Oasis

by Katya de Becerra

  I’m your deepest wish, the answer came.

  But I couldn’t tell whether it was my own mind giving the response or something external. Was the oasis real? I asked, deciding there was nothing to lose.

  The oasis is me.

  And that was that.

  In the car with Dad and Tommy, radio tuned to some news station, I drifted off in the back seat. I woke up to Tommy saying my name. He was about to get off in what looked like Hawthorn, though it was hard to say; a lot of older parts of Melbourne sported the same kinds of terraced buildings and old pubs.

  Tommy passed me a piece of paper as he got out of the car. “Here’s my number.” I watched him run up the stairs of an old apartment building.

  I switched seats, taking the one next to Dad as we continued home. More or less awake now, I listened to the newscaster droning on.… Dubai Six … Originally vanished from an active excavation site in Tell Abrar four days ago. Six Australians have now been recovered, alive and well. The search effort was accomplished in collaboration …

  At this reaffirmation of my new reality, all the mismatched moments in my head were compressed into a multidimensional one: the visual of Rowen’s body at the bottom of the pit merging with a more recent one—of Rowen smiling my way, Lori’s head on his shoulder. Rowen dead. Rowen alive. At once. Maybe it was like Schrödinger’s cat, its state of being subject to it being observed. But why was I the observer? And were Rowen’s two states one and the same, interchangeable? What did it mean for my own status as a survivor?

  “Your mother would’ve eaten me alive if something bad happened to you,” Dad was saying. He’s been trying to have a conversation with me, I realized with some delay, but all I could manage was a smile and a nod.

  By the time we made it home, night was crawling in. After the divorce, my parents sold our family home and Dad downsized into a smaller but comfier apartment, not quite in the suburbs but in that liminal space between the city and its outer edges. We still enjoyed the relative quiet and all the trees and saw an occasional possum at night, its eyes burning white from a tree branch or an open dumpster. I loved living here, even though it was time for me to start looking for a place of my own soon, moving in with friends perhaps. I had been talking with Minh and Lori about getting a rental together, but all of that seemed far away now.

  Since we had only canned food in the house and were in desperate need of a grocery run, Dad ordered delivery for dinner. But even with a mushroom risotto and a Greek salad, my favorite food combination in the whole world, it was hard to muster an appetite. Still, I stubbornly ate it, washing it down with water, as Minh’s emaciated body and bluish lips flashed through my mind. What was happening to her? I had to see her, tomorrow if they’d let me.

  Dad was going to stay up to wait for Mom’s arrival. I was anxious about seeing her but not exactly excited. Having Mom here meant my time and energy had to be redirected at her—she was going to expect it. But the mere thought of it made me tired. I told Dad I was too exhausted to wait up for her and headed for bed, trying not to cower under the weight of his concerned gaze.

  I threw my bag, the tablet piece still in it, under my bed and took off my travel clothes. After changing into my pj’s and brushing my teeth, I braved a long look in the bathroom mirror.

  A stranger glared back. Some reversed Wonderland version of me, older, eyes like a ghost’s. But I was alive. The image in the mirror wavered, like I was staring into water. The rustling of the palms filled my head with longing.

  When I lay down to sleep, nothing felt right. My bed was too soft, too comfy. Even after my last night in a Dubai hotel, my back still wasn’t used to the many comforts I used to take for granted. Maybe I was even nostalgic about the feel of bumpy ground against my back. My mind kept wandering off, listening for the sounds of Mom’s imminent arrival and then sliding to the tablet’s presence under my bed. I didn’t know if it was the best idea to keep the tablet so close, but putting it farther away felt more wrong. As if in response to my thoughts, a subtle buzzing came from underneath the bed, my back tingling in tune with it.

  I sat up. I wanted to grab the tablet but feared it’d overpower me and flood my head with its invasive visions. But I needed it, I realized. In hopes of distracting myself, I grabbed my phone and entered Tommy’s number.

  I realized none of my friends had called or messaged me, but I guess I hadn’t contacted anyone either.

