Bright Before Us (18 page)

Oh,
I said.

Your face flattened.
You're not sure you want to be with me.

I had done nothing
but
that for days, putting everything else on a shaky hiatus, abandoning the daily responsibilities I had only reluctantly signed on for—lame record store job, crummy public university, ambivalent relationship. I had spent a week contemplating the fallout I was accruing, leaving phone messages intended to buy time before I was fired, failed, dumped. I had done it with no ulterior motive—and once I
did
see something with you on the horizon, I had been hopeful but not expectant, happy to receive whatever the future held.

How can you say that?
I said.
Isn't it obvious?

I have an idea,
you said.
We'll look for signs. We'll get out of this bed and go forth into the world and look for signs to decide.
You stood to get dressed, pulling my T-shirt off over your head and revealing your naked back.
Though with these things,
you said
, you usually ignore the bad ones, because you already know what you want to happen anyway.

You turned around, still topless. The freckles that covered your face and arms spilled, too, across your chest and shoulders. My hands and feet were suddenly warm.
We can pretend we're a couple,
I said.
Like a dry run.

You lifted your bra from the floor and stood slowly, reaching behind you to hook it, a striptease in rewind.

It's a little late for that,
you said.

 

Once downstairs, you walked wordlessly to the passenger side of your car, so I got into the driver's seat. My knees pressed against the steering column, your seat pushed as far forward as it would go.
What are you, three feet tall?
I said, turning the ignition.

Where to?
I shifted into reverse.
Where do couples go?

You would know,
you said.

I put the car back in neutral.
Why are you picking fights with me?

I leaned back in the seat, flipping the sun visor down.
Rule number one. We'll always say what we mean.

That's a good rule,
you said slowly.
But I was. I did.

I backed down the driveway and the tire hit something, sending a revolting crunch through the car. I stopped, got
out, and inspected.
It's just a plastic bottle,
I said, my jaw still tight.

I thought, There's no hope for me if I fuck this up. I had waited years. Our feelings were finally aligned and I was snapping at you like a snotty teenager. I closed my eyes, the car idling. I wanted to be with you. But I didn't want to have to ask you to repeat yourself because I had stopped listening. I didn't want to say to you at night,
Do you feel like it?
I didn't want to argue; I didn't want to talk it out. And I never wanted to have to simulate interest—I never wanted there to be a day when I had to start acting. I didn't want to be with you the way I had been with her.

A plastic bottle,
you said.
Not a cat. Our first sign!

I leaned against the headrest and smiled.
I like you a lot, too.
I pulled back into the driveway.
Hang on,
I said, suddenly certain. I left the driver's side door open and galloped upstairs.

She answered on the first ring, her voice frantic.
Frank, is that you?

Yeah,
I said.

I don't love you,
I told Greta.
Okay? So I guess we can talk later about the money I owe you, exchanging our stuff, all that kind of ...

I trailed off. There was no response.

I looked at the bed where you and I had taken up residence, at the mess I still hadn't cleaned—irrefutable evidence that this was actually happening. I was exhilarated, more proud of myself than I could remember being.

Where the fuck have you been,
she said, finishing her sentence.

Somewhere else,
I said. Through the window, in defiance of the October chill, shone a warm, blue day.
That's it, that's all I wanted to say. So long.
I hung up, catching my reflection in the mirror above my dresser. It was the purest smile I had ever seen. I didn't recognize it. I picked up my keys and went outside.

The car sensor was beeping and you were leaning over from the passenger seat, still in your seat belt, trying to close the driver's side door.
You left the door open!
you said, laughing.
I can't reach it!

I don't need any signs,
I said.

Your smile dwindled.
What does that mean?

I shut the beeping door.

You were in there for ten seconds,
you said.

I got to the point,
I said.

Jesus,
you said, turning to face the dashboard.
I had no idea you'd do it like that.
And then, suddenly, you were my friend again.
How does it feel to be single?

I smiled.
Pretty fucking good.

Well, too bad.
You put your hand on my leg—the original gesture, the move that had started it all.
Because you're not anymore.

I backed out of the driveway and we turned onto the street. I took us out of town, both of us aglow with anticipation. We had made a recent career of reversal, and the potential for surprise seemed infinite.

Oh shit,
you said, on the freeway to Berkeley.
It's Halloween.

Shit,
I said back, though I didn't care that much.
Is that a good sign?
I pulled off onto University, then turned onto Fourth.

It's not a sign,
you said,
it's just the date.

We drove past the smoothed stucco buildings housing tony restaurants, four different makeup stores, a so-called ocean-view diner from which no ocean was visible. We ate in a New York–themed bagel place—I ordered an Ellis Island, you got an Empire State.
I have almost no money,
I said,
so you're gonna have to cover this.

I'm calling that our first bad sign,
you said, handing the girl a twenty.

In the bagel place we saw a ballerina, a Richard Nixon, a slutty French maid, and a six-year-old dressed in blue sweats with Styrofoam balls tied on with fishing line.

What are you?
you asked him, putting a mint in your mouth.

The solar system,
he said.

I love that,
you said.

We walked up the street to a bakery and shared a bluefrosted cupcake. It turned your lips a pale blue.
You look like you need an oxygen tank,
I said. At the toy store, you found a little red toy car from the '60s about the size of my thumb and played with it on the floor. When you weren't looking I took it to the counter, paid for it, and hid it in my pocket.

