“Vanessa, they have those pink snow things you like!” the girl yelled out. She smelled like the perfume Araxi’s mother used to let her wear when she was a little girl. She couldn’t remember the name but it smelled like bubble gum.
Vanessa was perusing through the beef jerky aisle with profound deliberation. “Oh, that’s nice!” she said. “Get me two.”
The man rang up their items and placed them in a brown paper bag.
“You wanna try this beef jerky?” the girl named Vanessa said to Araxi as if they knew one another. “It’s something new they just came out with. Ragin’ Cajun.”
“No thanks,” she said, confused by their familiarity with her. She thanked the man and left the store, having decided to simply start walking along the road, but not get in someone’s car again.
The road in front of her was straight and long, the earth dry and brown. For the rest of her life, it would always be the first image that would come to mind when hearing the phrase “in the middle of nowhere.” She started drinking the water that the man was nice enough to give her, and realized she would have to do so carefully because she would need it for the day ahead of her. It was high noon. Her lips felt dry and tight as she dragged her tongue over her mouth, feeling the cracked grooves on her lower lip.
A car raced by, startling her briefly as the wind in its speed made her hair whip in the air wildly. She saw that it was an old blue Cadillac and it reminded her of her childhood when her father had bought his first car. She remembered the sharp, new smell of the interior when she sat in the backseat for the first time next to her grandmother. Sophie hadn’t been born yet. He had eventually sold it years later and bought a new one in red.
As the car disappeared down the road she watched it grimly, knowing that she would have refused a ride even if it had been offered to her. Resignedly, she trudged on for a while longer until she saw the same Cadillac driving back from the direction it had been headed, ambling steadily towards her. The car came to a complete stop and a young girl stuck her head out the window. A navy blue bandanna held back her chin-length blond hair, and before she spoke she threw her dying cigarette on the ground.
“We saw you back there in the store,” the girl said. “We’re going to Vegas. I’m Lori. This is Vanessa,” she said, motioning with her thumb to the girl sitting next to her in the passenger seat.
“Hi!” the girl named Vanessa waved. “Come on. It’s not like you have anything left for us to rob,” she joked. The old man must have told them what had happened to her.
Araxi stood dumbly, confused by their jovial manner and willingness to help her.
“What’s your name?” Lori asked.
“Roxy,” Araxi said. It’s what they called her in school. Sometimes Cecile would call her Roxy, depending on her mood.
“Roxy,” Vanessa said. “It rhymes with ‘sexy.’” Araxi didn’t have the heart or inclination to tell her otherwise. She could tell from the girl’s tone that she thought herself very clever.
“Okay,” she said. “Thanks,” and looked both ways before crossing, realizing how ridiculous she looked doing so on such an empty road.
The backseat of the car was empty and clean. She hadn’t thought girls her age were capable of keeping a car so tidy and thought of the first argument she and Cecile had had when they had first left New York. Cecile had a habit of eating food and throwing the wrapper in the back as if it were an oversized garbage can. It had bothered Araxi and she had said so.
“It’s so neat back here,” Araxi said, trying to convey her gratitude for being offered a ride.
“Thanks,” Lori said glancing at Vanessa, and the two shared a private chuckle.
The only item she could see was a bowling bag sitting by her feet, which she found odd, but chose to not mention it.
“So where are you going?” Vanessa asked. She turned around to face Araxi. Her small nose was dotted with freckles and her bitten-down fingernails were painted a dark blue color that was chipped. The tops of her eyelids were smeared with purple eye shadow and her eyelashes were caked with mascara. Her entire look and demeanor reminded Araxi of a little girl who had gotten into her mother’s makeup bag. Comparatively, Lori was more refined, although there was no denying that both of their scanty outfits had less to do with the heat and more to do with personal preference. They were exactly the type of girls that Cecile would have avoided in a social situation, and the kind that Seton would have never allowed to walk through its doors.
“I don’t know,” Araxi admitted. “Maybe California, eventually. How about you?”
