She's Gone: A Novel

by Emmens, Joye

  The Globe had run an article with a picture of Daniel and his class, along with a few student photos. Daniel had insisted she be included, but the last thing she wanted was her photo or name in the paper. “It’s all about the students. Thanks again for loaning us the cameras.” She walked to the film counter. “I want to try color film. What does it cost to develop a roll?”

  “Most photographers use color slide film. You develop the slides and then select which ones to have printed. It saves a whole lot of money.” He handed her a roll of color slide film. “The film is on me.”

  “No. I can afford it. I need to pay.”

  She thanked him and hurried to the T. She was anxious to start the weekend with her new book, The Teachings of Don Juan by Carlos Castaneda, a mystical journey with an Indian shaman.

  Saturday morning at the temple, Jolie first meditated and then read in the sandalwood haze of the library. Each book, infused with layers of incense, emitted an intoxicating scent as she turned the pages. A monk sat at the far end of the long wooden table, absorbed in his own book.

  She read the Buddha’s sermon about the Four Noble Truths. He believed that through individual practice and experimentation one could unlock the cause of one’s suffering and be liberated. He stressed the importance of finding out for oneself, thinking for oneself and using one’s own senses. The cause of suffering was unique to the individual and so was the path to liberation. She looked at the monk. It seemed so vague. How would she find the key to her emptiness? With each meditation she struggled with the empty space, the blue hole. She had to get through the hole.

  She put the book back on the shelf and picked up a small worn volume on chakras, the seven energy centers in the body. She turned to the chakra depicted by sky-blue petals, the color of the blue hole she saw in meditation. It was the Vishuddha energy center, the throat Chakra. She read on. The fifth chakra governed communication, independence, fluid thought, and a sense of security. Knowledge speaks. Wisdom listens. Speak the truth. Live authentically. She put the book back on the shelf, overwhelmed with the multitude of meanings.

  On her way out, she read a poster for a meeting that afternoon. “Save the Earth. Open Forum. Turn your concerns into actions.” The Forum was at a Harvard lecture hall. Why not? Will was busy preparing for the march on Monday. A few months ago she would have been too intimidated to go on campus by herself, but not now. She would walk to Harvard Square and take color photos along the way.

  The house was empty when she returned from the temple. She mixed up a batch of chocolate chip cookies to take to the office on her way to the meeting. Making cookies was always relaxing. While the cookies baked, she played Jimi Hendrix’s new album, A Band of Gypsy’s, and hummed along as she cleaned the house.

  Ginger and Sam came in the door as the cookies cooled. “Yum, these are my favorite.” Sam reached for a cookie. “We just stopped by to get some of my clothes. We’re heading to Nantucket Island for the weekend.”

  “What’s in Nantucket?” Jolie asked.

  “My folks have a second home and a sailboat there,” Sam said.

  “It’s full of quaint houses and big mansions, little shops, and restaurants,” Ginger said.

  “We’re going to go sailing, eat fish and chips and drink Bloody Marys,” Sam said.

  Ginger laughed. “I’m going to lay on the boat, read, and swim.”

  “Wow that sounds idyllic.”

  “I thought you were going to the Cape,” Ginger said.

  “Plans changed. Will has the big march on Monday.”

  “I think you’re blindly in love with a dictator,” Ginger said, only half joking. “You should have gone to the Cape. You need to have some fun.”

  Jolie shrugged and handed Sam and Ginger a bag of cookies as they dashed out the door. Will a dictator? Was that how others viewed him?

  She dressed in a pale blue gauzy shirt, cut-off jeans, and sandals. With the color film loaded in her camera, she picked up the large plate of cookies for the office and headed out. A wave of isolation rolled over her, and the familiar ache welled in her chest. She had a whole weekend of adventure ahead, yet she felt so alone. Maybe the gang at the office would cheer her up. She crossed to the sunny side of the street and let the sun warm her face and arms.

