Shadows of a Dream

by Nicole Disney

  Michael turns and goes out the front door that’s still gaping open behind him. Mom and I are afraid to look at each other, or maybe I’m the only one afraid.

  I get off the piano bench and raise my hand for her shoulder. She pulls away hard. “Don’t.” And I hear her heels click out of the room.

  I stand alone for a minute, not sure what I’m going to do next. Then my muscles take over. I switch to autopilot. I grab my jacket, throw it over my shoulders, and start walking to Jayden’s. When I get there, Michael is already there with Jayden and Shiloh.

  They all sit up straight when they see me, their chatter dying. They look afraid of me. I’m not sure what they’re expecting. I walk past the couch they’re lounging on, not saying a word to any of them. I step in front of the mic we have permanently set up, flip it on, and take a few deep breaths.

  “You’re such a pretty girl, but you just can’t let go,” I start to sing. The guys scramble to their instruments. Jayden starts strumming on guitar, Shiloh comes in with bass, and Michael eases in with a soft rhythm.

  “Yes, I know I’ve lied, but you just didn’t want the truth.”

  We play all night. I begin to appreciate Michael’s drumming in a way I never have before. I’ve always known he was talented, but when you compare violin with drums, well, drums just don’t have the same magic. Appreciating perfect timing requires a deliberate focus on something that’s not supposed to draw attention to itself. It can certainly wow, especially when he breaks into a solo, but the violin, my heart will never stop breaking that I can’t hear him play anymore.

  We go for hours. My voice is getting raspy. Michael has blisters from his drumsticks. Jayden and Shiloh’s fingertips are raw.

  I look at Michael. Part of me is still a little mad at him for what he said to Mom, for crushing her, for taking me out with him, but I realize I need Mom’s approval in a way he never has. He doesn’t care. He wants Dad’s approval. He’ll never have a chance. Maybe all he did was say what I didn’t have the guts to. Maybe he forced the confrontation I would have avoided. Maybe he freed us. And should he feel guilty for doing what he wants to do? Was it selfish? Or was it just taking control of his life?

  Our band isn’t something we do just screwing around. It’s our heart and soul. How dare I say anything short of that? No, I can’t be mad. I’m a coward. And he did what we both needed. Overkill bringing Dad’s suicide into it? Definitely. But if that’s what’s in his heart, maybe not. Maybe I try to shelter people too much. Maybe I should just let things be what they are. Don’t sugarcoat every little thing. Hurt people, if you have to. I don’t know anymore.

  “So, can we stay here until we go to LA?” I ask Jayden. His smile spreads wide across his face, and I realize my approval was all they were waiting for.

  Michael comes and gives me a tight hug and whispers in my ear. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t take it anymore.” I just squeeze him back. Jayden breaks out celebratory beer. We clink bottles and take healthy sips. Michael raises his lighter to his lips, not striking the flame awake, simply inhaling the butane.

  Jayden whoops his approval and Michael inhales longer. I want to smack the shit out of Jayden. Is Michael taking the extra pull to impress him? He always was enamored with Jayden. It was Jayden who handed him his first joint, Jayden who handed him the spray paint that first night, Jayden who handed him drumsticks before he even had drums to play, Jayden who showed him the magic of banging on pots and railings and cardboard.

  Maybe it’s Jayden’s fault. Jayden handed him everything. But I handed him Jayden. I watched it all happen. That’s why Mom slapped me. I watch Michael’s eyes dilate a little farther. I watch his muscles relax lazily. I watch him char his lungs for a petty high, a trick of the mind, oxygen deprivation and brain cell death. I watch and I try to focus on something else, leaving town, the band, desires I gave him, things I desperately want to be good.

  And then my mind wanders back to Mom, crying in her empty mansion, bereft of her husband and her children, crying out to God or anything that will listen that she did everything right, demanding an answer, why has this happened to her?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jaselle’s shoulders are tan. She’s wearing a tank top that shows them off, and I can’t stop staring. They’re feminine, slight and lean, but I know how strong they are. They beg for a kiss. The rest of her says don’t touch me as she goes through the contact list in her phone irascibly.

