The Catastrophic History of You And Me

by Jess Rothenberg

  Whenever people talk about dying, everyone always gets so hung up on the very last thing that flashes before your eyes. The last thought. The last memory. That last feeling, or kiss, or fight, or song on the radio—whatever significant LAST thing that’s somehow supposed to encapsulate your entire life in a single moment, all wrapped up in a big, blinding flash of perfect, final light.

  But here’s a secret about the Big Flash.

  It doesn’t exist.

  Nope. It’s actually much simpler than that.

  Step one: You’re here.

  Step two: You’re not.

  Then it’s lights off until forever. A scary thought, I know. Believe me, I used to be afraid of the dark.

  But I’m not afraid anymore.

  Not since Larkin showed me what it means to let go. To free your mind. To live a little, so to speak.

  In the Year of the Boy I’d Rather Not Mention, I used to spend hours singing along to the same sappy love songs over and over again on repeat, letting myself get lost in the music or lyrics, as if every word had been written especially for us. But Larkin taught me how to turn the old music off. She helped me make a new playlist.

  A better one.

  I couldn’t believe how much time I’d wasted at Slice. Everything about that place was so morbidly focused on the past. Everything from the memories I’d rewind and watch again and again, to the places I’d dream up, to the wishes I’d make.

  Here, things were different. In this part of heaven, there was no worrying about anything or anyone that existed in a time other than RIGHT NOW. The sun never rose and never fell, so there were no yesterdays or tomorrows. The Waking World was completely out of sight and completely out of mind. No more dwelling on the past. No more safety nets. For maybe the first time ever, I was free.

  And the city was our playground.

  After a while, I started to feel right at home. Larkin and I made Hamloaf Official Smell Master for our mealtimes. One woof meant something was perfectly edible; two woofs meant not quite. I’ll admit I had become a little spoiled at Slice, with endless pizza pies at my fingertips, and it took some time to adjust to the whole Dumpster-diving thing. But Larkin taught me that if you have the patience—and the stomach—there’s more than enough to go around.

  It wasn’t a perfect system, but the three of us managed. All I knew was, I loved the energy of this place, the full moon casting a giant spotlight on our magical little world. I felt like I’d finally found my home, wherever we were.

  Even if, from time to time, I wished I could share it with Patrick.

  Patrick? Are you out there?

  No answer. The line had gone dead. Eventually, I stopped trying to call.

  The three of us slept in parks and abandoned cable cars, on rooftops, and in the Presidio at the Palace of Fine Arts, sprawled out like we owned the place, since, basically, we did. We zoomed through the streets at breakneck speed, smashed windows in the Castro, and turned trash cans on their heads in Dolores Park.

  Larkin turned out to be the best listener I’d ever met. She always wanted to hear more about my history and all the ways I had imagined my future. She never interrupted and never took her eyes off of me while I was speaking. Sometimes she’d laugh and sometimes she’d cry; sometimes she’d just let me lay my head in her lap, like the big sister I never had, stroking my hair until I fell asleep.

  After a long while, when I finally got tired of talking about me, she began to open up about her own life—especially the years after we’d lost touch. She told me that she’d never really had any close friends at PCH and that she’d gotten into photography because it felt good to get behind the camera. She said it was her way of turning the lens back on all the jerks who’d ever judged her for not being just like them.

  Then she told me how ugly she had felt after the fire, when she had woken up on this side completely ashamed of how she looked and desperate to find a place where nobody would stare. She told me how, after months and months of wandering, the city had simply called to her, and she had listened.

  In the city, she told me, it was okay to be lost. It was okay to be a freak. And two freaks, we both agreed, were definitely better than one.

  Whenever we got really bored, we’d jump off the tallest skyscraper in the city, the Transamerica Pyramid, and see who could fall the fastest. We’d start by racing each other up the forty-eight flights of stairs, through the restaurant and gift shop, and down a long winding hallway with ugly wallpaper and even uglier carpet. Then we’d run onto the old abandoned observation deck—overlooking every inch of San Francisco.