“We don’t know either,” Vanessa said. “We thought we’d go to Las Vegas because we’ve never been.”
“Have you been traveling long?” she asked. She wondered if they too had decided to leave their families and had taken off together.
“Yes and no,” Lori said, the finality of her tone indicating that she was not interested in discussing the topic.
“We’re not even two hours away,” Vanessa said. “If you think it’s hot now, wait until you get there. You can jump in the pool and then literally watch the water evaporate off your skin.”
“I thought you said you’d never been?” Araxi asked.
“Well, I’ve heard,” the girl said, her face growing blank as she searched for an explanation. Nothing must have come to mind and she turned around and sat back in her seat.
“That sucks that you have no money,” Lori said, trying to change the subject. “People suck,” she concluded, and fished a cigarette out of the soft pack of Marlboros next to her.
As Vanessa had predicted, they drove into Las Vegas within two hours. Like a mirage, it seemed to appear magically from the distance in the midst of a boundless desert. The city seemed surreal and cartoon-like, the hotels unusually tall and colorful, similar to a carnival.
“These hotels are huge,” Araxi murmured as they drove by a replica of the Statue of Liberty and a structure identical to the Eiffel Tower.
Neither Lori nor Vanessa said anything. Lori continued driving toward the end of the long strip and pulled over on the street in front of a Motel 6. The ‘e’ and the ‘l’ were missing.
“I’ll be right back,” Lori said and left the car, walking across the parking lot toward the lobby.
Araxi had the sense that this was not their first time in Las Vegas, but didn’t say anything to Vanessa.
“We’re going to have fun!” Vanessa said whipping around, and sat on her knees to face Araxi.
“It looks like a fun place,” she said, wondering what Vanessa’s idea of fun entailed. Had she not joined these two and continued walking along the road she would have at least been by herself. Once again, she had stupidly relinquished herself completely.
“You can borrow some of our clothes for tonight, if you want,” Vanessa said. “And I have tons of makeup and jewelry. There’s a bar two doors from here and the bartender doesn’t even card. And you can hang out as long as you want as long there are no fights.”
“Why would there be fights?” Araxi asked. She clenched her fists and buried her nails into the palm of her hands.
“Guys get jealous,” Vanessa said. “You know how it is.”
“How old are you?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“I’ll be sixteen in two months,” she said. “Lori is already.”
“By the way, why didn’t she park in the lot?” Araxi asked.
Vanessa grimaced for a moment. “It’s not our car,” she said, hesitantly. “We took it.”
“How do you mean?”
“We took it,” she repeated. “It’s not ours.”
“Whose is it?” Araxi asked. She felt as if she were playing an annoying game of twenty questions.
Vanessa shrugged her shoulders as if she had been asked a very difficult question. “I don’t know,” she said. “Really, no idea. Please don’t tell Lori I told you.”
Moments later, Lori returned with a set of keys in her hand. “Let’s go. Make sure you
take all your stuff,” she said.
The three spent the rest of the afternoon in the hotel room. Araxi pretended she was tired and needed to sleep while Lori and Vanessa sat in front of the television watching re-runs of the Brady Bunch and eating potato chips. All Araxi was able to glean from their conversations was that they wanted to shower and change to go to the bar toward the early part of the evening.
“She’s super quiet, huh?” Vanessa asked Lori.
“Who? Roxy?” Lori’s voice sounded bored and uninterested.
“Yeah. She’s quiet as hell,” Vanessa repeated.
“Yeah, well, some people are just quiet,” Lori said, mildly irritated. “Although, those are the ones to really be careful of. They’re quiet ’cuz they’re busy thinking. It’s the one thing my dad told me that’s true.”
“What are they thinking?” Vanessa asked, piqued with curiosity.
“I don’t fucking know, Vanessa. Stuff. Jesus. Shut up now. Let’s watch,” she said.