  “How does everyone in the city run out at once?” she asks. She means meth, and she doesn’t want an answer. I shrug and put my hand on her thigh. I don’t know what else to do. She keeps clicking away.

  “Let’s just smoke some weed, babe. What’s the big deal?”

  Someone answers their phone and I get ignored while she talks to them. When she gets off, she has a new number to call. She doesn’t close the phone, just presses end and dials again. When I hear her half of the new conversation, I know she’s found some. She clicks it shut and confirms it.

  “You ready?”

  “What? I don’t want to go.” Her face changes. She looks hurt and a little panicked. I don’t understand why. I don’t smoke it with her anymore, so I usually don’t buy it with her either.

  “Come on, I don’t know these guys.”

  I roll my eyes. “Where’d you get them?”

  “A friend of a friend. It’ll be fine, but just come with me, okay?”

  I go through the visual of her in some weird guy’s car buying drugs and things going wrong. I conclude I’d rather be there if it does than sit here and worry. I sit up with a groan. She leans over and kisses my neck. “Thanks, sweetie.”

  I try to resist her. I still pout every time she wants to do meth even though it doesn’t change anything. She keeps kissing, working up to my ear and breathing warmth into it, then whispers, “I love you.” I smile without enthusiasm and kiss her cheek. That’s not good enough for her. She keeps going, running her hand between my legs, telling me how sexy I am, until I submit and really kiss her back. Once she’s worked me out of my crappy mood she gets off the bed and slips into flip-flops and puts her shades on. Tease.

  It’s one of those sunny winter days that like to spring up in Colorado, and Jaselle’s car has been gathering and trapping the rays long enough it feels like a sauna inside. I close the door and let it suffocate me. She rolls the windows down and we jerk away. She’s bobbing her head to Nine Inch Nails, chewing on a toothpick, so at ease.

  My mind is on road rash and rotting flesh. Heat makes me think of that kind of stuff, death and the like, maggoty wounds and unnoticed bodies in the alleys. Some would say dark nights and bad weather lend themselves more to those sorts of thoughts, but for whatever reason this kind of day just makes me think of how fast a body would decompose under the merciless sunrays. Weird? Yeah, okay, I’ll stop.

  Jaselle stops in front of a house that doesn’t look nearly ragged enough, the kind of house that’s not supposed to know what crank is. I shoot her a glance and she looks unsure too, but she double-checks the address that was texted to her and nods.

  “This is it.” She opens her car door.

  I reach out and grab her arm. “We’re going inside?”

  “Yeah, they said ring the doorbell.”

  My stomach knots again. I hate this, but I get out and follow her up the path between the way-too-green grass. She reaches up and rings the doorbell twice, once long and one tap. I wonder if that was some kind of code given to her or if she just rings that way. She looks over at me and reaches out to touch my face, concerned again, it seems.

  I hold my breath when I hear the doorknob twist. It swings open and I feel the blood drain from me, head to toe. I have no more blood, or breath, or bones to hold me, or equanimity to pretend. I dig deep down for strength as a beam of light reflects off the grilled teeth that disappear as quickly as my pulse.

  I stare into the black eyes that once were the kindest of three sets, and I see his terror. I harden my gaze and nod, hoping
he interprets what I intend, that I want him to shut up and act like he’s never seen me before. Shut up, and don’t make this seem weird. Shut up, and don’t give the slightest indication that you’ve been inside me. And I’ll act like I don’t remember you. I’ll act like I don’t still feel the cold metal of the gun on my temple.

  He steps out of the way so we can come in. I know I can’t be satisfied with my small victory just yet.

  Metal Mouth. He says some fucking shit I can’t understand just like old times and heads down a hallway out of view, leaving Jaselle and me alone in the room. With him gone, I take in our surroundings. All the trashiness this place lacks on the outside it more than makes up for on the inside. There’s garbage covering every inch of carpet. I try to pay closer attention to the details, and not see it just as clutter.

