Three Day Summer (4 page)

Friday, August 15

chapter 10

Michael

My first thought when I wake up is that I'm being choked by a horde of yellow snakes in the wilderness of upstate New York.

I jerk up, hitting the top of Amanda's head with my chin. Her hair is tangled around my neck and shoulders.

She screams and flails her right arm, hitting me squarely in the nose. I yelp.

It's like a skit on
Benny Hill
, ending with Amanda holding her head in a dramatic fashion and yelling at me for five minutes for being a clumsy idiot.

It's during the end of her rant that I get a good look at the field around me. I swear, it's like the population has multiplied overnight, like rabbits. In fact, from my peripheral vision I'm pretty sure I can see two naked people going at it like rabbits, too. I don't bother to investigate further. (Okay, fine, so I sneak a peek at a boob freely swinging not ten feet away from me. I am an eighteen-year-old male, not a saint.)

I hear laughter and bits of conversation coming at me from everywhere.

From somewhere to my right: “I've dropped the acid, man.”

“Solid.”

“No, man. I literally dropped it on the ground. And I think you just stepped on it.”

“Oh, shit.”

From somewhere to my left: “Would you like to try some homemade granola? It's one hundred percent vegan. Remember, animals are our friends, not food.”

There are kids my age as far as the eye can see. Where have they all come from suddenly in the middle of the night?

A few feet away from me, Evan and Rob emerge from the woods that surround our field. Evan has a particularly huge grin on his face. I notice that he keeps his fist closed as he walks back toward me and only opens it when he's right in front of us.

Inside are six small, shiny brown squares.

“Morning Glory,” Evan identifies the batch of acid. “It's like a bitchin' pharmacy in there!” He points with his thumb to the forest behind us before popping one of the tabs onto his tongue. He lets it hang out while the tab dissolves.

Rob and the girls each take one too, the girls more demure about their tongues. I actually have never done acid before and I hesitate for a moment, looking at the last remaining tab.

“Do it for our country,” Evan yells, before adding, “you yellow-bellied coward!”

I look around to see Amanda eyeing me warily, about to call me something much worse. I take the thin film and place it on my tongue.

It feels as flat and tasteless as paper. I don't know why but I expected something more, like a tingle or a metallic taste or something. I guess it's the word “acid”; it conjures thoughts of lab experiments in Chemistry.

Evan takes out his banana bunch. There just happen to be exactly six. We each take one. I'm starting to relax now, starting to feel like my usual laid-back self.

This is going to be superb. I'm going to see Joan Baez and Jimi and Grace Slick perform. We'll hang out in these beautiful fields. I'll see stars again every night.

Thinking about the stars reminds me of how I felt last night. For three days I will totally forget about the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing with my life. This is a time-out. The clock has literally stopped and there's nothing to think about but today, tomorrow, and Sunday. I can stretch out every moment to a lifetime. I can take a mental Polaroid of every single second and then expand it out into infinity. This weekend will never end and it's all because of me and my powers.

For one of those infinite split seconds, I wonder if that's the acid talking.

But then the next second comes—when I summon it to come, of course—and I realize, nah. This is all me.

I am a time god!

chapter 11

Cora

Last night, I dreamt about Ned. We were in his car, at a drive-in movie, and only half paying attention to the flickering images up on the screen. The other times, we were making out. Or just laughing and talking like normal. Like we did so many nights in the year and a half we were together.

This morning, when I wake up, it takes me a second to remember the reality of us. For just a moment, our kisses amid the scent of popcorn and leather seem like a recent memory instead of a dream. Then I hear his voice calling out to my dad downstairs and I remember. I feel betrayed by my subconscious.

I dress quickly, slipping on a simple white dress, with the intention of getting my mind occupied as soon as possible at the medical tent. But Ned has other plans. As soon as I get downstairs, he informs me that he's done helping out at our farm for the day, so of course he's going to come check out the festival too. And, of course, he's going to casually just walk over there with me.

