Little Universes

by Heather Demetrios

  “Oh, you’re the other one, then. Where are you going to—”

  The other one.

  “Excuse me,” I say, moving past her, up the walkway, toward the front door.

  I turn the knob. Walk inside. Mae is sitting on the couch with Ben and Nate. They’re watching the National Geographic channel, and she smiles up at me, but then she stops smiling because she sees my face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She’s on her feet, coming toward me.

  Aunt Nora walks out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. I can smell Uncle Tony’s lasagna.

  There are balloons. A cake on the table. Presents.

  “I just met your Realtor,” I say.

  Aunt Nora goes still.

  “Realtor?” Mae’s face scrunches up.

  I glance at Nate. He’s looking at his shoes. Avoiding my gaze.

  Secrets. Lies. This whole family of betrayers.

  Mae turns to Aunt Nora.

  “I had no idea she was here,” Aunt Nora says. “Nothing’s certain. We were just getting an estimate—”

  “Why would you sell the house?” Mae asks.

  Mae’s voice is sharp enough to bring Uncle Tony out.

  “Well…” Aunt Nora crosses her arms. Uncrosses them. Twists the towel in her hands. “The firm has offered me a promotion. An amazing opportunity.” She swallows. “In New York, actually.”

  I just stare at my aunt. Her words gather speed, swell. Another wave.

  “I haven’t given them a definite answer,” Aunt Nora says. “I thought we could have a family discussion and consider our options together.”

  “But you must want to do it,” Mae says. “The Realtor’s outside.”

  Uncle Tony shakes his head. “We just want to know what our options are.”

  “When were you planning on telling us this?” I say.

  And I know. They were going to wait for Mae to leave, so she couldn’t make the mistake of thinking about staying for me again.

  “We wanted to wait until we had all the information we needed,” Aunt Nora says. Lies. “There was no reason to say anything yet. And it’s your birthday. Of course we won’t go—if we go—until you’re done with school. Not until August, at the earliest.” Aunt Nora comes toward me and I back up, against the door. Too close. She’s always too damn close. “And, Hannah, of course we want you to come with us. There are so many good schools there, or you could get a fun job. We could go to museums on the weekend—all sorts of things. A fresh start, honey. It’ll be good for all of us, I think.”

  Cheer laced with guilt. Boy, do I know that sound.

  Let’s try to be happy even though your parents are dead, okay?

  “Best pizza in the country,” Uncle Tony adds.

  Fuck pizza.

  “But what about Jo? Hannah can’t have a sponsor so far away, can she?” Mae asks.

  How To Build A House

  Imagine a lot of sticks

  Stack them

  Set them on fire

  Watch them burn

  It was one thing to live with my aunt and uncle when Nate was sleeping here most weekends, when Mae was down the hall. But there’s no way they could want me to take up space in whatever tiny place they can afford to buy in Manhattan. Of course not. I’m just their junkie niece. They’re empty nesters who probably want to go have a fabulous New York life, not worry that I’m going to overdose in their guest bedroom.

  For a second, I think about my grandparents—but no. They’re in a retirement community. You have to be over sixty-five to live there.

  I don’t have any friends to crash with. And, yeah, I have money and could technically get an apartment on my own, but I don’t have a job or credit—who would rent to me? And even if someone did let me have a place, I’d have to be by myself. Ripe pickings for home invasion. I don’t even have a cat. Maybe I should get a cat.

  I am about to be homeless. Not on the streets, but a person without a home home.

  A homeless orphan.

  A homeless junkie orphan.

  “And in the summers, Gram and Papa will be at the Cape, so you two can go there if you don’t want to be in New York,” Aunt Nora continues. “And we’ll all be together for Christmas there, too.”

  No one would let me live in the Cape house year-round. That’s for people who are trustworthy. Also, that would be super lonely and creepy, being up there all by myself.

  Ben reaches for Mae. “Hey. I’ll be in Brooklyn with my family in the summers. It’s kind of perfect.”

  Jenga.

  That’s what happens inside me.

