All Our Pretty Songs (23 page)

I am beyond hope, beyond light, so certain that I have moved into a world where I will be climbing forever that when the tunnel ends I walk smack into hot metal and stand for a moment, reeling, before I let Aurora’s limp body slide down my back. When I try to move my hands the pain is so intense my knees buckle and I crash into the metal again. A long time passes before I can work my hand forward enough to touch the surface. To brush my fingers against something round and smooth, waist-height. Doorknob. I am standing at a door. It takes more than a few tries before I can close my hand around the knob, turn, push.

The flood of sunlight is so bright I turn my head away in pain and behind me, in the tunnel, Aurora cries out. I totter there for a moment, leaning on the door, eyes screwed shut against the glare, until the green flash behind my lids seeps away and I dare to crack one eye open, still squinting. Concrete. Parked cars. A street. I am looking at a street. I am looking at the street in front of Minos’s club. I take a step forward, shaky-legged as a toddler. Across the street, men are filing into Ortiz’s Meats. Going to work. Like it’s some kind of ordinary morning. I try to call out but my voice comes out as a croak. One of them turns, sees me, stares. Says something to another man and both of them walk toward me, cautious.

“Lady, what happened to you?” he says when he gets close enough for me to hear him. He’s staring at my feet in horror. I follow his gaze. My boots are gone and my feet are covered in so much blood I can’t see skin.

“My friend,” I say, pointing behind me, and then a dark haze rises up and swallows me whole.

NOVEMBER

In my dream I am waiting in a white room at the end of a long corridor. For some reason I’m in bed. My feet hurt. The blanket is scratchy and the air smells wrong, like chemicals, and underneath the tang of pee. Aurora is standing over me. Too thin but still beautiful, her face haloed in short black hair tipped with white, her dark eyes huge and sad. I haven’t seen her in a long time, but I can’t remember why. I open my mouth to ask her why she cut her hair, but no sound comes out. She is talking, has been talking for a while maybe, or maybe not. Maybe we just got here. She is wearing a white sleeveless silk shirt that exposes the graceful line of her collarbone, and I am wearing some kind of blue dress, which is clearly not mine because I would never wear a dress if Aurora didn’t make me, and it is made out of thin cheap cotton and I am naked underneath it and I want to know where my underwear is and what is going on, but this is a dream, so maybe that’s why everything is weird. The light is watery and unfamiliar. Too sharp and pale. White around the edges like I am looking at everything through a lens. “I love you,” Aurora is saying, “more than anything. But I miss him so much.” I try to sit up, but there’s a weight on my chest, a pile of stones I can’t see pressing me down. I open my mouth but no sound comes out. She takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Don’t be mad at me,” she whispers. And then she’s turning, walking away from me. I watch her back recede down the long, gleaming hall.

“Aurora,” I say at last, but she’s long gone.

When I wake up Raoul is the first thing I see and I am so confused I shut my eyes again, open them. But there he is, sitting in a metal chair upholstered in garish turquoise vinyl, reading
Optometry Today
. He is wearing tight black jeans and a white Depeche Mode shirt that is falling off him in artful tatters and a red beanie that looks as out of place on him as a collared shirt. The room I am in is exactly like the room in my dream.

“I didn’t know you were interested in vision,” I say. The words come out thickly. My throat is a desert. My mouth tastes like something died in it. He looks up and a slow smile spreads across his face.

“You better not be alluding to my earthy indigenous spirituality,” he says. “Or else I might make you regret your return to the world of the living.”

“What,” I say, not so much a question but an irritated protest. There’s a tube coming out of my arm and the pee smell is real, although as far as I can tell it isn’t coming from me. The blue dress is real, too, and I can feel that it’s open at the back because the sheets are scratchy against my bare skin, and I remember where they have dresses like this. It’s not a dress. I am wearing a smock. “Holy shit. Am I in a hospital? How did I get in a hospital?” I try to sit up, and pain shoots through my entire body. “Fuck!” I yell.

“That’s my girl,” Raoul says. “Do you remember anything?”

“I remember—I got on the bus—” I stop and think. Raoul took me to the bus. I got on the bus to find Aurora. I got off the bus and ate a hot dog. I went to hell. I cut off Aurora’s hair. “I ate a hot dog,” I tell him.

“Not recently, you didn’t.”

“I ate a hot dog this morning. This afternoon. Maybe yesterday. I had some enchiladas. Last night. What day is it?”

