Lurk

by Adam Vine

  “Do you know it isn’t?” Bea said.

  “Ew. I don't wanna get soul-trapped,” Natalia said.

  I shrugged. “I took a picture of Bumble with it earlier, so if she's getting banished to the Pain Dimension, we might as well go with her. Or, you four should. I'm just the photographer.”

  “Go to the Pain Dimension yourself, bro. I’m Catholic,” Bea said.

  And Carter, “Hurry up, dawg. I'm still smilin'.”

  I snapped the picture and it fed out the front of the camera with a robotic whir, the colors bleeding in from stark white. There they were, my four best friends: the wavy-haired love of my life, my best childhood bro from the playground and his adorable dog, my male role model and the only man I ever truly looked up to, and last but not least, his raven-haired hippie Barbie of a girlfriend.

  In the picture, they were all smiling. They looked happy. I should be in it with them, I thought. They make me better, but is that true the other way around? For the first time, I wondered.

  A hostile thought entered my brain. You don't belong with them, the voice in my head whispered. Really look at them. They ARE beautiful. They're young and fresh and good looking and have everything in front of them, and you're just ugly, fat, useless, an adult male virgin. You're their funny fat friend, and that’s it; the guy in the group who is "harmless" enough to sleep next to, but never good enough to fuck.

  My head was starting to hurt, and the booze sat sour in my bulbous, flabby gut. What was I thinking? I didn't belong in that picture. I belonged in my room, where no one else could see me and be disgusted by me.

  All of a sudden, I hated them. I hated how perfect they all were. I hated Bea's beautiful legs that I'd never get to touch. I hated Jay's easy smile, and Talia's hourglass shape. Maybe they’re the reason you’re fat, the voice whispered. Maybe they’re the reason you’re a virgin.

  I waved the Polaroid in the air once more. “Beautiful,” I said, showing it to Bea. She shrugged and passed it to Jay.

  “I'mma go get my guitar,” Carter said.

  “Y'know, you're very photogenic,” Jay told Bea, studying the Polaroid.

  “Thanks, mom,” Bea said.

  “My arms look fat,” Talia complained over his shoulder.

  Popeye panted.

  Carter returned with his guitar in his hands, the leather strap resting over one muscular shoulder. He played a few notes to warm up. The room fell silent.

  Carter sat down and put the guitar between his knees. He closed his eyes and started playing a soft Spanish melody, Tarrega's Etude in A.

  Carter was the best musician I knew. He'd trained at the Idlewild School of Performing Arts in Los Angeles, played in our university’s competitive Spanish classical guitar ensemble, and was already accepted to play in a professional philharmonic once he graduated. As his fingers danced up and down the nylon strings, both hands working in tandem to weave a tapestry of bright music through the still air of Sunny Hill's living room, I felt like I was falling again.

  I looked around and saw Natalia smiling and nodding along with the tempo. Bea's hands were clasped and softly resting against her cheek. Jay's jaw drooped halfway to the floor, his full beer forgotten.

  Only an hour before, my friends had been indifferent to my music when I put it on the kitchen boom box. Yet, here they were, gushing over Carter’s.

  I thought about killing him, killing all of them, buzzing them to pieces with a chainsaw like Leatherface in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Then I thought: We will never be remembered.

  Carter finished Etude with a triple-note flourish, to raucous applause and hoots from Jay and Bea. Popeye barked. Carter ended his performance by playing the opening hook of my chip tune, Don't Go Down the Wrong Road. Maybe he thought it would make me happy hearing him play my stuff on the guitar, but it didn't. He stopped abruptly and stood, setting his guitar down. “Nah, I'm jus' playin',” Carter said. “That's a good-ass song, doe.”

  “Man, you have serious talent,” Jay said.

  “Thank you, Jay.”

  Talia folded her hands in the middle of her knees. “Now that our minds are open to the positive-creative energies, we can begin the healing process. What’s something we all love to do together, that can cleanse the negativity from this house?”

  In that movie Insidious they aided their séance with a gas mask, I thought. But I had something better in mind.

