Sixteen
I have that dream again, the one I used to have all the time after Nina first disappeared. In the dream I go into the third bedroom in our apartment and there’s a girl in there, sitting at a desk. I ask her who she is. How did she get in here? What does she want? But the girl doesn’t answer, she just laughs like I’m making a joke. And she thinks this joke is very funny. And I feel so weirdly proud at making this strange girl laugh that I don’t even bother to tell her that my questions were serious.
We stand there for a moment, this girl and I, and then she says, “Oh, Belly,” and I realize the girl is Nina. She has a different haircut than when she vanished; her hair is made of thin strands of real gold and I decide that’s probably why I didn’t recognize her at first. But where has she been the last two years? I ask. She just shakes her head like I am crazy. Why, she’s been here, of course! And I am confused, so confused, but Nina just shrugs and smiles. She asks me if I want to look through her clothes and help her pick out which ones would look best with her new haircut, and I say okay and she opens this door in her bedroom that I hadn’t noticed before, which opens into a giant warehouse, filled up to the ceiling with beautiful things. Right near the door is a giant bunch of gold Mylar balloons on extra long strings. She tells me she’s been selling them to make extra money, which is how she could afford all the new clothes. Normally she charges two hundred and fifty-seven dollars for each balloon. But I can have as many as I want, all for free, because I’m her sister. She starts walking around the enormous closet, gathering up the balloons for me. Once she has about six, the balloons start to lift her up off the floor and each time she adds to her collection she rises a little higher. She doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she doesn’t care. I look up at the ceiling and now it’s nothing but sky. And she is still gathering those balloons, going up and up and up. And I realize something is going very, very wrong here. I start yelling, “Nina, stop!” and “Nina, let go!” but she isn’t listening. “Nina, stop! Nina, stop!” I yell louder and louder. And this is usually how the dream ends, with me screaming and her rising higher and higher and higher until I can’t see her anymore. Only this time, it’s different. This time, right when she is about to pass between where the room ends and where the sky begins, she looks down and then, at the very last second, she lets go and starts to fall. Faster and faster, she hurtles toward the ground. And I gasp because I do not know if I will be able to catch her.
I wake up just after one-thirty in the afternoon, staring at Sean’s dimly lit naked back. He’s standing by the sink in the corner, wet from a shower, a thin motel towel wrapped around his waist. He looks so beautiful I can barely stand it. I can see his reflection in the mirror—his smooth chest, the faint line of hair leading down his stomach. I know I should look away, but I can’t. He raises a smaller towel up to his head and starts rubbing his hair, the muscles in his shoulders and back flex as he moves the towel back and forth. And in the mirror I can see his biceps flexing and releasing, flexing and releasing. There’s something on the inside of his upper arm, a smattering of white jagged lines. Scars. From an accident maybe? I wonder. I want to reach out and touch them.
When he starts to take his towel off, I finally force myself to squeeze my eyes shut, and behind my eyelids I picture what I’m not seeing. I breathe, in and out, trying to lie perfectly still.
“Ellie, wake uuuuuuupp.”
“Mmmpph?” I make a noise which I hope makes it clear that I was not awake until this very second and certainly wasn’t watching him get dressed only moments ago. I open my eyes. Sean is standing there in front of me, barefoot, fully clothed, his hair flopping over his face, his cheeks flushed from the steam of the shower, the damp towel around his neck. He’s staring at my face and when our eyes meet, he smiles and I feel my heart in my chest.
“You sleep cute.” Sean says. And then he flips on the light. I sit up in bed, swing my feet out onto the hard, scratchy carpet.
The moment my feet hit the floor I hear my phone vibrating on the nightstand. Without even thinking, I pick it up.
“Oh my God, what is going on? I’ve called you like a hundred times in a row!” It’s Amanda.
“Huh?” I’m too groggy from sleep to deal with this right now.
“That guy? Sean? Are you still with him?”