  “You know what?” Larkin said one night from the very top of the pyramid, our legs dangling above the city. She untied her braid and began combing out her long, black hair with her fingers. “I think I’ve been alone so long, I forgot how much better it is to have a partner in crime.” She grinned at me. “I love us. We are the best thing ever.”

  Best, I thought. Brie. Emma. Sadie. Tess.

  I touched my charm necklace, the little heart growing warm between my fingers as my mind flashed back to the three of them. My girls. I didn’t tell Larkin that in that moment, I would’ve given anything to have them back the way we used to be.

  “I love us too,” I said, shoving my friends out of my mind. No reason to bring up the past.

  “That’s a great necklace, by the way,” Larkin said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. For the first time ever, I noticed a tiny tattoo on her left shoulder. A tiny circle with an X over it. Except it didn’t look like regular tattoo ink. It looked like it had been carved into her arm with some kind of blade.

  Something about the symbol seemed familiar, but I wasn’t sure why.

  “When’d you get the tattoo?” I said.

  She glanced at her shoulder and let her hair tumble down in smoky waves. “Oh, that? Just a stupid mistake I made on spring break back in tenth grade. A bunch of us went to Cancun and snuck out when our parents were asleep. This kid Justin Chance got one, and dared me to get one too. Guess I’m a sucker for dares, you know?” She rolled her eyes. “Teenagers.”

  I looked back out over the horizon. Suddenly a shadow out in the bay caught my attention. “What’s that?” My eyes settled on a lonely little island all by itself, way past Alcatraz and practically to Sausalito (a little seaside town with one of the best grilled cheese shops in the whole world). The place looked wild. Nothing but forest and beach as far as I could see.

  “Angel Island,” Larkin said. “Ever heard of it?”

  I searched my memory, but recalled nothing. “Nope.”

  “Well, it’s not an especially nice place. You think the city’s sketchy? A.I.’s where you go when you’ve got nothing left. Where the dead go to die.”

  Her words sent a chill right through me.

  Where the dead go to die?

  For an instant, I was sure I heard a voice whisper something to me—all soft and fluttery and barely there.

  Be careful, Angel.

  Unless, had I just imagined it? I flinched, not used to the sensation of somebody in my head.

  Be very careful now.

  Larkin grabbed my hand, and the voice disappeared like smoke. “Promise you’ll stay with me, Brie. Everything’s so much better since you got here.” She got to her feet and lifted her arms up across the insane panoramic view. “What the hell could possibly be better than this?”

  She was right.

  I thought about how much happier I’d felt ever since coming here. How glad I was to have found her. And to have finally found a new home.

  “Nothing,” I told her. “Nothing could be better. I promise I’ll stay with you.” And I meant it.

  She pulled me to my feet so we were standing side by side. “Race you to the bottom.”

  I grinned. “You sure you want to challenge the queen of divers?”

  “Girl,” she challenged back, “I can so take you.”

  With that, we counted to thr
ee, and threw ourselves off the side of the building, laughing like maniacs as the wind screamed around us the whole way down.

  A few days later—although without a real sunrise it had become tricky to measure the days—we were hanging out at one of our favorite spots in the Tenderloin: the playground at Sergeant John Macaulay Park, near the corner of O’Farrell and Larkin Street.

  “This really is by far the most beautiful street in San Francisco, wouldn’t you say?” Larkin said from the monkey bars, where she was hanging upside down.

  I snorted from my swing. “Narcissist.” I kicked back extra-hard, pumping my legs and stretching back from the metal chains. Once I was moving fast enough, I closed my eyes and pretended I was flying, the evening air cool and delicious all around me. Somewhere in the background, I could hear Hamloaf digging in the sand.

  We’d spent the last bunch of hours playing Larkin’s favorite game ever, truth or dare. So far, she’d dared me to roll down Lombard Street in a trash can, and I’d dared her to wake a wharf seal from his nap, which had almost gotten her slapped in the face with a flipper. Now we were back to me.