Raoul’s expression is unreadable. “The day after Halloween. A factory worker found you passed out on the sidewalk in front of an abandoned building and called 911 this morning. When they brought you in you were dehydrated and starving and you had pretty much no skin left on your feet. Any of this ring a bell?”

Ortiz’s Meats. “It wasn’t an abandoned building. It was a club.”

“I’m telling you what the doctor told me.”

Something he told me is wrong and I think about what it is. “Wait. How am I starving? I ate today. Yesterday. Recently.”

“The doctor said you hadn’t eaten anything for at least five or six days.”

“Raoul, that’s impossible, you know that. You
saw
me yesterday. The day before yesterday. I mean, I don’t think I ate breakfast—”

“I’m telling you what the doctor told me,” he says again. “She asked me if you had spent the last week walking here barefoot from Mexico and I said I didn’t think so but that you were a pretty unpredictable kind of person.”

I ignore this. “How did you get here?”

“They found my phone number in your pocket and called me when you were admitted.”

“Oh shit, my mom—”

“Is trying to get Aurora’s mom on a plane. She’s pretty pissed, so I’d spend the next few hours composing a very comprehensive apology.”

“Cass went up to Maia’s?”

“I guess so.”

“So it’s, like, a big deal that I ran away.”

“Yes. A very big deal.”

“Oh.”

“A
very
comprehensive apology.”

“I brought your rosary back.”

“I know.”

“Can I see Aurora? Is she awake?”

Raoul pauses. “Aurora isn’t here.”

“She’s in a different hospital?”

“You were alone when they found you.”

I stare at him, my mouth open. “Raoul. She was with me. I went down there and I got her. I brought her back. She was here. In the hospital. I thought it was a dream, but she was here. We could find her. That couldn’t have been that long ago, when I saw her. She didn’t mean—she couldn’t have meant to leave. I carried her. I carried her the whole way.”

Raoul doesn’t say anything. He watches whatever is moving across my face now, and when I start to cry for what feels like the thousandth time in a month he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, the way Aurora did, and holds my fist, there, against his mouth, the way Jack used to. I cry for me, for her, for Jack, for Cass and Maia. For her dad. For all of us. For how stupid I was, down there in the dark, thinking my own love was enough to trump the past. They didn’t stop me from leaving because it had never been me they wanted anyway. Because they knew she was already theirs.
You will not thank me.
When I’m done crying I sit for a long time, holding Raoul’s hand and hiccupping. “That fucking bitch,” I whisper. But I don’t mean it, and he knows it. The whole of my life stretches out in front of me, the life that is starting now, the life that does not have Aurora in it, and I turn my face away from the emptiness before I start crying again.

“What was the point? What was the point of going after her?”

“What is ever the point of love?” I shake my head. He smiles, a smile with so much sadness in it I don’t know where to look. “You did good,” he says. He takes something out of his pocket and hands it to me. The soft leather is familiar. Cass’s amulet. They must have taken it off when I got here. I loop the cord around my neck again and stare at it.

“So much for that,” I say.

“You’re here,” he says. “You’re alive. You went there and you came back.” If I look at him I will cry more and I am so tired of crying, tired of myself, tired of my own stupid hope-filled heart. I touch his beanie.

“I knew it was the one with the red hat.”

“Well, obviously,” he says. “I wouldn’t settle for less.”

“Can you hand me the remote control,” I say, and he does.

When Cass comes there is a lot of shouting. “What the
fuck
were you thinking,” she yells, over and over again, until one of the nurses comes in and coldly tells her if she doesn’t calm down she will have to leave. Maia is a trembling wraith in Cass’s wake, wobbly but, as far as I can tell, sober. They won’t look at each other. I can’t even imagine what the plane ride was like. They probably sat in separate aisles. Cass subsides at last, explains to me in a low voice the numerous ways in which I have fucked up. I can feel my heart coming apart in my chest.
Aurora. Aurora.

“You’re one to talk,” I say, when I can’t take it any more. Cass stops short. Maia sits on the edge of my bed and takes my hand.

“You saw her.” I nod. “I did a really bad job.” I nod again. She looks at Cass and snorts softly through her nose. “You were always the lucky one,” she says without rancor. “You could take and take and it always worked out for you.”

“You had everything,” Cass says. “Everything. You had love. You had money. You had a home.”

“You have a daughter,” Maia says. Cass winces.

