Authors: Suzanne Young
* * *
The sound of Virginia cursing draws me out of the memory, though the feel of Deacon’s arms around me takes longer to fade. But it does, and I’m pulled back into this world that Virginia has painted for me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, my voice slightly hoarse. She clicks on the windshield wipers as rain taps the windshield and then out-and-out pours down.
“The rain,” she says, glancing over at me. “I’m so sick of it. I swear there won’t be a summer this year. It’s like every season the rain stays longer and longer.”
Although I’m not sure that’s technically true, I understand what she means. I’ve always assumed it was perception: When we’re in the middle of it, the rainy season can feel like years.
The music is still on, moody and dark, and all I can think about is how much I miss Deacon. Miss my life. I even have a quick thought that maybe I could go back—we all could. What if we just pretended it never happened, lying to ourselves so things could be easier?
I blink quickly, trying to right myself. I’m losing perspective. That wasn’t my life—not my real life. This is my chance to find out who I am, who I was meant to be. I can’t let anything get in the way of that.
I’ll go to this party with Virginia, and then later I’ll figure out her role in Catalina’s death. I’ll use that—use her. Even if it makes me feel like shit. Arthur Pritchard has my identity, and I’m going to get it back. I’m going to find my family. I’ll find where I belong.
“Here we are,” Virginia says, pulling in front of a four-story apartment building with a rickety-looking iron fire escape on the front. The place is a bit worn down and appealing because of it. I realize how much I want to be around other people in this moment. How much I crave interaction to distract me from myself.
Once she’s parked, Virginia switches off the engine and reaches into the backseat to grab a cute jacket. She puts it on and then checks her hair in the rearview mirror. I don’t have
anything else with me, so I sit as she applies pink lip gloss and some powder to her cheeks.
When she’s done, she flashes me a smile. If I didn’t know how she felt in the diner, I wouldn’t imagine anything is wrong with her. She seems happy and well-adjusted. But, of course that’s not the case. Still, I match her smile, and we both climb out of the car.
The rain has lessened to barely a drizzle, but the cold clings to it, and I shove my hands in the pockets of my sweater. Virginia walks around the car and pops open the trunk. She pulls out a liter bottle of vodka and then comes to stand next to me, facing the building. She points to a window on the fifth floor, the lights blazing behind the sheer curtain, silhouettes moving.
“Roderick lives here,” she says. “He’s a sweet guy and his parties are fun. Nothing stupid happens.”
I laugh. “Let’s have some fun, then,” I tell her. She nods like she appreciates my attitude, and together we walk inside and head up the flights of stairs.
* * *
The air in the apartment is sticky. The heat is cranked up, and both Virginia and I have to take off our jackets about three seconds after walking inside. The party is crowded, but not overly loud or obnoxious. Virginia leads the way to the small kitchen, where three guys sit at the table playing cards, barely registering our presence. When Virginia thunks the bottle of vodka down on the counter, one of the guys offers a head nod of appreciation before going back to his game.
I take the moment to survey the party supplies, seeing half-empty bottles of liquor lining the side of the sink, and a knocked-over stack of plastic cups. Some spilled red juice on the white counter, which I doubt will wash off. Virginia taps my shoulder.
“Here,” she says. “Give me your coat.”
I hand it to her, and together we walk through the dining room past the sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony. She says hi to people as she passes, but she doesn’t stop to talk with any of them. When we get to the living room, Virginia tosses my jacket, along with hers, onto a pile of coats already on a papasan chair.
The bulk of the party is crammed in this space, where the lights are dimmed. Four girls dance with each other in the center of a circular woven rug. The music pumping from the iPod dock near the television is moody, much like the song in Virginia’s car. But the bass is deeper, and the girls sway to the music, laughing and grabbing each other by the arm as they talk. There’s a couple sitting on a love seat near the window, all in each other’s mouths. Judging by the way the guy spills his beer each time he switches his head tilt, I guess that they’ve been drinking for a while.
A cute guy is alone on the cracked leather sofa, scrolling through something on his phone. His black hair is shaved short, much like Aaron’s, and he has on a pair of lemon-yellow sneakers that nearly glow in the dark. He’s hot. As if sensing my gaze, he lifts his eyes in my direction. He looks next to me and
holds up his hand to Virginia. She returns the wave and then leans sideways to press her shoulder against mine, her voice low.
