by Sarah Relyea
“We know Jerry!” Valerie crowed.
“We sure do,” Jim bragged. “Dan knows Owsley, and Owsley knows Jerry.”
“Owsley—the acid king?” The burly man gave a howl.
“Young rascals!” laughed the fox.
Before long, the van was slowing along the ramp for Berkeley. Through the back window, Alice could see the bridge and the gloomy bay beyond. As the lanes unraveled, she imagined being left alone in the van. What would happen once Jim and the group were gone—what would she say? She was no young rascal offering amusement for the men—just a girl in the wrong place.
Joe leaned in. “Are you coming with us? Jim and Valerie’s house?”
“I’ve got to get home.”
“Why?”
“Because I do.”
Joe tugged on the man’s sleeve. “Can you make another stop?”
“Why not?”
A few minutes later, the van rounded a corner and rolled slowly along the curb. “Home safe!” Jim yelled, flinging open the door. The group was jumping out.
The burly bear looked around. “Who’s staying?” As he saw Alice crouched on the floor of the van, he paused. “Hey there.”
Her jaw had gone numb; she had no response. Tom knows Owsley, and Owsley knows Jerry. No, no—they’d never go for that. The space, creepy and dim, was closing in. The burly man could be anyone.
“So, where’s your pad?” he murmured softly, as though coaxing a small animal.
Alice jumped up and scrambled from the van, tearing her jeans on jagged metal.
“Hey, where ya goin’?” the fox demanded as she slammed the door.
Colors were mushrooming around a porch lamp as the van jerked away, angry wheels churning up gravel. She jumped back from the curb, and though she was safe and whole so far, the evening was raging on. The group was already on the porch, moving on. A phone call, her father would come, and the ordeal would be over . . .
Coming up the walk, Alice saw a weedy rose bush waving limp buds. Gone, all gone.
“Hey,” Valerie demanded from the porch, “are you coming in?” She sounded on guard, even wary.
Where were they?
“I’ve gotta get home.”
“Where?”
“South Campus.”
“How?” Valerie seemed annoyed by the problem.
“Yeah, how?” Jim scolded. “You just blew your ride.”
“I can walk.”
“You’re an hour away.” Joe came down the steps in a show of sympathy.
“Where’s the campus?” Alice heard herself asking.
“Come in,” Joe was urging.
“But—”
“Then go,” Valerie shrugged, fed up.
They were somewhere north of campus in a neighborhood Alice had never seen. The journey home would be long and dangerous, if she even found her way. Jim and Valerie were becoming a bummer, but Dan’s house would be safer than the street corner. Dan was a grown-up—he would help. She would go in, pull herself together, and make the call.
The house was a gray Victorian with peeling woodwork. In the bare foyer was a door leading to the ground-floor rooms. The group passed by and headed up some stairs to a second-floor landing. Valerie scrounged a key from under a mat and opened one of the doors on a long, dim hallway.
“Shhh!” Jim hissed. “Dan’s here.”
“Yeah,” Valerie confirmed, “Dan and Wanda. Shhh!”
“Or everyone’s going home, you hear?” Jim added in a stage whisper.
They paused like hunting dogs, listening—but no sounds could be heard from the apartment. Dan and Wanda were sleeping, assuming they were even home. Then, before anyone could come out, the group found refuge in a room off the hall. The door closed: gloom. Vague shadows moved; then a bulb shone dimly overhead, spreading low-wattage glare through the long, largely unfurnished room. Two steel bed frames, crammed side by side in the tunnel leading to a single window, gave the place a barracks feel. The mattresses were bare and lumpy, grungy with stains—no sheets, only rough army blankets in tangled heaps, and greasy, coverless pillows. Clothes lay on the floor. No rug, no dresser, no comforting anything—how could anyone sleep in such a place? They had no mother, clearly, only Dan—but then, who was Wanda? And why would Dan have no bedding or hangers, no window shade? The thought of the group curling up together in such a dump was depressing, even creepy. She would be glad to go home, just as soon as her father could come.