  This news, this other freaking secret that Nate and Nora and Tony have kept to themselves for however long, it pushes me over and there is no getting up from this, from any of it, and I was just kidding myself, just kidding myself that I was clean, that I don’t need—

  “Nah?” Mae slips her hand into mine. “We’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay.”

  I pull my hand from hers. “You think?”

  My voice is a slap. She leans back, like she can feel the force of the words against her cheek. I throw open the front door, and it bangs against the wall, hard. I guess it’s all very dramatic—maybe I should have tried out for the school play.

  There are concerned thises and thats as I step out the door, still holding my purse: “Honey, come back—” (Nora), “Hannah!—” (Mae), “Leave her alone, you guys!” (Nate).

  I’m out the door. I hear Mae behind me and I just … fly. I’m running down the street, fast, throat burning, the cold spring night cutting into me. I am so out of shape, but I go and go and go. She calls my name, but I don’t stop. I won’t ever stop running away.

  “Hannah! Stop! STOP, JESUS CHRIST, STOP.”

  Mae’s desperation almost makes me slow down, but it’s not quite enough.

  For once the train is there, waiting for me, and I slip in just as the doors are closing. I tap my card on the kiosk and nod at the driver, my breath coming out in great, heaving gulps. As I’m making my way through the car, holding on to the bars that hang from the ceiling for balance, I catch a glimpse of Mae, hands on her knees, panting. Do we lock eyes and have deep internal realizations as my train speeds away from her?

  No.

  I sit down on an empty bank of seats and hug my purse to me. I’m stuck in my hourglass, the sand falling over me, faster and faster. It’s already to my knees, and I haven’t even had a pill yet.

  We pass Zaftigs, then Fenway, and soon we’re underground, Boston Common above us. I can feel myself checking out.

  How much easier things would be for everyone without Just Hannah. Go to New York, go be an astronaut, go kiss a girl who doesn’t bite.

  “Hannah?”

  For one wild moment, I think it’s Drew and this will be like in a movie, where chance has brought us together and he will take me in his arms and everything will be okay and all I will smell is tea tree soap.

  But the boy who called my name isn’t Drew. Tall, scraggly, unfortunate tattoo choices. Those insanely beautiful Nolan eyes.

  “Eddie?”

  Drew’s cousin grins and plops down on the seat across from me. “Long time, no see. Drew keeping you busy?”

  The sand falls and falls.

  “Drew and I…”

  “Oh. Shit.” Eddie takes off his Bruins cap, runs a hand through his hair.

  “Yeah. It’s … whatever.”

  The train stops at Copley and people flood in, out. Laughter, lots of Emerson students—arty and cool—and people with BU sweatshirts. The business casual crowd is here, too, reading their tablets or their phones. Eddie stands and comes to sit next to me. He smells like cigarettes and bad decisions.

  “I was gonna give you a hard time about taking away my best dealer,” he says. “Surprised he’s not back up with it. Thought he only stopped ’cause of you.”

  I nod. Hold my purse closer.

  “He’s getting his shit together,” I say.

  I haven’t t
alked to Drew in weeks. Sometimes I give in when he calls because I need a hit of his voice, but I’m always the first to hang up.

  “Where you off to?” Eddie asks. The train jolts forward, and a group of girls near the back break into surprised giggles as they hold on to each other.

  “I don’t know,” I say. What would it be like to be one of them, to be part of a happy little coven? “It’s my birthday.”

  “Eighteen?”

  I nod.

  “You don’t look very happy,” he says.

  “I’m not.”

  “Why don’t you come out to Cambridge with me? I have to make a stop at a party—Fancy Harvard types.” Hah-vahd. He says it like Drew. “You in?”

  I shake my head. “No. I mean, thanks, but I don’t party. Anymore.”

  “It’s your eighteenth birthday. The fuck you talking about you’re not gonna party?”

  I open my mouth to say no. Obviously no. But then I see the girls from BU huddled together, laughing. Probably a little drunk. And I think about how I’m getting kicked out of my aunt and uncle’s, and where the hell am I gonna go? And this opens something inside me, something raw and starving and gaping. A hole bigger than the pit they threw my mom into.

