Obscura Burning (7 page)

Thursday, June 28. Again.

My car keys aren’t in my pocket. I fumble in the dark, scrabbling through dirt until I feel cool metal.

Ten minutes later, I’m standing outside Danny’s house. His mom’s hung up a fresh batch of chilis outside the kitchen window. I knock quietly and don’t wait long until Gabriela opens the door.

She lets me in with a scowl.

Danny’s lying on the couch. “You okay, Kyle? Your dad didn’t…”

“I’m fine. Got out the window.”

“
Dios mio
, man. His drinking that bad again?”

I settle next to him, pulling his deadweight legs onto my lap.

“Just didn’t want a black eye. Think I broke a rib though.”

He leans forward and prods my side. A stab of pain makes me gasp as his fingers find the tender spot.

“Your dad?”

“I fell out of the tree.”

He chuckles and I smile though I’m about two seconds away from spontaneous combustion. I can’t keep living like this. I have to tell someone.

“Daniel…” I start, but we’re interrupted by his dad, who flicks on the lounge lights.

“Thought I heard voices.” Juan’s accent is thick, curling over the ends of the words.

“Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Dad at it again?” There’s regret on his face. Maybe he thinks he’s to blame. But Dad getting laid off just gives him another excuse to drink.

I nod and avert my gaze. Since we were kids, I’ve been sneaking into Danny’s whenever I could get away.

“You boys get some sleep, eh? I’ve got to be up in a couple of hours.” He passes me a cushion from the other sofa and tousles my hair. Danny’s folks don’t blame me for what happened. They think it’s the result of God’s divine will, not some drunk kid with matches. That they don’t blame me actually makes me feel a hell of a lot worse.

We wait for his dad to close the bedroom door, before I stretch out next to Danny, resting my head on his chest, his arm around my shoulder. The pain in my side is worse like this, but I don’t care. I just need to be close to him, hold him for as long as I can stay awake. When I wake up, he’ll be dead.

* * *

The smell of coffee, fried beans, and toast pulls me from sleep. Danny’s in the kitchen with his mom making breakfast. I’m still on the couch, a puddle of drool on the cushion.

Friday, June 29. A glitch in the pattern. It should be Shira’s turn…but Danny’s still alive.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Danny calls from the kitchen. “Come get some breakfast.”

I feel hung over, bruised and disoriented, with a dry mouth and pounding head.

“Daniel tells me you’re planning a lovely memorial for Shira.” His mom sets a plate piled with toast and beans down in front of me. I nod and take a slurp of coffee, black and bitter.

“You just let me know if I can do anything to help. If you need catering, I make some great chili.”

“Thanks, Mom. I think we got it under control.”

“Clean up after yourselves, eh? I’m off to town.”

We don’t have to wait long before we have the house to ourselves.

I can’t stomach the beans, but I chew on some toast.

“So, you wanna hold the memorial before or after the Fourth of July?” Danny shovels beans into his mouth. Danny’s memorial is on July 3.

“Where’re we having the memorial?”

“Armadillo Park? It’s sorta neutral ground. Then her res friends will come too.”

Armadillo Park, the site of so many conflagrations.
Problem fire-setter
: they even had a term for me. And like everything else, it was my dad’s fault, easily blamed on his drinking and flailing fists. No one wanted to believe some skinny kid just liked watching things burn.

“You think anyone’s actually going to come?” I prefer to not think about lighting fires.

“Don’t be an asshole, Kyle.”

“Sorry,” I say. “Just not feeling myself today.”

“How’s the rib?”

I shrug and finish my coffee. “I think maybe we should do it after the Fourth.”

“Yeah, I reckon so. Everyone’s too hyped up about the street dance.”

I smile a little, thinking about the sombrero I’ll have to buy.

“You wanna go to the dance with me?” Danny flicks dark hair from his eyes. Sometimes I forget how good-looking he is. Then there are these moments when it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time again, and something melts inside me.

“As long as I don’t have to wear a cowboy hat and chaps.”

“That’s fine. You can wear a sombrero.”

I choke on my toast.

“Come on, it won’t be that bad.”

My choking coughs turn to chuckles, and then laughter. Danny doesn’t understand my hysteria, but he can’t help joining in. Pain erupts in my side, and again I’m left gasping.