Alice could feel the walls closing around her. Morning was hours away. She had to get out soon, before the night sealed her in. Feeling woozy rather than sleepy, she rehearsed the phone call home. Her mother would demand information—an address, a phone number. Her father would come in the Chevy, he’d ring the bell—no, impossible; she’d be on the porch when he came.
But before she could say anything, before they could come and drag her from the den of Dan Dupres, she would need a telephone.
Joe and Chris were dropping shoes and socks on the floor like molting hawks shedding feathers. Jim was bouncing up and down on a sagging bed. On the other bed, Valerie was leaning on the wall, humming and winding golden strands around her fingers. New energy began flowing among the group, as though they were fired by a single impulse. Alice’s family was fading dangerously from her thoughts. The room was a wayfarer’s rest where she and the group could pass a few dead hours before resuming.
Resuming what?
Alice remembered the phone. “Where are we?” she heard herself saying as she opened the door, prodded by a blunted spur of fear before her will abandoned her.
Valerie seemed confused. “Why?”
“Hey,” Jim hissed, “where ya goin’?” For once he seemed alarmed.
“Where’s your phone? My mom—”
“No one’s coming for you,” Valerie bluntly informed her.
“Yeah, no way,” Jim added, bouncing higher.
“I can go down. But I need to say where—”
Jim gave a scoffing grin. “Sorry, no phone.”
“Yeah, bummer for you,” Valerie added with vague sympathy. “They took the phone away.”
“We found you a van, but you came here,” Jim shrugged, as though she’d refused a pony ride.
“You can sleep here,” Joe suggested, “and go in the morning.”
Alice could feel her pulse pounding through her body. The world was falling away. Morning was meaningless; her family was a crumbling bridge over a chasm.
Colors overwhelmed her eyes as Valerie made room on the tangled bed. What if day never came? Alice lay down by the wall. The boys flopped on the other bed, claiming space like puppies. Dan Dupres was a wolf, if only her mother could see. Alice lay rigid, her mind flooding in fear as the room crawled with glow-worm colors. Her family was far, far away. Would they think she’d run off—would they care?
She would cling to the raft. Then, at dawn, she would go home. If she got there early enough, how could they say she’d run away?
HOURS PASSED. GRAY shadows began looming around her, signs of day, signs of a real world—a place where she could go from here, if only . . .
She lay on the grim bed. Valerie was sleeping soundly, but for Alice, sleep had never come. During the night, she’d been flooded by a drug and fear; now she was simply groggy and confused. Though her bladder was aching, her body, rigid and sore, was refusing to go anywhere. She was reeling from the half-escape: if she’d stayed in the van, the men could have done anything with her. The group had thought nothing of leaving her there, and she’d barely had the will to jump. She’d gone so far—in only one night. She’d followed along through hours of madness, doing one dangerous thing after another. Who could say what such a girl would become? Now every cesspool would be hers—she could end up anywhere, even among the runaways on Telegraph Avenue. She peered through the gloom: Were Joe and Chris runaways? Not exactly, and yet . . . soon.
No grown-ups were around, as far as she could judge, no sound or sign of anyone. Good thing—running
across Dan Dupres would be more to contend with, when she could barely get herself moving.
Alice squirmed from the bed where Valerie was sleeping. Opening the door, she edged along the hallway, coming up on a large corner room. Kitchen cupboards and bare floor could be seen, the glare of morning—but where was the bathroom? She passed through the doorway, peered around the room, and froze. Seated around a glass table near the bay window, a man and a woman had been coolly observing her. They were completely nude.
The man was peeling an orange. The woman’s breasts pressed the table as her hand closed over a box of Marlboros.
Before Alice could scurry from the room, the man spoke up.
“Are you looking for the bathroom?” Prominent brown eyes glared from a long face.
She nodded.
“Around the corner, there’s a door.” He waved an arm, exposing a mass of blond curls in his lap.
“Thank you.” Her pulse was urging her to leave, but the man’s eyes held her.
“You came from the Fillmore with Valerie?” he pursued, calmly tearing away another orange peeling.