“That’s Micah Thompson,” she says. “He’s my favorite.”
“I can see why.”
Virginia sighs, and when I check her over, she seems better. Her earlier admission of her fears is seemingly forgotten. I think maybe this is what they all need. Time to live. Time to be free.
“Go talk to him,” I tell her, knocking her gently with my elbow. “He looks pretty happy to see you.”
She can’t hide the smile that immediately creeps over her lips. She turns, and Micah laughs, as if he just got caught staring. “We’re not like that,” she tells me, although the words sound like a repetitive verse. “We’re just friends.”
“Hmm . . . ,” I say in mock consideration. “Yes, I’ve said something similar myself. Just before I’d make out with said friend.”
Virginia closes her eyes and chuckles. Then she motions around the party. “Don’t you want me to introduce you to people? I thought I was the
person to know
at Marshall Senior High,” she jokes.
“I can introduce myself. You go have that fun we talked about.”
She hesitates, checking with Micah once again, and then, as if I’ve twisted her arm, she breathes out dramatically. “Why not?” she says. “Life is short, right?” And before I can think about the irony of her statement so soon after talking about
teen suicide, she’s walking through the crowd and dropping down on the sofa next to Micah.
Once she starts talking to him, I head back toward the kitchen to get a drink. I’d be lying if I said these people didn’t all fascinate me. I observe everything—absorb it, even. As I pour a vodka cranberry, I listen to the guys playing cards.
“Has anyone seen Roderick?” a guy in a blue Nike shirt asks, picking up his just-dealt cards. “You heard about his girl, right?”
“Naw, what happened?” the kid across from him says. He’s wearing a U of O hat with a straight brim, his eyes shaded.
The guy in blue tosses his cards in front of himself, face down. “I’m out,” he says. Then to the kid in the hat. “She got locked up. They committed her, I think. My parents told me about it earlier. Can’t believe Roderick’s even having a party tonight. Those two were close.”
My hand tightens around my cup, the reality of their world in contrast with the party around them.
“Oh, shit,” the kid says. “Ari’s in the hospital? That’s too bad. She was cool,” he adds, as if she’s dead. He puts his cards down and leans back in his seat, stretching his neck to look in the other room, presumably for Roderick. “There he is,” he says. “In the corner. Poor dude.”
I can’t see from this angle, but the sympathetic expression on his face tells me that Roderick must be pretty distraught. So why did he throw a party? Just to go through the motions?
The dealer takes the pot of poker chips and starts shuffling for
the next game, the conversation quieting now that they’ve darkened the mood. I take a sip from my drink, barely able to swallow it down since it’s warm. I head back toward the living room to join Virginia, and I find her and Micah talking in the corner of the sofa, another guy having taken up space on the other cushion.
Virginia doesn’t notice me, so I decide not to interrupt. I find a spot against the wall, still with the party but far enough aside that I can have a moment to think. I sip from the cup, watching everyone. I wonder how I fit in. If Arthur and Marie hadn’t brought me to Tom McKee, could I have been one of them? Could I have lived a normal life?
I take another drink. Would I have really wanted another life?
I think about Catalina Barnes—the girl I thought I wanted to be. But look what happened to her. She killed herself, despite how perfect her life seemed. What could have driven her to that? I feel like I’m missing something in her story. A missing chapter of a book. One that involves Virginia.
Virginia hasn’t mentioned Catalina directly, but they knew each other. And although I don’t think Virginia herself is a threat . . . maybe her words are. Even during our short talk, I felt pressure closing in, helplessness. Is that what she fed Catalina? Is that what—
I stop, frozen in place, when I notice the guy in the corner of the room.
Roderick,
I think. He’s tall with shoulder-length red hair. His freckled skin is impossibly pale, especially against his navy T-shirt. I’m not sure why he stands out so much. Maybe it’s the rigidity of his posture or the fact that he’s all
alone at a party, his party, staring straight ahead toward the sliding glass doors.
But I notice him.