  She heard the music halfway up the block. Country Joe and the Fish blasted out the open windows of the office, louder than normal. Charlie was there with three other students. They were busy opening and sorting a pile of mail and answering the constant ring of the phones.

  “You’re looking lovely today,” Charlie said.

  “Brought you something,” she said to Charlie. She placed the cookies on the kitchen counter and looked around. “Where’s Will?”

  “Don’t know. He took off a while ago. Hey, I sent your articles to all the presses. And I sent the boycott article and list to my mom.”

  “Your mom?” A smile spread across her glum face. She flashed him the peace sign.

  “What are you up to?”

  “I’m going to try out some color film and then go to a Save the Earth meeting.”

  One of the students looked up. “I heard about that.”

  “Nuke the gray whales,” Charlie said.

  Jolie pushed his shoulder affectionately and left the office.

  She walked along the side streets of Harvard Square, her eye focused on color, absorbed in finding photo subjects. Capturing the essence of the composition seemed harder in color than black and white. With black and white, she captured the soul. With color, the beauty of nature became art. She stopped and took a close up of an Icelandic poppy with its brilliant coral flower and bright green leaves set off by delicate tendrils. Harvard Square hummed with humanity. She snapped a photo of a Hare Krishna wearing a shimmering saffron-colored robe.

  In the Common, she sat down on an empty park bench and observed the flow of people. She was seeing in color now. She conceptualized a photo series of chakra colors: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. Her mood warmed to the color images.

  Across the street at Harvard, she found the lecture hall and stood in the doorway, surveying the room. It was packed. A few people in the front of the room by the podium looked vaguely familiar. From Earth Day? She found a seat in the back next to a young woman and took out a small journal and pen from her purse. Her shirt stuck to her back, sticky in the heat. Here she was, sitting in a classroom at Harvard. She smiled to herself. Okay, it was a Save the Earth meeting, but she was in a classroom at Harvard and it was good to dream.

  A tall, lanky man with shoulder-length black hair and glasses stood at the podium and thanked everyone for coming. “This is an open forum. Everyone will get a chance to come forward and promote their cause. If we have common causes, we can join forces around the world and save the earth!”

  There was a sprinkling of applause. A line had formed on the side of the podium. The first speaker, a middle-aged white man, adjusted the microphone and began speaking.

  “There are now 3.7 billion people in the world. We are at risk of global starvation. The U.S. must set an example and produce more food. We need to reduce our population growth to zero or negative zero.”

  Jolie looked at the woman sitting next to her and caught her eye. They both raised their eyebrows quizzically. Negative zero? What did that mean?

  “The U.S. needs to add a tax for babies,” the man continued.

  How many kids did he have?

  The next speaker promoted an anti-nuclear platform. “The spread of nuclear weapons around the world is apocalyptic in the hands of unstable leaders. Nuclear testing and the resulting radioactive fallout is harming the lives of humans and our ecosystems. Nuclear power plants are in our backyards. Nuclear waste is contaminating our deserts and water supplies. The waste lasts thousands of years. We must eliminate nuclear weapons and nuclear power.”

  A
pplause started with a ripple and then thundered in the hall. Score one for the anti-nuclear movement. Jolie jotted a note in her journal.

  An older woman stepped up to the microphone, cleared her throat, and began. “DDT is in women’s breast milk. Mercury is in fish. Dioxin in our food. Lead is poisoning our children. Our rain is acid. The air we breathe is polluted. Our lakes, rivers, and oceans are contaminated with toxic dumping from manufacturing, acid mining, urban runoff, and ships dumping at sea. We even haul our garbage out to sea and dump it! This all must stop. We must regulate chemicals and toxins and require corporations to clean up the mess they have created.”

  Applause thundered. Another winner.

  Another middle-aged white man got up and talked about whales being run over in the shipping lanes in the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Someone else spoke of global warming, greenhouse gases, clear-cutting forests, sea levels rising. Another man spoke of invasive species, endangered species, and extinct species.