 

We listened to Al Green and drove above Berkeley and then Oakland, parking on patches of moss to walk in the bitter forest air. On the trail, as we passed them, we took turns greeting people.

Happy Halloween,
we said, beaming.

Happy Halloween,
they said back uncertainly.

If they passed on your side, you spoke to them. If they passed on my side, I did. And then we passed a couple on my side and I didn't say anything.

That was your turn,
you said.

I took your hand.
I hit my people threshold.

You popped another mint.
Want one?

I have breath paranoia,
you said.

We stopped at a clearing full of miniature train tracks. It was surreal; we had left the thick forest trail and were suddenly surrounded by a miniature railroad system, built alongside and above the trail, with little tracks to walk around and under, right there in the middle of the woods.

I want to kiss you,
you said, leaning in.

A couple walked past and startled you.
Happy Halloween!
you said, your face reddened. Everyone laughed, the situation clear. I liked that the world thought you were mine. An interior voice answered, She is.

 

We left, and I sped around the curves above the reservoir. You gripped the armrest, going white in the face.
Can you slow down?
you finally said.
I'm having some trouble being a passenger right now.

I said it was no problem.
Another one of your things?

You didn't answer. I slowed down, but then eventually forgot and started speeding again. Going around one turn that curved above a cliff side, you whimpered that I needed to slow down again. I smiled.
Hey, if we go, we go
together,
I said. We passed a huge empty lot covered over with gravel. I looked at your hand on the armrest, your other hand now gripping the upholstery next to your leg. On impulse I pulled into the lot, sped up to thirty-five, downshifted, and yanked the emergency brake. The car spun a weak donut, rocks tinkling against the windshield in a silver hail. We stopped. Your hair was loosed from behind your ears, hanging over your face.

I grinned.
You can stop grabbing that armrest, scaredycat.

When you pulled your hair from your face, you were tearing up. With an ice-pick's stab of horror I remembered it as you said it.
My parents died in a car accident,
you said softly.
Like a week ago.

My head screeched.
Fuck,
I said, too loud.

I know,
you said.

Afterward, I stayed quiet, scared of what else I might ruin.

 

We ran out of Oakland ideas, so I just drove around the hills. You said,
A left, a left, a right, and then a left. We'll see where that takes us.
It got us lost.
The houses up here are so weird,
you said. And they were—overgrown and incongruous, ill-fitted to their lots. New ones sprouted up coated in polyethylene sheets, as though the building had been diapered. Nobody had a view anymore, apart from a clear sight into their neighbor's dining room.

The old ones burned down,
I said.
Everything up here burned.

We were in fourth grade,
I said automatically.
I was going to an A's game with my cousin. The smoke made the sky turn black. The sun looked like an orange hole.

I don't remember it,
you said.
I never remember anything.

We took a left, two rights, two lefts, and a right. We were quiet. Like magic, the freeway entrance back to San Francisco appeared.

Get on it,
you said.

 

We went back to the city and parked off Valencia, wandering into a shop with a life-sized Superman and towering midcentury lamps. You read the old anatomical drawings on the wall, your mouth open in concentration. We walked up the street to a wood-paneled shop full of pirate supplies, poking our fingers into their barrel of lard.

I want to go somewhere outside,
you said.

You didn't. I drove us across town, as slowly and carefully as possible, to the botanical gardens. As we got up to the entrance, the mist intensified into a drizzle. The gardens were enormous, sprawled out among flat grass planes. We walked over a wooden footbridge.

There was this architect,
I began,
whose name I can't think of, and he designed these cathedrals. He started this cathedral that he never finished, and they're still working on it a hundred and something years later.

You nodded.

And he made them first upside down,
I said,
with weighted ropes, hung to let gravity determine the straight
angles, you know, because it's just hanging there in a perfectly straight line, and I don't know why I can't think of his name ...

You patiently listened to me ramble, and then spoke.
Where was the cathedral?

You cursed.
I'd write this down, but I don't have a pen.

Cathedrals in Spain,
you said.

We passed a couple our age, near a huge bird-of-paradise. The guy was dressed as a girl, the girl dressed as a guy.
Happy Halloween,
they said.

You cracked your wrist with a sickening pop.

That's disgusting,
I said.

You looked stricken.
I can't help it. I do it so much it's just bone on bone now.

We stopped and read the little markers describing the species. We turned a corner and found a dingy four-door sedan parked in one of the groves.
This is of the species Acura,
I said. You laughed and I said,
I can't believe you laughed at that.
We stepped into a tremendous weeping willow, its hanging vines forming a nearly uninterrupted curtain. We looked at the nexus of branches over our heads.
Let's live here,
you said. Our canvas shoes squelched with rainwater.
We need to put on new socks or we're gonna get the jungle rot,
I said. When we came to a small, tucked-away grove, I said,
This is what I wanted to show you.
The bamboo rose so high in the air it was hard to see beyond the ringed yellow spokes. The rain filtered down through so many sharp, pointed leaves. There was a
stagnant pond in the grove, alive with larvae. The dim gray light that came through the canopy bounced on the pond like pitched pebbles. You had your back to me, standing at the edge. I was very close behind you. The water was a color green I had never seen before.
That's a color green I've never seen before,
I said.