The Chaos of Standing Still

  “Wait—didn’t you almost hook up with her?” I ask, feeling my insides turn.

  He gives me the most offended look I’ve ever seen. “What? No!”

  “I saw you with her earlier.”

  “You saw me trying to get away from her,” Xander corrects. “She couldn’t stop talking about her ex-boyfriend. It was brutal. I guess she finally found someone willing to listen.”

  “Don’t ever date a high school boy,” Mylee advises her oxygen filled friend. “They’re all losers. They’re all immature asshats who don’t understand their own feelings.”

  “Well, she’s got a point there,” I tease.

  “Hey!” Xander feigns offense. “We are not all asshats. Come to think of it, what exactly is an asshat?”

  “A hat shaped like an ass?”

  “An ass shaped like a hat?”

  “Derivative,” I disapprove.

  “Derivative?” Xander raises his eyebrows. “Now you really sound like my English teacher. You clearly haven’t had enough to drink. Here.” He turns to the desk behind us and upon finding nothing but the jar of red sludge, picks it up and hands it to me. “Quick. Shoot this.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “It serves me right,” Mylee goes on to the doll. “From now on I’m only dating college boys. Nay,” she corrects herself, raising her glass and sloshing liquid onto the floor. “College men.”

  “Okay, you guys!” Siri calls out over the music. “Only two minutes left!” The room erupts in cheers, and Xander takes an awkward step toward me.

  “Ugh,” Siri says, sidling up to us. “I still don’t have anyone to kiss at midnight.”

  “What about your friend Marcus?” I stand on tiptoes in an effort to spot anyone who looks like the man described to me earlier. It’s a lost cause. The place is too crammed full of bodies.

  Siri cracks the tiniest smile, but then adamantly shakes her head. “No. No way. I’ve been trying to escape him all night.”

  “He did let you completely trash his hotel room. How bad could he be?”

  She ignores me and instead gives Xander an interested once-over. I suddenly want to punch her in the face.

  “I take it he’s spoken for?” Siri looks straight at me, and I can feel my cheeks glow red. Good thing this room is so dark.

  “Um . . .” I stammer before realizing that Xander is looking at me, too. Like, really looking at me. He’s turned his entire body toward me in expectation of an answer. “Um,” I repeat lamely.

  “Jeez,” Siri grumbles. “Will you two figure this shit out already? It’s really not that complicated.” She turns her evil stare on Xander. “Do you want to kiss her at midnight?”

  “Um . . . ,” Xander echoes awkwardly before bending down to retie his shoe.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Siri asserts before turning back to me, like a pastor at a wedding. “And do you want to kiss him?”

  I stand speechless in shock. I think something comes out of my mouth, but I’m pretty sure it sounds more like, “huuhanana,” than any real word.

  “This is ridiculous. I don’t have time to play shrink. I have now less than”—she glances at the clock on the desk—“a minute to find someone to kiss!”

  “What about Jimmy?” I blurt out, grateful to get the focus off me and Xander.

  Siri busts out in a deep belly laugh. “Oh yeah, sure. I’ll just tap Rick on the shoulder and ask if I can cut in.” She jabs her thumb in the direction of the necklace/disco ball hanging in the center of the room, and I see big Jimmy full-on making out on the “dance floor” with a tiny guy who barely comes up to his neck.

  “Oh,” I say with sudden realization. Lottie always told me my gaydar was inoperable.

  “30, 29, 28, 27!” The room has started to chant.

  “Crap!” Siri says, looking desperately around her. “This is hopeless.” She catches sight of someone behind her and lets out a yelp. “Hide me!”

  I glance up and see a tall man in a suit trying to make his way through the throngs of people. Marcus, I presume. He’s good-looking with neatly cropped hair, a strong jaw, and an overall put-together look about him. I really don’t know why Siri is so opposed to kissing him. I turn back to Siri, who’s slightly cowering between me and the bed that’s been shoved against the wall. Maybe she really is scared.