  Tommy picked up on the first ring. “How are you holding up?” I asked.

  “Don’t think I can sleep tonight,” came the response, some kind of white noise enveloping his words. “Not after the nightmares I’ve been having.”

  I stiffened. “What kind of nightmares?” I lay down on the bed and waited for the room to start dancing in my vision, for the golden-specked mist to drift in. None of it came. Maybe the tablet, broken in two and torn out of its lair in the desert, was losing its power after all, its grip on me loosening.

  “It’s about those caves. Mostly,” Tommy said. I waited for more, while that background white noise grew stronger, then subsided, then returned once more, flicking in and out of my range of hearing. The tablet under my bed was pulsing again. Or perhaps it never stopped doing that. Its heartbeat. Only I could hear it.

  Tommy went on. “In my dreams, I keep running through those caves. I’m being chased, but I’m also pursuing someone. A predator and prey at once. It always ends the same way, the dream. I halt, freezing right on the edge of that pit. I stare down at the spikes, balancing on my heels. I’m about to fall in. I can see the bones down there, on the bottom. And then it hits me—I’ve done that. I’ve killed someone. I’m a murderer.”

  Tommy’s words caused sweat to coat my hands, my back, my forehead. I was parched again too, but I didn’t want to leave my room to get water. I could tell my mother was here, in the house; whispers suggested a conversation going on outside my room. I wasn’t ready to face her, to deal with the shock in her eyes at seeing the new me, ravaged by the desert.

  “I have strange dreams too,” I said to Tommy. I didn’t call those dreams “nightmares,” because they weren’t exactly that—more like distorted reality. “Not about the pit though. But, Tommy … those weren’t bones in that pit,” I said, immediately wondering if I was making a mistake. My memories of seeing Rowen at the bottom of the pit were become fuzzier and fuzzier. Still, before I completely forgot, I had to find out what Tommy remembered.

  “If they weren’t bones,” Tommy said, confused, “then what were they?”

  I lowered my voice, afraid my parents would overhear me. “I might be remembering it wrong, but I could swear it was Rowen in there. Killed by that pit.” I stopped. I should’ve had this conversation with Tommy in person so I could see his face, his reactions. But it was too late now.

  “Rowen?” Tommy repeated the name of my friend like it was a word from a foreign language. “No, no … That makes no sense … But…”

  The rest of Tommy’s words were swallowed up by that white noise I kept hearing. It spiked in intensity, giving off a pulse that was hurtful to my ears, even to my eyes. The phone in my hand started vibrating. I let it go, pushing it away from me. I had to touch the tablet now. It’d make everything better. It’d make things right.

  I slipped off the bed, to the floor. Holding my breath, I reached for my bag. Hands shaking, I almost tore my bag to pieces. When my fingers touched the tablet’s surface, I felt a sense of overwhelming relief. Of rightness. But it didn’t last.

  The tablet in my hands showed me images, memories of the oasis and the temple—memories I hadn’t seen before. They weren’t my memories.

  There was Noam Delamer, his skin sunburned, eyes red with despair. And there was Alain Pinon, the other victim of the desert, the one who didn’t make it out. Noam and Alain were trapped inside the temple, frantically searching for a way out. They were rushing down the twisting corridor, perhaps chasing someone—or something—and also being chased.

  Alain came to a
halt at the edge of the killing pit, balancing on the balls of his feet. Relief washed over his face—this was a close call! But something rammed into his back, and then Alain was losing his balance and falling over and into the pit. His death was instantaneous. I felt it, the suddenness. Burning agony in my chest and then nothing.

  I was now inhabiting Noam. He was standing on the edge of the pit, looking down at the impaled body within. Noam’s right hand was shaking.

  “Why are you showing me this?” I whimpered.

  I tried dropping the tablet, but it seemed glued to my hands. It made me live through the same sequence of events over and over, like it was playing charades and couldn’t come up with an alternative way of explaining things when its audience drew a blank.

