, because I’m not exactly keen on standing out in the frigid night air for long. I don’t tolerate extreme temperatures very well.

  Inside, The Plains is one of those places that has clearly seen better days. That’s what we like about it. The floorboards are scratched and rotting, the graffiti on the walls and fixtures is full of outdated cultural references, the paint is peeling, the furniture is broken, and the lights are supposed to flicker like that. The only part of the place that doesn’t predate the birth of most patrons is the owner’s pride and joy: a state-of-the-art sound system—what makes The Plains such a hidden gem.

  Kyle heads to the bar while the rest of us hunt for a booth near the back. He comes back with a tray of drinks.

  “I just got you a ginger ale,” he says, passing the glass to me. Ginger ale is probably the gentlest option on the menu, but I still drink it cautiously. I haven’t had a carbonated drink in a long time. Refined sugars taste bitter to me now.

  Ava and I always come to these types of places for the same reason: to get caught up in the sound until nothing else can possibly exist. We all have our pleasures—Caitlin comes to dance, Kyle likes to get wasted, and Emily is a flirt. Morgan always manages to meet the most interesting people on random nights out. It’s like she attracts oddballs—or maybe that’s how the six of us became friends, in her orbit.

  “We’re dancing. Now,” Ava says when she’s finished her drink. She grabs my hand and tows me away from the booth. We pass by Emily, who is talking sweetly to a guy wearing sunglasses indoors, and Ava says, “You have a boyfriend, you whore.” She scurries away before Emily can give her hell for ruining her conquest.

  As I follow Ava to the centre of the crowded dance floor, I can’t help thinking this is a bad idea. I don’t have the energy for stuff like this. I’m going to be black and blue by midnight. But… I miss this. I miss going out and not giving a shit and getting buzzed on cheap drinks and raw music. I miss Ava being a cocktease (she doesn’t screw friends) and sneaking home at three o’clock in the morning and trying to convince Mom that I’m sober.

  It’s no secret that Ava wants to pick up tonight. She’ll be with me until the second set ends, and then she’ll go corner the drummer and they’ll go fool around in the bathroom. Typical Saturday night, really. I savor the time we have together, just the two of us; we’re both convinced that only true musicians really get the feeling of being completely swept up in the crowd and the music. It moves us and pretty soon I don’t care about the sweet pounding in my ears or the elbows in my sides or the smell of spilt beer and sweat. I’m so busy ignoring all the shit that has no place here tonight that I don’t immediately understand the look of fear that Ava gives me when the second set finishes.

  “Dude.” She grabs my arm with concern. I look down and realize I’m shaking. She pulls me to the side of the building, away from the press of bodies, and without the heat of the other patrons around me I suddenly feel cold.

  “You look ready to pass out.” She puts a hand to my clammy forehead and offers to get me a bottle of water.

  “No, no. I just need air.”

  Ava purses her lips and nods. She doesn’t offer to come with me like Emily would, because she doesn’t like to cozy up to the idea that I’m really ill.

  I make my way out the side door, into the alley. I lean against the opposite wall and try to get a decent breath. Everything hurts and my ears are ringing. My entire body feels like lead. Without the distractions of the club, all I can feel is the pain and the mingled scents of spilt booze, sweat, and nearby trashcans. The shirt Ava loaned me is soaked through with perspiration and I’m starting to shiver. There’s a crowd out front, so I head in the opposite direction. It doesn’t even occur to me where I’m going until I’m halfway there, but I end up back at the minivan.

  There are worse places to crash. I get in and angle the driver’s seat back as far as it will go, trying to relax my sore body. I am going to have so many bruises tomorrow it’s not even funny. Elise is going to scream me stupid.

  I can’t decide if tonight was worth it or not. Maybe if I had been well enough to actually do all the things I used to love, I would enjoy a night out more. This just feels like I’m imitating the life of someone I don’t even know anymore.

  The clock on the dashboard says it’s one o’clock. It’ll be at least another hour before the others decide to pack it in. I don’t know if I’m up for any more. I might just stay in the car and sleep a little, waiting for them.

  That is such a lonely thought.

  I call Willa, only half expecting her to answer her phone at this hour. It takes four rings, and when she does pick up she whines sleepily, “Whaaaat?”

  “The Stones broke up.”

