No Parking at the End Times (8 page)

I
DIDN’T THINK IT WAS POSSIBLE FOR THE VAN TO BE QUIETER
than it’s been the last few days, but it is now. Aaron doesn’t move, won’t make eye contact. When we finally park, he buries himself in his sleeping bag and, presumably, falls asleep immediately. Dad, however, keeps looking back to me, and I know he wants to say something. It’s as if he can’t see past me into the backseat.

As we left the church, people stared like I’d penned an addition to the Bible. Brother John paraded me around the room, telling everyone to be ready. That God has spoken.

All I want to do is sleep, but I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I’m flooded with images of Aaron’s face. With the sound of Brother John’s voice as he said, “Be ready,
Brother Dale. I wouldn’t be surprised if God came for us this week!” Nobody was happier in that room than Dad. Not a single person.

“Hey, Gabs.” Dad leans toward me so he won’t wake up Mom or Aaron. He looks almost jubilant. “What was it like? Hearing God’s voice.”

Do I tell him I heard Mozart? Saw winged cherubs with harps in flowing gowns of white? Gold streets? Saw Grandpa and Grandma and felt the fullness and the peace of standing in front of God? Anything other than what I know really happened: All I ate today was a banana, a muffin, and a few bites of bologna sandwich and then I ran—how many miles? Too many, I guess.

I always wanted to believe God cares about us, that all the praying and dancing and singing actually works. I wanted to believe that God can come down here and knock somebody out like a prizefighter, just to get our attention. I understand Dad’s need like it’s my own, because it always has been.

But the truth is, nothing happened. I asked—I begged for it—and God didn’t do a thing. Telling him that would break him. But if I lie, we’ll never leave.

“Do you feel different?” he asks.

I take a breath, just a sip of air, and decide on a third way.

“Can we go home now?”

Dad seems surprised. For a few seconds, as I’m staring into his eyes—the darkness of the van shadowing half of his face—I let myself believe he will say yes. I imagine yelling for Aaron, for Mom—seeing the excitement in their faces. Nestling into my seat as the lights of the city slowly dissolve behind us.

But I know better. And when he stumbles over his words, it’s all the confirmation I need.

“Oh, Gabs. Hey—I mean. Well. We’re so close now.”

The worst part is: he can’t believe I’d even ask. Us leaving—saying no to Brother John, to this city—is so impossible to comprehend, that the only response is astonishment. His face, those words, they finish me off. Aaron moves in his sleeping bag, and I hope he can’t hear this. I hope he’s actually asleep.

“You heard Brother John. It’s happening.”

Whatever I think—yes, no—doesn’t really matter. Dad isn’t listening to what I’m saying anymore, just like God. They’re both preprogrammed to a default setting, running forward blindly.

“Dale,” Mom says from the front seat. I didn’t know she was awake. Her voice is soft, like so many times from our childhood. Dad turns to her. “Tomorrow, okay?”

Dad nods and I pull the blanket over my head. I don’t want him to see me crying. I wrap myself in the quilt and try to fall asleep as quickly as Aaron convinces Mom and Dad he does.

I almost scream when Aaron touches my shoulder, his face close to mine. His mouth is right in my ear.

“Quiet,” he says. He hands me my hooded sweatshirt. “Come outside.”

“What’s going on?” I whisper, pulling it over my head. But Aaron shakes his head and silently steps to the back seat, undoing the window and then the door. He drops the bungee cord, and it rattles against the side of the van. We both look at Mom and Dad. Neither moves. Aaron tosses a hat to me before slipping outside.

Cold air spins around the van and, for a second, I’m dizzy. Through the open door Aaron is watching me. I put up my hood and climb over the backseat, joining him on the street.

He closes the door quickly and then takes my hand and
pulls me down the block. We’re fifteen feet away from the van when I stop him.

“What are we doing?”

“Going to meet Jess,” he says. At her name, I draw back. “Abs, c’mon.”

“I thought you weren’t going,” I say.

“Well, things change.”

“I’m going back to the van,” I say, wrestling my arm away from him.

But it’s an empty threat, because I don’t move. We stand there, the cold settling on me like a sickness. Aaron kicks at a streetlight, frustrated. I blow into my hands. Somewhere in the darkness, a car horn sounds.