  My turn.

  “Truth or dare?” Larkin said. “And you’d better say dare.”

  I shook my head. “No way. I’m too wiped out from that stupid trash can. So I’ll go with . . . truth!”

  “Seriously?” She groaned. “Oh my god, you are so boring.”

  I smiled. “It is only boring if you ask me a boring question.”

  Larkin went quiet for a moment, and I started to wonder what she could possibly be working out in her head. She had a pretty good imagination. I was probably in big trouble.

  “Well?” I nagged. “Hit me with your best shot, Ramsey.”

  She back-flipped quickly off the monkey bars and made her way across the sand toward the swing set. She parked herself in the empty swing next to me. “If you could go back to your old life,” she finally said, “just for one day . . .” Her gray eyes met mine. “Would you?”

  Huh?

  At first, her question seemed so obvious. But when I opened my mouth to answer, to my surprise, no words came out.

  Instead, I started to cry.

  She watched me carefully from her swing, but didn’t say anything.

  I wiped my nose with the back of my hand, mortified at what a baby I was being. “I guess so. I mean, wouldn’t you?”

  She offered me a sad smile. “Actually, I already did.”

  I felt the tiniest jolt of electricity run through me. “What do you mean, you already did?” I jumped from my swing, feeling suddenly defensive. “What are you talking about?”

  She gazed up at me but said nothing. Under the pale glow of moonlight, I could almost imagine her burns coming alive. Pictured them writhing and swirling like little snakes on fire.

  I took a step back.

  But it’s just Larkin. I’m not afraid of Larkin.

  “Listen, Brie.” Her voice was calm and easy and she kept her eyes firmly locked on mine. “I’ve been listening to your stories. And it’s pretty obvious that you haven’t had closure. My question is, what if I could help give that to you? What if I could give you one more day to say good-bye . . . alive and in color?”

  My mind filled with questions. I shook my head, feeling just about every emotion course through me.

  Anger.

  Confusion.

  Excitement.

  Fear.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, trying to remain calm. “That’s not possible.”

  “What if it is?”

  I stared back, hard. “But it’s not.”

  She smiled. “Never say never.”

  My mind flashed back to Patrick’s voice. Never say never, Angel.

  “Stop it,” I snapped. “This isn’t funny.”

  “Who said I was joking?” She reached out and took my hand. “Don’t worry. We don’t have to talk about it right now. Maybe you’re not ready—”

  “How,” I interrupted. “How did you do it? How did you go back?”

  She let go of me, got up from her swing, and did a lazy cartwheel. “The thing is, it’s less about how, and more about how much.”

  “W-what do you mean? How much what?”

  Larkin dusted off her hands and shrugged. “You know. How much you’d be willing to pay for it.”

  “Pay? Pay who? What could I possibly have that anyone would want?”

  Something was starting to feel wrong with this picture. Something was starting to feel wrong with a capital W.

  “How about your necklace?” Larkin said casually. “Would you trade it? I could arrange it so you’d be able to relive any day you want, like maybe Jack’s birthday party at Judy’s? Or just a regular Fright night, hanging with Emma and Tess, playing Connect Four with Jack, Netflixing Finding Nemo . . . the choice is totally yours.”

  I put my hand to my collarbone.

  My necklace? What could she want with my necklace?

  “It would probably look better on me, anyway,” she said, giggling. “Gold’s not really your color.”

  The tone of her voice was really starting to bug me. It was too sweet, and trying a little too hard, sort of like a Butterfinger dipped in vanilla frosting. Just one bite and your taste buds might explode.

  “Ooh.” Larkin’s eyes grew wide, like some kind of eternally happy woodland creature. A bunny, maybe. Or a fawn.

  Oh my god, she’s Bambi, I thought, momentarily distracted. Her Disney character is totally Bambi.

  “Or what about the night of the dance? How good would that be? You could totally reject Jacob right on the dance floor and embarrass the hell out of him!”

