by Kate Sundara
‘Quit it, Brent. It’s never going to happen. Go back to the party.’
He locks both her hands in his this time, teasingly. She knows he’s just goofing around in his boyish way, but she regrets kissing him that night more than ever. Give an inch, he’ll take a mile…
She could hold her own if it came to it: one quick knee between his legs and he’d be down on the carpet, but that’s way too drastic. ‘Let go,’ she growls.
Brent laughs in her face.
She spots something out of the corner of her eye, in the glass she filled with water, fluttering, something struggling for life.
‘Let go, let go, let go! There’s a moth drowning!’
‘So! What the… it’s just a moth!’
‘Let go!’
Calling on what’s left of her energy, she shoves him backwards and Brent goes flying onto the bed.
‘What are you doing?’ he frowns as she darts to the glass, scoops out the moth and rests him on a flannel. Him – of course it’s a him – just like the bluebird she rescued on the island – just like me. I want to tell her, It isn’t me, it isn’t me… But, in a way, it is me.
She looks back at a bamboozled Brent.
‘You’re a weird girl,’ he says.
I have to find a way to tell her; if either of us are to move on. Until then we will carry on like the rolling and receding waves of the ocean, flowing forward only to be pulled back.
To break out of this is in the letting go, in the letting her know it is not her blame to burden.
She couldn’t reach me and it wasn’t her fault. But how can I reach her?
The following night on the road is an earthier affair. The group cross a state border and camp in the woods, pitching their tents in the soil at dusk. Mia’s at peace with all things tonight, aided by the joint she’s smoking with Amber. Things change, as Wil said. Mia has never really smoked anything before, save a suck and splutter of weed at Zak’s insistence and her own desire to fit in. Seeing the erratic effect it had on him put her off it, but that’s different: he smokes in excess. One of its finer properties, if consumed moderately, is relaxation. Mia needs to relax. She, Tess and Amber prepared dinner last night so they’ve been told to take it easy. Amber rolled the doobie and they cracked open some beers.
‘You gotta hold it deep down in your lungs,’ Amber instructs her. ‘Inhale! That’s it… You got it!’
Mia exhales the smoke coolly now, almost expertly. She’s getting a taste for the plant, a liking for its smell and for the stress-relieving elation it provides. The dopamine starts to make everything buzz. She watches everyone around her function in slow-motion. She feels at one with nature and how amazing it is to observe it this way: to be symbiotic with the dancing flame, the shining leaves, the pulsating stars.
The boys are stoking the fire and hoisting a canister of camp-food high up into a tree. Jake’s standing on a rock, trying to spear fish. Wil, to her alarm, is loading a gun (‘Just for emergencies, Mia – to scare off, not to kill.’), Megan’s shaking out a tea-towel over the glacial river. How funny, thinks Mia: all these years of supposed evolution and here they are on their first night in the wild: men hunting and gathering, women cooking and washing, she observing their primal instincts and marvelling at the curious impulses that make up human nature.
A little while later they’re all gathered back around the camp-fire, drawn to its heat as the surrounding temperature drops. Intoxication by firelight, two factors that can significantly alter the way a person looks. Mia regards people she sees all the time and starts to see them from a new angle, their appearance changing right before her eyes. It’s like looking for stars in the night sky: the longer she gazes the more she sees. Wil, for example: all this time he’s been by her side no matter what else was going on, but who is this man? Where did he come from? What makes him tick? Through the growing fire she stares at him then laughs quietly and only to herself. She begins to find Wil both amusing and fascinating; the way he jokes with the boys, his thin but aesthetically pleasing lips breaking over his teeth into a transfixing smile. To Mia that smile is contagious. And though she watches the others, too – Brent, Megan, Amber, Georgia, Eric, Tess – her hazy gaze keeps returning to Wil. She realises she was wrong and unfair to mentally label him a geek. He’s not a geek. He’s smart, knowledgeable. And she has new knowledge too; her eyes opened clear and wide so she can perceive beyond the smoke and mirrors which have tricked her thus far. She considers Wil from her new heightened perspective – all their one-to-ones he’s encouraged, all the times he’s listened and supported her. He’s so reasonable and well-adjusted and easy-going, and recently all these traits seem very appealing. Wil’s been a good friend and she’s taken him for granted, she sees that now. Aside from Ruth, he’s her most loyal companion out here.
