Mayfly

by Rei Fletcher

  Finally, she opened her eyes. Brown, fake wood panelling. Faded pillowcase. Big-eyed ballerinas looked back at her from their frames, just like they had since she was little. The wall behind them used to be creamy pink. She'd had a princess bed, with a canopy and everything.

  The fake seam between the fake planks was rough under her finger. When she pressed lightly the panelling sank, revealing the flimsiness of the illusion.

  "Fuck."

  She sat up slowly. Her clothes from last night were folded on the chair. That was...better than usual for her. She'd even managed to find a T-shirt to sleep in. After a minute she remembered Bobby's sleeping bag. Maybe that was why the extra effort. Too fucking gross.

  She staggered into the kitchen, gulping water straight out of the tap. When the ache in her mouth was satisfied, she leaned against the counter. The frilly brown eyelet curtains were water stained. They stuffed towels into the frame to soak up condensation, but it never seemed to work. Across ten feet of indifferent lawn, the neighbour's piss-yellow trailer wall bounced the sunlight back at her. She squinted, tearing up.

  "Marianne!"

  She winced. Her mom appeared, wrapped in her terry cloth robe. Her short, blonde bob had exploded into wild spikes that she was trying to smooth. Marianne thought the colour made her look older, but it was too mean to say. Besides, she'd spent a fortune on it in a stab at the opposite effect.

  "Morning."

  "You stink like a brewery." She sniffed. "And weed."

  "Sorry. I just needed water."

  For a second it could go either way. Then her mom's expression collapsed. Her fingers clutched the robe closed around her throat.

  "I can't believe you. It's so inconsiderate! You promised you'd help me. You know how hard it is for me. I'm really trying, and I need a little help. You know we have to work together."

  "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'll go shower."

  "And wash those clothes! You aren't even supposed to be drinking yet."

  "It was other people, Mom. They just spilled on me."

  Her mom's expression hardened. "Give me a little credit at least. You aren't that smart, missy."

  Muttered protests followed Marianne to the bathroom. She stood under the water, trying to scrub away the memory of Bobby's filthy sleeping bag. Or the memory of Bobby. Or Bobby last night. She didn't even know anymore.

  What does it even matter?

  She pushed the vinyl shower curtain out of the way and found the aspirin bottle. When she tilted her head back to drink a piercing pain shot through the side of her neck. She poked at it gingerly.

  "What the hell?"

  The fan whined, straining to shift the sluggish air. She brushed her teeth, waiting for a patch of the mirror to clear. When it did she leaned over the sink, pulling her hair out of the way. There was a dark bruise, and what looked like a faint bite mark.

  Gross. I told him I don't like hickeys.

  Her mom worked at a store. A nice one, but it didn't really matter how nice it was, it was still a shop clerk's wage. Marianne hid out in her room while her mom got ready. There was a rhythm to it that was kind of soothing. The coffee, the cigarette, the shower, hair, and makeup. She listened to the creak from her mom's light steps. When they stopped outside her door she pulled on a sweatshirt to hide her neck.

  There was a soft tap.

  "Yeah? Yes."

  Her mom peered in apologetically.

  "Hey."

  Marianne let out a cautious breath. "Hey."

  "I'm sorry about before, okay? Just...first thing in the morning I wasn't expecting to have to fight that fight."

  "I didn't think I stank."

  "You don't. Now."

  She forced herself to smile.

  "You got work tonight?"

  "No. We were going to go to a movie. Cheap night, you know."

  "That sounds nice."

  "I really...I only had a beer. I mean it."

  "I trust you, sweetheart. I just don't want you getting into trouble."

  "I know, okay? I won't."

  Her mother looked hurt. Before it could turn into anger Marianne sighed. "I'll figure it out." She smiled. "You look great."

  "Thanks! You never know who's watching! Can you do the laundry? The pile is getting pretty high."

  "Sure."