“Hi, Amanda,” I say.
“I’ve been calling you,” she says. “Why didn’t you call me back?”
Sean sits down at the end of the bed.
“I was busy,” I say. And I glance at Sean, who is leaning over putting on his socks.
“Ellie. Helen was over here this morning picking my mom up for Pilates and she called her nephew Eddie from our house, you know, the one who goes to Beacon, and Eddie said one of his friends used to room with Sean and that Sean’s a total freak.”
I glance at Sean. He is leaning over and picking up his shoe.
“I’m not sure anyone in Helen’s family is really in a place to make that kind of judgment,” I say. Helen is Amanda’s mom’s friend, a woman who gets a new nose put on her face every other year at Christmastime. An actual new nose. Like from surgery.
“I’m serious. Eddie says he doesn’t have any friends at school and just sits around by himself, like staring at things. And also I think he has a girlfriend.”
“What?!” The word pops out. My insides start to twist.
“Yeah, Eddie said Sean keeps a picture of some girl in a frame next to his bed and he, like, makes out with it every night before he goes to sleep. And he’s always writing letters late at night with a flashlight, like love letters to her or something.”
“I don’t know what you expect me to say to that. I mean, I doubt that’s even true, and…” I pause. “What do you expect me to say to that?”
“That you’re ditching the freak with the girlfriend and coming back home immediately.”
“But I’m not going to do that.”
“I don’t get it, what are you even doing in Nebraska?”
“We’re not there anymore.”
“Then where are you?”
“Denver.”
“Denver? Why would you be in Denver?”
“Why wouldn’t I be in Denver?”
“Ellie, you don’t just meet some guy at a party, decide he’s cute, and then take off to Denver. That is so not like you. Have you been kidnapped or something? If you’ve been kidnapped, cough twice.” I roll my eyes. If she were genuinely worried, I might feel bad, but she doesn’t sound worried at all. Actually, she sounds kind of jealous. I can just imagine what she must be thinking, that she’s the one who’s always dating someone, she’s the one who should be going on a romantic last-minute road trip with a cute guy who picked her up at a party.
“I’m not even going to humor that with a response,” I say. “And I’m not really even sure why you called, actually.”
“You’re not sure why I called? Um, hi, I’m your friend and I’m worried about you. Why don’t you come home now, Ellie. I’m seeing this new guy now, Adam, and he has a friend, Cody, and I think he’d be perfect for you, Ellie. Just come home.”
She says this like it’s a command. Like she has the right to make such commands. I shake my head.
Sean has both shoes on now, and he stands up and walks back to the bathroom.
“I have to go now,” I say.
“But Ellie listen…” Amanda says. But before she finishes her sentence, I’ve already hung up.
Seventeen
It’s hot out now and there’s this manic energy in the air, like we’re bubbles in a liquid that’s just about to boil. Sean is walking fast and I’m right behind him, heading down Colfax Avenue, toward where we hope we’ll find Bijoux Ink.
The street is full and we’re dodging people as we go. Two girls are walking toward us. They’re wearing these flimsy little sundresses and the sun is behind them. I can see the outlines of their legs, their small waists. And when they get closer, it’s obvious that neither of
them is wearing a bra. The one on the left is eating a red Popsicle, like something out of a men’s magazine photo shoot. The Popsicle one whispers something to her friend and then points her Popsicle at Sean. She looks down at her Popsicle and then back at Sean and wiggles her eyebrows. Both girls start laughing. I feel the blood rushing to my face. I stare at the back of Sean’s head to see if he’s noticed them but I can’t tell.
“Hey, Sean?” He doesn’t turn around. My phone starts vibrating in my pocket and I glance at it—Amanda. I hit Ignore. Sean has stopped walking now. A couple feet away a guy is leaning against a storefront smoking a cigarette. Black sleeveless shirt, jeans, shaved head, downy-looking goatee, both arms covered shoulder to wrist in black and gray tattoos.
