by Kate Sundara
‘Come in!’ cries April.
Mia my what? Mia my what…? I too am intrigued to know.
They climb in the van, and the cat, who’s been watching from the veg patch, darts in with them.
‘Nice to meet you,’ says April, extending her hand to Mia. April hiccups and giggles.
They step over the mess, stuff strewn all over the place – clothes, papers, pens, cracked CD cases – not much visible floor. April clears a space on the bed, Mia sits and they talk a little, but April’s eyes are glassy and she’s wearing the kind of loved-up grin that only comes from being high as a kite.
‘I love your accent,’ says April. ‘Hey Zak, I wanna be Britainish. I’m gonna speak Britainish from now on.’
Mia sniggers. Zak doesn’t react; he’s stood studying the lyrics on a CD slip.
‘Wanna smoke?’ asks April, looking between Zak and Mia with dishevelled hospitality.
‘You smoke too much,’ criticises Zak. The smile freezes on Mia’s face. How could he be so hypocritical? He gets baked before breakfast. ‘I gotta save my voice for the concert Saturday. You coming?’
‘Of course I’m coming!’
The cat leaps out of the window. April’s distracted by that for a moment then looks back at Mia. ‘You’re pretty,’ she says. ‘Zak said you were pretty. He likes the pretty ones. Zak’s last girlfriend was way pretty. But like, not just in that pretty way – I’m talking really really.’
‘—You’re wrecked,’ interrupts Zak. It’s not clear who’s more uncomfortable: him or Mia, or maybe me. I start to feel defensive or protective or something I can’t define.
‘Cat ran away,’ whines April through the silence. ‘Cat ran away because I stink.’
‘Cat?’ enquires Mia. ‘That’s its name – just Cat? Like Holly Golightly’s?’
‘Exactly! Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I love that movie.’
‘Me too.’
‘Oh Mia, you and I are gonna get along just fine.’ April looks out the window at the cat. ‘He’s all right! Aren’t you, cat? Poor cat! Poor slob! Poor slob without a name!’ quotes April. She and Mia laugh together then April falls back on her bed, closes her eyes, her golden hair spread out across the sheets like rays of sun, and yawns. Mia tries not to copy. This weather invites lethargy; it’s one of those wet days that dampens energy, the sort of day that I would have curled up to sleep, read a book, watched a film, or snuggled up in that old tree-house, just Mia and me, when we’d been swinging from the branches. But now she’s too pepped-up and stimulated by all the newness around her to relax. I’m glad that her preoccupation with all of this has taken her mind off me. How long might it last?
‘It’s way too smoky for a cat,’ chides Zak. Mia looks up at him, fascinated. She’s never heard him talk down to anyone before. He’s always so warm and friendly. Has he a different dynamic with family? He has a point though, the van’s filled with smoke from marijuana and incense. It doesn’t affect me.
April pulls herself back up. ‘My shower’s broken,’ she states. She stumbles over the mess towards what looks like a cupboard, where she wrenches out a twisted pipe with a chalky shower-head dangling from it and stands there, wide-eyed and flummoxed. ‘I can’t go to any dang concert like this! Can I come wash at your place Saturday? It’s about time I saw inside your house.’
‘You’ve never seen inside Zak’s house?’ quizzes Mia.
‘I’d hate to be an embarrassment at your gig,’ says April, continuing their compelling discord.
Mia recalls how Zak said he’s been on White Willow Lane for almost a year now. April is family and only lives a couple of streets away. How come she’s never seen inside his home?
* * *
Zak enters her dream as a butterfly. Mia feels his smile on her face, his eyelashes fluttering against her cheek… And then that herby smell again.
She turns over to see him releasing tendrils of smoke with a languid smile. He’s fully dressed.
‘You look like you’ve been up for hours,’ she says. ‘Got lots to prepare for the concert?’
Zak shrugs, gestures the pipe towards her. This time she takes it, just to fit in, just so he doesn’t start to think she’s a prude, what with her steering around the subject of sex. She splutters a bit, Zak laughs. ‘That’s cute.’
Weed isn’t good on her empty stomach and besides, she’s never really been that into it, despite her boho image. Mia lay back down, watching the smoke rise in ringlets, with lightness in her head, the tang on her tongue.