I'm annoyed, even though it's hardly his fault that I dreamt about him. I walk briskly past our house, trying my damnedest to make the trip go as quickly as possible. We have to cross the Quickway to get over to the festival, and my jaw nearly drops at what I see. Our two-lane country street has become a virtual parking lot overnight. There are empty cars, bumper to bumper. And as we cross and get to the field on the other side, I can start to see where most of the cars' passengers must be.

“Man, this is a lot of people. Where did they all come from?” Ned says, blinking.

I was just thinking the same thing, of course, but I turn my head and glare at Ned's angular profile. I don't want him echoing my thoughts. I don't want him around at all.

“Do you even have a ticket?” I ask him, pointedly now. “The show starts tonight, so they probably won't let you in without a ticket.”

“I heard they wouldn't be checking tickets,” he responds breezily.

I shrug. I've heard whisperings of the same thing, but at this moment, I hope it won't be true.

“Besides,” he says. “I can always come help out at the medical tents. I'm sure Anna wouldn't say no.”

This is also unfortunately true. We probably need the help and Anna really likes Ned. Then again, who doesn't around here?

Why can't he disappear? Why can't breakups mean that the other person just leaves the plane of your existence entirely? I don't mean that they have to
die
. But can't they just die from your world, be obliterated from the cast of characters that populate your story, never to appear onstage with you again? And for heaven's sake, can't there be a rule banning them forevermore from your
dreams
?

“So who are you most looking forward to seeing?” Ned asks.

Nope. Instead, I'm doomed to engage in small talk with the boy who has broken my heart. And here in Bethel, I will be forced to have some version of this conversation for the rest of my existence. Today it's what act I want to see. Someday it'll be which street I'd buy my house on. That's what it means, living in a small town.

“I probably won't be seeing anybody. Pretty sure the medical tent will keep me busy,” I finally respond.

“All right. Who are you looking forward to hearing?”

I shrug. “Joni Mitchell.”

“Is she playing?” Ned asks.

“I thought so . . . ,” I say.

“I'm pretty excited about the Who. Do you think they'll play ‘My Generation'?”

“Probably. It's one of their biggest songs.”

“That would be amazing.” Ned smiles.

“Yeah.” This field to get to the main concert area is never ending. It just goes on and on and on, swarmed with all the bright clothes and shiny, excited faces of, to quote Ned's favorite band du jour, my generation.

You know who else goes on and on and on? Ned. The boy will not stop jabbering about the concert and the music and the love and the peace and crap. I want to tell him to shut up.

I also want to make out with him.

It's all very confusing.

Finally, at long, long last, we get to the gates. I have my pass identifying me as medical personnel pinned to my dress and there actually is a glazed-over, long-bearded twenty-something standing by the gate in a red Woodstock T-shirt, theoretically on hand to check it.

“Looks like they're checking tickets,” I say in a high-pitched voice.

I point to my pass as I walk by. The guy at the gate stares somewhere above and to the right of me the whole time.

I don't wait for Ned to notice, just bolt toward my medical tent, leaving him to ponder the Who's set list on his own. I think he yells out, “Hey, could you ask Anna . . .” But I ignore him. As far as I'm concerned, I don't hear a thing, so focused am I on making a beeline for the tent, where, surely, I am sorely needed.

chapter 12

Michael

Amanda is a unicorn. No, she's a dragon. No, a rainbow. No, just lightning and stars and fire.

She is everything beautiful and terrible in this world.

I am consuming her. My mouth fits around her plump lips. We are like fish, needing the motion of our mouths to breathe. If we stop, we die. So I keep going.

It's like I have infinite vision. My eyes are wide open and I can see every pore in Amanda's nose, the fine blond hairs above her lip, and the thicker ones in her eyebrows and eyelashes.

But I can also see everything going on around me. Every single person, what they are wearing, who they're with. Every fleck in the turquoise ring of the guy to the right of me. The long dark hair and red-striped dress of a girl who swishes past. Every strand of neon green grass. And I do mean every strand. I can see the water flowing through them. The molecules of chlorophyll. Hey, look, there's Chemistry again. Or is that Biology?