“So do you,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” Maia says. “For what it’s worth. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

Cass sits next to Maia and puts a chin on her shoulder. Maia starts but doesn’t push her away. They look down at me, sad and solemn. I wonder if Aurora and I look like that; if we’ll look like them when we’re the same age, our eyes full of stories, lines at the corners, grey in our hair. They loved each other once, and then they fucked it up, and now here I am fucking it up again. Whether any of us gets a second chance is anybody’s guess.
Aurora, why’d you leave me here with the two of them
, I think.
Aurora. Come back. Come home.

I turn my face to the wall, close my eyes. “I think she should rest,” Raoul says. “We can talk later.” Maia and Cass stand up. Raoul touches my shoulder, leans forward to kiss my hair. “Don’t forget,” he murmurs, too low for Cass and Maia to hear. “You are still loved. You are anchored here by love.” I cover his hand with mine and sink back into sleep.

In my dream the three of us are sitting at the edge of the black river. Aurora is skipping stones. Jack has his guitar, strums quietly. The bone trees clack behind us. The dog howls. We’re alone. No Minos, no old gods, no bloody-limbed girls. “I don’t see how you can like it here,” I say to Aurora. Her short hair suits her. She looks different, fiercer, somehow more herself.

“It’s what you make of it.” She reaches forward to touch the water. I cry out in protest, but she ignores me and drifts her fingers in the oily slick. As I watch, the darkness leaches out of it, dissipating like droplets of ink in a glass of water, until the river runs clear. I can see the pebbles in the riverbed. Tiny silver fish dart through the current. A frog regards me solemnly from the muddy bank before hopping into the water with a miniature splash. My nostrils fill with the rich scent of pine, the clean smell of warm earth, of high lonely places. Mountain smell. A marmot whistles. The sun is warm on my cheek. I raise my head. The black sky has gone blue; a lazy cloud drifts across it. The bone trees are sheathed in shaggy bark, branches sprouting green needles as I watch. Pine and hemlock, Doug fir. We’re at the top of a pass. Around us, green hills rise to snowy ridges. I can see all the way to the edge of the world. The river burbles merrily on its long road to the sea, all its menace gone.

“You’ll go back,” she says. “You’ll go back and you’ll be so brilliant. You’ll do all the things we said we would do. You’ll be a famous painter. You’ll travel. You’ll see the whole world.”

“I don’t want any of that without you.”

“You have to let us go.”

I take her hand, match my twinned scar to hers. Palm to palm. She smiles at me.

“I don’t know who I am without you, Aurora.”

“You’ll learn.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You stubborn thing.” She laces her fingers with mine and pulls me in. I hold her tight, so tight her breath catches. The smell of her skin, the flutter of her pulse against my cheek. “You were so brave,” she says into my ear. “But I can’t stay with you. You know that.”

It takes all the strength I have to release her, but I do. I let go of her hand last. Jack quits his playing, sets the guitar aside, stretches. He kisses my cheek, and I lean against him for a moment. He stands, helps Aurora to her feet, picks up his guitar. She’s wearing the same shirt she had on in the hospital. White silk against dark skin.

“I love you,” I tell her, tell both of them. “I love you.” I take off Cass’s amulet and offer it to her. She closes my fingers around it, shakes her head.

“Stay frosty, babycakes. I love you, too.” She touches my forehead, takes her hand away, looks at Jack. Walks away from me along the riverbank. After a pause, he follows.

“Aurora,” I say. A jay calls behind me. The wind rustles through the trees. I know better than to expect either of them to turn around, but I can’t help hoping all the same.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am deeply grateful to: My parents, for teaching me to trust my own voice; Justin Messina, peerless helper; Cristina Moracho, tireless draft-reader, jarmate, and boon companion; Emiko Goka-Dubose, for keeping me honest; Neesha Meminger, fellow revolutionary; Bryan Reedy, for bringing me here; Clyde Petersen, Carol Guess, Gigi Grinstand, Matt Runkle, Emily Barrows, and Meg Clark, support system extraordinaire; Cara Hoffman, Alexander Chee, and Madeline Miller, for kind words; Hal Sedgwick, whose generosity sustained me; Elizabeth Hand, whose work continues to transform me; Michele Rubin and Brianne Johnson, the best agents in the history of the universe; Sara Goodman, for giving this story wings; Melanie Sanders, miracle among copyeditors; and last but not least, the Author-friends, especially Nathan Bransford, Tahereh Mafi, and Bryan Russell. Beloved cheerleaders, all of you.