There are all these feelings surging like breaking waves inside me. I can’t help but to distance myself. I’m so easily annoyed by everything. I want to scream at my dad when he drops his coffee in the breakfast café and it spills all over the ground. Jasper keeps missing the football as we throw it back and forth on the beach and I want to just hurl it off into the bushes so he can never find it. Karen keeps trying to get us to go walk through these abandoned sugar plantations, something I would normally love to do, but the fact that she’s suggested it makes me dread going.
I know this isn’t fair. I try so hard to fight it. I try to just be nice. But then, gradually, I realize that all those feelings of dreading leaving are being replaced with just wanting to get the hell out of there. Suddenly I can’t wait to leave—get back on my own—not have to deal with this cutesy, overprotected, sugarcoated world of my dad’s family. They’re keeping their children so naive, so unable to cope with the hardships of the REAL world.
But then, more logically, I wonder to myself, how well have I been able to cope with those things? Obviously, not very successfully. So maybe my dad is doing the right thing. And with that thought, I’m enveloped in sadness again.
We’ve driven to a western-facing beach. There’s a still river that separates us from the ocean and we all have to walk across a wobbly wooden plank to reach the other side. The beach is in a protected cove. The border is all lush trees and crawling vines. We walk out onto the white sand and the sun is hot and inescapable. I’m sweating and it’s almost hard to breathe in the wet, tropical air.
Quick as I can, I run into the ocean. I put my head down and swim, leaving everyone behind. It’s as though I forget everything for a second. My body is working against the warm salt water and I’m just going. When I stop, breathing hard, I am far from shore, surrounded by calm ocean. I kick my legs in wide circles to tread water. My head bobs rhythmically and, slowly, I start moving back toward the beach.
Watching Karen, Daisy, and Jasper making patterns out of shells in the shore break, my dad reading farther back underneath a tree, I feel a certain calmness. Strange, I think, in the past there’s no way I would have been able to pull myself out of that spiral of negativity, anger, and hopelessness. I mean, at least not that fast. Something has changed. And then it hits me—maybe it’s the medication. It’s been two weeks since I started that new antidepressant and the bipolar medication. I’d forgotten about that. Sure, the change isn’t very dramatic. It’s not like shooting meth or something. But there is a slight difference. Keeping my head above water suddenly doesn’t seem so tiring. The blackness doesn’t swallow me up to such a horribly suffocating depth.
I swim back to where the kids are playing. I walk out of the surf and shake myself dry. Jasper is leaning over a sand castle that has been decorated with tiny shells. I run over and touch his shoulder.
“Tag,” I say. “You’re it.”
I take off down the beach, Jasper chasing behind me. Daisy joins the game and soon we’re all running after one another, laughing and diving into the soft grains of sand. I feel weightless. There’s a burning in my eyes and a choking in my throat. I don’t stop the game, but I can’t stop the tears from running down. I’m so grateful to have escaped that horrible depression I was falling into. I’m so grateful to be able to be here—present—not needing anything but this moment. I’m crying from relief and thankfulness.
“What’s wrong?” asks Daisy, looking scared.
“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just happy to be here with you.” I go kiss her wet forehead. “Ha-ha—that means you’re it,” I say.
“No fair.”
She comes tearing after me.
As I dart away, however, I think about how what I just told her was only a half truth. There is also a feeling I have of intense, well, regret. It’s like: How could I have spent my whole life battling so hard, not knowing what was wrong? Now I see a doctor and we talk for fifty minutes and this huge piece of the puzzle that was missing for me is suddenly revealed. How could I have lived so long never being treated for such an obvious mental illness? It’s frustrating and sad. But Spencer’s voice sounds in my head: Now is now. That’s what he always tells me. There is nothing but now and I try to hold on to that. The past is gone, the future hasn’t happened yet. This, right here, is all there is.