  Maybe all of us can be a little scared.

  Even someone as brave as Siri.

  “Can we leave yet? This party is severely lacking mental stimulation.” Troy has suddenly appeared by my side.

  Siri peers around me at the little boy genius, sizing him up. I can tell she’s weighing her options. At this point it’s either tall, suited, and handsome, or annoying, scrawny, and fourteen.

  “21, 20, 19!” the collective group counts.

  “I’ve been studying this unique species of stranded airport employees,” Troy goes on, motioning to the general population of the room. “And I’ve deduced that they are entirely unknowable. Their actions make no logical sense whatsoever.”

  “No,” Siri finally decides with a shake of her head. “I’m not that desperate.”

  “18, 17, 16!”

  “Everything changes tonight!” Mylee decrees on our other side. Either she hasn’t figured out that her conversation partner is made of inflatable plastic, or she simply doesn’t care. “This is my New Year’s resolution! Mature, college guys only. With promising futures and smart brains!”

  “15, 14, 13!”

  I can sense Xander next to me. Is it just me or has he inched closer since this countdown began?

  Well, if he did, it’s probably just because there are so many people in here.

  “What is the point of counting down to midnight?” Troy inquires to no one in particular. “I’ve never quite understood this social construct. Why not count down every night? The date of January first has no actual significance in the cosmic scheme of things. It’s an arbitrary date set by an arbitrary tribe of people thousands of years ago.”

  “12, 11, 10!”

  I feel something warm against my left hand. It’s Xander’s fingertips. They’re brushing my skin, trailing along my palm.

  Don’t look down, I tell myself.

  Looking down—seeing it—will only make it real.

  And real things break.

  Imaginary things last forever.

  “9, 8, 7!”

  Xander’s fingers interlace with mine.

  “Is that really so much to ask?” Mylee shouts over the chanting. “To find a nice college guy who’s not obsessed with stupid shit like sports and cars and his ridiculous overly gelled hair?”

  “6, 5, 4!”

  Xander turns to face me. I can feel his eyes on my cheeks. I can feel his chest brushing against my shoulder. If I turn now, it’s all over.

  If I meet him in the middle, I can’t go back.

  This one tiny quarter-turn rotation is suddenly so huge. It’s an invitation. It’s a question mark.

  A question that I can’t find the answer to on my phone.

  “I just want to hook up with a college guy!” Mylee half shouts/half screams over the noise.

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Siri cries in response. “Do I have to do everything around here?”

  She grabs Troy by the shirtsleeve and drags him toward Mylee. He protests the entire way. “What are you doing? Let go of me!”

  “Mylee, this is Troy. He’s getting his master’s at Stanford. So shut up already!”

  “3! 2! 1! Happy New Year!” The room breaks into whoops and cheers and applause.

  Mylee gives Troy a skeptical look. Then she just shrugs and says, “What the hell?” She grabs Troy by the straps of his backpack, pulls him to her, and plants her open mouth on his. Troy fights back for a moment before finally surrendering to the kiss. He has to stand on his tiptoes to reach her, but somehow they make it work.

  Siri glances up at Marcus. He’s nearly made it over to us. Panicked, she turns to the blow-up doll, grabs it by the nec
k, and guides its lips to hers.

  Xander squeezes my hand, bringing me back to the moment. To the question that still hangs in the air with a second countdown clock ticking above it.

  What would Lottie say if she were here right now?

  What would she tell me to do?

  I soon realize it doesn’t matter. Because she’s not here. Not even the imaginary version in my head. Neither one of them can tell me what to do.

  Which means I have no choice but to make the decision myself.

  I draw in a deep, life-changing breath and slowly turn toward Xander.

  I don’t know how long I stood in that street, staring into the remains of Lottie’s car. Minutes. Hours. Days. Maybe the world ended and began all over again. Maybe the universe contracted and exploded in a bright ball of fiery light, repeating every single instant of time until I was right back here in this very nightmare.