“Ow, crap, my rib.” I’m holding my side, but the pressure of my hand doesn’t do much to alleviate the agony.

“So
cielo,
what you wanna do today?”

“Buy a sombrero?”

Danny rewards me with a smile.

It’s surprisingly difficult finding a sombrero in town. I have a dozen choices of Navajo headdress, but not a single damn sombrero. We’re pretty much out of options.

“Betcha we’ll find one at Garry’s,” Danny says. We don’t look at each other, but I turn down the road that leads to Route 64. Garry’s gas station is about half a mile out of town, just past the cemetery where Danny’s bones are buried in that other reality. I cast a glance toward the tombstones. The station used to be a decrepit set of pumps. Now it’s got a dingy diner tucked between “native culture” curio stores.

“Have you seen Shira’s mom since…?”

“Nope.” I tug strands of hair over the left side of my face.

“Me neither.” Danny tucks the strands behind my ear and I almost flinch, not wanting him to reveal deformed flesh. Only I’m not scarred in this life. I don’t know how I could’ve forgotten.

We pull into Garry’s and park outside the diner. There are more cars than I anticipated. Height of summer, the tourists are out in full force flocking to the Northwest to see the Native sights.

“I hope she’s not here.”

“Probably passed out at the back of the diner.” A bell chimes above our heads as I wheel Danny into the curio shop. The lady behind the counter looks up to greet us, and her ready smile is replaced by a frown.

I freeze. I can’t look this woman in the face.

“Hey, boys,” she says. “Nice to see you again.”

Danny wheels himself forward, forcing me out of the way. “Morning, Mrs. Nez.”

I don’t trust myself to speak so I just nod. Even though her husband died years ago, she still uses his name. Dead husband, now dead daughter. Some people’s lives really suck.

“How you doing, Daniel?” She ignores me completely.

“Pretty good actually. Getting stronger every day.”

“Good for you, kiddo. Can I help with anything?” Not even the faintest whiff of gin on her breath. The night of the fire she was passed out drunk at a bar in Farmington. No one could get hold of her until the next day. I guess losing your daughter is as good a reason as any to sober up.

Shira wouldn’t believe me if I told her that her mom could actually go a day without marinating herself in alcohol.

“We’re hunting for a sombrero. Been all over town, but no luck. Right, Kyle?” Danny looks up at me and Shira’s mom finally makes eye contact. But her gaze is searing, and I know my face is turning beet red.

I hang back as Danny negotiates the route between rails of traditional Navajo dress, woolen rugs fresh off the reservation, turquoise beaded jewelry, pottery, and other artworks. There’s a gaggle of sunburned tourists oohing and ahhing over the various wares, fingering feathers and tinkling wind chimes. How many in the shop are ones that Shira made?

There’s a TV on in the corner, tuned to CNN. The sound’s off, and the picture shudders as the anchorman mouths words I can’t decipher. The image holds for a moment or two as a crystal-clear photograph of the visiting planet fills the screen. The scrolling along the bottom reads
Astronomers believe Obscura might be affecting time itself.
My veins wither beneath my skin as the screen crackles with snow.

Danny emerges moments later with a rainbow-colored straw sombrero.

“That the best they’ve got?” I ask, and Shira’s mom purses her lips.

“I think it’s cool,” Danny says.

I crouch down so he can put it on my head. It’s a little big and I feel like an idiot, but Danny’s smiling, and that’s all that matters.

“How much is it?” Danny reaches for his wallet.

“Nah, have it on the house.” Shira’s mom smiles at him and returns to the register.

We’re almost out the door when I turn back, heart hammering against my fractured ribs, and walk right up to the counter.

“Mrs. Nez.” There’s tumbleweed in my throat. “I’m really sorry about what happened. Shira didn’t deserve that. There isn’t a day that goes by…” My gaze slips from her glistening eyes to the countertop. The words are choking me. “We’re going to hold a memorial for Shira after the street dance. I just wanted to let you know. We’re really sorry.
I’m
really sorry about everything.” Part of me wants to tell her that actually, it was Danny who died, me who got burned to a crisp, and that Shira is doing just fine.

I leave in a hurry without looking back.