  The leader of the meeting narrowed the concerns into three groups: anti-nuclear, chemical pollution, and land preservation/conservation. Why hadn’t anyone spoken of offshore oil drilling and catastrophic oil spills? She should have gotten up and talked about the devastation she’d seen firsthand, but she was too shy to speak in front of all these people. Someday she would.

  When the meeting ended, Jolie walked to the front of the room where the leaders of each group stood by sign-up sheets. At the chemical pollution sheet, she wrote her name and phone number. The leader was a Harvard biology Ph.D. candidate, and he’d already set the first meeting date for the same room.

  She bounced down Massachusetts Avenue toward the T station, happy with a new cause to embrace for the future of the earth. The streets were jammed on the holiday weekend. A half a block from the T, she heard Old Blue. The low rumble from the hole in the muffler was unmistakable. The bus drove past her on the street and she leapt and waved. A young woman was in the passenger seat. Her long blonde hair, parted in the middle, framed a doll-like face. She looked right at Jolie, and they locked eyes for a brief moment. Will looked straight ahead, his eyes on the road. He hadn’t seen her on the crowded street. A sinking feeling filled her.

  Jolie stood still and watched Old Blue disappear in the distance. Heat rose through her. Her head hummed and her heart pounded. Who was that woman in their bus? Her bus.

  She walked to the T and down the steps. On the packed subway, she sat back and clutched her purse and camera. Her brain was paralyzed. It was like she was being held under water. The woman was probably just a volunteer. There were lots of them. They came and went. She glanced up at the station map. Should she get off at the office or go home? She had only a moment to decide. The subway car slowed for the next stop. People rushed for the door.

  She stayed seated, feeling too emotional to interact with the group at the office right now, much less Will. She walked into the empty house, poured a glass of mint iced tea, and went out to read in the cool shade of the back porch.

  She was lost in The Teachings of Don Juan when the front door opened, and Will called to her.

  “Out here,” she said.

  Will came out on the porch followed by his entourage, Charlie, Adam, and the girl passenger in Old Blue. Adam plunked down a six-pack of beer. Will introduced the girl as Lily.

  “You drove by me today in Harvard Square,” Jolie said.

  “I didn’t see you,” Will said. Lily and Jolie stared at each other. Jolie perceived a challenge from a rival in her eyes.

  They pulled up chairs and sat down. Will sat closest to Jolie and looked at her book. “Don Juan? If you’re searching for spirituality, you won’t find it there.”

  “It’s interesting. I think I was an Indian maiden in another life,” Jolie said. “I feel like I have a genetic memory of it or something.”

  “A genetic memory?” Charlie asked.

  Adam and Lily burst out laughing. “I heard he made half that shit up,” Adam said.

  Charlie silently reached his hand toward Jolie, and she handed him the book.

  The heat of humiliation rose to her face. “It’s his metaphysical journey and view of the world,” she said.

  Adam smiled at her as he opened a beer. “Well, when lizards can talk and people can fly, you let me know, Jolie girl.”

  41

  If You Could Read My Mind

  On Labor Day, Will, Charlie, Adam, and Jolie piled into Old Blue and drove to Commonwealth Avenue for the march. It was overcast and muggy. The small but growing crowd consisted of students and blue-collar workers. Union members gathered under signs with their affiliated union numbers.

  A few men put the finishing touches on a hastily erected plywood stage. A group near the stage waved to Will, and he strode over to them. Jolie stood with Adam and Charlie, snapping photographs. She used her telephoto lens to snap a photograph of the men by the stage. Lily came into view, standing close to Will, hanging on his every word. Her long blonde hair shone despite the sunless day.

  “What’s the story with Lily?” Jolie asked Charlie.

  “She just showed up one day to volunteer,” Charlie said.

  “She follows Will around like a puppy,” Adam said. “I wish she’d follow me around.”

  Jolie stiffened and watched as Will and Lily walked to where they stood.

  Charlie whispered into Jolie’s ear. “She’s an airhead.”

