afternoons we go to the skatepark under the Burnside Bridge. We lean against
the concrete barrier and watch the boys start and skate and stop again. They call
out to each other and laugh. We meet a girl named Angel who carries vodka and orange
juice in a jar. The three of us smoke pot and tell stories. Toy talks about Seth.
Angel tells us about leaving home. About running away and ending up here. I watch
how Angel tucks her hair behind her ear when she smokes. The boys skate around us
and we pretend to shine them on.
the empty house
I’ve had the dream again and I’m alone in my room. It’s midday. I call Toy, but the
phone just rings and rings. She’s with Seth, I think, or the camp counselor, and I
try to go back to sleep.
I’m in the kitchen eating cereal when my mom comes home.
“Is that all you ever eat?” She stands in the doorway wearing a white linen jacket,
her purse in one hand. She doesn’t sit down. She walks back into the kitchen and looks
in the refrigerator.
“You should go grocery shopping,” she says. And then she looks in her purse and pulls
out two twenties. She’s wearing high-heeled burgundy shoes with straps around the
ankle and there’s a streak of orangey makeup on her collar. I wonder if she’s getting
old and if this is what it’s going to be like. Bits of her coming off on her clothes.
“Sure,” I say, but she doesn’t seem to hear me. She’s looking through some papers,
some mail on the shelf below the phone.
“You hate being here,” I say. It’s not a question. “You wanted this house so bad and
now you’re never here.” Louder now. This lying house. I hate this house.
She looks up and then she looks confused. Then she looks at me in a way that makes
me think she really does understand. This isn’t what she wanted either. This empty
house. But what does she want? Her face stretches tight over her cheekbones. Does
she remember the tell-me-again times?
Up close her eyes are watery and bits of mascara litter her cheek. I can see how much
makeup is on the collar of her jacket.
“I could stay home, Anna, if you want,” she says, but she’s looking back at the papers
in her hand and hasn’t put her purse down.
I’m done with my cereal. I take the bowl to the sink, rinse it, and put it in the
dishwasher. “That’s alright.” I look past her into the still cul-de-sac. The sky’s
clear and cloudless. “I’m going downtown anyway.”
josh
Downtown the sun is back behind the bridge and there are only a few boys left, skating
back and forth on the concrete ramp, dreamy and stoned. I meet a boy named Josh and
he and Angel and I sit close together, our shoulders touching. We cup the end of the
pipe for each other, sheltering the flame from the wind. I’m trying to describe the
dream. I’ve had it ever since I can remember and it’s familiar, but when I try to
describe it, it breaks apart. The wind picks up and I shiver. I’m ready to give up
because I can’t make it sound right.
I stare at the changing sky and try again.
“I’m far from the world and I see it like a brightly lit ball in the distance. The
sky behind it is mostly gray. It starts in silence, but I can see the people. Everyone
is in a hurry. They’re racing around the globe. They each hold a thread, like a bit
of string, and it unravels, covering the planet. The buzzing starts. The buzzing gets
faster and louder. They’re all racing to one spot on the earth. I’m outside of it
and I can see everything. I can see every person in the world racing to a single spot
on the earth. The buzzing is all I can hear. It gets so I can’t take it. Then I wake
up.”
Angel’s sitting on my left.
“You’re a stoner,” she says. But Josh puts his arm around me.
“I know that feeling,” he says. “It’s like everything is standing still, but underneath
it’s all frantic and rushed.”
I’m surprised and look at
the concrete barrier and watch the boys start and skate and stop again. They call
out to each other and laugh. We meet a girl named Angel who carries vodka and orange
juice in a jar. The three of us smoke pot and tell stories. Toy talks about Seth.
Angel tells us about leaving home. About running away and ending up here. I watch
how Angel tucks her hair behind her ear when she smokes. The boys skate around us
and we pretend to shine them on.
the empty house
I’ve had the dream again and I’m alone in my room. It’s midday. I call Toy, but the
phone just rings and rings. She’s with Seth, I think, or the camp counselor, and I
try to go back to sleep.
I’m in the kitchen eating cereal when my mom comes home.
“Is that all you ever eat?” She stands in the doorway wearing a white linen jacket,
her purse in one hand. She doesn’t sit down. She walks back into the kitchen and looks
in the refrigerator.
“You should go grocery shopping,” she says. And then she looks in her purse and pulls
out two twenties. She’s wearing high-heeled burgundy shoes with straps around the
ankle and there’s a streak of orangey makeup on her collar. I wonder if she’s getting
old and if this is what it’s going to be like. Bits of her coming off on her clothes.
“Sure,” I say, but she doesn’t seem to hear me. She’s looking through some papers,
some mail on the shelf below the phone.
“You hate being here,” I say. It’s not a question. “You wanted this house so bad and
now you’re never here.” Louder now. This lying house. I hate this house.
She looks up and then she looks confused. Then she looks at me in a way that makes
me think she really does understand. This isn’t what she wanted either. This empty
house. But what does she want? Her face stretches tight over her cheekbones. Does
she remember the tell-me-again times?
Up close her eyes are watery and bits of mascara litter her cheek. I can see how much
makeup is on the collar of her jacket.
“I could stay home, Anna, if you want,” she says, but she’s looking back at the papers
in her hand and hasn’t put her purse down.
I’m done with my cereal. I take the bowl to the sink, rinse it, and put it in the
dishwasher. “That’s alright.” I look past her into the still cul-de-sac. The sky’s
clear and cloudless. “I’m going downtown anyway.”
josh
Downtown the sun is back behind the bridge and there are only a few boys left, skating
back and forth on the concrete ramp, dreamy and stoned. I meet a boy named Josh and
he and Angel and I sit close together, our shoulders touching. We cup the end of the
pipe for each other, sheltering the flame from the wind. I’m trying to describe the
dream. I’ve had it ever since I can remember and it’s familiar, but when I try to
describe it, it breaks apart. The wind picks up and I shiver. I’m ready to give up
because I can’t make it sound right.
I stare at the changing sky and try again.
“I’m far from the world and I see it like a brightly lit ball in the distance. The
sky behind it is mostly gray. It starts in silence, but I can see the people. Everyone
is in a hurry. They’re racing around the globe. They each hold a thread, like a bit
of string, and it unravels, covering the planet. The buzzing starts. The buzzing gets
faster and louder. They’re all racing to one spot on the earth. I’m outside of it
and I can see everything. I can see every person in the world racing to a single spot
on the earth. The buzzing is all I can hear. It gets so I can’t take it. Then I wake
up.”
Angel’s sitting on my left.
“You’re a stoner,” she says. But Josh puts his arm around me.
“I know that feeling,” he says. “It’s like everything is standing still, but underneath
it’s all frantic and rushed.”
I’m surprised and look at
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