* * *

“What’d you say to Shira’s mom?” Danny asks as I put the truck in reverse.

“Told her we were holding a memorial.”

“Really? What did she say?”

“Nothing. I didn’t hang around. That woman scares me.” I pull out, and there’s an ominous crunch of metal.

“Fuck, Kyle. You hit someone.” Danny’s hanging out the window. “Hey, you OK?”

A familiar voice spits curses at us. I groan.

“You gonna go sort it out or what?” Danny punches my shoulder.

Of all the people I could’ve hit, I ram into Mya. Her bumper’s toast, and her right headlight is busted.

“I’m really sorry.” I slam my hands into my denim pockets, so sick of saying those words.

Mya fumes, her face twisted up in rage. She looks about ready to tear my eyes out.

“You’ll pay for this.”

I want to say it’s her fault for driving around in some ridiculous paper-thin European car, but I smile instead. “Do you like my sombrero?”

She doesn’t respond. A vein thumps beneath the skin at her temple, and her mouth hangs open a little.

“See you at the dance, Mya.” I tip my hat at her and get back in the truck. I pull forward, reverse at an angle and manage to scrape past her, only just missing a side mirror.

She’s raging at me, but I ignore her and drive out of the lot grinning.

“
Qué demonios,
Kyle?” Danny gawks at me. “Why you being a dick?”

“She’s a prissy little cow.” And does it even matter when I’ll wake up tomorrow in a different world?

“Sometimes it’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore.” He shakes his head. “You never used to be such a jerk
.
”

“She knows where to find me. I’ll pay for the damages.”

We drive in silence for a while, chewing dust that blows in through the window, squinting out over the parched landscape. Again, I consider telling Danny about my double life, but the words get snarled up in my throat. There’s tension between us, like Danny’s waiting for something from me; the perfect moment to start talking.

“So…” Danny starts, and my moment’s lost. “A termite walks into a bar and says, hey, where’s the bar tender?”

* * *

Hector bids me adios
,
leaving me outside the kitchen with several large garbage bags. A cool breeze blows hair across my face. I stink of cheese and beans.

Footsteps crunch across the gravel parking lot, down the narrow path that runs around the back. I dismiss whoever’s there as some hungry passerby. I’m hauling bags, letting them crash into the Dumpster. One splits its seam and I’m showered in leftover burrito.

“This him?” a guy asks. In the dark I can’t see his face, and I don’t recognize his voice. There are four guys standing in a semicircle around me. They don’t look friendly and my palms start sweating.

“Yeah, that’s the
pendejo
who hit my car.” Mya’s standing in the shadow. I can only just make out the figure down the path, but it’s her voice all right.

“Hey, I said I was sorry. I’ll pay for the damages.” I raise my hands. Four against one isn’t exactly fair.

“Yeah, you’ll pay for sure.”

They rush me and I manage to get in a few blows. I recognize lanky Nicholas from the basketball courts right before he punches me in the mouth.

If I didn’t have a cracked rib, I’d have lasted longer. It doesn’t take long before they overwhelm me. I’m down on the ground trying to shield my left side, dark faces glowering at me.

“That’s enough, Benny. Kill him and who’s gonna pay?”

I should’ve known her brother wouldn’t be dead in this life. Through a swollen eye, I see Mya walk over, hips wiggling side to side. I sure as hell am not going to pay now.

“
Mula
,” she says by way of final insult, and spits, just missing my face in the dark.

They saunter away, laughing. I roll onto my back, trying to take short, shallow breaths, but the pain in my chest is excruciating. Close my eyes, fall asleep, wake up, and the pain’ll be gone, at least for a while.

Chapter Seven

Danny’s dead

Sunlight lances my eyes. My neck is cricked, and the comic I was drawing is stained a dark burgundy. It’s ruined, although the stain adds color to the black-and-white flames in the frame. I don’t remember drawing it.

That’s the weirdest part. When I shift between realities, the one I’m not in seems to carry on as if I’m still in it. Creeps me out thinking about who’s acting like me in my place. Some bizarre doppelgänger?

Feels like I got beaten up by four guys even though I’m in a different reality. There’s a sticky trail of blood from my nose across my lips and chin.

Sunday, July 1.