  That one pushed me over the edge. I didn’t want her talking about all my best moments like she owned a piece of them, almost like she knew me better than I knew myself. This was my life we were talking about. NOT hers.

  “I’ve already been back,” I snapped.

  Her Bambi eyes sparkled. “Not like this, you haven’t.”

  The world suddenly felt off kilter. Off balance, like maybe I was going to throw up. “Stop it,” I said. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

  “It’s not a game, Brie. We can make a deal, right here, right now.” She smiled. “It’s easier than you could ever imagine. And once you’ve had your fun at home, you’ll come right back, and we’ll party ’til forever. Just you and me. What do you think?”

  What did I think? I could hardly see straight. “An entire day to relive?” I whispered. “Any day I want?” My body began to shake as memories of home flooded into me—the boringly wonderful everyday memories that only I could know. My friends singing to Lady Gaga on the way to school. My mom making me birthday pancakes while Dad serenaded her with Bob Dylan. The sound of Jack’s laughter when he used to chase me through the sprinklers during summer vacation. The electric warmth of Jacob’s lips on mine.

  “You’re for real?” I whispered. “I can really go back? No strings attached?”

  “Well . . .” Larkin giggled, pointing again to my necklace. “Just the one small string.” She did another cartwheel. “It’s a pretty good deal, if you really think about it.”

  I brought my hand up and lightly touched the soft, delicate chain around my neck. Reached back and felt for the small metal clasp, buried somewhere beneath my hair. But when I tried to undo it, small prickles of heat began to snap-crackle-pop across my skin like invisible rubber bands. Tiny blue flames stung at the corners of my eyes.

  In an instant, another memory flashed before me.

  And when I looked up, the city was gone.

  CHAPTER 33

  you must be my lucky star

  The glass was crystal clear and smooth, and it smudged a little as I ran my finger over it, nice and slow.

  He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not.

  “Please don’t touch the display, dear,” said the woman behind the counter, her hair tied back in a low, loose-fitting ponytail. “It’s just been cleaned.”
<
br />   I snapped out of my lovey-dovey dream world. “Oh. Sorry.”

  Across the room, I heard the sound of muffled laughter. Felt my face redden and shuffled over to where Emma and Tess were standing, by the antique hat rack. “Thanks a lot,” I said.

  Tess held up a pair of big black sunglasses, slipping them on. “Well?”

  “Love them,” said Emma. “Very Audrey. I am in full support of that purchase.”

  “OMG, you guys, Rabbit Hole is the best!” Sadie came bounding out of the fitting room in a deep purple strapless dress. “We are coming here every weekend from now on.” She grabbed Tess’s sunglasses off the top of her head and put them on.

  “Hey!” Tess protested. “Don’t get any ideas, Sadie.”

  “Ooh.” Sadie struck a pose in the nearest mirror. “These look really good on me.”

  “What?!” Tess exclaimed. “No way, you look like a grasshopper. Your face is too small for those.” She held out her hand and tapped her foot. “Give them.”

  Sadie laughed as she handed them over. “Fine, fine, fine. But I’ve just cut you out of my Oscar acceptance speech, for your information.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” Tess slipped the sunglasses back on.

  “Ooh, guys, come here!” Emma waved us over to a little corner nook, where she was holding a small, faded ebony music box, with hand-painted daisies on each side.

  “So pretty!” Sadie rushed over, still in the dress.

  “But look what I found inside.” Emma lifted her chin. A delicate silver chain hung around her neck, with a tiny hummingbird dangling from its center.

  “Ems, that’s so perfect!” I leaned in for a closer look.

  “Right?” She grinned. “And look, there’s more.” She opened the box and we all peered in, greeted by a mixed-up assortment of silver and gold.

  Charm necklaces.

  All of them sparkly. And all of them begging to be tried on.

  “Wait, guys, how much do you love this?” said Tess. She reached in and carefully pulled out a tiny copper mermaid, which, when it glimmered, was nearly the same color as her hair. “I’m totes getting this.” She handed it to me. “Can you put it on for me, pretty please?”