Everything Beautiful

by Simmone Howell

  I laughed. “We did, didn’t we?”

  Dylan stopped. “Can you hear that?” It was the sound of wheels on asphalt. The road was visible between the wattle trees. We pushed on. We didn’t speak or look at each other. I felt a rush of excitement. I couldn’t stop smiling—and I think for Dylan it must have been the same. When we reached the road I got down on all fours and kissed it.

  “Yes! Saved!”

  54

  Contact High

  Dylan stayed in his chair while I practiced my hitchhiker poses. First I was the psycho hitcher, then the nympho hitcher . . . then I was the psycho hitcher again. We shared a cigarette and dreamed of shade. He ran a finger down my exposed back. “You should use sunscreen,” he told me. Suddenly I saw us how anyone passing (would there be anyone passing?) would see us. Two teenagers. One fat, one crippled, both bleary, in dead people’s clothes.

  I started laughing. “We are so fucked.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look at us. Would you stop for us?”

  “I’d stop for anyone.”

  “You would, wouldn’t you?”

  Dylan smiled. I stuck my lip out. “I’d stop for no one.”

  I saw the car before I made the connection. I even saw their faces and it still didn’t click. It was a problem of context. The black Monaro slowed and I chased after it. I shouted, “Oh, thank God!” to the head hanging out the passenger window and then I heard the familiar cackle, and the girl pulled up her oversize sunglasses and screamed, “Riley, what the fuck?” I looked past Chloe’s head and saw Ben Sebatini—the Ben Sebatini—with his strong hands resting on the steering wheel.

  He stopped the car. Chloe opened her door and stumbled clownishly out. She was in her silver party dress—the one that made her look like an amazon from outer space—and her Yeti boots with the four-inch platforms. I was so happy to see her I reeled. I jigged up and down and backward. “What are you doing here? How is this possible?”

  “Did you get married?” Chloe’s eyes were black poker chips. Her skin had that E-sheen to it. She thumped me on the arm, once, twice. “My friend, my friend, this is fate. We were coming to get you! We left the party—” She turned to Ben. “What time did we leave the party?”

  Ben lowered his seventies cop sunglasses. “About eight.” He pushed them back up. He was chewing gum.

  “He’s so Starsky.” Chloe giggled. “We’ve been driving for, like, ever.” She suddenly hugged her stomach. “Oh, my God. I have to take a crap.”

  She grabbed a pack of tissues from her purse and ran into the scrub. Ben lowered his sunglasses again. “Nice dress.” He touched his chin, tucked his pinky on his tuft, and I stifled the impulse to laugh out loud. I pictured their five-hour drive, doof doof on the stereo, and the pair of them popping pills all the way.

  “How was the party?” My voice came out oddly formal.

  Ben moved his head up and down, to a beat only he could hear. “Killer.”

  I nodded. I didn’t know what else to say. Ben Seb, my big crush. But I didn’t know how to talk to him. I wasn’t comfortable with him. I realized I’d never even been sober around him. Damn Chloe and her spontaneous bowel!

  “So . . . you came all the way to get me?”

  Ben cricked his neck. “You know how it gets. Gotta keep going forward. Like a shark.”

  I was so glad Dylan hadn’t heard that—it had sound bite all over it.

  Chloe stumbled back. She shielded her eyes against the sun and pointed to Dylan. “Who he?”

  “That’s Dylan.”

  “Where’d you find the chair?”

  “It’s a wheelchair.”

  “Oh.” Chloe looked again. “Oh!” She beamed at me. She touched my cheek. “It’s so good to see you.” They must have been some party pills. I was getting a contact high.

  Chloe stroked my hair and stared at me and rambled. “We passed a giant koala on the way. I wanted to get out, but Ben was scared.”

  “I wasn’t scared!” Ben shouted from the driver’s seat.

  “You were.” She thumped him, then turned back to me. “The koala’s eyes were all yellow.”

  I laughed. “How gone are you?”

  “Spaz! It’s not a real koala. It’s fiberglass. For tourists. You know, like the Big Banana, or the Giant Earthworm.” Chloe started dancing. She couldn’t stay still. She clapped and wiggled like a wayward children’s entertainer.

  “Can you give us a lift back?” I asked.

