Jane.

by Riya Anne Polcastro

  Aaah, my baby looks upset 'bout something. I wave to let her know I’ll be right over and keep taking the order from the car in the drive-thru.

  She shoulda gave me some sort of warning before she spits this shit at me. Here I am, waiting on Julia’s late ass to show up and let me go so I can see some bitches take their clothes off, and Jane shows up in booty shorts, talking about how we gotta go watch her house, gotta go make sure some tweaker ass that already robbed her for seventeen bucks ain’t trying to break into her house too. Come on now, who she fooling? She ain’t got nothing worth stealing! No TV, no video games, no real stereo. And shit, she already let the motherfucker in her house, so it ain’t like he don’t know this.

  She insists. Nah, demands.

  My sister’s phoning me now. She’s supposed to meet us at the club. Weird huh? Me, my sister, my ex-girlfriend at the strip club together. But we all like girls, so it works. "You almost off?" she asks all impatient.

  "No," I moan. "Still waiting for Julia."

  "Holy shit! I’m not going to wait around forever! I do have a life, you know!" I mumble something or other about that life being all about her ugly-ass boyfriend, Glenn. "What was that?" she yells.

  "Nothing," I answer, trying to sound innocent.

  "No, what was that? What did you say?"

  Why the fuck she always gotta be so demanding? Can’t ever let anything just fucking go! "I just . . ." I pause to think and scratch my head. "I was just saying that at least we don’t have to wait for any men too."

  "You’re a dumb fuck, Angie. Really." And she hangs up.

  Well, my night’s gone to shit: an extra-long shift, a bitchy sister, and no naked chicks. Awesome. Fucking awesome.

  Jane waits, pacing the lobby, while Julia takes her sweet time. When she finally shows up, I’m all sorts of pissed. I storm around with my back hunched and a scowl on my face while I finish up the stocking.

  "I WAS going to do all of that for you." She glares at me from the corner of her eyes. "But now I’m glad I'm not."

  I ignore her and walk out the door. Not to see girls shake their asses and rub their tits, but to guard Jane’s house from someone who's already terrified thanks to Daemon. He was scared enough to hide in a porn shop bathroom and wait for the cops to show up; he’s probably scared enough to stay away from her altogether, and even though I don’t know him, I know he ain’t about to be breaking and entering for her table scraps. Still, she's all antsy the whole way home. I drive because she would definitely crash us.

  32

  Sober and yet I am on one like no fucking other.

  The tangible world is lucid. What cannot be seen can still be felt. Anticipated. Conquered. It is like walking on air, like being lovesick with the universe. Time stands still or moves slow like northern syrup. Serenity tingles in my cells as if everything is cocaine perma-fried, leaking dopamine into even the smallest pieces of me. My own personal introduction to altered reality, but how did I get here? Ascetics. Buddhists. Shamans. Salvia. Acid. Mushrooms. DMT. Spiritual practice or indulgence, but I am guilty of neither.

  I can sense that which I cannot see. I can feel the presence of any inanimate object and even more so any sentient being. I can move about in the dark without collision, and I know what is hiding in the shadows long before it could hope to surprise me. So I try to convince Angela that it is a good night for a walk in the woods. She protests at first. It is dark, the ground is still soft from yesterday’s rain, "and didn’t you say we had to go back and protect your house? Isn’t that why I’m missing naked bitches right now?"

  "Oh yeah, forgot," I shrug. But we are bored when we get back to the cottage, so I bring it up again.

  She starts with, "Are you fucking joking me?" But then all of a sudden, she warms to the idea. "OK, fine," she says as she grabs a half-full bottle of cheap vodka from the counter, "but I’m drinking this."

  I frown, hands on my hips. "What about me?"

  She chuckles her tough girl chuckle but does not answer in words. Her eyes dart back and forth. This is not passive aggression; this is aggression in denied passivity.

  "We’re gonna need more than vodka to stay hydrated." I take the bottle from her and fill the empty half with cranberry juice from the refrigerator.

  "What?" Angela whines in mock protest. "You’re ruining it."

  I ignore her and say, "So let’s go to Silver Falls."