  There are propane tanks in the corner, spray painted with bent valves coming out. There’s plastic tubing, empty pill bottles everywhere, paint thinner, rock salt, funnels, those camp stove fuel things, mason jars, everything you can imagine. A scuba tank? And all the bottles seem empty, empty toluene cans, empty hydrogen peroxide bottles, empty starter fluid. Ingredients, no doubt. I’m creative enough to imagine how all these things come in useful, but it all just looks scattered, discarded.

  I’m wondering where the working version of all this is. Which room contains what surely looks like a sixth grader’s science project?

  I hear talking down the hall, voices starting to rise. Jaselle’s hand slips around my arm like she’s afraid. I squeeze back. Three guys come back in the room. Three way too familiar faces. Ice bounds down the hall, jubilant, and comes all the way up to my face, too close. Jaselle pulls my arms a little when she backs away from him. I won’t move. I stare him down, knowing shutting him up will be a hundred times more difficult than Metal Mouth.

  We stare and stare. I can’t feel my limbs. I’m not in the alley. I’m not alone. But really, what’s the difference? There are three of them. I’m sure they still have guns. And we’re in their house. They could all rape Jaselle and me right now. Maybe I should have grabbed her and run the second Metal Mouth opened the door. Why didn’t I think of that? I was so preoccupied with Jaselle not finding out who these men were to me. But now, who will they become to her?

  “Leave her alone, man.” Metal Mouth has never been more audible. Part of me wants to thank him, the other part just says yes, you owe me this. Ice looks from me to Jaselle, catching up with what Metal Mouth has already interpreted: Jaselle is in the dark.

  “I hear you’re a good friend of Shane’s,” Ice says to Jaselle. I hate that he’s speaking to her. I want to step in between them. I don’t want his eyes roaming over her.

  “Yeah, we go way back,” Jaselle says.

  “Shane’s our boy. We’ll hook you up,” Short Shit says. I look at him for the first time. He was the loudest. I probably should be the most worried about him, but Ice is the boss. Short Shit looks me up and down exaggeratedly. “We’ll definitely help you.” He reaches out like he’s going to touch me. I swat him away, hard. Ice shoots him a look that says back off. Jaselle squeezes my arm again.

  “What can I get you ladies?” Ice says.

  Jaselle flashes a wad of cash that would be impressive were it not made of ones. “Teenager?” I don’t even know what that means, but Ice nods. He sits down on the couch and leans over his pile of crap that I suddenly realize is hiding a coffee table. He pulls out what looks like a cell phone but is actually a scale and goes to work.

  Short Shit gets closer to me again. I can smell his bad breath. “So, how you been?”

  “Fine.”

  “You know I was on 15th the other night, looking for some fine bitches, wasn’t shit out there.”

  I look at Jaselle to see if she’s finding this unusual, but she clearly thinks it’s just small talk. I look back to Short Shit. I’m a little surprised he remembers me telling him he could find hookers there, my feeble attempt to save myself.

  “There’re always girls on 15th,” I say.

  “Sure, there were girls, but once you taste something sweet it’s hard not to come back for more. Makes that crap on 15th not even worth it.”

  I wonder if Jaselle can feel me shaking.

  “You’ll fuck anything,” Ice blurts from the couch. “Your standards of sweet are pretty low.”

  “You fall in love?” Jaselle uncomfortably asks.

  Short Shit’s smile spreads across his face like wildfire. “With her pussy, maybe.”

  Ice gets up and walks over with the bag of meth. He hands it to Jaselle, brushing her finger with his while he gives me a look. “Y’all can stick around if you want, have a drink, shoot up.” My skin feels like it has a million ants crawling under it.

  “I don’t shoot it,” Jaselle says. My eyes fly to hers, wanting to shake her. That’s her only response? Not, we have to go? Not, no thanks, we’re fine?

  “You need some rigs?” Ice asks. I’m a little proud of myself for knowing that means needles. I want to shake him now. She didn’t say we don’t have needles, she said we don’t shoot. Jaselle lingers longer than I’d like. She seems fascinated.

  “We have to go,” I blurt. I was trying not to do that, but enough is enough.

  Metal Mouth crosses the room. “All right grmm, y’all shha have a nice high.” Weird, I’m starting to understand him easier. I think my eyes say thank you.

