One Last Stop

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1
TapedtoatrashcaninsidethePopeyesLouisianaKitchenatthecornerofParksideandFlatbushAvenues.
SEEKINGYOUNGSINGLEROOMMATEFOR3BRAPARTMENTUPSTAIRS,6THFLOOR.$700/MO.MUSTBEQUEER&TRANSFRIENDLY.MUSTNOTBEAFRAIDOFFIREORDOGS.NOLIBRAS,WEALREADYHAVEONE.CALLNIKO.
“CanItouchyou?”
That’sthefirstthingtheguywiththetattoossayswhenAugustsettlesontotherubbed-offcentercushionofthebrownleathercouch—aflakinghand-me-downnumberthat’sbeenarecurringcharacterthepastfourandahalfyearsofcollege.Thetypeyoucrashon,buryundertextbooks,orsitonwhilesippingflatCokeandspeakingtonooneataparty.Thequintessentialearlytwentiestrashcouch.
Mostofthefurnitureisastrashasthetrashcouch,mismatchedandthriftedandhauledinoffthestreet.ButwhenTattooBoy—Niko,theflyersaidhisnamewasNiko—sitsacrossfromher,it’sinastartlinglyhigh-endEameschair
Theplaceislikethat:amixoffamiliarandverymuchnotfamiliar.Smallandcramped,offensiveshadesofgreenandyellowonthewalls.Plantsdanglingoffalmosteverysurface,spindlyarmsreachingacrossshelves,afaintsmellofsoil.Thewindowsarethesamepainted-shutframesofoldapartmentsinNewOrleans,butthesearehalfcoveredwithpagesofdrawings,afternoonlightfilteringthrough,mutedandwaxy.
There’safive-foot-tallsculptureofJudyGarlandmadefrombicyclepartsandmarshmallowPeepsinthecorner.It’snotrecognizableasJudy,exceptforthesignthatsays:HELLOMYNAMEISJUDYGARLAND
NikolooksatAugust,handheldout,blurryinthesteamfromhistea.He’sgotthisblack-on-blackgreaserthinggoingon,adarkundercutagainstlightbrownskinandaconfidentjaw,asinglecrystaldanglingfromoneear.Tattoosspilldownbothhisarmsandlickuphisthroatfrombeneathhisbuttoned-upcollar.Hisvoiceisalittlecroaky,likethebackendofacold,andhe’sgotatoothpickinonecornerofhismouth.
Okay,DannyZuko,calmdown.
“Sorry,uh.”Auguststares,stuckonhisquestion.“What?”
“Notinaweirdway,”hesays.ThetattooonthebackofhishandisaOuijaplanchette.HisknucklessayFULLMOON.Goodlord.“Justwanttogetyourvibe.Sometimesphysicalcontacthelps.”
“What,areyoua—?”
“Apsychic,yeah,”hesaysmatter-of-factly.Thetoothpickrollsdownthewhitelineofhisteethwhenhegrins,wideanddisarming.“Orthat’sonewordforit.Clairvoyant,gifted,spiritist,whatever.”
Jesus.Ofcourse.Therewasnowaya$700-a-monthroominBrooklynwasgoingtocomewithoutacatch,andthecatchismarshmallowJudyGarlandandthisrefurbishedSpringsteenwho’sprobablyabouttotellhershe’sgotherauraoninsideoutandbackwardlikeDollarTreepantyhose.
Butshe’sgotnowheretogo,andthere’saPopeyesonthefirstfloorofthebuilding.AugustLandrydoesnottrustpeople,butshetrustsfriedchicken.
SheletsNikotouchherhand.
“Cool,”hesaystonelessly,likehe’sstuckhisheadoutthewindowtochecktheweather.Hetapstwofingersonthebackofherknucklesandsitsback.“Oh.Ohwow,okay.That’sinteresting.”
Augustblinks.“What?”
Hetakesthetoothpickoutofhismouthandsetsitonthesteamertrunkbetweenthem,nexttoabowlofgumballs.He’sgotaconstipatedlookonhisface.
“Youlikelilies?”hesays.“Yeah,I’llgetsomeliliesforyourmove-inday.DoesThursdayworkforyou?Myla’sgonnaneedsometimetoclearherstuffout.Shehasalotofbones.”