“If it makes any difference, I wasn’t planning on coming out tonight,” Aaron says. “I was going to keep my promise. But then you went all evangelist on me.”

I bounce up and down, trying to generate some heat.

“I didn’t go evangelist. I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means I thought you became one of them. Got slain in the spirit, or whatever.”

I stare at him. He looks genuinely worried. “Don’t worry. God definitely didn’t say anything to me. I barely
ate all day, and it was really hot in there. That’s it.”

Aaron nods slowly, searching my face. “Okay. Still. Come out with me tonight. Get to know Jess.”

I shake my head. I don’t see any reason to get to know her. The only reason I wanted to go before is because he didn’t want me to. Now, all I can think about is my quilt.

“I’m the judgmental jerk, remember? You were really worried about that before.”

“Oh, please. I know you’re not still mad about that,” he says, waving my words away with a quick movement of his hand. “Quick quiz: Do you hate being stuck in that van? Do you like fun? If the answer to either of those is yes, and I know they are, then let’s go. Because, fun ahead, Abs. Fun ahead!”

I can’t tell if he’s mocking me, a tactic that usually works. And he might be, but there’s something different about him. He suddenly seems unburdened, as if some invisible weight has been lifted off of him. I would give anything to shed everything I’m worried about, even for a few hours—a night. I have to look away from him. I shake my head for good measure.

“If you hate it, we can leave.”

He smiles, so big. So real. So him.

It scares me how unsure I am right now. How tempted I am to go with him, even though I know it’s wrong. But more so, I’m scared that being out here with Aaron might change me in the way it’s seemed to transform him. To trim away whatever is left of who I used to be.

We walk to a part of the city I don’t know, full of Chinese restaurants and other shops that are all closed. As soon as Jess sees us, she comes running. I don’t know what to do or say, especially when she puts her arm around my shoulder and announces, “Okay, Sea Cliff awaits!”

Jess and her friends lead us through the streets of San Francisco like they own it. And they might as well. The street stretches out before us, empty but strangely wonderful. Christmas lights—still up—brighten otherwise dark storefronts, making the entire road feel festive. I focus on this and not the people sleeping in the corners of the dark buildings we pass, trying not to worry about how long it will take for us to get to these cliffs, or how Jess is holding Aaron’s hand and whispering into his ear every few steps.

Every person in the group talks loudly and, it seems, to every other person in the group no matter who they’re
actually addressing. I don’t say a word, even when Aaron looks over at me and asks, “You doing okay?”

“Of course she’s okay. It’s a beautiful night with beautiful scenery.” Jess waves toward a window filled with dead ducks hanging from hooks. “And, of course, great company.”

One of the others, a small and dirty boy with dark blond hair, kisses her on the cheek as she says it. Aaron laughs with the rest of them, putting his arm around Jess and saying, “Okay, calm down now. . . .”

When the same boy comes next to me, looking like he might try it again, I take a few quick steps forward and find myself next to the only other girl in the group, besides Jess. She has short hair—she could easily be mistaken for a boy—and wears what look like ski pants. She doesn’t say anything to me, but it doesn’t seem like she wants to kiss me, either, which is a preferred quality. We walk for blocks and blocks this way, listening to everyone else talk and sing and laugh. I can’t help but look back every time I hear Aaron’s voice.

I’ve never seen Aaron act this way around a girl. He hangs on every word and he hasn’t stopping smiling since we met up with Jess. When she trips on a broken piece of
cement, Aaron catches her and they hold on to each other for three whole blocks.

We slowly wind our way into a more residential area, filled with identical houses that seem stuck together in one long row. That lasts for more blocks than I can count. I don’t hear the ocean, and the thought of a cliff being anywhere close to these houses seems improbable. But then the world opens up and I stop walking, shocked.

“This is Sea Cliff?” I ask.

Large houses—mansions, basically—glow all around us. These are houses with maids and great rooms, the sort of houses you see on television. Ahead, the street twists in and around with no discernible landmarks.

“What did you expect?” Kissing Boy asks.

“I don’t know. Woods? Animals?”

One of the boys—he has dreadlocks that hang down to his waist—laughs and says, “The only wildlife out here are the Jaguars parked in the driveways.”