‘Why’s it called The Mach Band?’ she asks him.
Zak takes another toke, holds the smoke way down inside him, in that same place his sunshine laughter used to come from. Used to? He’s laughed since she’s been here, but it’s not the same laugh he had on the island. That laugh like a warm day, a safe place. Mia hasn’t heard that laugh in a while. Maybe the smoke’s burnt it out.
‘The Mach Band is all about darkness and light. It’s the name for that hazy ring circling a light-bulb or a candle flame that moths are attracted to.’ Zak talks affectionately, his cheek brushing against hers, his fingers drawing an imaginary circle around the light-bulb hanging from the ceiling above them. ‘To the human eye, appears lighter or darker than its surroundings in a zone of sharply differing illumination. It’s the human eye that makes the illusion.’ Zak takes another toke. ‘I’m the moth and you’re my light.’
Cupping his cheek with her palm, his face softens, his pupils dilated with love – or weed. Either way, Zak’s the most beautiful creature she knows.
‘I don’t know what you see in me,’ he says. ‘I don’t deserve you.’
‘What are you talking about, silly?’ Mia laughs but he doesn’t even smile. He looks scared. ‘You know what I think?’ she says trying to comfort him. ‘I think it’s our human nature that makes us feel insecure when everything’s this perfect. The same way our eyes fool us with those tricks of the light.’
It doesn’t work. His expression is one of despair, as if seeing some tragic future in her starry eyes. ‘I want to give you everything, Mia. I don’t want this feeling to change. I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Then don’t!’ she jests. She’s taken aback by his seriousness, but I feel on guard again. ‘Why d’you say that?’
He looks so sad, like the saddest little boy in all the world. ‘Zak?’ she urges gently. ‘What is it, what’s wrong?’ But he doesn’t move, doesn’t respond, doesn’t even blink. It’s like something beneath those deep ocean eyes is trapping him, holding him still.
After a long while, he finally looks at her, then he just blinks the sadness away.
They both fell back asleep again after that.
When Mia wakes this time, Zak’s lying there beside her, looking sleepy but with his eyes open.
‘Now it makes sense,’ she says. ‘The other day in the art-store. That girl giving us strange looks. I guess being in the band makes you a local celebrity… I’m just glad there aren’t any groupies camped outside your door.’
‘We’re not the sort of band that’d attract that sort of following. Besides, we haven’t been signed that long, not everyone’s heard of us yet.’
She gazes up, mulling things over.
‘This summer we should take a road-trip down to New Mexico. I want you to meet my parents,’ says Zak. He seems to suddenly wake up, propping himself up onto his elbow.
‘Really?’
‘They’ll love you! You’re charming and smart and’ – he starts tickling her and she laughs the house down – ‘gorgeous and mine!’. Zak grins, pulls her closer towards him, rubbing her gently with his stubble, kisses her warm on the face. He sparkles with charisma. Then suddenly turns stern again. ‘You’re The One. It’s important you all meet.’ He huddles in the nook of her neck.
Mia’s head is still full of questions. I don’t know what to think, not yet.
‘Hey Zak, if you’re just starting out with your music career then why would you hide yourself in this valley, so tucked away fro
m the rest of the world? What about all the big cities?’
‘I came looking for the valley the same reason I came looking for you.’
‘What’s that?’
‘There’s a lot of bullshit in this industry, Mia. I wanted something real, something pure.’
She breathes a laugh and claims unthinkingly, ‘Oh, I’m not so pure.’
‘No?’ Zak arches an eyebrow, his face then assuming a solemn expression as he looks intently into her eyes and growls, ‘Show me.’ He runs his fingers over the contours of her hips, into the shadow of her jeans; her hand shoots to his, seizing it on her pelvis. They look at each other for the longest time. She knows she’s going to have to tell him soon. Not the part about me – she’s nowhere near ready for that. She’s not ready for this either. She makes a nervous sound in her throat, Zak looks into her with soulful eyes, eyes that call for action or answers. Mia has no voice. She has to give him something – something – has to provide an excuse or explanation…
‘I’m nervous,’ she forces, but it’s just one factor she plucks from a bundle of concerns getting in the way of being any more intimate with him – like the fact he still knows barely anything about her. How can this love be authentic, how can it be true? Nervousness is the easiest issue to address, but not the most crucial.