“I—what,like,inherbody?”
“No,frogbones.Reallytiny.Hardtopickup.Gottausetweezers.”HemustnoticethelookonAugust’sface.“Oh,she’sasculptor.It’sforapiece.It’sherroomyou’retaking.Don’tworry,I’llsageit.”
“Uh,Iwasn’tworriedabout?…frogghosts?”Shouldshebeworriedaboutfrogghosts?MaybethisMylapersonisaritualisticfrogmurderer.
“Niko,stoptellingpeopleaboutfrogghosts,”saysavoicedownthehall.AprettyBlackgirlwithafriendly,roundfaceandeyelashesformilesisleaningoutofadoorway,apairofgogglesshovedupintoherdarkcurls.ShesmileswhensheseesAugust.“Hi,I’mMyla.”
“August.”
“Wefoundourgirl,”Nikosays.“Shelikeslilies.”
Augusthateswhenpeoplelikehimdothingslikethat.Luckyguesses.Shedoeslikelilies.ShecanpullupawholeWikipediapageinherhead:liliumcandidum.Growstwotosixfeettall.Studieddiligentlyfromthewindowofhermom’stwo-bedroomapartment.
There’snowayNikoshouldknow—nowayhedoes.JustlikeshedoeswithpalmreadersunderbeachumbrellasbackhomeinJacksonSquare,sheholdsherbreathandbrushesstraightpast.
“Sothat’sit?”shesays.“Igottheroom?You,uh,youdidn’tevenaskmeanyquestions.”
Heleanshisheadonhishand.“Whattimewereyouborn?”
“I?…don’tknow?”Rememberingtheflyer,sheadds,“IthinkI’maVirgo,ifthathelps.”
“Oh,yeah,definitelyaVirgo.”
Shemanagestokeepherfaceimpartial.“Areyou?…aprofessionalpsychic?Likepeoplepayyou?”
“He’spart-time,”Mylasays.Shefloatsintotheroom,gracefulforsomeonewithablowtorchinonehand,anddropsintothechairnexttohis.Thewadofpinkbubblegumshe’schewingexplainsthebowlofgumballs.“Andpart-timeveryterriblebartender.”
“I’mnotthatbad.”
“Sureyou’renot,”shesays,plantingakissonhischeek.Shestage-whisperstoAugust,“Hethoughtapalomawasakindoftumor.”
Whilethey’rebickeringaboutNiko’sbartendingskills,Augustsneaksagumballoutofthebowlanddropsittotestatheoryaboutthefloor.Assuspected,itrollsoffthroughthekitchenandintothehallway.
Sheclearsherthroat.“Soy’allare—?”
“Together,yeah,”Mylasays.“Fouryears.Itwasnicetohaveourownrooms,butnoneofusaredoingsohotfinancially,soI’mmovingintohis.”
“Andthethirdroommateis?”
“Wes.That’shisroomattheendofthehall,”shesays.“He’smostlynocturnal.”
“Thosearehis,”Nikosays,pointingatthedrawingsinthewindows.“He’satattooartist.”
“Okay,”Augustsays.“Soit’s$2,800total?$700each?”
“Yep.”
“Andtheflyersaidsomethingabout?…fire?”
Mylagivesherblowtorchafriendlysqueeze.“Controlledfire.”
“Anddogs?”
“Weshasone,”Nikoputsin.“AlittlepoodlenamedNoodles.”
“Noodlesthepoodle?”
“He’sonWes’ssleepschedule,though.So,aghostinthenight.”
“AnythingelseIshouldknow?”
MylaandNikoexchangealook.
“Likethreetimesadaythefridgemakesthisnoiselikeaskeletontryingtoeatabagofquarters,butwe’reprettysureit’sfine,”Nikosays.
“Oneofthelaminatetilesinthekitchenisn’treallystuckdownanymore,sowealljustkindofkickitaroundtheroom,”Mylaadds.
“Theguyacrossthehallisadragqueen,andsometimeshepracticeshisnumbersinthemiddleofthenight,soifyouhearPattiLaBelle,that’swhy.”
“Thehotwatertakestwentyminutestogetgoing,buttenifyou’renice.”
“It’snothaunted,butit’slike,notnothaunted.”
Mylasmackshergum.“That’sit.”
