The Truth of Right Now Page 12

  They don’t know where they’re going, but these past several weeks, they’ve proven that they can have a good time doing just about anything at all.

  If they’re together.

  THE MOON AND YOU AND ME

  I’m dying. I’m melting. But it’s from happiness! Who would’ve thought that was possible? Not me. Certainly not me. Not after yesterday. Not after summer. Not after last year. But here I am. Here he is. And in this moment, I am happy. Then again, how present in this moment can I be if I’m stepping out of it to assess how happy I am? Screw it! Tired of second-guessing myself. Who cares? I feel fantastic!

  “You good?” He’s looking up over his milk shake at me. He’s been making some kind of sculpture with his fries poking out of the shake at differing heights.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m great.”

  “Where to next?”

  I can’t tell him that I would be overjoyed to just sit in this crappy diner and gaze at him all night. No. He’d get bored. Understandably. We have to do something.

  “Remember: We’re saying ‘yes’ tonight,” he reminds me.

  “I remember.” “Yes” gets us up and out of the diner, down several blocks, and into the strangest karaoke bar I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve seen many. I was in one once just long enough to use the bathroom, but it was nothing like this. It’s packed. Tinsel and Christmas lights line the walls and ceiling, and the clientele is a mix of wildly gay and goth, though some of these people are probably dressed up for Halloween. Some of them are definitely not. On the back wall of the stage area are letters about five feet tall made up of tiny purple lightbulbs that spell out the words HAPPY ENDINGS. I’m amazed that we got in. No one seems to be manning the door, but when Dari walks up to the bar, I nearly run out of the place, knowing we’re gonna be found out. Instead, I hide at a tiny table with swirls of red and gold glitter glued all over the surface.

  He squeezes through the hordes and turns up at the table with two beers.

  “How the hell did you manage that?” I yell over the music.

  “What?”

  “How did you get . . .” and I just point at the beers. He flashes me the license of Jeffrey Dean Stewart, who is currently twenty-two years old. I’ve never met anyone with a fake ID before.

  On the stage, a glamorous drag queen in a glossy pink wig sings all the parts of “My Humps,” complete with choreography, in stiletto boots. Holy crap, she’s good!

  Dari raises his glass to me and I clink. Cheers. Cheers to everything. Because “yes” is so much more fun than “no.”

  Cameras are flashin’ while we’re dirty dancin’

  They keep watchin’, keep watchin’—

  Dari pulls me offstage before I can invite the crowd to “gimme more” again. Some of them boo. I boo too. Boo! I think I’m putting on a pretty good show here. Doesn’t he know that this is just funny? It’s a joke! It’s hilarious! And the song isn’t nearly over. Come on, man!

  “Dari, it’s a joke! I don’t like this song really. I’m just singing it cuz it’s funny. Get it?” I’m sure this is all coming out of my mouth, but I don’t hear any response from Dari. He sits me down. I swear I blink and he’s gone! Where’d he go? I blink again and he’s back with a tall glass of water, pushing me to drink it.

  “Come on. Just a little,” he says raising the glass to my mouth. His eyebrows are frowning at me. Awww! He’s so serious.

  “What’s wrong? Everything’s fine. I feel fine!” I do! I have never been drunk before and I must say that it feels great! So much better than . . . not being drunk, because, I don’t know. It just does!

  “That’s good. Just sip it.”

  I drink some water so he won’t worry. He’s the coolest guy ever!

  “Hey, Dari?”

  “Hey, what?”

  “I think you are the coolest guy ever,” I tell him. Right now, I can tell him anything. Who cares? I have no fear. Maybe I should tell him I love him. Right here at gay/goth karaoke, I should just scream I love you so everyone can hear me. It’s good to be honest, right? I mean . . . honesty is the best policy. Isn’t that what it says in the Bible? Or the Torah? Or the . . . Ohhhhhhhhhhh. I no longer feel fine. I don’t know how I’m moving, but I am, and I make it to the bathroom just in time to puke in the toilet. Mostly in the toilet.