  “To Christian camp? My friend, my friend, I’ve been dreaming about it.”

  “Okay, I’ll get Dylan. Just . . .”

  “What, what?”

  “Be nice.”

  Chloe was staring up at the sky. She laughed. “I’m always nice. Look.” She pointed. “A daytime moon. I love a daytime moon.” She started doing a moon dance, hailing the moon with her outstretched hands. My mind went back to orientation, to the feverish Mallees and their wave of praise. And Dylan with his head bowed, playing with his silver cross, thinking I was gorgeous.

  Dylan!

  I ran back to him. He had a cigarette going; he was trying not to look anxious. Before he could say anything I said, “It’s okay, I know them. It’s Chloe . . . and Ben.”

  “The tuft?”

  “Shhh. Let’s go.”

  Chloe’s eyes widened when she saw Dylan at close range—the suit, the hair, the chair—it was a devastating combo. “Oh, wow.” I don’t know why I was worried about her saying something awful. Chloe wasn’t mean-spirited. She wasn’t a starer or an avoider. She was just Chloe—spiky and surreal. She elbowed me. “He’s cute.” Dylan blushed.

  Ben was less than subtle. He’d only been driving for two minutes when he looked at Dylan in the rearview mirror. “How’d you get like that?”

  Dylan didn’t blink. “Drugs.”

  “F-ark.” Ben’s paranoia was a thing to behold. He eased off on the gas. He was doing forty.

  “Why are you driving like an old person?” Chloe complained.

  Dylan’s eyes slid left. He stroked his chin, the tuftal region. We collapsed into giggles. Chloe laughed, too—at a leaf or a line in the sky, something going on in her own mad head. Ben just drove.

  55

  A Different Movie

  I made Ben stop before the arches. “He hath made everything beautiful in his time . . .” Chloe quoted in a prissy voice. She turned to the back and lisped, “Itth true. He really hath.” Her face was blank as a doll’s. Suddenly she shrilled, “Wrong way, go back!” Dylan and I laughed. We were holding hands, surreptitiously I thought, but Chloe clucked, “Riley, you are a tart.” Concern flickered across her face. “You’re coming back with us, right?” She kept on. “You have to see the koala. It’s evil. I think you can go right into its head. Like, I think there are stairs all the way up. We’ll have to stop on the way back and take photos.”

  Dylan wriggled his shoulder into mine. I talked out of the corner of my mouth, like a hitman. “How are we going to do this?”

  He sliced the air with the palm of his hand. “Just go straight in.”

  “No. I mean this.” I squeezed his hand.

  “Are you leaving right now?”

  His question surprised me. Of course I was leaving. Hadn’t I been trying to leave since I first arrived? But then . . . things had changed.

  “Not right now.” I waffled, flustered. “No. I have to get my stuff . . .”

  I felt confused. Being in Ben Seb’s car was okay only because of Dylan and Chloe. Without Dylan I’d be the spare tire. If Chloe fell asleep—and she had to crash sometime—then it would just be Ben and me, and that would be awkward. Like being in a taxi. In taxis I always felt like I had to relate to the driver. I’d say “You must really like driving” or “I’ve heard those beaded seat covers are great.” What did I have to talk to Ben about? Nothing. The more I tried to picture leaving with Chloe and Ben, the less I could see it.

  I said to Dylan, “Is that bad? It’s bad, isn’t
it? I’m leaving you with Neville—in the shit . . . holding the baby.”

  Dylan smiled. “I like the baby. It’s our baby.”

  Chloe interjected, “You guys are so cute! You even argue cute.”

  “We’re not arguing,” Dylan and I said together.

  The Monaro crawled up the drive. I tried to figure out what to do. Six days ago there would have been no question. Six days ago I would have clung to Ben’s ride like that old suckingfish and never looked back. If I left now, then I wouldn’t have to witness Roslyn’s ever-lovin’ jumpsuit jamboree. I wouldn’t have to suffer Anton’s derision or Neville’s niceness. I wouldn’t have to cut Fleur’s hair. Or spin shit for the talent show. But I wouldn’t get to say farewell to Sarita or Bird or Olive. Or Dylan Luck, whose face, I saw, had gone hospital green.