Augustswallows.“Okay.”
Sheweighsheroptions,watchingNikosliphisfingersintothepocketofMyla’spaint-stainedoveralls,andwonderswhatNikosawwhenhetouchedthebackofherhand,orthoughthesaw.Pretendedtosee.
Anddoesshewanttolivewithacouple?AcouplethatisonehalffakepsychicwholookslikehefrontsanArcticMonkeyscoverbandandonehalffirestarterwitharoomfullofdeadfrogs?No.
ButBrooklynCollege’sspringsemesterstartsinaweek,andshecan’tdealwithtryingtofindaplaceandajobonceclassespickup.
Turnsout,foragirlwhocarriesaknifebecauseshe’dratherbeanythingbutunprepared,AugustdidnotplanhermovetoNewYorkverywell.
“Okay?”Mylasays.“Okaywhat?”
“Okay,”Augustrepeats.“I’min.”
Intheend,Augustwasalwaysgoingtosayyestothisapartment,becauseshegrewupinonesmalleranduglierandfilledwithevenweirderthings.
“Itlooksnice!”hermomsaysoverFaceTime,proppedonthewindowsill.
“You’reonlysayingthatbecausethisonehaswoodfloorsandnotthatnightmarecarpetfromtheIdlewildplace.”
“Thatplacewasn’tsobad!”shesays,buriedinaboxoffiles.Herbuggyglassesslidedownhernose,andshepushesthemupwiththebusinessendofahighlighter,leavingayellowstreak.“Itgaveusninegreatyears.Andcarpetcanhideamultitudeofsins.”
Augustrollshereyes,pushingaboxacrosstheroom.TheIdlewildapartmentwasatwo-bedroomshitholehalfanhouroutsideofNewOrleans,thekindofsuburbanbuilt-in-the-’70sdumpthatdoesn’tevenhavethecharmorcharacterofbeinginthecity.
Shecanstillpicturethecarpetinthetinygapsoftheobstaclecourseoftoweringpilesofoldmagazinesandteeteringfileboxes.DoubleDare2000:SingleMomEdition.Itwasanunforgivableshadeofgrimybeige,justlikethewalls,inthespacesthatweren’tplasteredwithmapsandbulletinboardsandripped-outphonebookpages,and—
Yeah,thisplaceisn’tsobad.
“DidyoutalktoDetectivePrimeauxtoday?”Augustasks.It’sthefirstFridayofthemonth,sosheknowstheanswer.
“Yeah,nothingnew,”shesays.“Hedoesn’teventrytoactlikehe’sgonnaopenthecasebackupanymore.Goddamnshame.”
Augustpushesanotherboxintoadifferentcorner,thisoneneartheradiatorpuffingwarmthintotheJanuaryfreeze.Closertothewindowsill,shecanseehermombetter,theirsharedmousy-brownhairfrizzingintoherface.Underit,thesameroundfaceandbiggreenbushbabyeyesasAugust’s,thesameangularhandsasshethumbsthroughpapers.Hermomlooksexhausted.Shealwayslooksexhausted.
“Well,”Augustsays.“He’sashit.”
“He’sashit,”hermomagrees,noddinggravely.“How’boutthenewroommates?”
“Fine.Imean,kindofweird.Oneofthemclaimstobeapsychic.ButIdon’tthinkthey’re,like,serialkillers.”
Shehums,onlyhalf-listening.“Remembertherules.Numberone—”
“Usversuseveryone.”
“Andnumbertwo—”
“Ifthey’regonnakillyou,gettheirDNAunderyourfingernails.”
“Thattagirl,”shesays.“Listen,Igottago,Ijustopenedthisshipmentofpublicrecords,andit’sgonnatakemeallweekend.Besafe,okay?Andcallmetomorrow.”
Themomenttheyhangup,theroomisunbearablyquiet.
IfAugust’slifewereamovie,thesoundtrackwouldbethelowsoundsofhermom,theclickity-clackingofherkeyboard,orquietmumblingasshesearchesforadocument.EvenwhenAugustquithelpingwiththecase,whenshemovedoutandmostlyhearditoverthephone,itwasconstant.Acoupleofthousandmilesaway,it’slikesomeonefinallycutthescore.