  At some point a voice called to me. But it was coming from another planet. In a foreign alien language I couldn’t understand.

  “Miss? Miss? I need you to move away from the vehicle. Miss?”

  I took a step closer to the car. It was like the giant chasm in the driver’s side had created a vortex in time and space, and I was a helpless victim in its vacuum.

  “MISS!” the voice was louder now but still muffled by a cushion of impenetrable air that had built up around me. “We need to clear this area immediately. It’s not safe.”

  The glass crunched under my bare feet. The shards buried deep into my skin. I didn’t cry out in pain. I welcomed them in. I told them to make themselves at home. Stay as long as they like. My skin would heal around them and keep them safe. Hold them there as a reminder that nothing would ever be the same.

  “Shit,” the voice swore. “I think she’s in shock. Look at her feet.”

  The next thing I knew, I was no longer on the ground. I was being swept up in someone’s arms and carried away. My hand gripped tighter around my phone. I let my head drop back so I could see the world upside down. The way it would forever be from this moment on.

  Lottie’s annihilated car suspended from the ceiling.

  Oregon’s towering trees growing in reverse.

  Flashing red and blue lights hanging like chandeliers from the sky.

  “We’re gonna need to take you to a hospital,” the alien voice explained.

  Yes, I thought eagerly. Take me to the hospital. Pronounce me dead on arrival. Tell everyone I was in that car. Where I was supposed to be.

  “The cuts on your feet are pretty deep. Can we call your parents and tell them where you are?”

  I didn’t respond. Someone tried to pry my phone from my fingers, but I cried out in protest and hugged it tightly to my chest. It was the first noise I’d made since I arrived.

  “Just get her out of here,” someone said. “The staff at St. Vincent’s will get in touch with her parents.”

  They carried me to an awaiting ambulance. They secured my arms and legs to a stretcher. Evidently, they thought I was going to fight. They thought I was going to run.

  They had no idea I had nowhere left to go.

  The ambulance rumbled down the street, carrying me farther and farther away from that flashing clock. Somehow, despite my restraints, I managed to turn on my phone and glance at the screen.

  I had one unread text message.

  People are singing. People are dancing. People are shouting “Happy New Year” over and over.

  The chaos of the impromptu New Year’s party surrounds us, but for the first time, I don’t even notice it. It’s like Xander and I exist in our own little bubble. Counting down on our own clock. Toward our own delayed beginning.

  15, 14, 13 . . .

  His gaze finds mine and holds it. His eyes are like placid lakes that I slip right into.

  12, 11, 10 . . .

  His hand reaches for my face. His fingertips trace a line from my cheekbone to my chin. His skin on my skin is like the life raft I’ve been floundering for.

  “Is this okay?” he asks.

  9, 8, 7 . . .

  My heart pounds along with the seconds ticking by. A steady, commanding rhythm that vibrates in my ears.

  I nod.

  He takes a step toward me. His hand slides into my hair, holding my head, holding me together, like he’s afraid I might shatter.

  6, 5, 4 . . .

  He leans in, his lips slightly parted. His eyes never leaving mine.

  “Is this okay?” he whispers into my mouth.

  I nod again. I can feel him close to me. So dangerously close. His breath tickles my chin, sending pulses of electricity through my body.

  I let my eyes close.

  And that’s the exact moment that dormant Dead Lottie decides to resurrect.

  “What are you doing!?” she screeches. “Are you falling in love with him? Are you replacing me? Is this how it’s going to be now? Bye-bye, Lottie. So sorry you’re dead but that’s okay, because I’ve got Muppet Guy now!”

  3, 2, 1 . . .

  I move my head swiftly to the side. Xander’s lips land on my cheek. They linger there for a second. A second that breathes warmth and terror and regret into my skin.

  Then that second passes and Xander clears his throat, pulling away. Stepping away. Taking everything away.

  I blink the room back into focus. The madness of the party comes charging back at me like a train emerging from a darkened tunnel. And stupid me, I’m standing right in the middle of the tracks.