  Instead of resisting the flow of memories, I tried focusing on the images flashing before my eyes, hoping that if I decrypted the tablet’s message, it’d release me. But my time to come up with an answer was running out. A cold sensation was spreading from my fingers upward, numbing my hands, slowing down my heart rate.

  I zeroed in on Alain’s face, frozen at the exact moment the man knew he was going to die. What did I see? Surprise, confusion.

  I dug deep into Noam’s perception of events. I sensed some remorse from him, but mostly relief that he wasn’t the one to die. Though what ran in the background of this unfolding drama was the overall feeling of dissatisfaction. The Queen of Giants, the lonely spark, wasn’t quite sated after she had pushed Noam to sacrifice Alain. This murder was too cold, too clean-cut. The two men didn’t really know each other before the oasis, so whatever relationship they’d developed while stranded in the desert together wasn’t enough nourishment for the hungry little spark.

  The spark wanted more. Much more. Its pulsing desire overwhelmed me, its want becoming my want. But there was also something else, something more immediate. My tablet piece wanted its other half. It wanted to be whole again. Or as whole as its state of existence allowed. The realization was a monstrous shiver shaking my whole body. Once the tablet was sure I got its message, it released me.

  WHERE IS THE INTERVENTION BANNER?

  I was groggy despite what I thought was a full night’s sleep. The morning was almost obnoxious in its brightness. Not a cloud in the sky. I stretched my limbs. No dreams last night, at least nothing I remembered upon waking.

  Out of my window, I could see a trio of banksia trees slowly moving in the wind. There was the loud, cheerful chirrup of birds too, and the distant moan of traffic in the distance. The distinctive laugh of a kookaburra, an uncommon but not unheard bird within the city limits, reminded me: I was home. But … my memories were a mess, a tangled ball of yarn. I may have returned home, but my home was not the same as before, and I was also different.

  Uncertain what the day would bring, I quickly showered and put on some makeup, concealing my sunburned spots. Having access to my closet, with its abundant selection of clothes, presented too many choices, and it took me longer than average to dress myself. I finally settled on some light blue jeans and a pale lilac button-down shirt. I’d always loved the way its color contrasted with my skin. But now, with my sunburns still healing, nothing could fully hide the consequences of my desert wanderings. I wore my hair down; it had lost its shine and thickness since the oasis and looked messy and felt frail to the touch.

  Delaying going outside of my bedroom, I repacked my bag, taking out some unnecessary items. The tablet was in there, hidden in the zippered pocket. I avoided touching it, but the skin on my fingers was practically singing in anticipation of contact.

  My phone was missing. Last time I used it was when I spoke with Tommy before bed. Something about dreams and nightmares and the pit filled with bones.

  I needed my phone. On cue, it pinged from under the bed covers. As the phone’s screen came alive in my hand, notifications flooded it. It was a group text from Lori that immediately hijacked my attention.

  Tablet emergency. Something’s wrong. Meeting in Silver Crescent to discuss this afternoon.

  I frowned. What was Lori’s experience like last night? Was her family reunion bustling and satisfying? Or did things get weird quickly, sending Lori into some foggy maze of tablet-induced nightmares?

  I reread Lori’s short message again. Silver Crescent meant her parents’ summer house. She probably wanted to meet there because being away from adult supervision meant we wouldn’t have to pretend everything was all right. But this little trip to the coast was going to be difficult to explain to my parents, especially with my mother here and wanting to see me. I could hear her laughing in the living room. Plus the place was starting to smell of pancakes and coffee. The scent combination that used to soothe me years ago now was sending me into a near panic attack. Maybe my parents’ reunion wasn’t what I really wanted.

  I texted back to the group:

  I’ll see if I can get away. But what about Minh?

  While I waited for anyone to respond, I scrolled through my social media and even googled Minh to see if there were any updates about her health. There was nothing. Like at all. Even all those Dubai Six news pieces were old now. I guess we were being forgotten already. Or maybe the tablet didn’t want any extended attention on us. On it. Growing impatient, I stared at the screen of my phone and compulsively hit refresh on the group chat. I was beginning to expect some reality shift to occur, for someone to ask “Minh who?” And maybe it was a valid question. After all, everything in my head was covered in thick smoke.