There’salottheyhaveincommon—maxed-outlibrarycards,perpetualsinglehood,affinityforCrystalHotSauce,encyclopedicknowledgeofNOPDmissingpersonsprotocol.ButthebigdifferencebetweenAugustandhermother?SuzetteLandryhoardslikenuclearwinteriscoming,andAugustveryintentionallyownsalmostnothing.
Shehasfiveboxes.Fiveentirecardboardboxestoshowforherlifeattwenty-three.Livinglikeshe’sontherunfromthefuckingFBI.Normalstuff.
Sheslidesthelastoneintoanemptycorner,sothey’renotclutteredtogether.
Atthebottomofherpurse,pastherwalletandnotepadsandsparephonebattery,isherpocketknife.Thehandle’sshapedlikeafish,withafadedpinkstickerintheshapeofaheart,stuckonwhenshewasseven—aroundthetimeshelearnedhowtouseit.Onceshe’sslashedtheboxesopen,herthingssettleintoneatlittlestacks.
Bytheradiator:twopairsofboots,threepairsofsocks.Sixshirts,twosweaters,threepairsofjeans,twoskirts.OnepairofwhiteVans—thosearespecial,arewardsheboughtherselflastyear,buzzedoffadrenalineandmozzarellasticksfromtheApplebee’swhereshecameouttohermom.
Bythewallwiththecrackdownthemiddle:theonephysicalbooksheowns—avintagecrimenovel—besidehertabletcontainingherhundredsofotherbooks.Maybethousands.She’snotsure.Itstressesherouttothinkabouthavingthatmanyofanything.
Inthecornerthatsmellsofsageandmaybe,faintly,ahundredfrogsshe’sbeenassureddiedofnaturalcauses:oneframedphotoofanoldwashateriaonChartres,oneBiclighter,andanaccompanyingcandle.Shefoldsherknifeup,setsitdown,andplacesasignthatsaysPERSONALEFFECTSoveritinherhead.
She’sshakingoutherairmattresswhenshehearssomeoneunstickingthefrontdoorfromthejamb,aviolentskitteringfollowinglikesomebody’sbowledanenormousfurryspiderdownthehallway.Itcrashesintoawall,andthenwhatcanonlybedescribedasasootspritefromSpiritedAwaycomesshootingintoAugust’sroom.
“Noodles!”callsNiko,andthenhe’sinthedoorway.There’saleashhangingfromhishandandanapologeticexpressionfromhisangularfeatures.
“Ithoughtyousaidhewasaghostinthenight,”Augustsays.Noodlesissnufflingthroughhersocks,tailablur,untilherealizesthere’sanewpersonandlauncheshimselfather.
“Heis,”Nikosayswithawince.“Imean,kindof.Sometimes,Ifeelbadandtakehimtoworkwithmeattheshopduringtheday.Iguesswedidn’tmentionhis,uh—”NoodlestakesthismomenttoplacebothpawsonAugust’sshouldersandtrytoforcehistongueintohermouth.“Personality.”
MylaappearsbehindNiko,askateboardunderonearm.“Oh,youmetNoodles!”
“Ohyeah,”Augustsays.“Intimately.”
“Youneedhelpwiththerestofyourstuff?”
Sheblinks.“Thisisit.”
“That’s?…that’sit?”Mylasays.“That’severything?”
“Yeah.”
“Youdon’t,uh.”Myla’sgivingherthislook,likeshe’srealizingshedidn’tactuallyknowanythingaboutAugustbeforeagreeingtoletherstoreherveggiesalongsidetheirsinthecrisper.It’salookAugustgivesherselfinthemirroralot.“Youdon’thaveanyfurniture.”
“I’mkindofaminimalist,”Augusttellsher.Ifshetried,Augustcouldgetherfiveboxesdowntofour.Maybesomethingtodoovertheweekend.
“Oh,IwishIcouldbemorelikeyou.Niko’sgonnastartthrowingmyyarnoutthewindowwhileI’msleeping.”Mylasmiles,reassuredthatAugustisnot,infact,intheWitnessProtectionProgram.“Anyway,we’regonnagogetdinnerpancakes.Youin?”
AugustwouldratherletNikothrowheroutthewindowthansplitshortstackswithpeopleshebarelyknows.