The girl with the ski pants adds, “Yeah, not that kind of cliff.”

The deeper into the neighborhood we go, the quieter and quieter the group gets. As if we might wake up one of these giant houses. My mind comes alive with possible
explanations, all of them involving police and us having to run away. Aaron still has his arm around Jess—they could be walking around the mall together and it wouldn’t look any different. But I can’t help myself. I walk up to him and try to talk as quietly as I can.

“I’m not robbing anybody,” I say.

“What? That’s not what this is, Abs.”

Jess steps away from Aaron and says, “Oh, Jesus.” Her voice carries, so everyone can hear. “No, no. We’re not going to rob anybody.”

I’m hot with embarrassment, enough that I don’t want to say anything else. Everybody is watching me, their faces hidden by shadows.

Aaron comes over to me and says, “There’s a beach down here. That’s where we’re going.”

“And why the hell would you think we were going to rob somebody?” One of the boys, wearing a bandana over his short red hair looks offended. “That shit’s racist.”

Dreadlock Guy says, “Dude, you’re white. How in the hell is that racist?”

Bandana Kid thinks for a second and then says, “This chick shows up and thinks we’re going to start stealing? It might not be racist, but it’s definitely not cool.”

Aaron looks embarrassed. It should make me feel at home, because this is who I’ve always been. Abigail, Aaron’s uptight sister.

Dreadlock Guy says, “Hold up, Jordy. Didn’t you get busted for larceny? Like, two weeks ago?”

This fact is met by a collective “Ohhhh!” and Bandana Kid curls his lip and gives his friend—and me—the finger.

“I’m just saying. Shit’s prototypical, that’s all.”

“Jesus. The word is
stereotypical
, you idiot,” Dreadlock Guy says, turning to look at me with an apologetic smile.

“This is my fault,” Jess says to me. “I thought it would be a surprise. I thought it might be something you haven’t done yet. Because, you know.” She twirls her hand around the neighborhood, taking in all the mansions with a single swipe. “It’s not like people like us are welcome here in rich-bitch country.”

While the rest of them debate the other places we could’ve gone, I focus in on three words: “people like us.” I look at the group. One of them has pulled out a small cigarette, the smoke rising slowly into the night. Their hair is long and stringy, their faces thin and red from constant exposure.

We might be the same age, even have some favorite
movies or books in common. We might be stuck in San Francisco right now. But Aaron and I aren’t here forever. We didn’t choose to skip school and live in the park. This is temporary, and that makes us different in a fundamental way.

“I shouldn’t have assumed,” I say.

Jess puts her hand on my arm and says, “Really. It’s cool. Jordy is one of those activist kids. Always outraged about something.”

I’m about to apologize again when Kissing Boy says, “Okay, this is great and all, but can we please get the hell off the street before somebody sees us and really decides to call the cops? I don’t feel like spending the night in jail.”

“But you met that nice man last time,” Jordy says. “The one who wanted to take your picture.”

“Nah, that was E,” Kissing Boy says, slapping the dreadlocked boy on the butt. “Look how pretty he is.”

“It was only once. And he said he loved me,” E says. “Don’t judge, man.”

Everybody laughs and this time I join them—cautiously at first. I catch Aaron watching me and I cock an eyebrow like,
What? It’s funny, right?
But this time Jess is the one telling people to shut up.

“Seriously,” she says. “I don’t want to deal with the cops tonight.”

I must still look horrified, because Jess says, “They’ve only called the cops once or twice. But we were being stupid, so . . .”

It doesn’t make me feel better. Suddenly, the night feels darker, colder. The paranoia comes heavy, like a fog. What am I doing out here with these people? Fun for me never involved the threat of police.

Jess smiles, almost embarrassed.

“You’re going to like it. Trust me.”

“We could go back to the park,” Aaron offers. Jordy boos and Jess cocks her head to the side, surprised. But he wants to go with them—with Jess. It’s so obvious. He has one foot already in the direction everybody else has started to walk, and I don’t want to disappoint him.

“We came all this way,” I say, shrugging.

Jess claps her hands once and kisses Aaron, and I look away, catching up with the group as they lead us along more of the same nondescript roads that brought us this far into the neighborhood.