“I think this is it,” Sean says, pausing now, looking back.
We push through the door. No one looks up. It’s loud inside, punk music and the whirring of an air conditioner. There’s a giant gold-and-crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the kind of thing you’d see in a fancy hotel lobby or at the opera. To the right two black leather couches are packed with people flipping through black binders. To the left is a huge glass case filled with jewelry—thick steel barbells, swirling ebony ear spacers, delicate gold hoops with captured rubies. There’s a dark gray curtain against the back wall, and a woman walks through it. She has choppy black hair and a fierce shark underbite. There’s a thick green snake inked all the way around her neck, its head resting on her collarbone, a bright red apple in its mouth.
Shark looks down at the clipboard next to the cash register.
“Sandrine Miller,” she calls out. Her voice is slightly hoarse like she probably spends a lot of time yelling.
A tiny blonde girl rises from one of the couches, makes an exaggerated “I’m-so-nervous” face to her tiny blonde friend and then disappears behind the curtain. Sean and I walk up to the front. Up close I can see that Shark’s shirt is covered in tiny white bows, it looks like she’s wearing someone else’s shirt, like she scared the original owner right out of it.
“Yeah?” She’s staring at me, one eyebrow raised.
“Hi,” I say. Over her shoulder I can see into the other room. Sandrine Miller is leaning back on what looks like a dentist’s chair with her shirt pulled up, a guy with a blond crew cut is getting ready to pierce her nipple. A few feet away, a girl with bleached blonde dreadlocks tied in a knot on top of her head is applying a tattoo transfer onto the giant arm of a biker dude. The big biker dude’s eyes are squeezed shut and he’s biting his lower lip like he’s about to cry. Shark catches me looking and shoots me a nasty glare.
A guy pops his head out from behind the curtain. “Eden?” He reaches up and scratches his thick dark hair. “Did the fourteen-gauge needles come in with the last shipment?” He sounds scared.
“Should be in the back if Cedar put the order in.”
“I’ll just keep looking.”
“If she forgot to order them…” Shark aka Eden, shakes her head. “That girl’s time has just about run out.”
“We were really busy all week while you were away,” the guy says. He looks at Shark/Eden, who raises one eyebrow and you can practically see him shrink. “I should have reminded her.”
“Ron, just because she screwed you once doesn’t mean you have to take the blame for her. Stop being such a sucker. When you’re done with that client, you’re going to watch the front. I’m going to have to head over to Utopia to pick them up.”
He winces slightly, then disappears behind the curtain. She’s looking at us again.
“Hi.” I smile, but she doesn’t smile back.
“Are you eighteen?”
“I’m not here for a tattoo,” I say.
“Oh.” She crosses her arms like, “Well, why the hell are you here then?”
“I’m looking for my sister,” I say. “Her name is Nina Wrigley and I was wondering if she had ever come in here. It would have been a while ago, two years maybe, but maybe if I showed you a picture of her, you’d recognize her?”
Shark/Eden’s expression is completely unchanged, almost like she hasn’t heard me. She glances at Sean, then back at me.
“So,” I say. “Can I show you her picture? Maybe see if you remember her?”
A muscle twitches in her jaw, but she still doesn’t say anything. I take Nina’s photo out of my pocket, open it. I hold it out in front of Eden. “This is her.”
I watch Shark/Eden’s face. There are deep lines around her mouth and creases between her eyebrows, like she’s so sure that something is about to make her mad that she’s making the appropriate angry face in advance. But when her eyes focus on Nina’s picture, her face softens, just for a second. And then she quickly shakes her head. “Don’t know her,” Eden says. She shakes her head again. “Sorry.” She shrugs, she turns around and starts walking away, then she stops, turns back. “Please don’t stand here at the counter, this space is for customers.” And then she disappears behind the curtain.
“Fuck,” Sean whispers under his breath.