  “Okay,” I hear myself say.

  “Fuckin’ right okay.”

  Things Without Memory

  Mirrors

  Stars

  Waves

  Diamonds

  Me

  Bathroom Mirror

  678 Leeds Street

  Cambridge, MA

  43

  Hannah

  I should text Jo. I will. I’ll text her right now. I’m going to a party, but I won’t do anything. I won’t. I reach into my bag, but my phone is dead. I’m never motivated to keep it charged, since I have zero friends and no boyfriend. I guess I could borrow Eddie’s phone, but I don’t ask.

  Eddie starts talking about his kid, his girlfriend, and I listen. Nod. Bad idea, bad idea is going through my head on repeat, but I tune myself out. Soon we’re at Park Street and transferring to the Red Line, which is fast and sleek. I hesitate before stepping into the train, but the doors start closing, and on instinct I jump in. Bad idea, bad idea. We get off at Harvard and Eddie nods to the punks camped out just outside the station with their guitars and cardboard signs and dogs. These are my people. The Justs. Square pegs in round holes. Maybe I will be homeless like them and I will write acorns on my signs and hope people give me quarters, or dollars, not just scorn or pity or an excuse to remember how lucky they are. Or I could be like Priscilla in Venice and join the freak show on the boardwalk: Come see the girl who lost both her parents in a tsunami! I look away from them before I can see my jeweler, my hookup. Before I can give her money in exchange for diamonds.

  We walk past Harvard, where people like Mae are—people who matter, who belong. People who know what they want to do with their lives. I take in a ragged breath, and Eddie turns, eyeing me. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a pill.

  “For the birthday girl,” he says.

  I don’t reach for it. I can’t. Can I? My fingers itch. All that hard work getting better, and suddenly here I am.

  “Oxy. Good stuff.” He dangles it. “Going once, going twice…”

  I take it and swallow the pill before I can change my mind. The sand in my hourglass falls faster. It’s at my waist. Faster.

  Way faster than usual.

  We pass cafes with twinkle lights in the windows and bookstores and at least three Dunkin’ Donuts. My high kicks in as we walk along the main road, much sooner than I thought it would. Hey, old friend. I follow Eddie when he turns onto a quiet side street with pools of light that spread across the asphalt like melted butter. I hear the house before I see it: laughter and music, a wraparound porch where smokers lean against the railing or sit on the stairs. It’s your typical Cambridge house, made of clapboard, a couple stories high. These places all look like a Pilgrim could just stroll on out the front door at any second. Someone on the roof calls down to someone on the porch. They laugh.

  “Nolan!” A skinny guy with ripped jeans and a faded black T-shirt jumps up from his seat on the stairs when he sees us. “Just in time, man.” He glances at me as he throws down his cigarette. “This your girl?”

  I shake my head. “Hannah,” I say. “Just … Hannah.”

  “Sean.”

  “It’s Hannah’s birthday,” Eddie says.

  “No shit? We should celebrate.” Sean motions us inside. “After you.”

  Eddie sticks out like a sore thumb among the Harvard sweatshirts and Urban Outfitters. He’s so obviously poor—he’s got wrong side of the tracks written all over him. It’s clear he’s the drug guy, and the energy spikes a little as Sean carves a path through the living room.

  It’s not a big place, and there are more people outside than in. I don’t know what I expected a Harvard person’s house to look like, but when I take a look around, this makes sense. IKEA chic, a little messy. Stacks of books. Half-empty bottles of wine, hard stuff. A few people sit on a couch, passing a bong back and forth. They shoot curious glances our way, one of the guys nodding at Eddie.

  “What up.” Eddie says this to the room at large, and he doesn’t linger—he knows anyone who wants to buy will follow.

  Sean pushes open a door at the end of the hall and calls inside, “He’s here.”

  Five people are sprawled on the furniture and one of the girls claps. “My hero.”

  The room is painted turquoise, the lighting dim so that it feels as though we’re underwater. A bed in the corner is covered neatly with a blanket, and a few beanbag chairs sit scattered around the room. There’s a desk with a MacBook, a lamp, a cup of takeaway coffee.