Biology. I can see it. I can see life itself and a strand of Amanda's saliva as she breathes it in and out against my lips. With every intake of oxygen, the strand is almost broken, only to be resurrected.

Resurrection. Like Easter. It's like Easter drool. That's what it is.

Which makes me think of Easter eggs.

Which makes me immediately pick out every pastel color I see: so many flowers on dresses to choose from. Some are peachy and some are minty.

It's been way too long since I've had Doublemint gum.

Maybe I can use some now.

Maybe Amanda can use some now. It's actually hard to tell which of us, if either, is experiencing bad-breath issues.

Though if we are sharing the same breath, does it matter?

How many breaths do we each have left anyway?

From one of my many eyes, I see a boy who can't be much older than twelve. He's with two people who look ancient, at least in their midthirties. The boy says the word “Dad.”

Dad. Dad. Dad. Dadadadadadadadadadadadadad.

What a strange word. And kinda funny. But also sorta sad. But also sounding like a drum.

God, I remember being twelve. And saying “Dad.” That was ages ago. So long ago and far away. It's like I was another person, and that other person is still twelve and living in 1963. And this person is in 1969. What will happen if somehow black holes collide and the old me and new me meet? Will that cause black holes to collide?

Wait, no. I said black holes collided to make the first thing happen. So that can't happen again as a cause if it's the effect.

Oh! Remember when I was the master of time? Wait, maybe I still am. I can do that again.

Can't I?

Oh my God. I've lost it. I've lost my superpower.

I've lost my youth.

“Ack! Michael!” I hear Amanda scream from above me. “What are you doing?”

The chlorophyll has the answers. I know it. It has all the molecules. It's what we are all standing on, united.

It has to be in there. My youth.

If I can just dig deep enough into this soil, I will find it. I will triumph over this temporary setback.

Someone is screaming. He sounds crazed.

Oh, wait. I think that's me. The me from two seconds ago. The me of three seconds later tells me to stop because screaming is loud and unnecessary.

But those three seconds are taking forever.

I will never stop screaming. I will never find my youth.

I will never get to the bottom of this soil.

From far above the hole I dig, I hear Evan's voice. “Oh, man, I think we have to take him to the nurse.”

Rob's words echo against the millions of grass strands that are closing in around me. “He's killing my trip, man.”

chapter 13

Cora

“So a little birdie told me she saw you walking with Ned earlier,” Anna says to me as she dispenses two aspirin to a girl complaining of cramps.

“A little birdie? Who?”

“Maria,” Anna says, indicating one of the other nurses bustling away at the back of the tent.

“Seriously? There are, like, a hundred thousand people here!” How on earth could Maria pick me out? Stupid small towns.

“So . . . is it true? Are you back together?” There's a twinkle in Anna's eye. A part of me has always felt like it wasn't just my heart that got broken when Ned and I split. I feel like I've let down my parents, Anna, and anyone else who's ever had a soft spot for Ned. So basically everyone. Except for maybe Wes.

I sigh. “No. He's just being his usual helpful self.
Helping
my parents at the farm.
Helping
me walk across the field.” Helping me never, ever get over him.

“Well, it starts out with helping. There's a reason he's hanging around you still, you know,” Anna says confidently.

I don't want to believe it, but I'd be lying if I said that a traitorous part of my stomach doesn't do a little flip when Anna says that.

“TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME.” Someone is bellowing. “WHAT HAPPENED TO TIME?!”

A moment later, three guys have practically fallen into our tent, the two on the ends hoisting up the one in the middle—I soon realize he's the one yelling.

“It's fallen through my hands like a sieve. A SIEVE,” he practically screams in Anna's ear.

“Whoa. Okay, first of all: INDOOR VOICE, YOUNG MAN.” Anna is just as loud as the guy, and his eyes get saucer-wide at the sound of it. I suddenly recognize him as Peach Fuzz from the day before. In fact, I think I saw him making out with his blond girlfriend on my way over here.