  “Well, well, look who’s here,” Adam said to Lily.

  “Hi guys,” Lily said.

  Charlie looked around at the crowd. “You girls are sure outnumbered here.”

  “That’s the way we like it,” Lily said.

  “I don’t know. I love being around all of my sisters. There’s power there,” Jolie said.

  She looked at Will who returned her gaze. “Yeah, and you spend too much time with them. Let’s move to the front of the crowd. You can get better photos of the speakers.”

  Jolie stood between Will and Charlie. Adam and Lily were squeezed off to the side next to a group of Union members. The speaker tried to get the crowd’s attention, but even with the microphone he was drowned out. Adam whistled loudly, and the crowd grew quiet. The speaker introduced himself as the president of the Socialist Labor Party for greater Boston.

  “We must wage an anti-capitalist political offensive.” He paused while the applause and whistling died down. “Billions of dollars of our taxes are poured into the Vietnam war machine while vital social needs in this country remain criminally neglected by the imperialist government.” Whoops and applause erupted from the small crowd. “We must control and use the wealth, created by the workers, in the interest of the oppressed workers.”

  Jolie took a photo of the crowd cheering and waving their signs in the air.

  Will took to the stage and was handed the microphone. “We must unite and revolt. In our struggle for power, the party requires enormous sacrifice from our members. We demand unconditional loyalty and revolutionary firmness of character.” More applause and whistling erupted. “We demand you give the party one hundred percent. All party units and individual members must comply with the directives of the National Political Committee.”

  Jolie leaned in to Charlie and whispered, “Sounds like a cult to me.”

  He suppressed a laugh.

  She glanced around at the crowd. The Women’s Strike had attracted ten times more participants than this. Her mind wandered to Leah and Sarah on Cape Cod, and Sam and Ginger in Nantucket. She imagined swimming in the ocean.

  “We must attract all students and workers to create a dominant Socialist Labor Party in the U.S.,” Will continued.

  After the speech, about five hundred participants straggled down Commonwealth Avenue marching to Charlesgate. Jolie photographed a marcher and his sign, Working Class: Mightiest Force in the Land. Lily positioned herself next to Will as they marched. Her
arm looped through his. The familiar jealous pang spread from Jolie’s stomach to her head. She recalled the monk’s words: “Happiness is in your control. Where you focus your thoughts is in your control.” She needed to focus her thoughts on the positive. The solidarity of the marchers, their intensity, and their socialist vision. Her mind drifted to her new Save the Earth forum, but the pang remained. Why could she control her thoughts but not her feelings? She needed to grow up, that’s all.

  42

  The Emerald Necklace

  “We missed you,” Leah said, swooping in to sit on a stool at Jolie’s bay. She handed Jolie a bag of saltwater taffy from Cape Cod. Between customers, Leah filled her in on the trip to the Cape. It was hard to talk, but Leah wasn’t in any hurry. She nibbled on a grilled cheese sandwich and sipped a raspberry lime rickey.

  “Let’s hike through the Emerald Necklace parks next Sunday,” Jolie said.

  “Ask Daniel if he wants to join us,” Leah said.

  “Are you love struck?”

  Leah smiled. “Safety in numbers, that’s all. Is Will coming?”

  “I’ll check tonight. Probably not. I’m going to invite Nick, too.” First she had to get up her nerve to call him. “What about Sarah?”

  “She’s going to New York. It’s the last weekend before school starts. Her mom is taking her shopping.”

  “Like she needs more clothes,” Jolie said.

  “Don’t you like shopping with your mom?”

  Jolie nodded. She did, especially in the fall. There was something about new clothes, textbooks and the start of school that was exhilarating.

  That night, Jolie cooked dinner for Will and Daniel, and they ate in the dining room.

  “What did you do? All of the girls in my classes are wearing those crazy headbands,” Daniel said.

  Jolie smiled at the thought.

  “I got a telex message this afternoon,” Will said. “Timothy Leary escaped from prison in California.”