“Ican’treallyaffordtoeatout,”shesays.“Idon’thaveajobyet.”
“Igotyou.Callitawelcomehomedinner,”Mylasays.
“Oh,”Augustsays.That’s?…generous.AwarninglightflashessomewhereinAugust’sbrain.Hermentalfieldguidetomakingfriendsisatwo-pagepamphletthatjustsays:DON’T.
“PancakeBilly’sHouseofPancakes,”Mylasays.“It’saFlatbushinstitution.”
“Opensince1976,”Nikochimesin.
Augustarchesabrow.“Forty-fouryearsandnobodywantedtotakeanotherrunatthatname?”
“It’spartofthecharm,”Mylasays.“It’slike,ourplace.You’refromtheSouth,right?You’lllikeit.Veryunpretentious.”
Theyhoverthere,staringatoneanother.Apancakestandoff.
AugustwantstostayinthesafetyofhercrappybedroomwiththecomfortablemiseryofaPop-Tartsdinnerandasilenttrucewithherbrain.ButshelooksatNikoandrealizes,evenifhewasfakingitwhenhetouchedher,hesawsomethinginher.Andthat’smorethananyone’sdoneinalongtime.
Ugh.
“Okay,”shesays,clamberingtoherfeet,andMyla’ssmileburstsacrossherfacelikestarlight.
Tenminuteslater,AugustistuckedintoacornerboothofPancakeBilly’sHouseofPancakes,whereeverywaiterseemstoknowNikoandMylabyname.Theserverisamanwithabeard,abroadsmile,andafadednametagthatsaysWINFIELDpinnedtohisredPancakeBilly’sT-shirt.Hedoesn’tevenaskNikoorMyla’sorder—justsetsdownamugofcoffeeandapinklemonade.
ShecanseewhattheymeantaboutPancakeBilly’slegendarystatus.IthasaparticulartypeofNewYorknesstoit,somethingshe’sseeninanEdwardHopperpaintingorthedinerfromSeinfeld,butwithalotmoreseasoning.It’sacornerunit,bigwindowsfacingthestreetonbothsides,dinged-upFormicatablesandredvinylseatsslowlybeingrotatedoutofthebusiestsectionsastheycrack.There’sasodashopbardownthelengthofonewall,oldphotosandMetsfrontpagesfromfloortoceiling.
Andit’sgotapotencyofsmell,astraight-upunadulteratedolfactoryturpitudethatAugustcanfeelsinkingintoherbeing.
“Anyway,Wes’sdadgavethemtohim,”Mylasays,explaininghowasetofleatherEameschairswoundupintheirapartment.“A‘goodjobfulfillingfamilialexpectations’giftwhenhestartedarchitectureschoolatPratt.”
“Ithoughthewasatattooartist?”
“Heis,”Nikosays.“Hedroppedoutafteronesemester.Bitofa?…well,amentalbreakdown.”
“Hesatonafireescapeinhisunderwearforfourteenhours,andtheyhadtocallthefiredepartment,”Mylaadds.
“Onlybecauseofthearson,”Nikotackson.
“Jesus,”Augustsays.“Howdidy’allmeethim?”
MylapushesoneofNiko’ssleevesuppasthiselbow,showingofftheweirdlyhotVirginMarywrappedaroundhisforearm.“Hedidthis.Half-price,sincehewasapprenticingbackthen.”
“Wow.”August’sfingersfidgetonthestickymenu,itchingtowriteitalldown.Herleastcharminginstinctwhenmeetingnewpeople:takefieldnotes.“Architecturetotattoos.Hellofaleap.”
“Hedecoratedcakesforaminuteinbetween,ifyoucanbelieveit,”Mylasays.“Sometimes,whenhe’shavingagoodday,youcomehomeandthewholeplacesmellslikevanilla,andhe’llhavejustleftadozencupcakesonthecounteranddipped.”
“Thatlittletwinkcontainsmultitudes,”Nikoobserves.
MylalaughsandturnsbacktoAugust.“So,whatbroughtyoutoNewYork?”
Augusthatesthisquestion.It’stoobig.WhatcouldpossesssomeonelikeAugust,asuburbangirlwithaswimmingpoolofstudentloandebtandthesocialskillsofaPringlescan,tomovetoNewYorkwithnofriendsandnoplan?