  She looks at me through the corner of her eyes. "It’s closed."

  "So?"

  "It’s a long drive."

  Again, "So?"

  "What are we going to do there? Go for a hike?"

  I shrug. "It’s not really a hike, more like a long walk."

  She rolls her eyes at me. "Yeah, it’s like five miles. How about we park at the North Falls and walk down and sit behind the waterfall and drink our vodka? It’s a good compromise."

  "Maybe," I say as I head for the door.

  Angela stops me. "You gonna bring a flashlight?"

  "Nah, I don’t need to see."

  "Yeah, ha ha," she says as she backtracks into the kitchen to retrieve the flashlight from the counter.

  "What, you don’t trust me?" I taunt.

  33

  (Angela) Trust? Seriously, this girl is fucking loony right now. Why she dancing around like that? Can’t she stand still for a minute? "Of course I trust you, baby, but if a bear eats you, Imma need a flashlight!"

  "Cool, so you don’t mind if I drive?"

  She is straight up scary behind the wheel. This sickening laugh and a crazy lust in her eyes, and she’s speeding up ‘round corners and drifting into the wrong lane. She’s skidding in the gravel on the shoulder. Luck’s the only thing between us and oncoming traffic. At least it’s dark, so I can’t see the cliffs we’re 'bout to fly over.

  34

  The sky is clear, something between royal and navy blue. The stars twinkle and shine. Everything feels right, and everything is right in the world. There is a place for everything, and everything is in its place. The forest, the trees, the meadows, the farm houses—it is all a blur. Our speed is irrelevant; we float on air, and there is nothing that cannot be done. I am one with the universe, in sync with all beings everywhere, and there is nothing to fear.

  35

  (Angela) We’re gonna die. We’re gonna fucking die!

  It’s not my life but Bee’s that passes before my eyes: the delivery room, his first smile, first tooth, first step, first backtalk. My poor baby, only four and about to have his mother ripped away from him. First day of school, I won’t be there to hold his hand. Won’t be there to teach him how to fight, neither. A tear starts up in the corner of my eye, all warm and salty. I blink it back before Jane can see.

  Fuck you, Jane. Goddamnit, fuck you!

  But then the impossible happens; we get there in one piece. She swerves into the parking lot on the north end, and I swear she’s going to miss it and finally run us off a cliff. I close my eyes until she slams us to a stop. I’m still alive! And we’re actually in a parking spot.

  "Finally!" she shouts. "I have to fucking pee!"

  Funny how sometimes you don’t know you’re holding your breath until you finally let it out, and it’s all stale and foul and tastes like shit. My heart’s racing too, and my head feels like it’s fulla helium instead of brains. Remembering the vodka and cranberry, I grab it from the floorboard. It scorches my throat, but it helps clear my head too.

  OK, the worst is over. I survived. When she comes back from the pit toilet, I yell, "Ain’t no fucking way you’re driving us home." She just stares at me like she don’t know why I would say such a thing, so I yell some more: "You’re crazy!" She frowns. Too close to home? I’m not trying to hurt her feelings or anything, so I explain, "You’re a crazy fucking driver!"

  She rolls her eyes at me and walks off towards the trail. I follow but she’s getting farther and farther away. No kinda light and she’s trotting over the muddy trail like it ain’t no uneven, slippery thing. E
ven with a flashlight, I can’t pace her. Fuck trying to catch up.

  I been coming out here since I was a kid, but don’t nothing look familiar right now. It’s a whole different world out here once the sun goes down. The flashlight I brought only shines four or five feet in front of me. It ain’t until I reach the concrete steps climbing down into the canyon that I can relax a little, knowing my place in the dark-ass night.