  The washer made the walls shake. She put in a CD and stretched out, listening to the player whir until the music smashed over her. Just anger. Just rage, pulled out of her chest like the band knew her, and turned into poetry. Anger enough to shake the whole place, until she wanted to scream. Somewhere out there people were living a big life. They were making music and money and they were doing important things. They were living. They were…

  I have to get out of here.

  The washer rumbled to a stop. She dragged the laundry into the basket. The dryer was on its last legs. It might last another year if they didn't use it much. For now, it was wet fabric slapping her in the face as she wrestled clothes onto the line, but it would be worth it if they had the dryer in the winter. Warm laundry, fresh from the machine…

  She leaned against the pole, wiping her hands on her jeans. Beyond the flaking paint fence, behind two more rows of trailers, the sand hill rose up steep. Skinny pine trees clung to the top. Erosion had bared their roots into spindly claws. There was a nice breeze blowing, with only a little of the stench from the pulp mills. The house they lived in before her dad died was west, up out of the bowl of river valleys that held the city centre. No stink at all, up there.

  She shook herself and went to get ready.

  Her special stash was hidden under her bed, balanced on a plank inside the torn lining of the box spring. The makeup had taken years to accumulate without her mom finding out. She insisted Marianne was too young to need it, and if she saw it, she'd demand to know where the money had come from. A five-fingered discount wouldn't meet with maternal approval, but she didn't think a superstore would begrudge her a tube of lipstick or two.

  Okay, it was more like she didn't care.

  Her stash was pathetic compared to Charlene's collection, but she thought she looked sort of dramatic once she was done. Ghostly pale, maybe, but that was normal. Frosted eye shadow, dark lip. She wrapped a scarf around her neck to hide the disgusting hickey before she left.

  The weather was nice. Good running weather. She hadn't been out since the track team finished up. To amuse herself she started kicking white rock ahead of her, making a game of keeping it out of the ditches. The sign for the trailer park was along the side of the two-lane road frequented by semis and other big trucks. A splotch of rust had made a hole in it, obliterating the "mony" in Harmony Meadow. She bet herself she could get the rock through it.

  She scooped it up with her boot before it skidded off the driveway. From the corner of her eye something flashed. She stopped, peering to her right. It was like sun off a window maybe, but she couldn't see anything between the trees.

  "Someone there?"

  The driveway was long and straight, lined by thin pines. She could see pretty deep into them before the undergrowth took over.

  Her skin prickled.

  This isn't a slasher movie. And those trees are way too small for anything to hide behind. It was just a trick of the sun or something.

  With a last look, she abandoned the stone and jogged to the bus stop. Loitering at the mall suddenly seemed like an even better idea than it had before.

  She wandered up and down the storefronts for awhile, killing time, then sat on a bench under a potted plant. After a quick look around she pinched one. Real, but dusty.

  The stream of housewives with little kids was slowly diluted with bored teenagers. Marianne sipped cheap coffee, mind wandering beneath the relentless drone of elevator music.

  She didn't have to go to school to go away. There were shitty jobs everywhere. She could find one in a city that would hold her over until she found her feet. There'd be more opportunities for a career in a city. She wouldn't be studying, maybe,
but something else. She could find a roommate. She could. She could…

  Her coffee turned cold. She chugged it anyway as she walked to the theatre. Charlene and a couple of her friends were already waiting, and she picked up her pace, only to slow again when Bobby appeared. He said something, and the girls laughed. For a minute it was like when they first started dating, and her heart skipped. Then the pain in her neck throbbed. She stopped short, like an idiot, caught between a strange push and pull. It was just...the pull was old, and faded fast, replaced by a weird sense of distaste. She kind of wanted to go home.

  Charlene spotted her and waved. "I have your ticket, already. Let's go! We can get some good seats."

  Marianne reclaimed her ticket stub from the girl in the booth, shoved her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, and followed them inside. The theatre was new. It had a huge lobby with an arcade off to one side to kill time out of the weather. It was filled with hyper kids and teenagers. As she waited for everyone to choose their snacks she watched a guy let his girlfriend kick his ass on Street Fighter. She had a quarter. No one was playing Mortal Kombat.