  Relief came from Tommy, who texted me privately, offering me a ride first to the hospital to see Minh, then to Silver Crescent for our secret tablet meeting. Though I had a bad feeling about the latter, Lori was right—we did need to meet and discuss what the hell to do next. Did we just go on like nothing had happened? Did we try to study the tablet, research its true origin? Did we tell our parents? The last two possibilities made me deeply uncomfortable, my stomach actually roiling.

  Okay, no external people then. The tablet was ours, and regardless of how we felt about it, the six of us were now connected. The tablet was our seventh. And it was a part of each and every one of us.

  But first I needed to leave my room and face my parents. I braced for it and opened the door.

  I walked into the living room and straight into a trap. Mom and Dad were perched side by side on the couch. From the faux-causal expressions playing on their faces, I knew they’d been waiting for me to come out of my room. Three mismatched ceramic mugs and a family-size glass coffeepot (almost empty) were the only items on the table. The TV was off. Just like old times, and I mean old. But what really stood out to me was that Mom and Dad were holding hands. I don’t think my parents had been in the same room since I started high school. The sight of it should have been happy and fulfilling, but instead it scraped me the wrong way. A migraine started at the front of my head, making me cringe in pain as it spread.

  “Where is the intervention banner?” I asked this strange couple on the couch. A fake smile was on my face, while I was mentally hurrying Tommy to get here, ring the doorbell, and rescue me from whatever this was.

  “Come. Take a seat, Alif.” Mom patted the love seat to her right. The simple gesture made me break into an uncomfortable sweat. I hadn’t had a single meaningful conversation with either of my parents since before Dubai, and besides, the psychological distance between me and my mother was too long to bridge in one leap. But right now in this moment, it was that she was obviously brimming with uncontainable joy that weirded me out the most.

  I stayed up on my feet. “I can’t stay long. Tommy’s picking me up … to go see Minh.”

  “Oh.” Mom’s face fell at the mention of my friend. “I heard she had some kind of incident on the flight over. You and your friends have been through such horror. But Archer is in contact with her parents, and he updated us this morning. Minh’s stable and conscious. I can give you a ride to the hospital today, if you want.”

  “Tommy’s taking me,” I reiterated. The
possibility of spending quality time alone with my mom in the tight space of a car came with a fresh dose of dread.

  “Tommy, huh? You two seem cozy together lately,” Dad said, his expression turning quizzical. “And I thought you weren’t Tommy’s biggest fan.”

  “I guess being lost together in the desert has changed my perspective,” I replied.

  “Who’s Tommy?” Mom asked, looking mischievous.

  “He’s a good kid. My research assistant—who Alif apparently fancies.”

  “I don’t…” I started to deny it but then thought, Whatever. It wasn’t a lie—I did fancy Tommy, even though Dad’s word choice to describe it made me want to giggle and roll my eyes simultaneously. “Never mind. It’s not like I’m going out with him or anything.” I was about to say “We’re just friends” when my eyes landed on my parents’ hands again, their fingers intertwining. Time for a topic change. “And what exactly is going on with you two?”

  They exchanged looks. Or more like, The Look.

  Mom smiled and said, “You’re like a skittish deer! Come. Sit. Please?”

  “This will only take a minute.” Dad’s enthusiasm echoed hers. He winked at me, his face glowing with contentment.

  I surrendered, doing as I was told, lowering myself onto the love seat and facing my parents. My bag was wedged between my side and the armrest, the close presence of the tablet anchoring me in this slice of reality. Further delaying the inevitable, I reached out for what was left of the coffee and poured it into the only clean mug, dregs and all.

  After I took a big gulp and set down the mug, Mom grabbed ahold of my hand and said, “Your father and I, we’ve been doing a lot of talking ever since you went missing and especially after your father brought you back to safety…” She let go of my hand, but only to weave her fingers back with Dad’s.