So I play with Jasper and Daisy on the beach. We go into the jungle a little ways and climb a bending-down tree that has thorns all over it. We sit talking high in the branches—not saying anything really.
As the sun sets, we have dinner on the deck of the island’s only hotel. Karen and my dad both drink wine, the kids and I drink water. My dad tells me to order whatever I want, seeing as how it’s my last night and all, but I just get a salad with chicken and papaya in it. We’re all worn out from the sun and the heat and the ocean.
“You know,” I say, “I just wanna tell you guys how much it means to me to have been invited here.”
“Of course, Nic,” says my dad.
“Yeah,” agrees Karen. “It’s great to see you. It’s been so fun. I’m so happy you came. You seem to be doing so well.”
“I’m trying,” I say. “But thank you. Thank you for saying that.”
“It’s the truth. I love you, Nic.”
“I love you, too.”
“I love you, too,” says Daisy.
“Me too,” says Jasper.
“Oh, you guys—I, well, I—I’m so sorry.”
“We’re sorry too,” says my dad. “We know how hard it’s been.”
We eat in silence for a while. It’s dark now and the sound of crickets takes over everything.
After dinner, we watch TV in the hotel’s lodge. Pirates of the Caribbean is on and Jasper is so excited. I sit between him and Daisy—my arms wrapped around each one on the stripe-patterned hotel couch. Daisy falls asleep with her head on my shoulder.
DAY 278
I’ve been back in L.A. for a couple weeks now. I was sad leaving everyone in Hawaii, but I’m also pretty grateful to be home. I’ve been able to ride my bike again and it’s actually been great coming back to work. I’ve missed the girls back at the salon. They are so sweet to me, asking me questions about my trip and making me feel really appreciated.
“Nic, thank God you’re back,” says Ayuha. “We missed you so much. The place was going to hell without you, you know that, right?”
I just smile and maybe blush some.
“It’s true,” says Simone. “You better not leave us again. You’re our mascot. All my clients were asking about you. They were worried you quit or something.”
It feels good, the way they value me. How could I ask for a better job? Plus, because I want to pursue my writing, they let me bring my laptop to work. I set it up at the reception desk and can pick up wireless from the coffee shop across the street.
Checking my e-mail today, I have two messages that stand out. The first is from the entertainment editor at Nerve. She says they want to run my Bad Education review. It has to be edited some, but she says she loves where it’s coming from. She also asks if I would be able to review a movie called I Am David for this Friday’s edition. I’m so excited and I immediately tell everyone in the salon. They offer their congratulations and I go and look up I Am David on Yahoo. The production company is Lions Gate, so I call their publicity department.
“Hey, um, I review movies for an online magazine called Nerve.com. My editor has asked me to do a capsule review on I Am David and I was wondering if there were any screenings or anything coming up that I might attend.” I feel so grown-up and professional making this call. It’s very exciting.
The publicist tells me there’re no screenings left, but she’d be happy to have a messenger drop off a VHS copy of the film at my apartment. I give her my address and then hang up. I feel so important.
The other e-mail that catches my attention is one from Zelda.
It’s short and simple. “I broke up with Mike last night. I couldn’t take
it anymore. I’ve been thinking about you. My number is…”
I swallow hard reading this. Zelda has written to me. Zelda. I wonder whether she’s still sober. She has a bad history with relapsing. Maybe she’s getting high. I’m not sure what to do.
In my stomach, in the knots tying there, I know I should call Spencer—ask him his opinion. But at the same time, I know what he’s going to say. I know he’ll tell me to stay as far away from her as possible—not to get involved. I know he’s right. Zelda is maybe the most damaged person I’ve ever met. She had track marks scarred all over her arms and legs. Just the fact that she cheated on Mike with me—what, almost a year ago?—makes me have a hard time trusting her. But I want her. It is a desire stronger than anything else and I’m not sure what to attribute that to. I know I’m sick. Maybe that knowledge is meaningless, though. Because I call. I just say, you know, fuck the consequences. And I call.
