Fans of the Impossible Life (22 page)

She pulled away and some of her drink spilled.

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“No,” she said. “It's . . .”

She took my hand and pulled me into the hallway.

“It's just . . . too many people around,” she said.

And then we were leaning up against the wall, kissing again, her hand feeling along my back, pulling me toward her.

A door opened next to us, exposing us to a flash of light reflected off white bathroom tiles before someone flipped the switch off. Nick came out and headed back to the kitchen, not noticing us pressed up against the wall, frozen together. Sebby was behind him, his darting eyes finding us in the darkness.

Mira's hand stayed defiantly in place.

“What were you doing in there?” she said, a drunken bite to her words.

“What are you doing out here?” Sebby said calmly, a visible twitching in his fingers.

“Nothing,” she said.

He watched us for a moment, none of us moving, the noise from the other room beckoning us to rejoin what now seemed like an innocent ritual, a simple high school party, sloppy and insignificant.

His fingers stopped twitching.

“Let's go do nothing together then,” he said, finally.

We followed him upstairs to an empty bedroom, unquestioning, stuck now inside a game with some carefully coded rules that I did not understand. The king-size bed with a conservative autumnal pattern on the bedspread and matching dark wood nightstands indicated that it was Molly's parents' room. Sebby closed the door behind us and I sat down on the bed, my legs feeling unsteady under me. Sebby and Mira stood together
in the half light of a streetlamp leaking in through the blinds. Monet's
Water Lilies
in a cheap plastic frame looking down over it all.

I watched as he took Mira's face in his hands and kissed her hard on the mouth, as if reclaiming something that belonged to him.

He let her go. “You guys are really drunk,” he said, smiling.

“Shut up,” I muttered. But then he was on top of me, pushing me back onto the bed.

“I thought you didn't like kissing girls,” he said. His fingers grabbed at my hair, holding me there. Mira lay down next to us.

“I thought you didn't,” I said.

“I guess we don't know everything about each other.”

He kissed me and I tried to push back, grab at his neck, thinking of all of those chaste nights spent sleeping next to him. I was angry that he had asked me to keep his secrets. I was angry at myself for all of my stupid insecurities. Now I wanted to push through it all, the drunken static erasing hesitations.

He sat up.

“Kiss her again,” he said.

“What?”

He got off me.

“I want to see you kiss her.”

Mira was watching us, the tiniest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. I leaned over and kissed her quickly.

“Like before,” Sebby said, pushing me.

She met me halfway. Her lips felt familiar now, parting just
enough for mine, fitting each other.

“You guys look cute together,” Sebby said. He was on her now, his hands at her waist.

“Sebby, what are you doing?” she said.

“Nothing,” he said. “Don't stop, Jeremy.”

He slid down to the floor, pushed up her skirt, let his hand travel up her leg.

“Sebby . . .”

He pulled her closer to him, her skirt falling a little and covering his face. I kissed her, not sure what else to do, following instructions. After a minute she turned her head away from me and grabbed at my hair, held my head next to hers. I stayed in the crook of her neck. At a certain point I realized that I had stopped breathing.

She twisted away from us finally, whispering, “Oh my god,” pulling her skirt around her.

He got on top of her, looked at me.

“See, Jeremy, girls aren't that hard to please.”

“Fuck, Sebby,” Mira said, still turned away from him. “I can't believe you just did that.”

He kissed her on the cheek. “For old time's sake,” he said.

Her arms were up around her face and I couldn't tell if she was happy or sad, wasn't sure if we had followed or broken those unspoken rules. I touched the top of her head.

“Are you okay?” I whispered.

She took her arms away from her face.

“Yes,” she said. “I'm sorry, Jeremy.”

“Come on,” Sebby said, getting up. He grabbed my hand. “We're ditching this party.”

I let him pull me up. He grabbed Mira with his other hand.

“Come on.”

“Give me a minute, Sebby.”

He leaned in and kissed her again to coax her up from the bed. She let him pull her up to her feet, smoothing down the skirt of her green plaid dress as she stood, finding her balance in her worn cowboy boots.

Downstairs we stole beers from the fridge and hid them in our coat pockets. In the living room couples were making out on the couch, less bold girls turning the music up louder to help them pretend not to care that they were dancing alone.

Outside the air was still, the noise from the party fading as soon as we turned the corner. Sebby was ahead of us. Mira held my hand as we tried to keep up.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Nick went to this other party,” Sebby said. “I said we would meet him there.”

The other party turned out to be a large gathering of people in the parking lot behind a convenience store in town. It was the afterparty for those who could not be bothered to make it to an actual party. I didn't recognize anyone, people with elaborate haircuts sitting on cars, every hand holding either a cigarette or a beer bottle.

Sebby left us without a word, dissolved into the crowd. I pulled a beer out of my jacket pocket and looked at the bottle top in drunken wonderment.

“I can't open this,” I said.

“Here,” Mira took it from me and approached the nearest drinker, a guy with a Mohawk and a ratty peacoat. He smiled as he opened it with his keys, leaned in close to say something in her ear.

Without Mira's hand in mine I had the unfortunate realization that she had been helping to hold me up, and now I worried that I was actually teetering in the middle of the parking lot, looking like a lost and dazed child. Which is exactly how I felt.

“Hey.” Sebby was back, next to me. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just come with me.”

“What about Mira?”

“She's fine. She's making friends.”

I followed him through the open back door of the building into a storeroom, a dark cave of stacked boxes. Nick and Ali were standing over a sink in the corner.

“Hey,” Nick said. Two lines of white powder were carefully arranged on the side of the sink. Ali leaned over it for a minute, then straightened up, leaving only one behind.