  “I’ve got an idea.” I motioned to the old television set we’d found under the house, where my vintage Nintendo 64 was plugged in.

  Talia groaned. “Mario Kart? Seriously, Drew?”

  “Oh, hell no,” Bea said.

  Jay said, “Oh, hell yes.”

  Carter mumbled.

  The Housecleaning began.

  ***

  “Another goddamned banana peel? That is so cheap, dude. You are so cheap.”

  I did my victory dance, more of a shuffle really, rolling my ass from side to side on the carpet and pumping my arms in the air like disco pistons. Bea frowned and plopped her controller down on the floor.

  “I suck at this game,” she said.

  “You can’t touch this pimpin',” I said.

  Bea shoved the controller to Jay. “Good luck, pal. This guy’s a monster.”

  We only had two controllers, so two of us played while the other three blazed and watched.

  Jay offered his controller to Popeye. “You wanna take this one? My ass still hurts from getting dominated last round.”

  Popeye gave him a confused whine.

  “Suit yourself.” Jay passed the controller to Natalia.

  She shook her head. “Nah, I’m good. I’m gonna pack a bowl. We should get started.”

  When the weed was lit, Talia began. I did my best to listen with one eye on the screen.

  “Without us – the people who live here – this house is nothing but floorboards, carpet, and some old forgotten crap in the basement. It's just an object. We give it joy, pain and meaning.”

  Talia lit the small glass pipe in her hand and inhaled, then blew out a fat, pale cloud of smoke. “So. What’s the first word that comes to mind when you think of Sunny Hill?”

  “Termmmites,” Carter said. He barely got the word out. I'd never seen Carter so drunk before.

  “Ugh. Us too. Our house is like Poland for those little Nazis,” Bea said.

  I nodded. “Not just termites. Spiders and ants. This place is a bug youth hostel. That’s always the first sign of the presence of evil. Maybe Talia’s onto something.”

  “Or maybe, you watch too many horror movies,” Natalia said.

  “Stop distracting her from the spirits, you dicks,” Jay said. He banged his controller on his knee as I blew past him on the virtual racetrack, smoking him with a blue shell that left his character spinning on the shoulder.

  Talia frowned. “Guys, there is a point here. Maybe we should do something else if video games are going to be too distracting.”

  “No,” Jay and I both said simultaneously. He hit me with a blue shell of his own and I muttered, “Fuck!”

  Talia went on. “If there's pain in this house, it's because we brought it here. This is our home. And it's our pain. So the way we get rid of it is like Freud said: we need to talk the pain out, and fill this space with happiness.”

  “Ain't we happy?” Carter slurred. “I'm happy. Shit.”

  “Babe, everyone knows you're happy.” Talia gave Carter a kiss. “So, we’re playing video games, blazing some bomb ass weed, and spending time with the people we love. But before this happiness can soak in, we need to get rid of this dark stain that's fallen over us. So, without further ado-”

  Talia lit another bowl and held it to Carter’s lips. He took a deep, lung-scorching rip. Talia passed the pipe to me, and said, “What is everyone’s worst fear?”

  “What I fear most is not destroying Jay like the noob he is,” I said. I sped past him on the last leg of the race, dropping a string of banana peels that left his character spinning
out two, three, four times in a row while I blazed across the finish line. “Boom. Worst fear averted.”

  “Drew, why don’t you let someone else play?” Talia said.

  “Uh, alright.”

  Bea took the controller out of my hand and a new race started.

  Jay tapped her knee. “You ready to get your salmon smoked, Bumble?”

  “I don’t know what that means, but I do know you’re about to get fucking owned,” Bea said.

  Talia waited patiently for them to finish. “Drew, serious answer.”

  I thought about it. “I suppose my worst fear is letting go of my attachments, of not being able to let the past stay in the past. And, maybe of holding onto false beliefs I have about the future until it's too late.”

  I looked at Bea. She stared at the screen, where Jay’s kart and hers were neck and neck.

  I passed the pipe to Bea.

  After Talia helped her take her hit, Bea said: “My worst fear is being raped. Or assaulted. Or... I don't know if there's a word for this... but, being watched without my consent.”