  “Lily!” Dari throws the door open, looking like a frightened little boy.

  “I got sick,” I report as I lay my head on the floor.

  He wets a paper towel and hands it to me. While I’m wiping my face, he gets another wet towel to wipe up the vomit that didn’t quite hit the target. Wow. That’s absurdly nice of him.

  “I’m sorry, Lily.” He says this as he’s washing his hands.

  “Why?”

  “How are you feeling?”

  I’m still on the floor. A few girls—women, I guess—come in and give Dari the what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-in-the-ladies’-room glare, but they eventually go into the other stalls, ignoring us.

  “I think I’m okay now.” I actually feel much better now than I did a few seconds ago. Well, I feel like myself again. Which isn’t necessarily better.

  “I shouldn’t have let you drink more than one beer.”

  I had more than one beer?

  “I just didn’t know you hadn’t . . . whatever. I’m just sorry. Let’s get you home.” He gently lifts me from the floor, but as soon as I’m up, I can totally walk on my own. I don’t want to go home.

  Outside, it’s gotten chilly. I wrap myself in my scarf, realizing that winter isn’t too far off. No more Indian summer teases. That’s offensive. Is it offensive? Who comes up with these terms?

  We walk in silence for a few minutes. Then I stop.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “I’m having fun. I don’t wanna go home.”

  “You got wasted. It’s my fault. Told you I’m an asshole.”

  “No, you’re not.” I check my watch. “We still have fifty-eight minutes of ‘yes.’ I don’t wanna lose ’em.”

  Dari shakes his head, concerned. He’s taken on a pseudo-parental role. This I do not like.

  “Dari? In case you haven’t noticed, I rarely have spontaneous fun. I really, truly feel fine now. Can we please just forget it happened?”

  Dari smiles, but it is a weary smile. My mother uses that smile with me a lot. God. No matter what happens, I don’t want Dari to ever feel responsible for me.

  “Truth or dare?”

  He laughs. Now that is a genuine smile.

  “Truth.”

  Oh. I was really expecting him to say “dare.”

  “If you could do anything in the world at this very moment, what would it be?”

  He frowns again, but at least he’s no longer worrying about me. We continue walking until he stops.

  “I’d be at the Louvre. With my mother.”

  His mother. Shit.

  “How long ago . . .? I mean, how old were you—”

  “It’s not easy to talk about, Lily.”

  I nod, trying to think of what I could possibly say that might be helpful.

  “I was twelve. I miss her a lot. I wish I could just get over it.”

  I hope I didn’t get too personal. I didn’t mean to. I’ve been through a lot, but I have no idea what Dari’s been through.

  Without thinking, I take hold of his hand. He doesn’t let go.

  “Special reading, five dollars” comes bellowing at us from a storefront. I turn and a short, olive-skinned woman smoking an electronic cigarette stares me dead in the eye.

  “I don’t believe in that stuff,” I tell her.

  “Normal price is ten. For you and your friend, five.” She stares intently, calmly, while synthetic smoke oozes from her nostrils.

  “It is ‘yes’ night,” Dari reminds me once again.

  This is dumb. I know this is dumb. I know that these people are total fakes because of this documentary I saw once. They just read your body language and your comfort level and that tell
s them which script to use. But I shrug. What the hell? And it’s getting cold.

  We go inside the storefront, but no farther. This is where she conducts business, it seems. She shows us where to sit, and then she sits in her seat so we’re making a triangle. My drunk self would probably find this amusing and not be the least bit bothered by the fact that anyone walking by can look in the window and see us sitting here like a couple of suckers. My sober self is quite a different person.

  She starts to look in my direction, but then turns to Dari instead. If I didn’t already think this was stupid, I’d be insulted.

  “You’re old,” she says to Dari.

  “I . . . am?” He’s trying to keep a poker face, but is instantly thrown off his game.