  Charlene grabbed her arm, sort of hugging it against her squishy side.

  "Come on. We need snacks."

  "Theatre food is a rip-off."

  "My treat."

  "You smell citrusy."

  "Mom brought me some perfume back from her trip."

  "It smells really nice on you."

  "You definitely get a snack for that."

  Marianne laughed and gave way, taking the popcorn and soda with thanks. Charlene examined the candy. Bobby was leaning against the wall, talking with the others.

  "I didn't know he was coming."

  Charlene looked his way. "Oh, we met up at the restaurant. I didn't think you'd mind."

  She pushed down a little wave of envy. She couldn't have gone out to eat anyway. "I thought it was sort of a girl's night."

  "I can't tell him to go home now!" She looked at Marianne more closely. "What happened last night, anyway?"

  "Nothing."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah. Sorry."

  She looked at the theatre listings and took out her ticket. "Anaconda?"

  "The good ones were sold out."

  "It might be good," Marianne offered.

  "Is it a good thing if Jennifer Lopez is in it?"

  "Oh. Huh."

  Charlene laughed. "She might be good. And the snakes should be cool."

  Marianne tried to arrange to sit apart but Bobby eased into the seat beside her with a cute smile. All through the movie she felt the brush of his knee. When his hand landed on her thigh she stretched her neck. The sharp pain reminded her that she was still annoyed about the hickey. She stayed still, pretending to be absorbed in the movie until he let go to reach for his popcorn.

  Bobby shook his head as they left the theatre. "That was painful."

  "It was pretty bad," Charlene agreed. "But there were some cool parts. And Jennifer Lopez did better than I thought."

  "She's no Cher."

  "Yeah, maybe," Charlene said, "but was just a big, dumb movie. Brain popcorn."

  "Why waste all that time and stuff? Art should uplift."

  "It isn't art, it's entertainment. It's fun. There has to be room for that."

  "People should be challenged. There wasn't anything surprising in this. Any movie these days should be commenting on more than how evil big snakes are. And they wasted John Voight."

  "There still needs to be trash to comment on."

  She crossed her arms to keep warm, listening to the argument. He and Charlene fired each other up, debating like it was English class. Marianne shifted from foot to foot, hoping she could get a ride home. His truck was right there at the edge of the lot.

  Charlene's smile shrank a little when Bobby put his arm over Marianne's shoulders. She didn't really enjoy it but didn't shrug him off or move away, either. She couldn't decide how she felt about that.

  They said goodbye and Bobby drove her home. The light from the dashboard made him seem like a ghost.

  He looked over. "What?"

  She shook her head. "Nothing."

  "Sure."

  "What?"

  "You've been weird all night."

  She saw the light of the trailer park glowing between the trees. "Don't go in."

  "I know!"

  He pulled over to the side of the road. The truck thrummed unevenly as it idled. Fixing up an old truck might be meaningful, but a new car wouldn't have been as noisy.

  "You think your mom doesn't know?"

  "Just...to be safe."

  "Sure."

  "She probably knows now, since you gave me a huge fucking hickey. You know I don't like that."

  "What are you talking about?"

  She pointed to her neck, feeling it throb again. He reached over and pulled the scarf down. She braced herself, but he was careful.

  "I didn't do that."

  "What do you mean? What does it look like to you? A mosquito bite?"

  He shrugged. "I sure don't remember doing that. Maybe it was whoever you left with."

  "What?"

  "You took off."

  "You didn't bring me home?"

  "I woke up at the pit. I don't think I saw you after I went to get a beer." It finally seemed to occur to him that there was a problem. "Maybe you should lay off the drinking if you're blacking out."

  "Yeah, thanks."

  "Wow, okay. You don't have to be a bitch."

  "Me? You didn't even bother to take care of me, and I'm a bitch?"

  "I did take care of you. Then I went to get a beer." She rolled her eyes at his smirk, looking out the side window. The thin green reflection of his face was empty of detail. No one there. "You didn't seem messed up when I left. How was I supposed to know?"