  “The word you're looking for is voyeurism. I learned that from watching porn” Jay said.

  Bea laughed. “You're disgusting.”

  “It was in Drew’s bookmarks.”

  “When’d you see my bookmarks?” I said.

  Bea hit him with a red shell, taking the lead. “OOOH! How you like the taste of that smoked salmon?”

  “It’s cold. Like your heart.”

  “Oh shut up, you big baby.” Bea continued, “It isn’t the physical aspect of it, so much as it’s the idea of someone having that kind of power over me. Scares the shit out of me, to be honest.”

  Bea passed the pipe to Jay. “Here, hit this while I kick your skinny ass.”

  “But last night you said it was so little and cute.”

  “I was talking about something else,” Bea said.

  Jay scoffed. “You better call the D.J. and let him know he’s playing last year’s burn.” He took his hit, considering Natalia’s question. “My worst fear is letting my friends down.” Jay passed the pipe back to Natalia. “Might wanna pack a new one, Pocahontas. That one's fried.”

  Natalia shook her head and packed a fresh bowl. She poked Carter in the arm with it. He was slouched over where he sat, eyes drifting in a twilight state. “Carter? Boo? You want this?”

  With great effort, Carter shook his head.

  “What's your worst fear, babe?” Natalia said.

  Carter shook his head.

  “You can do it,” Natalia insisted. “We all have to. That's how this works.”

  “My worst fear is... never having kids.”

  Natalia frowned. “Oh. I didn't know that. Why didn't you tell me that, babe?”

  Carter shook his head again.

  “Whatever. Anyway.” Natalia raised the pipe to her lips and burned. “My worst fear is dying in a really gruesome manner. Having all my limbs cut off by a serial killer or something.”

  Of course a Barbie doll’s worst fear is being dismembered. Right after being left behind the couch without her clothes on, I thought.

  Jay finished the race almost an entire lap ahead of Bea.

  Bea set the controller down and took a deep breath. “Dude, I’m so high right now. I think I’m done with the Mario Kart.”

  “Don’t be a sore loser,” Jay said.

  “I’m not. I just don’t like it when you win.”

  Jay gave a bow.

  Natalia handed me the green of a fresh bowl. “All right, guys. Next question. What is the most painful thing you've ever experienced?”

  I took my rip. “The worst pain I ever felt was when my first girlfriend cheated on me.”

  “Ouch. How old?” Natalia said.

  “High school.”

  Bea’s ears perked. “You had a girlfriend?”

  “For three months.”

  “Did you guys have sex?”

  I shook my head. “Well, she did. With the other guy.”

  “Yeesh,” Bea said.

  “Yup.”

  I passed her the pipe.

  Bea cradled it in her hands, careful with her words. “The worst pain I ever felt was when my grandma died. I know that sounds lame, and everyone has lost grandparents, but we were close. She saved me from my first period.”

  “Did you call her avó?” Jay said.

  “Actually, yes.”

  “That's beautiful.”

  “So was she.” Bea lifted the pipe and took her hit.

  Jay took the pipe next. “Wait, are we done with the game? I was on fire.”

  “I’ll play you, after you answer the question,” I said.

  “Okay. The worst pain I ever felt was breaking both of my wrists snowboarding. I know you guys are going more for spiritual-metaphysical stuff, but my worst was definitely physical.” Jay inhaled, held his hands up in front of his face, examining the old scars and blowing the smoke through his fingers. “That was a bad fall.” He passed the pipe to Natalia. “I'm guessing Lightning over here is out.”

  Natalia patted Carter’s drifting head. “The worst pain I ever felt was hearing my parents tell me about how they suffered under communism. People disappeared, vanished without a trace. Everyone was cold and starving all the time. There were months when the government wouldn't give them meat, or even toilet paper. Months. I don’t know if you guys can imagine that, but I can’t.”

  Popeye whined.

  Natalia curled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. “One more question. What's the happiest you've ever been?”

  My first thought was to tell them it was making my music. But that wasn't true. I loved playing around with new hooks and melodies, but I'd only ever finished one song I was proud of.