‘You okay, Mia?’ asks Eric, nudging her playfully. ‘You look wasted!’
‘I do? Well, substances alter how a person looks but also how a person sees. Now who’s a geek?’
Eric scrunches up his nose, ‘What?’ They both get the giggles, then can’t stop themselves.
She’s out of her mind on the marijuana, everything effortlessly hilarious. Her body convulses till her belly hurts, till tears roll from her eyes and she howls with laughter. The rare sensation of droplets down her face reminds her of the day she cried on the church steps in front of Wil after years without tears, and how she’s changing in more ways than one. That’s enough to sober her, eventually. She glances Wil again. He looks at her and looks away.
Mindful of changing perceptions, her mind turns to Zak, though she no longer allows herself to stew over him too long, not even stoned. How intriguing, she finds it, that someone’s entire appearance can change the moment you get to know them; how someone really, really attractive – if you don’t like their behaviour – can become almost ugly to you, whereas someone you’ve never fully noticed before, once you get to know them, can become the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and all you want to do is be around them. As Mia looks back at Wil she catches a flash of Ruth’s attraction, like some cross-wire, or double short-circuit, like when you’re listening to the radio and it switches to another frequency, like when you’re speaking with someone on the phone, then there’s another voice on the line. Fast as it comes, the interference is gone. Yes, it’s weird what the mind can do with weed-filled lungs and a heart that’s burnt out and empty. She surmises that inebriation by firelight can make you can see things differently, but if you’re lonely or hurting or hungry enough, you can see things that aren’t even there.
Like a trick of the light…
Mia stands to go search out a sweater. It’s chilly and the night air pinches where it’s not licked by flames. The heady buzz is stronger than ever; all of nature breathing, animated, alive! She feels, sees, smells, hears everything so much clearer, creation multi-dimensional: she can hear the trees and grass growing, can taste the minty moon on her tongue; even the sparkling river rushing by is so much a part of her that she’s not afraid of it, not here, not now. The illusory filter that separates each life force is gone, all elements coexisting in perfect balance and intrinsic to the sum of the whole. Everything speaks of love and goodness, letting Mia know that she too belongs in all of this. She holds up her hands in front of her, connecting to the cosmos, letting herself be at one with all living things. And this could be our chance to connect, I think – this, now, is when she could see me – so I give it my best, casting all my love energy to her.
But she doesn’t see me. She sees Wil’s sleeping-bag laid out beside hers inside the tent, and instead she’s just thankful that she’s not sleeping next to Brent tonight.
She finds herself dabbing on white musk perfume oil, then realising the absurdity of what she’s doing, annuls the action before she has to question it. Outside, she washes the pretty scent off her downstream. This wilderness is home to bears and they’re drawn to smells of all kinds – perfume, toothpaste, food, bodily fluids. She
tells herself to snap out of her silly musings about Wil: she’s grateful to him for his friendship, but that’s no reason to get carried away; she knows she should be smarter than to confuse gratitude for something more. Yes, Wil’s started to pay her extra attention since he saw her in her broken-hearted honesty – she feels his gentle watch over her whenever they’re in the same space – but she doesn’t want his pity, him thinking she’s his responsibility, that he has to look out for her. No. Mia Hart has more pride.
She trudges off into the woods to relieve herself of the beer she’s been drinking, thinking, as she squats in the shrubbery, that she could convince herself she’s in love with this tree here if she just spent enough time around it, or if she believed it listened to her. Besides… Wil? Even if she did feel any attraction towards him, she wouldn’t act on it, she’d never do that to Ruth.
It’s just the weed, she thinks, making me love.
* * *
Starry reflections shimmer around naked bodies that slide into steamy water. The guys are naked, at least. Hot-springing is a top Dale bunch pastime, they seek them out and here in the wilds, now just south of the Canadian border, there are plenty of them. The activity is free and, other than having to climb the crags, near effortless. The group have covered vast kilometres today on the open road, scenery flying by, sweeping vistas, prisms of colour and spots of light made by specks of desert dust on the windscreen. But now their limbs are liberated from the confines of the cars, and the warm liquidity of these mineral spas ease their muscles.