  I could borrow someone’s phone. Call Jo. Have her come pick me up. I could, but the sand is at my neck, and it’s so warm and cozy here. I flop down on one of the beanbag chairs.

  Eddie takes out his plastic bag and opens up shop.

  “A little present for the birthday girl,” Sean says, handing over cash and then putting a pill in my palm. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t care because for the first time in weeks and weeks I am so, so happy. I swallow it. I watch while people come in and out of the room.

  “You go to school around here, Hannah?” Sean asks, plopping down next to me.

  I don’t want to be the high school kid, so I lie. “Yeah. BU.”

  “Nice. Major?”

  Fuck.

  “English.” Safe, right?

  Sean nods. “Right on. My comp class is kicking my ass. Paper on Milton due tomorrow, and that’s … not fucking happening.”

  We talk. Well, he talks and I listen, or I try to. I’m already half-gone. Sean is cute. Not as cute as Drew, but cute. A guy in the corner picks up a guitar and begins softly strumming it. I close my eyes, and the sand reaches past my lips. I ride the soft Oxy wave. I forget. About the promises I’ve made to myself, my parents, all the crap at home—all of it is gone. Eddie asks if I want to leave with him, and I say no.

  “Hannah.” Someone’s shaking me gently, and when I open up my eyes, a stranger is looking at me, smiling. Wait, not a stranger. Sean. Harvard Sean.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, disoriented. The room is quiet. We’re alone.

  “It’s okay. Just thought you might not want to sleep through your birthday.”

  “This is the worst birthday ever,” I say, and the feelings come, and the sand, and I don’t want to feel, not at all, because they will bury me alive.

  “Then let’s change that, shall we?” Sean holds up a pill and puts it between his lips, then leans in, so close the tip of his nose touches mine.

  It has never occurred to me to have sex with someone who isn’t Micah or Drew. And I haven’t even had sex with Drew yet. But I am Hannah from BU. English major. My parents aren’t dead, and I don’t care about waves or rehab or any of it. I press my lips against his and feel Sean smile as I open my mouth to receive the pill.

 
Warm floating and breath and lips, another pill and I am here and not here, not anywhere, not anymore. Not. I am not.

  Mad Matter Magazine Vol. 4, No. 12

  Mad Matter: Do you think you’ll find out the secret of the universe’s origins—and, by extension—dark matter, in your lifetime?

  Dr. Winters: I hope so. But it’s okay if I don’t.

  Mad Matter: Really?

  Dr. Winters: [laughs] Really. See, the universe has a way of throwing us a bone every now and then, and this is the one we get when we kick the bucket: When I die—and you, all of us—we become the secret. We become part of the universe itself, our molecules, enfolded back into the machine of life. So a part of me—admittedly, not the conscious part—gets to know the answers. In a way, every single one of us will one day know the secret of the universe.

  Mad Matter: What do you think it is? If you had to guess.

  Dr. Winters: My answer will disappoint you. It’s not remotely scientific.

  Mad Matter: Tell us anyway.

  Dr. Winters: Love. I think the secret is love. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, but I really got it this past year. It’s been a rough one for me personally. But one day this spring I was sitting with my girls—we were eating chili, just a normal family dinner. And I looked into my daughters’ eyes … and I saw the Helix Nebula. Right there, in both their eyes—a star. Amazing, how the human eye and the Helix resemble each other. And I couldn’t help but think: The universe loves itself. It puts these little love notes to itself in all of us, in nature. About how utterly astonishing we are. So loving ourselves, one another, this planet, the cosmos—it’s all the universe’s own expression of deep, creative self-love. The universe is doing right by the miracle, too.

  Mad Matter: It sounds like you already know the secret, Dr. Winters.

  Dr. Winters: When I look at my girls, I believe I do. Yes.

  44

  Mae

  ISS Location: Low-Earth Orbit

  Earth Date: 10 May

  Earth Time (EST): 19:17

  Her phone rings and rings.

  I call Jo. Nah’s not with her, hasn’t texted her or anything. Which is a really bad sign. Really bad.