  Then I considered talking about my family, but we've never been close. My parents were both workaholics, and I was an only child. They always seemed happy to sedate me with video games and therapy.

  Finally, I said, “Right now. With you guys, in this house. I’ve had the best experiences of my life here. Hands down.”

  “You do really love this place,” Natalia said.

  Bea furrowed her brow. “Hey, there's something about this house. I love it too, and I don’t even live here.”

  “You like it because it’s creepy, you morbid weirdo,” Jay said.

  And Bea, “I’m not morbid. For me, it’s winning a track meet.” Bea stared into the empty spaces of the walls as if she could see the ticker tape and the roaring crowds of parents just beyond. “Waking up at five A.M., kicking my own ass, then beating the other girls'; it’s what I live for.”

  “It's those sick legs you’ve got, sister,” Natalia said.

  Bea rolled up her sweat pants and admired her calves. “They're not too bad. Jay?”

  “I'm more of an ass man, but they look good to me.”

  “I meant it's your turn, dumbass.”

  “Ha ha. Oh.”

  Natalia rested her forehead on her thumb and giggled a soft, “Omigod.”

  “I feel happy just smoking a fat ass blunt,” Jay said.

  And Bea, “You're a simple man.”

  “I never claimed I wasn't.”

  “That’s it?” Natalia said. “Smoking weed? You’re not being very serious about this.”

  “Fine. Surfing.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed you surf,” Bea said.

  “Guess again. You wanna go?”

  “I’m free tomorrow morning,” Bea said.

  “As long as you don’t mind getting up early.”

  “How early is early?”

  “Seven.”

  “Deal.”

  I reminded myself to breathe.

  When no one else spoke, Natalia said, “I know we're all getting tired, but I want to end with a moment of silence.”

  I bowed my head with the others, eager to be done with it, when the hairs rose on the back of my neck. Was someone crying in our hallway?

  My eyes flew open, but t
here was no one there.

  Maybe in the kitchen.

  But the sound was gone. I thought I’d only imagined it. My friends all still had their heads down. I wondered if the pot was making me hear things.

  Carter rolled in his chair, disrupting my train of thought. “I gotta go,” he said. “Jung... go... jungle juice....”

  His face was pale, his body flagging. A thin, wet film of sweat coated his forehead.

  “Oh, God. He's gonna yak,” Natalia said. “Drew, I don't wanna be a bitch, but can you take care of him? I'm really high, and I don't want to clean up puke tonight.”

  At least she’s honest.

  Carter began to dry heave. I pulled him up by the arms and dragged him to the bathroom as the first nuggets of spew went flying from his lips.

  ***

  Carter puked on himself, me, the bathroom floor, and every part of the toilet that wasn’t the bowl. I brought him water and bread, but he couldn't keep them down. I helped him stand, walked him to his bed, and put a big glass of water on the nightstand when I thought his stomach was empty. Boy was I wrong.

  What I thought was the grand finale was only the eye of the storm. Once Carter was in bed, he started throwing up even more violently than before, all over the sheets and pillows. There was nothing I could do except turn him on his side, so he wouldn't choke to death on his own vomit.

  When Carter was finally, mercifully unconscious, I went to check on the others. Natalia had gone to sleep in Sam's room. Bea and Jay were nowhere to be found. I looked upstairs, downstairs, the front porch, and the wrap-around deck, but I couldn’t find them.

  As I walked back through the house, I noticed someone had opened all the windows and blinds. I did a final patrol to close and lock everything. As I double-checked the locks, I shook my head angrily at Bea and Jay for being so inconsiderate. They’d tracked mud all over the carpet.

  Had coming back inside to open the windows been that important?

  ***

  I dreamed I was wandering through the orchard behind Sunny Hill. The night was warm. It wasn’t January anymore. I was in my boxers.

  Rows of apple, lemon and pomegranate trees in late flower stretched away from me in all directions. The house that towered behind me was both close and impossibly far away, like the painted backdrop of an old movie. It was our house, and yet it wasn’t, the way things in dreams can be paradoxical analogues for themselves. The house’s fat, black shadow sat silhouetted against the full silver disk of a summer moon.