  “I know you think you are a teenager, but you’ve lived many lives and you’ll live many more. When you dream, do you always dream your own dreams?”

  Dari shakes his head slowly. Is he saying “no” or just confused?

  “Listen to your dreams. They are great teachers.”

  She takes his hand and runs her finger over his palm. Then she turns it over and runs her finger over the back. She sees a tiny spot or something on one of his knuckles and makes a circular motion on it. I would not like her taking such liberties with my hands, but Dari doesn’t seem bothered. She gently releases his hand and inhales on her e-cig.

  “Your libido is no match for your talent. Try not to let it run things. There’s too much at stake.”

  “Like what?” Dari asks.

  “Your freedom, of course.”

  I chuckle, but when both she and Dari shoot me a sharp look, I shut up. How can Dari be taken in by this crap? It’s so general. It could apply to anyone.

  “You’ve hit a crisis point, yes? You need answers and you’re not gonna find ’em in the old places you once did. Don’t even bother. You already know what you need to do. You’re ready to be your own person. You just have to do it.”

  “How?” Dari asks her, enraptured.

  “That I can’t tell you, but you’ll know when it’s time. You can’t live with him anymore, can you?”

  That’s when I start to listen. Dari doesn’t respond, but he’s so still now. Like he’s stopped breathing.

  “Pay attention to yourself. Pay attention to your dreams.” For a second she looks at me. “Well. You have people in your life that might be allies. Anyone who is not an ally, cut off. This is not the time to give every loser the benefit of the doubt. If someone wrongs you, remove them from your life. Do not suffer bullshit. Got it?”

  Dari nods solemnly. The woman takes a drink from a tall glass of ice water, signaling the end to Dari’s “special” reading. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a five. He attempts to hand it to her, but she gestures toward a small parlor table where there is a clay pot with lots of bills. Dari shoves his five in it.

  She turns to me and she just stares for several seconds. Directly into my eyes. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a stick of gum.

  “What?”

  “Take it. You need it,” she says. And then I remember that I did puke not too long ago. I take the gum.

  She does the whole running-her-finger-over-my-palm-and-the-back-of-my-hand routine. Thankfully, this is brief, and she releases my hand not long after grasping it.

  “You’re holding on to the past. It’s eating you alive,” she says indifferently.

  Maybe. But I’ll bet that’s true for most people.

  “Meditate. Take time to appreciate all that you have going for you in the present. Once you’ve done that, you can begin making future plans. But don’t get stuck there either. You have a tendency to get lost in the horrors of the past and the worries of the future. You struggle to keep yourself planted and secure. Not everything is negative. You have to find the positive light you once had. It’s still in there.”

  “How do you know?” I challenge. Dari glances at me.

  “You’re not a skeptic, but you want to be. You admire those who’d call me a hustler. But that fake exterior will make it harder for you to settle your problems.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I mumble.

  She takes another drag.

  “Everything about you is pasted on your face like an Internet banner. I know you’re having the time of your life tonight, but tomorrow will be a different matter.” She then turns to Dari and gestures to the door. “Go outside and wait. It’ll only be a minute.”

  Dari looks uncertain, but follows instructions. He stands right outside the door and watches us through the glass.

  “Why can’t he be here?” I ask, trying to steady my voice and push away the anxiety creeping in.

  “You’re in love with him and he doesn’t know it, yes?”

  I don’t move. I don’t want her to know that she’s right.

  “I strongly encourage you to use caution. He’s centuries old, maybe older. You’re still quite young. He’s wading through treacherous waters right now, but he’ll never tell you that. He doesn’t think you can handle it.”

  Ouch.

  “Listen to yourself, your fears, your body. Your dreams.

  “There’s another. A man from your not-too-distant past. You’ve given him way too much power. He is a dark cloud. Visualize that dark cloud exploding into rain and vanishing. Do it until it’s gone. You have to stop holding on. Let go.”

  She nods toward Dari, still peeking in through the window.