  “You’re so full of shit,” she slurs. Even half asleep, she knows how these conversations usually go. The familiarity of her response makes me smile.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sleeping, dickhead. Don’t tell me this is a social call.”

  “I just wanted to see how your night went.”

  “I cooked. I cleaned up. I did homework. I went to bed. ‘Kay?”

  “Aren’t you going to ask about my night?”

  “You don’t sound happy, so you’re probably calling to complain.” The blankets rustle as she resituates herself in bed.

  I chuckle dryly at her assumption. “It was a good night out.”

  “You went out?”

  “I’m in Hull.”

  “How is it?”

  I pause to think about that. The streetlamp throws an orange glow across the raindrops on the windshield. The Ottawa lights across the river make an impression on the cloudy sky. This city used to seem so alive. Now it just seems…cold. Like someone I used to know a long time ago, and kept fondly in memory, but now it seems ugly and standoffish. Or maybe that’s me.

  “I hate it.”

  Willa hums like she’s amused. “That’s why in books you can’t go home again.”

  “I should have brought you with me.”

  “Don’t be such a stick in the mud. Let your friends show you a good time.”

  “Yeah, I know. But you make things…nicer.” She would have come with me to get some air, at least. Ava’s probably got her tongue down that drummer’s throat by now.

  “Is Emily being mean to you again?”

  “She’s okay.” Emily can’t help the way she is around me. I don’t like it, but I forgive her for it.

  “Stick it out. You’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “I know.” I let out a sigh and try not to think about how many hours exist between now and then. “Thanks for talking to me.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”

  “Thanks.” That just turned my whole night around.

  “Goodnight.”

  “Sleep well.”

  I wait for her to hang up first, but then she says, “Oh, Jem?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you ever call me at one o’clock in the morning again for anything less than the Stones breaking up, you’re getting kicked in the balls. Hard.”

  I laugh and she hangs up. I feel better, but I don’t want to go back to The Plains. I want to sit here and be alone with thoughts that lighten a body that feels too heavy to move. I turn on the radio and doze against the headrest. A knock on the window interrupts me.

  Kyle opens the car door and looks in on me with concern. He sways a little bit and can’t focus his eyes. “You alright man?” His words run together and his breath reeks of rum.

  “Yeah. Just taking a break. I’ll meet you back in there.”

  Kyle shuts the car door, but he doesn’t go back to The Plains.
He walks around the passenger side and gets in next to me. “I’ll wait with you.”

  “You don’t have to.” I’m not exactly eager for his company when he’s been drinking. This isn’t even Kyle the Shitfaced Asshole yet. This is merely Kyle the Drunken Moron. The difference is about two drinks and one minor injury.

  Kyle looks over at me with a sad smile. “You’ve been alone too long, man,” he says. “I still talk to your sister, you know. She said…nah, never mind.” He turns to look out the windshield with a burdened expression.

  “When were you talking to Elise?” Kyle is a great guy, but he’s not the sort of person I want lurking around my little sister. His reputation of bullshit and whimsy precedes him.

  He shrugs. “On Facebook. I would have come out to see you more—during, I mean—but this whole not having a car thing limits my range.” He takes a cigarette out of his pocket and sets it between his lips. I grab it from him and throw it out of the car before he can locate his lighter.

  “Hey,” he whines.

  “Cancer patient,” I tell him slowly and loudly. “Are you that dense?”

  “It’s not like it was lung cancer,” he complains. Kyle sets his lighter on the dash and pats his pockets for another smoke. I take his lighter and whip it over my shoulder into the back seat.

  “Good luck finding it.”

  “That wasn’t even my lighter!”

  “Your problem, not mine.”

  Kyle turns around in his seat and seethes like a bratty child. We don’t say anything else for a while. He takes out a stick of gum and chews loudly, and I just let my thoughts drift to the sound on the radio.

  “A few people recognized you in there, you know.”

  “What?”

  “Some people saw you with Ava and asked if it was you.”

  “Who asked?”

  Kyle shrugs. He isn’t going to give me an honest answer. “Kids from around school. Nobody important.” That could mean anybody. It doesn’t even matter because I don’t go to school here anymore, but it bothers me that on Monday morning people are going to be murmuring in the hallways about what a shell Jem Harper has become. It’s enough to make me glad that I moved away before getting sick. Being invisible in Smiths Falls is better than falling from my place on the social ladder in Ottawa.