He starts walking toward the door, shaking his head. I just stand there frozen.
I look back at Shark/Eden and she’s watching us. Sean comes back, grabs my arm. “Let’s go,” he whispers. This doesn’t seem right. Something just isn’t right here.
Back out in the bright sunlight, I turn toward Sean.
“I think she’s lying,” I say.
Sean stops, his lips part slightly. He cocks his head.
“About her not knowing Nina, I mean.” As I hear myself say it, I become more sure. “I think she does.”
“Reeeeeally.” The word oozes slowly from Sean’s mouth, and by the time he’s done, he’s grinning. “What makes you say that?”
“This is going to sound crazy,” I say.
“All the best ideas do.”
“It was the expression that was on her face when she looked at Nina’s picture. Her face got softer, or something, and she smiled the tiniest bit just for a second, like she was a little bit amazed and a little bit amused and she wanted to take care of her…She was looking at the picture of Nina the way people always looked at Nina, the person. Which makes me think she actually knew her. Maybe even knew her well. But, then, why would she lie?”
I look up at Sean, but he’s not looking at me anymore.
“Was she trying to protect Nina from someone or something?” I bite my bottom lip. “That’s the only thing that…”
“So where do you want to get lunch then?” Sean says loudly. He puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close. Eden is passing right by us going fast up the hill. Sean keeps his arm around me until she’s gone.
“Maybe she’s just one of those people who likes to be in control,” Sean says softly. “Wants to be the one with all the power.”
“Fuck that,” I say. “I’m going back in there.” I turn around and start walking.
“To do what?” Sean calls out behind me.
“I don’t know.” I’m walking, faster and faster. “Just look around I guess. I’ll figure it out when I get there.”
I push back through the door. The girl who just had her nipple pierced is standing in front of the couch talking to her friend. “No, seriously,” she’s saying, she has her pointer finger looped inside the neckline of her clingy tank top and is holding it out away from her body. “It was just like a little pinch. I’m sure Mike’s bit it harder a billion times! You should do it. We’ll be nipple-twins!” She leans forward a little bit and her friend looks down her shirt. “Look how cute.”
Her friend leans and looks down her shirt. “Awww,” she says, in that voice people use when they’re looking at a baby or a bunny rabbit. “So cute!”
I walk up to the register. The dark-haired guy, Ron, is standing at the front counter. He’s leaning against it, reading a magazine called Terminal Ink. On the front cover is a picture of a girl covered in tattoos and wearing a black forties-style bathing suit. He is nodding at the magazine, like it’s suggesting som
ething to him that he agrees with.
Behind him the curtain is opened ever so slightly. I need to get back there.
“I’m interested in a tattoo,” I blurt out.
He looks up. “Weren’t you just in here? Talking to Eden?”
“I was,” I say. “I was going to get one but I got scared.” I bite my bottom lip, an exaggerated expression of coy embarrassment. “Y’know, needles, ack!” I hold up my hands and wave them around. “But I really want one.” I’m making this up as I go along, but it seems right somehow.
“First one?” he asks. I nod. “You have a design in mind?”
“Um…nope.” I shrug. “I’ll just figure it out when I’m back there.”
Ron looks at me suspiciously.
“I’m crazy like that!” I say.
“We like crazy here,” he says and he starts to smile. “But, Crazy, here’s a question, are you eighteen?” He puts his hands on his hips. He’s flirting with me. Guys like him never flirt with me, they barely even see me.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. And then I roll my eyes although I’m not exactly sure what I mean by that.
“Do you have ID?”
My heart is pounding. I reach into my back pocket and take out Nina’s passport. Before I even have time to think about it, I’ve opened it up and slapped it onto the counter. Ron picks it up, looks at it, then back at me, then at the picture again. I try to make my most Nina-esque face, flirty and warm, and at the same time edgy and unconcerned. I think I end up looking cross-eyed, but it doesn’t even matter apparently, because Ron is nodding.