Truthis,whenyouspendyourwholelifealone,it’sincrediblyappealingtomovesomewherebigenoughtogetlostin,wherebeingalonelookslikeachoice.
“Alwayswantedtotryit,”Augustsaysinstead.“NewYork,it’s?…Idon’tknow,Itriedacoupleofcities.IwenttoUNOinNewOrleans,thenUofMinMemphis,andtheyallfelt?…toosmall,Iguess.Iwantedsomewherebigger.SoItransferredtoBC.”
Niko’slookingatherserenely,swillinghiscoffee.Shethinkshe’smostlyharmless,butshedoesn’tlikethewayhelooksatherlikeheknowsthings.
“Theyweren’tenoughofachallenge,”hesays.Anothergentleobservation.“Youwantedabetterpuzzle.”
Augustfoldsherarms.“That’s?…notcompletelywrong.”
Winfieldappearswiththeirfood,andMylaaskshim,“Hey,where’sMarty?He’salwaysonthisshift.”
“Quit,”Winfieldsays,depositingasyrupdispenseronthetable.
“No.”
“MovedbacktoNebraska.”
“Bleak.”
“Yep.”
“Sothatmeans,”Mylasays,leaningoverherplate,“you’rehiring.”
“Yeah,why?Youknowsomebody?”
“HaveyoumetAugust?”ShegesturesdramaticallytoAugustlikeshe’savowelonWheelofFortune.
WinfieldturnshisattentiontoAugust,andshefreezes,bottleinherhandstilldribblinghotsauceontoherhashbrowns.
“Youwaitedtablesbefore?”
“I—”
“Tons,”Mylacutsin.“Borninanapron.”
WinfieldsquintsatAugust,lookingdoubtful.
“You’dhavetoapply.It’llbeuptoLucie.”
Hejerkshischintowardthebar,whereasevere-lookingyoungwhitewomanwithunnaturallyredhairandheavyeyelinerisglaringatthecashregister.Ifshe’stheoneAugusthastoscam,itlookslikeshe’smorelikelytogetanacrylicnailtothejugular.
“Lucielovesme,”Mylasays.
“Shereallydoesn’t.”
“Shelovesmeasmuchasshelovesanyoneelse.”
“Notthebaryouwanttoclear.”
“TellherIcanvouchforAugust.”
“Actually,I—”Augustattempts,butMylastompsonherfoot.She’swearingcombatboots—it’shardtomiss.
Thethingis,Augustgetsthesensethatthisisn’texactlyanormaldiner.There’ssomethingshinyandbrightaboutitthatcurls,warmandinviting,aroundthesaggingboothsandwaitersspinningtabletotable.Abusboybrushespastwithatubofdishesandamugtopplesfromthepile.Winfieldreachesblindlybehindhimselfandcatchesitmidair.
It’ssomethingadjacenttomagic.
Augustdoesn’tdomagic.
“Comeon,Win,”MylasaysasWinfieldsmoothlydepositsthemugbackinthetub.“We’vebeenyourThursdaynightersforhowlong?Threeyears?Iwouldn’tbringyousomeonewhocouldn’tcutit.”
Herollshiseyes,buthe’ssmiling.“I’llgetanapp.”
“I’veneverwaitedatableinmylife,”Augustsays,whenthey’rewalkingbacktotheapartment.
“You’llbefine,”Mylasays.“Niko,tellhershe’llbefine.”
“I’mnotapsychicreadingATM.”
“Oh,butyouwerelastweekwhenIwantedThai,butyouweresensingthatbasilhadbadenergyforus.…”
Augustlistenstothesoundoftheirvoicesplayingoffeachotherandthreesetsoffootstepsonthesidewalk.Thecityisdarkening,aflatbrownishorangealmostlikeaNewOrleansnight,andfamiliarenoughtomakeherthinkthatmaybe?…maybeshe’sgotachance.
Atthetopofthestairs,Mylaunlocksthedoor,andtheykickofftheirshoesintoonepile.
Nikogesturestowardthekitchensinkandsays,“Welcomehome.”
AndAugustnoticesforthefirsttime,besidethefaucet:lilies,fresh,stuckinajar.
Home.