Zelda actually answers on the second ring. “Hello?” Her voice is soft and seductive.
“Hey Zel, it’s Nic.”
“Nic, oh my God, I’m so glad you called. I thought maybe you hated me or something.”
“No,” I say. “I’ve been waiting to get an e-mail like that from you since we first met.”
“Oh, Nic, you know I’ve wanted you since then too—I was just so scared.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Can you come over tonight?”
“Of course.”
I take down her address and agree to come after work. Pushing all the doubt and inner warnings to the side, I convince myself that, in his perfection, this is God’s will for me. I mean, isn’t that what Spencer would say? I tell myself that is the truth. I don’t want to hear anything different and I don’t ask for any validation.
At work I’m kind of secretive. I don’t tell anyone. And, you know, under any other circumstances I would be talking to everyone about it. I’m used to being very open, and hiding stuff feels uncomfortable. When Ayuha asks me what I’m doing tonight, I almost blush, stammering over my answer.
“You know, uh, nothing—just going to a meeting.”
The hours at the shop advance so slowly. I call my mom and tell her about the review in Nerve. She seems excited. I refill the shampoo bottles at the washbasins. I organize the display cases and clean all the bowls filled with bleach and different dyes. I wash and fold every last towel and apron. I confirm all tomorrow’s appointments. I sweep up the hair and clean off all the stylists’ cutting stations.
Finally it’s five o’clock. Only Fawn’s still here, finishing up her last client. She assures me that she doesn’t mind closing up and that I can go home. I’m actually shaking from nervousness as I drive back to my apartment. It’s like I’m physically sick with it.
All the little tricks and whatever that Spencer has taught me are suddenly all blanks in my mind. I can’t think of one prayer—one anything.
Not knowing what to do, I take a long shower just to relax and maybe keep busy. The heat of the water against my body calms me some. I turn the temperature up until it makes my skin red. The whole bathroom is thick with steam as I step out. I have to wipe off the mirror several times before I can see my reflection clearly. I think about how ugly I am. Maybe if I turn sideways or blink a whole lot I might look a little better, but it doesn’t work. Nothing makes me feel any more beautiful.
After drying off, I get dressed quickly. I don’t look in the mirror again—it’s too depressing. For the first time since I stopped using I’m craving a cigarette. I resist buying a pack, though.
Eating isn’t gonna be possible, so I kill time looking around the Virgin Megastore on Sunset. Zelda lives right at the base of Laurel Canyon in Hollywood. According to what she told me on the phone today, Joni Mitchell once owned the apartments where she’s living. That doesn’t really mean that much to me, but I guess she thinks that’s pretty great.
I find the little pink stucco bungalows after missing the turn twice. Parking takes forever. I’m listening to music as loud as it’ll go. It’s like if the music is loud enough, I won’t be able to listen to my own thoughts.
The last time I talked to Zelda, she told me she was pregnant with Mike’s child and that she was going to use it as a sign that she needed to recommit to him. It was devastating. I never really thought I’d hear from her again. Now I’m walking down the slanted old Hollywood street to her apartment. She’s free and, you know, that’s what I’ve wanted all this time.
I dial her apartment number on the buzzer and a few minutes later she’s downstairs, unfastening the gate.
I’m almost struck speechless seeing her again. I reach out and hug her to me tightly, inhaling the smell of her. She looks maybe a little older than I remembered—but that just makes her all the more attractive. Her red hair is cut in a sort of shag, hanging down to her shoulders. Her pale, pale skin is broken out some on her forehead. Her eyes are clear green, emerald—or so it seems. She’s wearing black boots over tight jeans and two ripped T-shirts layered over each other.
“This is weird,” I say.
“Yeah,” she almost whispers. “Come on in.”
We walk through a little garden of dense leaves and reaching-up trees. She lives at the top of a flight of stairs at the back of the apartment complex. Inside there’s mostly just a bed, a large TV, a few photographs on the walls, and clothes everywhere.