  But then it gets worse. There’s the quick plop, plop of footsteps coming from the bottom of the stairs. She’s running. And she’s lost it. She done lost her mind for real. I speed up after her, but soon there ain’t nothing but the roar of the waterfall drowning everything else out. Hopefully she stopped at the falls like we planned and didn’t take off ‘round the trail. Or worse, into the forest. Crazy as she is, she coulda dove into the pool down at the bottom for all I know. Wouldn’t be the first to disappear that way. My heart thumps in my chest, and tiny beads of sweat show up on my brow. An ulcer chews away at my stomach. I picture the possibilities. Each one is worse than the last. Last thing I wanted to be doing on a Saturday night is traipsing around hundreds of acres of bobcats and skunks and maybe even a bear or two in search of a loony on a manic trip. Fuck me if Imma be explaining what we doing out here in the middle of the night to a dive team or search party or the fucking police.

  Another swig from the bottle, another little bit of anxiety washes down.

  There’s a sharp left at the bottom of the stairs. Then another hundred yards or so and the trail curves behind the waterfall. I scan the flashlight over the area, but there ain’t nothing with a beating heart except a few rodents that scamper off when the beam hits them.

  "Jane," I call. "Jane!" No answer. Course she probably can’t hear me over the waterfall. I call louder, scream her name.

  Nothing.

  Behind the falls, this cave is cold and wet and misty. And dark. The moonlight shines on the water, not through it. Here the blood cools in my veins, and my heart thumps wild in my ears while I scan the cave with the flashlight. Someone or something is watching me. I can feel it. I hope it’s Jane and not a mountain lion or axe murderer. When the beam finally lands on her feral green eyes, her face erupts. What comes out sounds like a hyena’s cackle. Startled, I hop back a step or two. I ain’t scared or anything, it’s just a reflex, my brain acting before it got the chance to understand what it's seeing. What I’m seeing is Jane standing on the middle bar of the safety rail. She is leaning back against the top rail, but it only comes to the crook of her knees. Alls it would take to throw her over the drop is a good gust of wind.

  "Angela! What the hell? What took you so long?" But she don’t wait for no answer, just goes on full speed ahead. "Oh my god, I am so fucking thirsty!" She sticks her hand out towards the bottle under my arm. I don’t know why she ain't fallen yet moving around like that. "Hook me up with some of that juice."

  "Can you get down first, please?" I try to keep emotions out of my voice. Don’t wanna add any more fuel to that fire.

  "Why? It’s great up here!" She says how it feels like she’s flying. Like she’s on top of the world.

  "I’d rather you come down before you start drinking." I’m trying for calm, professional. You gotta be professional when you dealing with crazy people. Gotta stay in control. But my voice don’t wanna cooperate. It wants to beg instead. Yeah, yeah I know, gangsters never beg, but it ain’t no fun to bury friends.

  "Oh, I’m fine," she swears. Then she goes and climbs over the rail so that she’s facing the back side of the falls instead of me. She reaches back towards the bottle again. By the look in her eyes, she ain’t gonna back down. I can give her the bottle or I can argue with her ‘til she makes a grab for it and falls off the rail and dies. I hand it to her with a huff, cringing as she tilts her head back and chugs.

  "You know," she says staring at the falls, "I came up here the other night. And I parked at the lookout. And I was watching the stars . . ."

  "Yeah?" I pause, take a deep breath. "And?"

  "They weren't even stars!" She takes another long pull off of the bottle.

  "What are they then? Meteors or something?"

  "No!" she yells, loud enough for anyone or anything in the canyon to hear her. "They’re fucking satellites! Fucking satellites!"

  Shit. What the hell is she talking about? Whatever it is, I'm in for an earful for sure.

  "We’re not even human anymore. For reals, I’m fucking serious, Angela! We have no connection to the Earth; we can’t even live without fucking machines in every part of our lives," she yells, bigger and louder with every word.

  "Yeah, it’s fucking terrible," I yell back. "Can you please get down?"

  36

  (Rose) All alone. It’s been so long. Doesn’t anybody love me? Doesn’t anybody care?

  They lock me up in a tiny room and throw away the key. No one comes to visit me. Ever. Never.

  No one.

  Instead, hippopotami in starched white shove bitter pills down my throat. Walruses with giant tusks and fish breath hide behind diplomas and bifocals and argyle sweaters and force-feed me therapy just as acrid.

  This is my punishment. My punishment for what? I was just having a little fun. It was just a game.