Well.It’stheirhome,nothers.Thosearetheirchildhoodphotosonthefridge,theirsmellsofpaintandsootandlavenderthreadedthroughthepatchyrugs,theirpancakedinnerroutine,allofitsettledyearsbeforeAugustevengottoNewYork.Butit’snicetolookat.Acomfortingstilllifetobeenjoyedfromacrosstheroom.
Augusthaslivedinadozenroomswithouteverknowinghowtomakeaspaceintoahome,howtoexpandtofillitlikeNikoorMylaorevenWeswithhisdrawingsinthewindows.Shedoesn’tknow,really,whatitwouldtakeatthispoint.It’sbeentwenty-threeyearsofpassingthrough,touchingbrickafterbrick,neveroncefeelingapermanenttug.
Itfeelsstupidtosayit,butmaybe.Maybeitcouldbethis.Maybeanewmajor.Maybeanewjob.Maybeaplacethatcouldwanthertobelonginit.
Maybeaperson,sheguesses.Shecan’timaginewho.
Augustsmellslikepancakes.
Itjustdoesn’tcomeoff,nomatterhowmanyshowersorquarterswastedatthetwenty-four-hourlaundromat.She’sonlybeenworkingatBilly’sforaweek,andgreasyhashbrownshavebondedwithheronamolecularlevel.
It’sdefinitelynotcomingofftoday,notafteragraveyardshiftwithbarelyenoughtimetohaulherselfupthestairs,shrugonacleanshirt,cramthetailsintoaskirt,andthrowherselfbackdownthemagain.Evenhercoatsmellslikebacon.She’sawalkingwetdreamforthreea.m.stonersandlong-haultruckers,apancake-and-sausagecomboadriftonthewind.Atleastshemanagedtostealajumbocoffee.
Firstdayofclasses.Firstdayofanewschool.Firstdayofanewmajor.
It’snotEnglish(herfirstmajor),orhistory(hersecond).It’skindofpsychology(thirdminor),butmostlyit’sthesameaseverythingelseforthepastfourandahalfyears:anothermaybethisone,becauseshe’sscrapedtogetherjustenoughcoursecreditsandloans,becauseshe’snotsurewhattodoifshe’snotlivingbluebooktobluebookuntilshedies.
Sociologyitis.
Mondaymorningclassesstartateightthirty,andshe’salreadymemorizedhercommute.DownthestreettotheParksideAve.Station,QtowardConeyIsland,offatAvenueH,walktwoblocks.Shecanseethebubblesoftrainlettersinherhead.She’shopelesswithpeople,butshewillforcethiscitytobehergoddamnfriend.
Augustissofocusedonthesubwaylinesunfoldinginherbrainthatshedoesn’tnoticethepatchofice.
Theheelofherbootskids,andshehitsthegroundkneesfirst,tightsrippingopen,onehandcatchingtheconcreteandtheothercrushinghercoffeeintoherchest.Thelidpopsoff,andcoffeeexplodesacrossthefrontofhershirt
“Christonafuckingbike,”sheswearsasherbackpackspillsacrossthepavement.Shewatcheshelplesslyasawomaninaparkakicksherphoneintothegutter.
And,well.Augustdoesnotcry.
Shedidn’tcrywhensheleftBelleChasseorNewOrleansorMemphis.Shedoesn’tcrywhenshegetsinfightswithhermom,andshedoesn’tcrywhenshemissesher,andshedoesn’tcrywhenshedoesn’tmissheratall.Shehasn’tcriedoncesinceshegottoNewYork.Butshe’sbleedingandcoveredinhotcoffee,andshehasn’tsleptintwodays,andshecan’tthinkofasinglepersonwithinathousandmileswhogivesashit,andherthroatburnssharplyenoughtomakeherthink,God,please,notinfrontofallthesepeople.
Shecouldskip.Dragherselfbackupsixflights,curluponhertwin-sizeairmattress,tryagaintomorrow.Shecoulddothat.Butshedidn’tmoveacrossthecountrytoletaskinnedkneeandacoffee-soakedbrakickherass.Ashermomwouldsay,Don’tbealittlebitchaboutit.
Sosheswallowsitdown.Scoopsupherthings.Checksherphonefornewcracks.Shouldersherbag.Tugshercoataroundher.
She’sgonnacatchherstupidtrain.