The room smelled like cleaning fluid and mold, something eternally wet hanging in the air. Nick pulled a box down from a stack, cut it open, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He tossed one to Sebby.

“I'll be outside,” he said, walking past us.

Sebby nodded.

Ali handed Sebby the rolled-up bill and followed Nick out, the back door banging shut behind them.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“Nick works here sometimes,” Sebby said. He went over to the sink. “You want some?”

I shook my head.

He leaned over the sink and inhaled the drug, then straightened up and closed his eyes for a moment. His other hand twitched.

He opened his eyes and smiled at me. My eyes were adjusting to the light coming in from the store. Red nighttime safety lights. Exit signs.

“I think I'm really drunk,” I said.

He walked toward me, took my hand.

“It's okay,” he said. “You'll be okay.”

“Are you mad at me?” I asked.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“About Dave? What Dave said? Or about Mira?”

He shook his head.

“Everythnig's great,” he said. “Doesn't everything feel great?”

“I don't know. I don't know how everything feels right now.”

He kissed me, pressed up against a stack of boxes.

“How about now?” he asked.

“Better,” I said.

He kissed me again and then he was on the floor, his hands at my waist, fumbling with my fly. I tried to say something, but my throat felt numb. Drunk and mute. All I could think was to try to stay upright, not crumple onto the ground next to him. I wanted to touch him but he was like a ball of electricity, moving at its own pace, consuming because it was afraid to stop.

I leaned my head back, feeling the stacked boxes shifting behind me, something shifting inside me too.

And then there was no more room for thinking. There was only the rush of every desire I had ever had. The total forgetting of self.

I let myself slide down to the floor, next to where he had been. He was already up again.

“I'm going back out,” he said. “Come on.”

“I can't, Sebby. I just need to sit here for a minute.”

“Okay.” He leaned down. “Are you okay?”

“I don't know.”

“I'll get some more stuff from Nick. You'll feel better if you try it.”

He was out the door before I could stand. I got myself to my feet and followed him out, but he had moved away, already out of sight. The parking lot suddenly felt like a dangerous place, all faces seeming to be intentionally turned away from me, as if I had done something unforgiveable. And then Mira grabbed my hand.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

“Inside.”

“You okay?”

I shook my head. We sat down on the edge of the concrete. She huddled up against me. One a.m. on a Sunday morning in a parking lot. None of this made any sense.

“Everything feels out of control,” I said.

She looked out over the parking lot.

“I'm really sorry, Jeremy.”

“Why?”

“What just happened,” she said, “at Molly's house . . .” She looked at me, then looked away. “We used to do that. Me and Sebby. In the hospital. When we felt like we couldn't stand being there anymore.”

“I thought maybe he was mad at me,” I said, “for kissing you. Like he was trying to prove something to me.”

She shook her head. “I don't know. But it was wrong. To get you all mixed up in that.”

“I already was,” I said. “I want to be mixed up in it.” I felt like I was going to cry.

“But you didn't know, maybe, how crazy we are.”

“You're not crazy,” I said.

“Well, that's generous of you.”

She handed me the open beer.

“What are we going to do?” I said.

“I guess we're going to sit here and wait for this night to end. Every night has to end eventually.”

It was another hour before we saw Sebby again. Nick found the two of us, still huddled together, sharing the last of the stolen beer from the party, trying to stave off the inevitable pain of sobriety.

“Sebby's pretty messed up,” he said, and walked away.

We found him along the side of the building, sitting up against a wall, his head in his hands.

“Hey.” Mira leaned down and touched his head.

He looked up, his eyes glassy, his hair sweaty and matted.

“What's up?” he said. His voice too small.

“Let's go home,” she said.

“I'm not going there. That's not my home.”

“My home. Let's go to my home,” she said.

We stumbled back to her street, me and Mira on either side of him, holding him up. The porch light was on at Mira's house, her parents asleep inside. She unlocked the front door and we tried to make our way up the stairs to her room as quietly as we could, stumbling as she held Sebby up from the side and I walked behind. We put him down on her bed and he leaned back into the pillows.

“What are you doing?” he said.

“You need to go to sleep,” she said.

“You're drunk,” he insisted.

“I know,” she said.

I stood in the doorway of her room, not sure what to do, not knowing if something terrifying was happening to us or if everything was normal, everything would be okay.

“Lie down with him, Jeremy,” she instructed, and left the room.

I did as I was told, lying down next to him in her bed. He looked at me, surprised to see me there.

“Jeremy?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Oh, shit, I'm sorry about before.”

“What?”

“I just left you. I shouldn't have just left you there.”

“No, I know. It's been a weird night.”

“Was it . . . okay?”

He was this boy again now. The one from that first night alone in my bedroom. Vulnerable and shy. He looked scared.

“Yes, of course,” I said.

“You wanted me to, right?”

I nodded. “Yes,” I said.

We fell asleep like that together. A familiar feeling of holding him while he twitched through sweaty nightmares. This was how we knew each other. Unconscious mates.

I woke up a few hours later and saw Mira lying on the floor next to the bed, covered by a quilt. I checked Sebby's breathing, shallow but steady, and fell back asleep.

The next morning we were sick. I had never been hungover before and my brain felt like it wanted to leave my body, go in search of more friendly pastures. I woke up alone in Mira's bed,
made my way downstairs to the kitchen to find the two of them huddled over pancakes.

“Hey,” she said. “You hungry?”

“I can't tell yet.”

She made a plate and handed it to me.

“This will help,” she said.

We ate slowly. The house was empty except for us. Her dad had gone into the office for a few hours and her mom was at a Pilates class. We matched the quiet of the house, the noise in our brains still settling. When we finished eating, Mira hid the evidence of her use of forbidden gluten and sugar, sending me and Sebby back up to her room to watch TV.