She made no response.
“Valerie and Jim, they brought you here.” Undismayed by her presence, he appeared to be making casual conversation.
“Yes.”
“You came with them from the Fillmore.”
“Yes.”
“I see.” The man held her in a cool, assessing gaze. “No one told me you’d be coming here.” He placed the orange on the table by the peelings, suddenly fed up. “Are your parents cool? Do what you want, but don’t come here causing trouble.”
“What Dan means is, we don’t want anyone’s parents coming down on us,” added the woman, Wanda.
“When Valerie wakes up,” he commanded, “have her come and see me.”
“Yes.” Alice scampered around the corner, found the bathroom, and closed the door. She fumbled with the lock. The bathroom was safe—she was alone, and she could breathe, maybe even plan. She was alert again and nearly normal—normal enough to go. But how would she find her way home? Dan and Wanda would know—but they were clearly off limits. The group would have to show her, once they were up and running.
She made her way to the room where Valerie and the boys were sleeping. Now other problems loomed. The homecoming would happen soon enough. Even as the room was closing in on her, pushing her family far away, she was fumbling for what to say about the cascade of unforeseen events. Already she feared revealing so many outrageous and dangerous things. And yet, by jumping from the van and sleeping among strangers, she’d done the only safe and reasonable thing, under the unusual—unimaginable—circumstances.
Nonsense, her mom would say.
She lay on the bed, hearing Valerie’s breathing. The drug had worn off, all wonders gone, and fear was creeping up.
. . . She was in the passenger seat of the Chevy, coming through a loud forest, when the man at the wheel—a man she’d never seen before—asked, “Can you work the gears?” Then before she knew what was happening . . .
Someone was shaking her by the shoulder.
“Ow!” Valerie was scrambling from the bed. “You whopped me!” she exclaimed.
The others were awake and glancing around. Alice was confused—then knew she’d been dreaming and flailing around in her sleep. She remembered her changed circumstances. On a Sunday morning, her own father and brother would be reading the paper, having eggs or cereal, conversing in monosyllables; her mother would be sleeping. Today, though, Dan and Wanda could be found in the nude, Dan peeling an orange, Wanda’s hand closing on a cigarette box.
Valerie had begun rummaging through the clothing on the floor.
“Sorry . . . I was dreaming.”
Valerie paused, eyeing her humorously. “Oh—a beast?”
“No, maybe a van . . .”
“Something pissed you off, for sure.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah—you nearly gave me a black eye!”
Alice remembered a van—nothing else was clear. “Maybe the ride home last night—a man in a van, anyway.”
“So, were you scared?” Valerie teased.
Suddenly Alice remembered Dan’s message. “There’s a man—,” and she nodded toward the door.
“Dan? My father?”
“I guess so.”
Valerie’s smile hung on her face. “He saw you? When?”
“An hour ago. I was looking for the bathroom.”
Jim began humming.
“He wants to see you,” Alice added.
Jim made a face. “Too bad.”
Valerie rummaged through the clothing, finally dredging up her rumpled jeans. Pulling them on, she went through the doorway.
Awake and full of sudden energy, the others began searching for clothing.
Jim held up a shoe. “And you,” he demanded of Alice, “had any bummers? You know—flames and crawly things?”
She made no response.
“Hungry,” Chris yawned.
“Hey, nothing here.” Jim seemed to be announcing good news. “You know what that means.”
“Tacos!”
“Yeah, the place on the corner. They take food stamps.”
Just when the boys were ready to go, Valerie came running through the doorway. As she slammed the door, Jim began humming again.
“Bummer,” he murmured.
Valerie paused, her face deadpan; then, with unconcealed triumph, she held up her hand, dangling a key on a rubber band. “The room! Dan gave me the key!”
“For keeps?” Jim demanded, wide-eyed.
“For keeps!” Valerie dangled the key higher as Jim made a grab. “Who’s coming with me?”
“I am,” Joe said. He was grinning at Alice. “And you?”
“I’m going home.”