‘The thing about hot-springs is they really are hot. Even in the water I sweat,’ says Heather.
Amber smiles, blissfully. ‘Isn’t it awesome though… sweating out all of our impurities?’
‘You’d better stay in extra long,’ quips Georgia. The girls all laugh. ‘I’m kidding.’
Mia’s just pleased that these little rock-pools of joy are shallow enough to stand up in. With the smooth stone under her feet she feels in control. You’d be hard pushed to drown in here. Natural spas don’t freak her out any more than a bath. It’s when ‘big’ water gets in her ears the trouble starts.
‘Local legend has it that hot-springs are tears of the sun,’ offers up Wil.
‘Yeah,’ laughs Georgia, slithering in. ‘Now I’m in here I understand why.’ Mia notices how Georgia talks to Wil almost as if he were her brother, and that’s how the rest of the group interacts with him too: like an older brother who everyone loves. She’s never seen Wil flirt with any of the Dale girls, even though he’s a catch, as are they. Then she remembers that other girl he said he’s into, the one he said he couldn’t have. Surely Wil could have anyone he wants…?
Mia watches the misty moon, the silhouettes of pine trees across the ridge, tries not to think of Zak, not to wonder if he’s with that reporter, Freya, now, if he took her up on her seductive email invitation to Hotfoot Falls where she’d be staying tonight. Although Mia has stopped trying to solve the Zak puzzle, she still can’t switch off from him entirely. So far she’s rationalised that all those other women in his inbox are vague and distant concepts in far-away lands – ego-pleasers, pipe-dreams, that’s all. Freya is different: she’s up close and personal, she’s demanding, she means business. Freya, with her times and dates and locations, is all too real, and Zak seems just as taken with her too – why else would he have photos of her strewn everywhere? The woman has sway, Mia saw it for herself and there’s no denying the power, the smouldering intent, the dark enchantment in that other woman’s eyes. Eyes that ousted Mia and obliterated all her silly imaginings she’d once had about how amazing her physical relationship with Zak would one day be. She berates herself for all that squandered anticipation, for how she’d hungered, craved and restrained herself for this man. Then in dived Freya: the cuckoo who’d stolen her place in his nest, the vixen who’d snuck in that one moment Mia turned her back and snatched up Zak’s affections, the vulture who’d seized him in her clutches in one fell swoop. Rosa said that a person could have multiple totems, and though these might not be Freya’s animals, they’re how Mia sees her.
Blaming it on the stealth of another woman is more bearable to Mia than the notion of Zak no longer wanting her.
Eric sits behind his girlfriend, Megan, in the hot-spring, massaging her shoulders. Seizing Mia in her daze, Brent glides over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, and following suit. Suddenly Mia swirls back to the present, realising she’s obsessing and snapping herself out of it – shrugging Brent off her, she snaps at him too: ‘Seriously! Would you give it up? It’s getting really irritating.’
‘Brent…’ says Wil, lowly, as if to avoid drawing more attention to his friend at the same time giving him a gentle warning, though not gentle enough. Mia receives Brent’s backlash:
‘You’re wasting your time hankering after that Zak dude, it’s not like he’s interested.’
‘Brent!’ Megan gives him a death-stare. ‘Why would you even say that?’
‘He was hooking up with the drummer’s ex last time I knew.’
‘Brent!’ cries Megan…
‘Okay, okay,’ says Wil.
‘What’s that?’ enquires Mia.
‘I thought she’d wanna know! I’d want to know, wouldn’t you? No point holding out for someone who’s obviously moved on. I saw ’em making-out at a party a couple weeks ago. It was full-on.’
‘The drummer’s ex?’ Mia repeats, half sceptical, half stunned.
Graciously, some of the group try to take the heat off the situation with an animated pop-up conversation about swim-suits.
‘You mean April? Blonde, hippy chick?’ Mia questions Brent.
‘That’s her.’