The ceiling of the bar was decorated with green and red Christmas lights, and there was a defunct mechanical bull in the far corner of the room sitting next to the jukebox. It was still light out when they first walked in, and it felt odd to be sitting in such a dark, dank space when the heat of the sun had been pressing on their backs during the short walk from their motel room to the bar.
“So you think he’s cute?” Vanessa asked for the third time once Araxi’s coughing fit had subsided. “You want me to ask him to come over and hang out with us for a drink?”
“No!” Araxi said, putting her hand on Vanessa’s shoulder when she tried to walk over to the man. It was the first time since meeting them that she had been so forthright. “Don’t. I thought I knew him, that’s all. But it’s not him.”
From a certain angle the young man resembled Kyle. His long brown hair and large, wide eyes lent him the same look of innocence and warmth that she had loved about Kyle upon first glance. The resemblance was jarring. Araxi took another sip of her drink and quickly looked at him again. She wanted to go back to Santa Fe and see Kyle. The impulse was so strong and pressing that she began concocting a lie in order to leave the bar and find a way to return to New Mexico. The poem he had dog-eared and snuck into her duffel bag was now tucked away in her back pocket. She placed her hand there and brushed her fingers against the crisp edge of the paper.
The bartender placed another drink in front of her. Before she could ask him who had ordered it, Lori nudged her playfully. “Loosen up,” she said. “You’re tense. Relax. It’s a gin and tonic.”
Too anxious to resist, Araxi drank it down quickly. Soon, the effects of the liquor began to ease her. She had another. The young man that looked like Kyle was now standing next to her.
“Roxy, this is Matt. Matt, this is Roxy,” Lori said, grinning.
“You look like my friend Kyle,” Araxi said right away.
The music was louder and the Christmas lights seemed brighter. She wondered if they had just started blinking or if they seemed to be because she had been drinking.
“I’m sure I do,” he said, smiling. His teeth were crooked and uneven. He was a poor replica of Kyle. Counterfeit and cheap. She wished he had stayed on the other side of the bar.
More drinks. The air outside is still warm. The sky is glowing with theatrical lights. She hears Lori and Vanessa giggling as they help her walk back to the motel, one on each side of her. The fake Kyle’s voice is close by. She stumbles into the room. The girls whisper, laugh and leave. She can see the fake Kyle sitting on the bed next to the small lamp that casts the same shadow on his face from when she first saw him at the bar.
“Do you want some?” he asks her, pulling a silver flask out of his back pocket.
“No,” she says.
“You want to sit here?” he asks, patting the bed where he is sitting.
“No. I’m tired. I want to go to Santa Fe.”
“I’ll take you to Santa Fe,” he says. “Come sit next to me and then I’ll take you.”
“I told my sister I’d call her when I was okay,” she says.
“You can call her later,” he says.
She watches him get up and walk over to the door, where she has been standing the whole time. He takes her by the wrist and she resists. He grabs tighter and leads her back to the bed.
“Look,” he says and takes out his wallet. He places two hundred dollar bills on the bed. “Lori told me this would be okay.”
“You know Lori?” Her tongue feels thick in her mouth. Her stomach is aching for food, but the idea of eating makes her nauseous.
“My friends know Lori,” he says. “She’s at the bar all the time. My friends know Lori and they know Vanessa. We’re all friends.”
He is speaking to her as if she is a child, his tone too gentle.
“Let’s try this another way,” he says. He stands up and undoes his belt, then leans over and tries to take off her shirt.
“Don’t,” she says. She is too tired and drunk to protest when he pulls her shirt up and yanks it over her head. The collar catches on her ear and she feels a sharp pain.
“Oh shit,” he says. “Sorry. I think your ear is bleeding.”
He makes her lay down and a few moments later he is laying on top of her.
“You’re heavy,” she says. “I want to sleep.”
“You will. Just in a little while.”
“Now,” she protests.
She feels him unzipping her jeans and pulling them down. He is on top of her again.
“I don’t feel well,” she says.
He is trying to push inside of her.
“I don’t feel well,” she repeats.