  “You and him? You may meet again. Time is longer than you can imagine. Use it wisely.” Again, she leans back and takes a long sip of ice water.

  “What am I supposed to do with all of that?” I ask.

  “Do with it what you like. That’s all I can give you.”

  I fish out my five and toss it in her pot and walk out.

  “What did she say?”

  “More bullshit. I don’t know. Something about wishing away a dark cloud and you being centuries old. Whatever. We said ‘yes.’ Guess that’s what we get.”

  At that moment, she opens the door.

  “One more thing. For both of you,” she calls. “Forgiveness is a lifelong endeavor. Be patient with yourselves.” Then she goes back inside, locks up, and shuts off the neon PSYCHIC READINGS BY AMELIA sign.

  “What do you think she meant?” Dari asks.

  “I think she just wanted our money,” I say.

  “Maybe. Some of what she said was kinda on point, though. I know I have a hard time forgiving people.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  He shrugs. I shake my head. Determined not to take it seriously. I refuse to be burned by yet another person.

  As we walk through the cold, I start to think that maybe our night should wind down soon. I wouldn’t be opposed to some Mexican hot cocoa and curling up on the couch in front of a popcorn movie right about now. I’m tasting the cocoa when some girl yells down from a fire escape in a faux-British accent.

  “What’s the password?”

  Is she talking to us?

  “ ’ello! Dreadlocks and curly top! What is the password?”

  Dari looks at me. “We done for the night?” he asks. Normally, I would nod and ignore this loon, but it seems fitting that I don’t, so I don’t. We approach the building.

  “Kumquat,” I call up.

  “No,” she shouts, delighted.

  “Lucifer,” Dari attempts.

  She laughs. “Nope.”

  “Uh. Porkbellies?”

  “What? God, no!”

  “It’s fucking cold,” Dari suddenly shouts. And at that moment, the door just ahead of us buzzes and we go inside.

  “This is nuts! We don’t know these people. We don’t even know which apartment is theirs,” I protest. That’s when another girl pokes her head over the stairwell from the fourth floor.

  “Come on in, guests,” she calls. Dari looks at me. I check my watch: 11:53. Fine. Seven more minutes of “yes.”

  The apartment is huge but dingy. The music is loud. I thin
k it’s MGMT (a band I’m wholly on the fence about). There are people everywhere in really strange costumes, like it’s the 1920s or something.

  “What kind of party is this?” Dari mutters. I shrug and then our hostess from the fire escape appears to answer our question.

  “This is a Prohibition-era speakeasy,” she exclaims in that terrible accent again. She hands us two dainty teacups filled with a clear liquid. I take one sniff and my eyes start to water. It smells like paint thinner.

  “Then why are you doing a British accent?” Dari asks.

  She sighs. With no trace of the accent at all she says, “Dude. I’m just tryin’ to have fun, okay?” And then she skates (Prohibition-era roller blades?) through the swarm of Great Gatsby fugitives back into the kitchen. Dari and I look at each other and crack up. How do these people find us? Or do we find them?

  Dari takes my cup away—probably afraid of more regurgitation—and carefully sets both of our cups on the windowsill. That’s when I see the moon. It is humongous and orange and glorious.

  “Look!” No one notices when I open the latch to the window and climb out onto the fire escape. Dari follows.

  We both look up. I’ve never seen a moon like this before. I close my eyes and it’s still there. I feel like I can smell it. It’s right here. Just for us.

  “Hunter’s Moon.”

  I turn to Dari. The moon is a glowing orb in his eyes.

  “What?”

  “That is a hunter’s moon. Some people call it a blood moon, but that’s inaccurate. For a blood moon, there has to be a lunar eclipse. This is just the first full moon after the harvest moon.”

  “Does it mean anything or is it just pretty?” I shiver a bit, but play it down. I don’t want Dari to think he has to give me his jacket. No. He doesn’t do that, but as he talks, he encircles me from behind. Now I’m warming up so fast I could melt.