‘I’m nervous too,’ he replies.
‘You are?’
He nods. ‘I’m really nervous about you seeing me play tomorrow night,’ he confesses.
She’s a little surprised that he’s cooled off and is now talking music instead. She realises he’s probably just trying to make her feel less pressured and loves him for it.
It must be love, she thinks, but why does everything feel so confusing? When will it feel right?
‘Don’t be nervous,’ she tells him, now managing a smile. She squeezes his hand, finally breaking their paralysis. ‘You’re going to be fab, you’re brilliant at everything you do.’
Zak looks at her suggestively. ‘You know I’m the creative brains behind the band. I’m pretty much all of it – those guys wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without me.’
Mia watches him, waiting for his face to crack into a smile, bracing herself for him to tickle her and make her laugh the house down again. But Zak’s mouth never curls at the corners, no wide grin grows from those bee-stung lips. And perhaps Zak isn’t suffering from delusions of grandeur, which had bemused her earlier when they stood on the summit and he declared himself King of the Mountain. Maybe he’s right about being the best bit of the band. She’s just astonished that he vocalised it.
They lie in silence, looking up out of the window, watching the clouds roll by.
‘One of the songs I sing is for you,’ he tells her tenderly.
‘It is?’ She’s flattered but not surprised. He’s emailed her so many poems during their months apart, it’s no wonder she’s wound up in at least one of his songs.
Zak nods, pupils dilated, eyes honest and full of feeling.
‘What is it?’
‘Wait until Saturday,’ he tells her.
* * *
It’s just before noon on the day of the concert when it happens.
April is in Zak’s shower. Mia makes a pun about April showers, since it’s April and it’s raining. Zak doesn’t get her double-meaning, or doesn’t appear to. And even though it wasn’t the funniest joke, I got it – we shared a similar sense of humour; sometimes we’d make each other laugh so much we’d cry. I never told her… she was my favourite thing.
‘We should be careful,’ Zak warns her – something else on his mind then. His face is full of secrets. ‘April. She might get jealous.’
‘Jealous?’
‘Of you and me. You’re with me. You know how girls can be.’
‘What… you think your step-sister has a crush on you?!’
‘I’m different from most guys, and April, she likes to be centre of attention.’ Zak stands behind Mia, wraps his arms around her waist, doesn’t see the surprised look on her face.
‘How come she’s never been here before? You’ve lived here all this time. She’s so close by.’
He shrugs, reluctant to answer her question. ‘I like my privacy.’
At least they have that in common.
‘I like living alone,’ he tells her.
Mia thinks back to the island, how she chose to live alone and respects that choice, but then she can’t help but ask him, ‘Would you rather I wasn’t here?’
Zak’s smile grows against her ear. ‘I can’t believe you asked me that.’ He doesn’t entirely answer her question, and while gently now he bites her neck, she finds herself needing more reassurance than this gesture, which half feels like an aversion, a diversion. He pulls away.
‘So you wouldn’t prefer I had my own place?’ she enquires as he starts towards his bedroom.
‘Not for all the tea in China!’ he replies in an eccentric British accent. Mia is grateful for an answer, at last, even if it is masked by theatricality. ‘Check your pockets,’ he turns back, winking.
Digging in her cardigan, she pulls out a handful of chocolate Hershey hearts. Following him into his room she gives him a thank you kiss.
The sound of something plastic and hollow falling in the bathroom.
‘April… she’s funny,’ says Mia, breathing a laugh.
‘Oh yeah,’ he growls, not meaning it. ‘She wants to be original, just like e-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y else.’ He forces a smile, which isn’t really a smile at all. He’s suddenly tetchy, prickly. ‘She needs to lay off the weed.’
That hypocrisy again – Zak’s dresser-drawer is loaded with cannabis. Mia holds her tongue. Zak has a concert in a couple of hours, this is no time to start their first fight.
‘I’m nervous for you,’ she empathises, changing the subject.
‘Why?’