  I tug Jaselle toward the door with the arm she still won’t let go of. Finally, I hear the deadbolt behind us. I don’t feel any better yet. I want to be in the car. I want to be going eighty miles per hour. I want to forget their faces, their snotty little laughs.

  The car door closes. I can’t feel anything. Jaselle gets in the driver’s side. She’s waiting to turn the ignition, looking at me, wanting to ask what’s wrong.

  “Go,” I say.

  “Are you—”

  “Jaselle, just go.”

  I can tell she still doesn’t want to. She’s considering trying to get it out of me some more before we leave, but she doesn’t. She puts the car in drive and we go. When we pull up in front of her house, she tries to do the sitting in the car thing, but I just get out and leave her there, so she’s forced to follow along. She catches up to me on the stair in front of her building. She gave me a key to her apartment, but I still don’t have one for the building, so I have to wait for her. She stops in front of me.

  “I wasn’t going to do it,” she says.

  “Huh?”

  “I wasn’t.” I realize she means shoot up. That’s what she thinks is wrong with me. I’m not thrilled about that little inner struggle either, and after what she just blurted, I obviously should be concerned.

  “Good.” I can’t think of anything else.

  “You don’t believe me?” Her eyes water up. I don’t say anything. “Don’t be mad at me. I didn’t do anything.”

  “Don’t ever go back there again.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  Her posture changes completely, the gloss over her eyes disappears. “Don’t talk to me like that. Who do you think you are? I’ll go wherever the fuck I want.”

  “Not there.”

  “What is your problem? You act like you’ve never seen a drug deal before. You live in a fuckin’ alley and you can’t handle a sixteenth of glass?”

  “I don’t give a shit about the glass. I told you not to go back to that house.”

  “I don’t know what makes you think you can tell me anything.”

  I stop and take a deep breath. I should have known this was the wrong approach, my rebellious angel. I try to smooth out my voice. “Okay, you’re right. But—”

  “I’m not going to be anybody’s dog. I’ve done that. You—”

  “For God’s sake, Jaselle, shut up for a second!”

  “Fu—”

  “They raped me, okay?” I have to scream it, partially to make her be quiet, partially because I don’t think I could have gotten it
out any other way. Her face goes blank. I’ve never seen someone so without words in my life. “All three of them,” I say. “In the alley…” A tear spills over. “Held me down…” My knees buckle. “Gun…” She’s holding me immediately. I’m gasping in air, trying to compose myself, but it all just keeps coming out whether I like it or not.

  She squeezes harder, plastering me to her chest, not letting me move an inch. The tighter she holds me the harder I cry. The sympathy is too much for me. It gives the fumes I’m choking on a flame and I burn from the inside. It’s like I’ve never allowed myself to cry over this before. It’s like it was never worth crying over until I had her to comfort me.

  “Don’t go back. Promise,” I say. She promises. “Promise,” I demand again. She promises again. And I keep asking like that, over and over again in some mindless babble. I can’t stop saying it, “Promise and again always.”

  Somewhere along the way she realizes I’m out of my mind and she just rocks me back and forth, promising her heart out. “I promise, baby. I promise.”

  Her arms are so strong. They were powerful when they pushed me, but they’re stronger now, holding the pieces of me I’m certain would scatter to the ground were she not keeping me together. I bury my wet face in her neck and dive into her scent. There’s nothing but her, nothing but her smell and her arms, her chin on my head, her hand rubbing my back and her soft voice. “Breathe, baby, breathe.”

  A couple of kids with their dog walk by us on the sidewalk. They pull me out of my little episode. I come back to the present and realize I’m falling apart on Jaselle’s front steps, in front of the world. Seeing them see me is enough to make me take a deep breath and wipe my face off.

  Jaselle helps me up. “You okay, sweetie?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I think I’m going to go to the Chapel. I haven’t practiced with the guys in a while.” She looks concerned but just gives me a kiss. I finish pulling myself together on the walk. I do want to see the guys and practice, but I think I mostly just don’t want to watch her smoke.