  Behind Xander, Troy and Mylee are still making out like the world is ending and the blending of their saliva is the magic formula that will save us all. Just beyond them, Siri has rejected the blow-up doll in favor of Marcus. She’s kissing him wildly. She leaps up and wraps her legs around his waist. He grunts from the impact of her tiny body and falls backward onto the bed, next to the rejected doll.

  “Are you okay?” Xander asks.

  I wheel on him. “Why do you keep asking me that?” I didn’t mean for it to come out quite so forcefully.

  This is exactly why I don’t tell anyone anything. Why I keep it all to myself. Because it’s inevitable. Once you tell someone, they look at you differently. They treat you differently. Normal conversations turn into minefields that they have to tiptoe through. And suddenly every single question that comes out of their mouth is, “Are you okay?”

  I shake my head, my voice on the verge of breaking. “Clearly, I’m not okay. I’ll never be okay. Okay?”

  “I’m sorry!” he tries. “I thought you said it was okay. I thought I was helping.”

  “Helping?” My voice rises again as frustration blooms in my chest. “Is that what this was? You were going to kiss me to try to make it all better? Because you felt sorry for me?”

  “No,” Xander replies hastily. “That’s not what I meant. I—”

  “My best friend is dead. And that’s not going to go away just because we have a few laughs in a train car or share a few stories during a game of poker. You can’t just kiss me and make it all okay. It doesn’t work like that. It’s not a scrape on my knee. It’s a giant, gaping hole in my heart.”

  It’s happening again. I’m losing control. I need to get out of here. Out of this room. Out of this noise. Away from these people.

  “I know that,” Xander says, sounding impatient. “But pushing people away isn’t going to work either. You can’t keep isolating yourself from the world. That’s not going to help. It’s only going to make things worse.”

  I turn and shove my way through the people. Xander catches up to me, his hand on mine, pulling me back to him. “Ryn. Wait.”

  “I don’t need your psychoanalysis. I get enough of that from my own shrink.” I try to shake his hand free, but he holds on tight.

  “I wanted to kiss you,” he says earnestly. “Not because I was trying to fix you and not because I felt sorry for you. Just because I wanted to kiss you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He lets go of my hand, look
ing disappointed. Looking at the ground. “Well, then, there you go.”

  What the hell is that supposed to mean?

  I open my mouth to ask this very question but then decide that I don’t even care. I don’t want to know. I just want to leave.

  I grab my backpack from the corner where I stashed it earlier and push past him, shove my way through the mayhem, through the hallway, into the elevator, jabbing mercilessly at the button for the lobby. When I spill out, I run across the plaza until I’m back in the quiet, well-lit terminal.

  I half expect Xander to follow me. But after a few seconds, it’s clear that he’s not going to.

  I’m all alone with my chaotic, rambling thoughts.

  Isolated in the middle of this huge airport.

  Just like I wanted.

  The hospital staff asked me questions.

  I lied.

  The police took my official statement.

  I lied.

  My mother squeezed my hand with tears in her eyes and pleaded for answers.

  I kept on lying.

  “I was in the car,” I told her for the twelfth time. “I was right there next to her. I watched her die.”

  My mother’s face clouded with disappointment. She turned away from me. She whispered to a woman in uniform. “Are you sure?” she asked.

  The woman nodded. “There was no way she was in that car. She would be dead. The passenger air bag never inflated. Charlotte was driving alone.”

  She spoke as if I weren’t even in the room. As if I no longer existed.

  I wished that were true.

  “A hospital staff member called your daughter’s cell,” the woman explained. “She was listed as Charlotte’s In Case of Emergency.”

  My mother faced me again. Her thin, pale lips curved into a weak smile, begging silently for the truth. For words. For communication. For once in her life she was trying. But I wouldn’t meet her halfway.

  Lottie had been dead for less than two hours, and I was already doing it all wrong. I was already failing.

  That was the last time my mother asked me about the car.