‘You know… earlier… you said how nervous you were.’
‘No, I’m not nervous,’ he says abruptly. ‘What, you think this is the first time I’ve played in concert?’ Zak becomes fractious, he starts scurrying around, chewing caps off pens, scribbling things down on bits of paper – another White Rabbit episode – I’m late, I’m late, I’m late!
‘I should leave you to prepare’, says Mia, turning on her feet.
‘I’ve got to paint! So much to do, so little time. I’ve let myself get so distracted!’ Cursing under his breath, Zak sweeps a space on the dresser with his elbow, everything crashing to the floor.
Mia gasps. ‘Zak!’ He doesn’t seem to hear her. He’s rummaging around, wild-eyed and sweating like he’s delirious; energy scattered, he’s all over the place. ‘Zak?’
‘Not unless you can find my reactor,’ he snaps accusingly. He shoots her a look that could peel the paint off the walls. She’s never heard these acetones in his voice before, he’s never looked this way in her head.
‘Your what?’
‘The prototype for my animal bioreactor!’
‘What’s that?’ she asks almost inaudibly. Her heart’s racing, and not in the good way it’d done before with him. Previously she’d been intimidated by his beauty, now she’s intimidated by all of him.
‘Hey!’ he blasts, making her wince. ‘Sleeping beside me doesn’t mean you can steal my ideas!’
Mia is speechless, Zak glaring at her. ‘I’m not a one-trick pony, I’m capable of more than being in some band. So much more. So much more… It’s for the dog across the street, that’s right, he told me all about it. Says I’m the cat who walks alone – I see it all because I’m colour blind.’
‘What are you talking about? What about tonight’s gig?’ Is this stage-fright?
He laughs, a flash of something sinister in his eyes, then he looks behind her through the window. ‘Another thing,’ he says icily, eyes a colder kind of blue. ‘Could you not stand in front of windows.’ An order, not a question. ‘Anyone could be watching. You’re not supposed to be here.’ He’s pacing up and down like an agitated animal.
‘You’re trying to deceive me with your green eyes when you know I’ve a colour vision deficiency!’ He’s making links where there are none, joining dots all wrong.
‘What!’
Is this a panic attack? She had them herself three years ago, right after…
…before she got strong, before she got tough.
‘Calm down…’ She reaches to touch him, but his rebuke makes her flinch like an electric shock. ‘Just breathe. Deep breath.’ She takes one herself.
April comes out of the bathroom in a towel, sees Zak now slumped on the floor, looking lost and despondent.
‘Everything alright?’ asks April, panda-eyes popping wide.
Mia pulls the door to, with trembling hands, guarding the privacy so paramount to Zak. She presses her lips together, feigns a smile – ‘Fine’ – as always, trying to hold it all inside.
‘I’m gonna head back to the van, get in a disco-nap before the concert. I’ll see you later – meet in the Great Hall foyer, eight-thirty?’
Mia nods quickly, knowing her voice would betray her, that it would shake just as she’s shaking inside.
* * *
‘Woohooo!’ cries Zak, holding his arms up to the rain.
‘Bring it on!’ he yells. ‘Gimme all you got!’ Stripping down to his T-shirt, he ties his sweater around his waist, bounds ahead, spins around to Mia with a super-sized grin, leaps and dances down the middle of the road.
He’s changed his tune: forty minutes ago he was all hate and daggers, now he’s hand-standing his way through people’s front yards. Zak pauses to perform some moves resembling tai-chi, slowly pivoting his palms in the air like he’s convinced he’s controlling the clouds.
Zak had insisted that they took a walk downtown for coffee in spite of the weather; he’s addicted to coffee. Mia would prefer a herbal tea; she’s jittery enough without the caffeine. It’s lunchtime, but she has no appetite, stomach full with the weight of worry. His mood-swing really freaked her out, how tempestuous he could be, how volatile and explosive. Is she having this effect on him? He does have a lot going on: Mia’s arrival, suddenly sharing his living space, the concert, circus skills, wood-carving and three foreign languages he’s learning, the designs for his eco-build and totem tattoo, plus the hundred other projects he has on the go. Zak’s spinning too many plates. She falls further behind.