  37

  The next day, everything is back to normal. The tweaker who jacked my seventeen dollars is nothing but a funny memory, and my reality is far from altered. Planted firmly in the regular world, I kind of miss that über lucid state. It left as quick as it came, and I cannot help wondering how to get it back.

  Part Six: Blood

  1

  (Julia) "You look amazing!" I wrap my arms around Jane and squeeze. She hates hugs and so do I, but sometimes you just have to show a friend some love. "Thanks for coming out! I need this."

  We head to a pool hall where the drinks are strong, but it’s not exactly my type of people. There’s some weekend bikers and lots of preppy-looking guys in polo shirts but not a single gangster. Inside, Katrina is waiting for us with her latest post-breakup boy toy and a couple of his friends. They’re almost done with their game, and she says there's a house she wants to check out. Not a bad idea. On the drive there, I challenge Jane to find the weed.

  "No problem," she laughs.

  I look over at her; she has the same cocky confidence on her face as in her voice. "Seriously, I want to smoke. This has been one of the worst weeks of my life." I haven’t had any luck finding a new job. My thirty days are almost up, and without a job, I can’t find a new place. My PO started jocking me hard for a piss test, and I didn't get a full two days to flush my system. At least I haven't heard from her. No news is as good of news as I'm getting lately.

  Jane nods like it isn’t news and takes a long drink from the vodka and Redbull she has hidden in a thirty-two-ounce travel cup. "I know," she says after she swallows. "Don’t worry about it; I got this."

  We follow Katrina and the boys to a small, older home just north of downtown. It’s lit up with white Christmas lights, and a mix of pop and rap plays throughout the house on a surround sound system. The place is packed, mostly with underage kids. We inch our way past the front door, through the living room to the kitchen, and get in a line we hope ends with free alcohol. I remind Jane of her mission. Just in case she forgot.

  She looks around the room a few minutes. Eyeballs a few people. When a skinny, curly-headed kid and his shaggy friend get in line right behind us, she looks over and smiles. No shame whatsoever, she turns to them as if they were old friends and asks, "So where the weed at?"

  I’m kind of shocked. That was blunt even for her. I’m waiting for them to laugh or tell us to fuck off, but then the one with the goatee says that it’s in his pocket, and the curly-haired one asks, "Do you want to smoke with us?" He says it like we’re the ones doing them the favor.

  Jane offers a coy smile. "Sure," she says. "That would be nice."

  The line ends with Bud Light in the kitchen. At least it’s free. We head out the sliding glass door
off of the kitchen, and Jane hands me her bottle so that I’m double-fisting light beer. She’s still got enough in that to-go cup to last all night. We step out onto a cement porch with a giant inground pool off to the side. "Holy shit," I mutter. "Nice place." I didn’t know we were in the rich ‘hood.

  The guy with the curly hair pulls out a glass pipe. He hands it off to his friend and introduces himself, "Hi, I’m Evan by the way."

  "I’m Jane; this is my friend Julia."

  The shorter one says his name is Jeremy. Jeremy pulls out a sandwich bag that’s about half full. That’s a lot of weed to just be carrying around, and I wonder how much he has stashed away at home. I can smell it before he even opens the bag. Now that is that boobooberry, blueberry-flavored weed. He unrolls the plastic and pulls out a giant bud: medium green, thick and dense, and covered in white crystals. There’s a few hairs, light red, but not too many. The best part is the smell, oh the smell! Then, disaster. Somehow, he drops that big, beautiful bud into a puddle of spilt beer.

  "Ah, that sucks," Evan says as he leans down, picks it up, and tosses it into the pool.

  My jaw drops, and I probably go bug-eyed. I almost can’t believe what just happened. Maybe it was a hallucination. But I look at Jane, and her face is stretched with shock too.

  "Why did you do that?" she screeches.

  "It was dirty," he shrugs, says it like it’s nothing.

  "It was just beer! It’s still good!" she insists.

  Jeremy looks at her out of the corner of his eye. He smiles with only the corners of his lips turned up. "You’re not going to swim out there and get it, are you?"

  She laughs, "If I knew how to swim, I definitely would go get it!"