Mia glances at Eric, who aside from Wil is the most trustworthy of the guys – having Megan as his girlfriend, bullshit’s not an option. ‘So Brent,’ proposes Mia. ‘You’re saying you saw Zak Ryder, lead singer of The Mach Band, make out with his own step-sister?’
‘Step-sister, right. Sure looked that way to me. That chick’s had the hots for him for, like, ever is what I’ve heard.’
Megan grits her teeth, kicks Brent beneath the water.
‘Hey, I don’t know the guy!’ Brent holds up his hands in defensive. ‘Wil’s the only one of our group who’s friends with him, I’ve no clue who his relatives are. It’s not like we talk about him either. Georgia said never to mention him around you.’
‘Well hey, you did a real good job of that, didn’t you Brent…’ scorns Megan. ‘Sorry, Mia…’
‘Eric?’ asks Mia, guardedly. Megan twists her neck to look at her boyfriend.
Eric’s face softens. ‘It’s true. I saw them too. Wasn’t exactly something you could miss…’
‘Must have been some stupid dare,’ says Mia.
‘Whatever,’ says Brent.
‘Alright, guys,’ intervenes Wil, ‘I reckon we’re all shrivelling up in here!’ The others all chime in, agreeing. ‘Let’s go rehydrate by the fire.’ Wil pulls himself out of the water, Mia drops her eyes. His interruption and the night at least half hide her humiliation.
Back by the tents, everyone vultures upon the mound of king-sized Coors. Habitually, a joint is passed around the camp-fire, too.
Grief is like a wave – Mia knows so too well: one day high – peaking, laughing without a care in the world – the next dealing with dangerous new lows. It’s all too much, ‘Gimme that,’ she snarls at Brent, stealing the joint, but not getting a giggling fit like she did with Eric the night before. Now Brent, almost sorry, sits beside her and she doesn’t know whether to thank or hate him for saying what he did, doesn’t know what to think about anything. If Eric confirmed Brent’s claim then it’s almost certainly true. And she wants truth, wants honesty, wants something to actually be what it seems. And the last thing she feels is oneness and peace. She’s in pieces.
Mia glugs down booze, takes a long hard drag on the joint. King-sized Coors with pure weed; it’s a potent mix… And perhaps not the best means
to perceive actuality, after all, but she can’t think about that, can’t think, can’t think. Everyone’s all of a sudden too close for comfort, their laughter cluttering up her ears, head spinning, lusty images of Zak with different lovers unfolding in the flames. She needs clarity, needs to get away, needs to escape her own mental captivity. Everything’s heavy, every part of her aches. This is it: after numbness, then euphoria, she’s crashing to a comedown.
Maybe she should’ve let Zak pay for her journey when he offered on the island and in his emails; maybe then he’d have been less hasty to dispose of her, knowing that his flippancy came at a cost. But this isn’t about money, so what is it about? What’s she doing out here? Why is she here? She won’t admit it but she still needs answers. Something is amiss.
The animal inside her has paced up and down for weeks, enduring raw open wounds, not knowing how to heal, but now she’s shape-shifting into a more ferocious creature. As she enters the forest, an ancient, visceral, female anger ignites within her, more powerful than any she has felt before. Anger based on maimed pride, on how hard she worked to get out here to be with him, at being disrespected, disregarded by Zak and now deceived by April with her disguise of sister and so-called friend.
April: a snake in the grass.
Are we no more than animals, Zak, following our base instincts? Doing whatever – whoever – we want?
Mia’s wolf is back. She’s caught in a trap. She releases her battle-cry, a battle against her broken ego, crying out and out like a howl to the moon.
Wil appears from nowhere, breathless. ‘You okay? I heard you shouting – there are coyotes –’
‘It’s not like I need you!’ she bites back, her voice raw. ‘I managed this many years on my own!’ Startled by her own outburst, her reflex sets the wolf in her free from the snare and it limps off through the forest. She lets down the hand she shot up at Wil as if keeping him at arm’s length.
‘Hey! You’re going through a tough time, but don’t take it out on the people who care about you.’ Good on the guy. Wil has his wits about him, as usual.