  “Shit.” He stared out to a fish-stickered Tarago. “That’s Mom’s car.”

  Next to the Tarago was Dad’s Camry. I felt deflated. “Oh, snap.”

  Chloe tried to keep the vibe alive. She threw her arms up. “Come on, party people. We’ll drive west. We’ll follow the sun. We’ve got pills.” She poked Ben. “Haven’t we? Let’s just drive until we run out of gas, see how far we get.”

  But Dylan had already opened his door.

  Ben cut the engine. Chloe blurted, “It’ll be like a movie!”

  For a second I was with her. The sky was blue, the sun was infernal, the road was a gunmetal stripe in a red desert. Chloe would be sunbaking on the hood of the Monaro. But where was I? I couldn’t see me.

  Ah. I was in a different movie.

  56

  Que Sera, Sera

  We all got out of the car. Ben was hovering around Dylan, but Dylan didn’t need help. We watched him snap his chair into place and transport himself into it. Ben was nodding, stroking his tuft, murmuring, “Cool.”

  Chloe patted Dylan’s hand. “Dylan, you have a feline grace.”

  Dylan nodded. “Chloe, you need to lie down.” He did a sly wheelie and started for the path. Chloe was holding my hands, giving me her sympathetic shop girl smile. I broke away from her. “Dylan, wait. I’m coming with you.”

  Ben swore. “Make up your mind.”

  “Ssh.” Chloe smacked him. “It’s romantic.” Then she stamped her foot. “I want to come, too, Riley. At least let me explore?”

  I hugged her tight. “I’ll see you back in the real world.”

  “Are you sure? Your dad is going to be feral.”

  I dug in my bag and found the Jesus badge. “Here.” I pressed it into her palm. Chloe looked down and giggled. “Oh, man. That’s beautiful. That’s me.” She pinned the badge on her dress and shimmied. “Church girl fresh!”

  “Thanks for the lift,” I called to Ben.

  He waved. “We came, we saw, we went away.” He looked at me, but his expression was vague. And then he looked at Chloe and I saw hunger in his eyes. Hunger and pseudoephedrine and the possibility of a tumble. Did he even like me? Did I even care? The answer to both questions was no.

  Ben beckoned to Chloe, who had started to moon dance again. “Bitch! Hustle. We’ve got company.”

  Craig was marching up the sidewalk. He did not look happy. He walked past Chloe without so much as an eyebrow hike and came straight for me.

  “You’re dead.” He grabbed my shoulder. I was too surprised to squeak.

  “Hey, get off her.” Chloe bristled. “You big . . . lug.” Craig blanked her and said to me, “Dylan could have died out there.”

  I managed to snap, “Does he look dead to you?”

  Dylan was decidedly alive. His hair was scruffy and his face was sunburned and he was wearing half a suit, but his eyes were clear and his pose was absolutely open.

  Craig shook me harder. “You fat bitch! You’re crazy.”

  “Whoa!” Chloe held her hand up. “I’m not hearing this.”

  And while I was trying to process all this, Dylan rammed his chair into Craig’s legs. Craig buckled. “Dude—whatthe...?”

  “Don’t talk to Riley like that.”

  Craig stared at him. His face was all twisted with hurt.

  “This is ugly.” Chloe rubbed her temples and nodded in Craig’s direction. “I’m getting a bad reading. I think he might be evil.” Chloe was mystical on E. Everything meant something. Everything was black and white. Her gut didn’t speak, it roared.

  Ben had started backing out. “Let’s GO!” The passenger door was swinging. Chloe gave me a sweet smile, a que sera, sera. She tromped after the Monaro and managed to jump in. Soon they were dust, and then they were nothing. I turned back to the camp. Craig was leaning on the Tarago, rubbing his shin, glowering. Neville had come out of the woodwork. My dad was there, and Norma. In a weird way, I felt relieved to see them. They signified home. Norma was wearing her white linen asspants—the ones Chloe and I always laughed over because really, they were thong-fodder, but Norma would never go there. I chanced a smile and got stony faces in return. I tugged at Rose’s wedding dress, tried to salvage the gaping back. Blah.

  A dark-haired woman was standing next to Neville, crying silently.