“You can go soon,” Joe assured her. “Right, Val?”
“After we show her the room!”
They scampered through the hallway to the landing. Valerie paused before a second door.
“Dan says we can hang out in here!” she announced, unlocking the door. “That’s so far-out!”
They entered a small apartment. Though sparsely furnished, it had a cozy feel—a couch, bookshelves, even a rug. A splash of colored drapery hung in the doorway of what appeared to be a small bedroom.
Valerie drew the drapery, revealing a dark, windowless space. As the boys rushed in, Alice hung back.
“Scared?” Valerie goaded.
“What’s in there?”
“Wow!” came Joe’s cry. “We can sleep here now!”
“So cool!” Chris sang out, as the boys reemerged.
“Aren’t you going in?” Valerie demanded.
Alice passed through the drapery. The room was enveloped in darkness except for a few glimmers. She moved slowly, feeling padding—or maybe bedding—under her feet. After a few steps, her head struck a beam. Reaching up, her hand touched a rough, sloping roof.
When she came back through the drapery, the group gave a cheer, as though she’d passed a final hazing and they were welcoming her as one of them.
Jim was grinning. “Now let’s show her—”
“Shhh! Dan says no!”
Ignoring Valerie, Jim threw open the closet door. Alice leaned in on a brightly lit space burgeoning with plants reaching higher than her head and gleaming greenly under blazing lights.
She could feel the group’s eyes on her.
The plants had saw-toothed leaves that formed a lacy canopy. Alice inhaled a dry, musky odor as her hand brushed through a fringe of leaves.
“What are they?” And as she spoke, she suddenly understood: marijuana. Of course.
The boys were laughing.
“We thought you’d know,” Jim said, crowing at her ignorance.
There were so many things her parents had never told her, thought Alice, and her new pals could show her all of them.
“Let’s go to the Med,” Joe was saying.
“No, tacos!” Chris sang o
ut.
“C’mon, then,” Jim urged. He and Chris ran off, leaving the others on the landing.
Soon Valerie was leading them through a neighborhood of sparse trees. Alice looked around at the vaguely shabby wood-frame Victorian houses. Judging by the sun, it was before eleven. On a normal Sunday, her mother would be just waking up. Today, though, all bets were off.
Valerie was eyeing her. “Are you coming through the campus?”
“The campus?” She’d had enough wandering.
“Yeah, we’re going to the Med.”
The Med would be good enough—she could get home from there. “I’m going home.”
“Why?” Valerie had a look of bemusement. “It’s early. Are you supposed to hang out at home with nothing to do? You’re not grounded, are you?”
“No, but—”
“That’s such a pisser!”
Alice would remember the new phrase.
“She’s been to the Fillmore,” Joe said. “Now she’s going home, before they get mad.”
“She can do anything she wants,” Valerie declared. “And if they’re gonna be mad, then why go home?”
No one made a response. The group ran along, heading for the campus. There was a novel argument underlying Valerie’s logic. Alice was beginning to envy the other girl’s freedom—if only because she was dreading her own homecoming. She hoped her mother’s moods and alarm could be managed; but it would be dangerous to delay any longer, beyond the chaos of an unplanned evening. The evening’s confusion had been none of Alice’s doing; she’d gone through the proper channels and been given her mother’s blessing, a seal of approval for the Fillmore and the son and daughter of Dan Dupres of Peace and Freedom, a very responsible man. Then the evening had spun so desperately out of control. She could hardly be blamed for doing the only reasonable thing anyone had done in the whole muddy mess—jumping from the van, saving herself. No one would rage when they heard . . . or would they? Things had gone very far—her parents could accuse her of running away, choosing another home.
Valerie and Jim had unhampered freedom to come and go. Their father, a nude man peeling an orange, was only concerned that someone’s parents might “come down on him,” in Wanda’s phrase. Joe and Chris had clearly been there before and posed no problem. Maybe they’d seen Dan and Wanda, the nude glare, the orange peelings and Marlboro box. If so, they’d never say—she’d seen enough of them to be sure.