“I'm sorry,” Peach Fuzz whispers.

“What's your name?” Anna asks.

“Michael,” he whispers.

“And what did you take?”

Michael just shakes his head and presses his lips against each other hard. His eyes remain huge and dilated. I don't think he has blinked once.

Anna turns to Michael's two companions. “It's all right. He won't get in trouble. I just need to know so we can help him.”

“Acid,” the taller kid says.

“What color?” Anna asks.

Both of them think about this for a moment. “I think it was brown,” Rob finally says, and I realize I remember his name.

Anna notes it on her chart.

“When will it be safe to get old?” Michael whispers.

“Do we have to stay with him?” the taller kid asks, an unmistakable panic in his eyes. “The show's about to start any minute now. . . .”

He trails off as a child of maybe about eight wanders into the tent, his left knee bleeding profusely. A moment later, a short, dark-haired woman comes meandering in after him. “Think we need a Band-Aid,” she says in a Southern drawl.

Unfazed as ever, Anna quickly ushers Michael toward a chair and motions for me to take some of his vitals. She then takes the mother and child to a separate corner. “Tell me what happened,” I hear her ask in her matter-of-fact voice.

I make sure Michael is in place before I take my penlight and stare into his glassy eyes. If it's possible, they just get bigger. I'm surprised his tear ducts haven't kicked in by now.

I look back at his two companions and see that their panic hasn't abated in the slightest. The taller one is staring at the boy with the bloody knee and looks on the verge of a freakout himself.

“Hey, what are your names?” I ask them. “Actually, you're Rob, right?” I smile at him. I'm not likely to forget that physique anytime soon.

“Yeah . . . ,” he says, eyeing me suspiciously before breaking into a grin. “Groovy. A psychic nurse.”

Clearly, meeting me was not as memorable for him.

“And you are?” I turn to the very tall guy standing next to him, the one who keeps staring at the child's bloody knee.

Rob hits his companion in the elbow to get his attention.

“Evan,” he finally says, tearing his eyes away from the blood.

“I'm Cora. Honestly, I think this one'll be a while, fellas,” I say as I feel for Michael's pulse. “How about I keep Michael in here and you come get him at, say, around . . .” I look at my watch. It's eleven a.m. “Let's say one?”

“Oh my God,” Michael says and I see him staring agape at my watch, before turning his gaze back onto me. “You have caught time. In there,” he whispers as he points at my watch. “
You
are the master. How did you do it?”

“Better make that two,” I say. “Can you do that? Come back at two for him?”

“Yeah,” Rob says. Evan mumbles something unintelligible and then they both scramble out of there. I can almost see cartoon zoom marks in their wake. I sincerely hope they come back for Michael. It's a big farm and it won't be hard for him to lose his friends.

“Can you give time back to me?” he asks when I turn to him again.

“Sure. First, just open your mouth.” I use a tongue depressor and my penlight again. Then the otoscope to check his ears.

“Okay, Michael. So here's what we're going to do. First, I'm going to give you some tea.”

“Tea?” he asks.

“Yes. And then, we're going to go for a little walk just around the tent.” Believe it or not, these are our actual instructions for dealing with freak-outs. Which is why Anna handed him off to me so easily. Nothing a candy striper can't handle, especially a veteran one.

I find a plastic cup and pour water out of the kettle that's being kept warm on a small gas burner. Then I take a Lipton packet out of a bin and plop it in, dunking it a few times.

“Here you go,” I say. “Drink up.”

Michael goes to take a sip, but then looks at me suspiciously for a moment, squinting his light green eyes. “And then . . . you'll show me?”

“I'll show you . . . ?” I wait for him to finish his thought.

“How you lassoed time?”

“Oh, yes. Definitely. Time lassoer. That's me.” I have discovered in my one day working here that it's best to just go along with whatever is happening in our patients' heads. As much as soberly possible, anyway.

“Finish that and we'll have a chat all about it.”

Michael looks satisfied as he takes a sip of his tea. I think I finally see him blink.