  Dylan wheeled up to her. He touched her gently on the arm. “Mom, I want you to meet someone. This is Riley Rose. It’s okay, we’re not married.” He turned to give me a beautiful smile. “We’re just in deep like.”

  57

  The Girl I Was

  The first thing they did was separate us. Neville took Dylan and his mother into his office, and I stayed outside with Dad and Norma. They stood around me with their heads and arms hanging limply. I moved over to the picnic bench—the one that Norma and I had sat on that first day, a hundred years ago. Norma patted her permanent. For once she let Dad take the lead. He didn’t want to be angry, but his face had become a tribal war mask. And when he spoke he couldn’t control his levels.

  “What were you thinking? What were you THINKING? You took a crippled boy off camp property. OVERNIGHT! You stole a car, Riley. My daughter, a car thief! Did you see that boy’s mother? She’s talking about a LAWSUIT. And I’m not even going to talk about how worried we were.”

  “I wish you would,” I muttered.

  Dad leaned in. “What was THAT?”

  “I wish you would. I’d like to hear it.”

  Dad fumbled and his anger fizzled. He never was very good at confrontation. “Well, of course we were worried. But now you’re back, and you look okay . . .” He paused to look me over. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Right. So now that we know you’re okay, well, I’m just furious.” But he didn’t sound it anymore. He’d been defused. “Furious,” he started again, with a bit more wind up. He looked to Norma as if she were feeding him lines and added, “And disappointed. And embarrassed.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry I’m such an embarrassment to you. But you’ve seen this place—what did you think was going to happen? Did you think you could tame me? I’m a wild girl! I’m all grrr!” I growled and clawed at the air in a performance that would have made Mom proud.

  Norma stepped forward. She put her hand up like a conductor trying to ease the strings section. “Riley. Do you think you’re transposing some of your anger at us onto the world at large? Do you think that we—your father in particular—deserve a little more respect and perhaps even an explanation?”

  I stopped and thought about it. “Yes. But.” My mouth stayed open—an avalanche was coming. Then: “Dylan came of his own free will. We were looking for the salt lake—it’s supposed to have healing properties. I was trying to help him. I even did a petition. My friends Olive and Bird helped us. We went into the desert and had to walk back. But it’s beautiful there. When the sun rose over the salt lake it looked like the end of the world. It’s supposed to be a desert, but it’s full of stuff. Wildflowers and birds—you should see their colors—like paint store swatches, only better because they’re real.”

  “Well—,” Norma started and couldn’t finish.


  “Did you say you had friends?” Dad prodded.

  “Yes, Olive and Bird. And Sarita as well. She’s my roommate. She’s crazy, only you wouldn’t know right away. She’s like those chocolate candies that you bite into and you never know what flavor you’re going to get inside.”

  Dad and Norma looked at each other.

  Norma said, “So . . . you’ve had fun here?”

  I shrugged. “Sort of.” I thought about Dylan and felt panic brewing. “Maybe if I talk to Dylan’s mom, she’ll calm down and see I was trying to do a good thing.”

  Dad squinted toward the office. “Let’s not worry about that just yet.”

  “Maybe if I tell her Dylan doesn’t need to be cured because there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s perfect.”

  And then suddenly I was crying. Real-Life Actual Tears were sliding down my face and making my skin sting. They tasted like the salt lake. I cried and coughed and spluttered. And I couldn’t stop. I was a mess. Maybe I was transposing now. These tears weren’t about my Spirit Ranch shenanigans, they were for Mom and Dad and me. I felt my father’s arms enfold me and free up a whole other vat of tears. I cried like a girl, a big fat girl. The girl I was.

  58

  End of Faith Discussion

  There was only one path to Neville’s office. I heard his door open and gathered myself and tried not to look like such a trainwreck. I wriggled out from under Dad’s arm. I didn’t want Dylan to think I’d gone soft. When they came out, Dylan’s mom was pushing his wheelchair. He was holding his MP3, untangling his earplugs. His mom didn’t look at me or Dad or Norma. She had dark sunglasses and a mouth like a prune. She looked like she was waiting for the tabloids to descend with flashbulbs and microphones, like this really was a courtroom drama. And now it was my turn to give evidence, to plead guilty.

  Your Honor, I admit it. I didn’t think about afterward . . .