I immediately assess his condition, see all the signs of complicated grief—only worse. And I’ve seen some pretty devastated people. Roderick is so still that it’s eerie, the way he doesn’t sway in a room full of moving bodies. A line of drool begins to slip from the corner of his lip, down his chin.
My stomach registers my panic, and I quickly dart my eyes over to Virginia to get her attention. She’s still talking, laughing, when suddenly there is movement from the corner. I swing back and find Roderick walking toward the balcony.
I stare, wondering where exactly he’s going. He bumps a few shoulders on his way, but it doesn’t deter him. Is he about to be sick? He doesn’t speak a single word to anybody.
He comes to the glass doors and slides them open. He walks onto the balcony without bothering to close the doors behind him, and then, without even a pause, he continues to the edge and puts his hands on the railing. The rain has started to come down hard again, and it soaks his hair, matting it to the sides of his face.
My heart jumps up into my throat. I’m transfixed, and then Roderick pulls himself up onto the railing. My eyes widen.
“Wait!” I call over the music, the cup of red liquid falling from my hand and splashing on the carpet. I start forward, but it’s too late.
Without a backward glance Roderick jumps headfirst off the fifth-floor balcony.
THERE IS A SCREAM SOMEWHERE
in the room. I rush for the door, but the three guys from the kitchen are already out there, leaning over the railing and looking down.
“Holy fuck!” one of them yells. “Holy shit.” He continues swearing, running his hand through his hair, blinking against the rain.
Music still plays, but no one is dancing anymore. The sound is haunting amid the cries, like the ghost of a nightmare that still clings to you after you wake. I stare around, wide-eyed, my body shaking as I go into shock. Several people have their phones out, frantically calling 911. One kid runs into the kitchen and sweeps all the booze bottles into the trash can, but his attempts to hide the party are only halfhearted. He knows it doesn’t matter. Pretending it does helps him deal with the brutality of this moment.
We are all horrified, terrorized, wrecked.
Virginia suddenly appears next to me, our jackets in hand, and I look at her without fully grasping who she is. “We have to go,” she says. When I don’t move, am unable to move, she pulls my arm. Her expression is stoic, and her nails dig into my skin through the cloth of my shirt. “We have to go now, Liz,” she says more forcefully.
People have begun to crowd onto the small balcony, gathering in the rain. A girl wails from outside. Virginia’s steady gaze is not shocked, though. It’s fearful. I blink quickly, trying to sort myself out as Virginia shoves my jacket into my arms. I slip it on soundlessly and follow her to the front door.
People are talking and crying on each other, and we manage to zigzag through the crowd and get to the landing of the stairwell. We run down the steps. No one calls to us, asking where we’re going. We’re invisible; everyone is steeped in tragedy instead.
Virginia pushes open the door to the outside, and the metal handle smashes into the brick of the outside wall with a loud clank. I stop in my tracks, making Virginia lose her grip on me. I slap my hand over my mouth to muffle my screams.
Just down the sidewalk is a broken body. Blood has made a pattern on the sidewalk, sprayed on the car parked at the curb. Roderick is far enough away, and facedown, so I can’t see the details of the gore.
It’s just a heap of clothes,
I tell myself. But my mind tries to make sense of what I saw upstairs and begins to fill in the blanks. To form the shape of the broken arm, turned neck, broken hip.
“Liz,” Virginia snaps. “Don’t look!” She grabs me hard around the wrist, and then we’re running again, rain whipping our faces. We get to her car, and she opens my door and pushes me inside. When she slams it shut, I’m engulfed in heavy silence.
I’ve never seen anyone die before. I’ve spent my life playing dead people, all without ever seeing their bodies. I don’t know how something as natural as death can feel so jarringly unnatural.
The driver’s door opens, flicking on the overhead light again. Virginia asks where I live, and I tell her the name of the motel. She turns over the engine and squeals her tires as she pulls out into the road without checking the mirrors. Rain sprays the windshield. The wipers provide a timed scrape, then click before doing it again—like a damaged heartbeat.
“He just jumped,” I murmur. “He did it on purpose.” Tears sting my eyes, and I turn to Virginia. “Shouldn’t we tell the police or something?”