She twists around.
“Hold still,” he said. “Jesus. I can’t believe I’m paying for this shit,” he mutters under his breath. He grabs her wrists and holds them down at her sides. She remembers the last time someone had held her wrists with this much force.
She looks up at him and sees Tom Jones’s face. “You,” she says.
Through his gritted teeth he fakes a smile. “Me,” he says, humoring her.
“I thought I killed you,” she says, her voice full of curiosity.
He stops. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“Your skull,” she says calmly. “I split it open.”
The fake Kyle gets up and stands over her.
“With the rock. Bashed your head in. Then Cecile came. You’re dead,” she says and sits up.
Her bra straps are hanging over her shoulders and there is blood dripping down her arm.
“You’re nuts,” he concludes and reaches over to take the money he had intended on giving her.
“You’re trash,” she says. “Like where I found you. On the street.”
He sits back on top of her and swiftly slams his fist into the side of her stomach. She groans and turns over. He wants to hit her again, but realizes she is unconscious. Quickly, he pulls up his pants, shoves the money back in his pocket, and leaves.
It was still dark when Araxi awoke. The curtain was half open and from where she was lying she could see the faint light of the sunrise creeping through the sky. She lay on her side, aware that she was alone. The pain in her side was sharp and piercing. There was a dull ache in the back of her head and when she parted her lips they felt glued together, parched and dry from too much drinking. She struggled to sit up, and when she finally did she saw that her duffel bag was still by her bed, but the girls’ belongings were gone. They had left. This time there was little they could have taken from her. She wondered if they had bothered paying for the room or if they had left her with the trouble of coming up with the money.
Slowly, she made her way to the bathroom. She was stunned when she saw her reflection in the mirror. There was blood caked on the side of her face and her arm and collarbone, as if someone had taken a paintbrush and haphazardly dripped maroon paint all over her. And her right earlobe was torn, the earring missing. Carefully, she touched it, in complete disb
elief at how grotesque and unsettling it looked. The small stud was still intact in her left ear, and she removed it, embarrassed at the visible incongruity now. She lifted her shirt and gasped when she saw the green and purple welts.
She washed herself as thoroughly as possible, avoiding the shower as it was covered in dark stains. In case the room hadn’t been paid for, she decided to leave as soon as possible, but didn’t know where to go. She was aware of the possibility that she may run into Lori and Vanessa again, or even worse, the man they had thrown into the room with her. To her relief, she saw that the car Lori had parked on the street was not there.
As she walked down the strip she noticed that there were other people milling around. Self-consciously, she touched her torn earlobe, wondering if people were looking at her, repulsed by the sight. The pain in her side made her wince, but she continued walking, limping slightly. For the first time since she had left New York, Araxi thought about her parents. She wanted to believe that they had accepted the fact that she was gone, but knew in reality that her disappearance had only added to the turmoil she had left behind.
The long strip of casinos came into full view and she looked up at each one as she passed, feeling the acute sensation of being a foreigner, out of place, belonging nowhere. Without knowing why, she turned around, sensing that she was being watched. A tall, young Hispanic man was watching her. Although he wore a beard, his face seemed familiar. Pretending not to notice, she continued walking. A few moments later, she looked quickly behind her to make sure he hadn’t decided to follow her, and hurried into the nearest hotel hoping to lose him.
The ceiling of the lobby was so high that she had to tilt her head back completely to absorb the full view of the elaborate paintings that spread across the entirety of the space. She felt like a pauper standing before a threshold that led to opulence and grandeur.
“Welcome to the Venetian.” A bellboy dressed in a red suit and cap bowed cordially and motioned her through the lobby.
She smiled meekly and continued walking, unsure of where to go. There was a long line of people by the reservation desk. Some were families waiting to check in and some were couples. No one seemed to notice her as she stood and watched, envying their carefree exchanges. They seemed detached from life’s difficulties. She guessed that perhaps they had never encountered any.
The Legacy of Lost Things Page 16