  "I didn't come home with Charlene?"

  "I already told you. No one knew where you went."

  She'd only had a beer or two, and barely any weed. She remembered dressing, then…Then what?

  "You got home, though, right, babe? Nothing happened?"

  She pointed at her neck.

  "But like, you know…"

  "I don't think so."

  "Cool. Just make sure it doesn't get infected or something. I heard mouths are filthy."

  Their goodnight kiss was awkward. It didn't feel like a fight, really, but it didn't feel good, either. She hopped out of the truck, shivering at the sudden change from cozy warm to clammy cold. He waved and drove off. She watched the taillights vanish. The uneven rumble of the engine trailed away. A dog barked once or twice then fell silent.

  I need to get out of here.

  She sighed, starting back, gravel crunching underfoot. She didn't want to go home, but it wasn't like there was anywhere else to go. She saw the white stone she'd been kicking earlier, glowing in the lights from the trailer park. The trees cast shadows that stretched across the driveway in inky black bars, playing tricks on her eyes. The manager tried to keep it tidy, but the tall grass was creeping in along the sides. It dipped and swayed in the wind. She retrieved the white stone and kicked it idly.

  The shadows moved. She thought at first that it was a car's headlights, but the road was empty. When she started off again the shifting light made even walking difficult, tricking her eyes into seeing dips and rises where she knew the ground was even.

  I haven't even had a drink.

  A breeze swept up through the grass. For a minute she thought it felt like a hand, fingers twining through hers, tugging her toward the slim and dusty pines. Between them, far away and still close, she saw a flicker, a flash, like earlier that day. This time it didn't disappear. It danced. It slipped this way and that, but not in the direction of the wind; it moved on its own, like it was alive.

  Every stupid UFO movie ran through her head, and X-files and everything else. She looked towards the trailers, and then the road.

  UFOs aren't real.

  "Someone there?"

  Kidnapp
ers are real.

  But why would kidnappers have a light?

  She stepped into the trees. A wave of exhaustion hit her. She shook her head, waited until the feeling subsided, then went on, ducking under a few wayward branches. Even when she blinked, the weird little glow didn't vanish. The further she went, the faster the waves came, but she needed to know what that light was.

  The barking of a dog caught her attention. She stopped, turning around, trying to orient herself. There was a glow, she thought, where the trailer park was. Way too small.

  That doesn't make any sense. I should have reached the intersection by now, or the highway.

  "Marianne."

  The voice sounded close by her ear. She turned quickly, flinging her hand out, but no one was there. The wind tugged at her hair, nudging against her back like a cat. Trees folded out of her way, giving her tantalising glimpses of the light.

  The shadows shifted again as it was joined by another, gleaming faintly blue, and a third, that was a blushing pink. All the time she walked she could hear echoing fragments of her name, full of so much longing that she started to jog, then run, scrambling through the trees to find the speaker.

  She burst into a broad clearing, carpeted in rich, green grass. In the centre was a massive black cottonwood tree. Around it, seven wisps of light had gathered. They wavered, sometimes brighter, sometimes dim. Pale seed puffs swirled like snow, more than a single tree should shed, spinning on a wind much stronger than the one that insisted she move forward, even now. The air felt gently alive, vibrating against her skin. A formless chorus played through the leaves. A creek was somewhere close, judging by the burbling sound. Around the fringes of the meadow was a blur of trees, indistinct, like they were very far away, even though they had to be close.

  She tilted her head up, turning around to take it all in. The puffs brushed against her skin, soft enough to make her smile. A tension she hadn't even known she carried melted away from her shoulders. The lights swept down and she spun with them, trying to touch them.

  After a very long time, she saw a man standing under the cottonwood tree. He was first only an outline, taking on shape and detail the longer she looked. His long, black coat hung to the ground. He had sharp eyes, she knew, and wavy dark hair sweeping back from his pale forehead. His smile was heartbreakingly sweet. She swallowed back a sudden urge to cry.