“Sorry it’s such a mess.”
“Please. So, uh, what happened?”
We sit on the carpeted floor in front of the heater, she smoking cigarettes and me just listening. She tells me about how she broke up with Mike after she lost the baby, but that he begged for a second chance. She took him back, only to discover, last week, that he had been having two different affairs for more than a year. She was finished, and she finally moved out. I listen to her tell me about his betrayal and how hurt she is. She cries in my arms. I hold her and kiss away her tears.
“Girl,” I say. “You know you’re too good for him? You know he just couldn’t stand himself, so he was doing whatever he could to try and feel better. I mean, it’s pathetic.”
“I know,” she says. “But I just feel so stupid. I always thought he was safe, you know. That’s why I stayed with him. What an idiot I am.”
“You’re not an idiot,” I tell her. “You’re a really good person. I wish you could see yourself like I see you. I wish you could see what an amazing, sweet, beautiful person you are.”
“I’m not sweet. I’m not any of those things.”
We move to her large bed. I’m kissing her on the mouth now and she’s kissing back. I kiss her all down her body. I make love to her. It feels very powerful. I am so connected with her.
After some time we rest. She lies naked on the bed, letting me look at her. She smokes a cigarette and goes to eat some ice cream out of the carton. We eat it together, back on the bed—strawberry ice cream.
“Zelda, you know, I love you,” I say. “I’ve loved you for a long time. I will devote everything to you if you’ll let me.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she says. “You’re so young. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
That hurts. I feel a cold shiver all through me.
“Baby,” I say, “I’m so much older than my age. I’ve seen so much—so much.”
“I know you have, my darling.”
We talk for a while—just saying nothing really—and then she falls asleep. She wraps herself tight around me and I can hear her snoring loud in my ear.
Me, I can’t sleep.
I can’t sleep.
I’m lying here with my fantasy—my dream. She’s holding me against her nakedness. I think about her—about her life—about this obsession I’ve had with this girl for more than a year. The thoughts just keep spinning like a record player in my mind, but eventually I fall asleep. I fall asleep next to this girl.
It’s maybe six when I wake up and I feel Zelda on top of me, slipping me inside her. She moves while I just start to shake off
the sleep. The gray morning is barely filtering through the blinds. She finishes on top of me and rolls off. I crouch around her body and kiss her.
“Sorry I woke you up,” she says.
I tell her I don’t mind. We start to drift off again, but I feel anxious and restless. My mind is going all over, and suddenly I feel guilty as hell. It’s as though I can barely stand lying in this bed. I’m not sure what to do, but I decide I have to leave. Kissing Zelda good-bye, I get dressed quickly and drive all the way across town to a seven a.m. spin class. It’s the only thing that makes any sense right now. I drive fast, cutting in and out of traffic—scared I’m not gonna make it on time. I listen to the Talking Heads and try not to think about anything else. Driving, I can still smell Zelda on my face and hands.
I want to call someone.
I want to call my dad or Spencer. Really.
It’s too early, though, and I’m stuck with myself.
The spin class is brutal. I’ve never gone on so little sleep before and I feel like throwing up. But, still, I make it through. The leader of the class rides with my cycling group and has taken me under her wing. Her name is Kendra and she’s actually a celebrity trainer. I think we both had a crush on each other for a time, so she agreed to train me for free. Part of that training includes being able to go to her spin class periodically, without having to pay the twenty-something-dollar fee. Hilary Swank is riding the bike three rows behind me. Welcome to L.A.
I’m sweating like I dove into the ocean—but I keep up. I have to take a shower in their bathroom, but whatever, I’m on time to work and I feel like all the money in the world. I’m strutting around like a goddamn male peacock. I may not have really slept, but I feel so damn cool.
Welcome to fucking L.A.
I call Spencer at about ten and tell him everything that happened. I guess I’m trying to impress him—is that so fucking strange?