TheParksideAve.Stationisaboveground—bigredcolumns,mosaictiles,ivycreepingupthebrickbacksoftheapartmentbuildingsthatshadethetracks—andittakesAugustfourswipestogetthroughtheturnstile.ShefindsherplatformrightastheQpullsup,andshe’sshoulderedandelbowedontoacarwithafewmercifullyemptyseats.Sheslidesintoone.
Okay.
Forthenexttenminutes,sheknowsexactlywheresheisandwhereshe’sgoing.Allshehastodoissitandletherselfgetthere.
Shehissesoutabreath.Backinslowlythroughhernose.
God,thistrainreeks.
She’snotgoingtocry—she’snotgoingtocry—butthenthere’sashadowblockingthefluorescentlights,thestatickywarmthofsomeonestandingoverher,bracketingherwiththeirbodyandattention
Thelastthingsheneedsistobeharassedbysomepervert.Maybeifshedoesstartcrying,afull-scaleWes-dropping-out-of-Prattlevelmeltdown,they’llleaveheralone.Shepalmsherpocketknifethroughhercoat.
Shelooksup,expectingsomescragglymantomatchthelonglegsandrippedjeansinfrontofher,butinstead—
Instead.
LongLegsis?…agirl.
August’sage,maybeolder,alldevastatingcheekbonesandjawlineandgolden-brownskin.Herblackhairisshortandswoopyandpushedbackfromherforehead,andshe’squirkinganeyebrowatAugust.There’sawhiteT-shirttuckedintotherippedjeansandawell-lovedblackleatherjacketsettledonhershoulderslikeshewasborninit.ThesetofhersmirklookslikethebeginningofaverylongstoryAugustwouldtelloverdrinksifshehadanyfriends.
“Yikes,”shesays,gesturingatAugust’sshirt,wherethecoffeestainhassoakedinandspread,whichisthelastpossiblereasonAugustwantsthisgirltobelookingatherboobs.
ThehottestgirlAugusthaseverseenjusttookonelookatherandsaid,“Yikes.”
Beforeshecanthinkofanythingtosay,thegirlswingsherbackpackaround,andAugustwatchesdumblyassheunfurlsaredscarf,shovingdownapackofgumandsomevintage-lookingheadphones.
Augustcan’tbelieveshethoughtthismotorcyclejacketmodelwasasubwaypervert.Shecan’tbelieveatallbutchsubwayangelsawhercryingintohercoffeetits.
“Here,”thegirlsays,handingthescarfover.“Youseemlikeyou’regoingsomewhereimportant,so.”Shegesturesvaguelyatherneck.“Keepit.”
Augustblinksupather,standingtherelookingliketheguitaristofanall-girlpunkrockbandcalledTimetoGiveAugustanAneurysm.
“You—ohmyGod,Ican’ttakeyourscarf.”
Thegirlshrugs.“I’llgetanotherone.”
“Butit’scold.”
“Yeah,”shesays,andhersmirktugsintosomethingunreadable,adimplepoppingoutononesideofhermouth.Augustwantstodieinthatdimple.“ButIdon’tgooutsidemuch.”
Auguststares.
“Look,”thesubwayangelsays.“Youcantakeit,orIcanleaveitontheseatnexttoyou,anditcangetabsorbedintothesubwayecosystemforever.”
Hereyesarebrightandteasingandwarm,warmforever-and-everbrown,andAugustdoesn’tknowhowshecouldpossiblydoanythingbutwhateverthisgirlsays.
Theknitofthescarfislooseandsoft,andwhenAugust’sfingertipsbrushagainstit,there’sapopofstaticelectricity.Shejumps,andthegirllaughsunderherbreath.
“Anybodyevertellyouthatyousmelllikepancakes?”
Thetrainplungesintoatunnel,shudderingonthetracks,andthegirlmakesasoft“whoa”soundandreachesforthehandrailaboveAugust’shead.ThelastthingAugustcatchesistheslightlycrookedcutofherjawandaflashofskinwherehershirtpullsloosebeforethefluorescentsflickerout.
It’sonlyasecondortwoofdarkness,butwhenthelightscomebackon,thegirlisgone.
2
What’sWrongwiththeQ?
ByAndrewGouldandNatashaBrown
December29,2019
NewYorkersknowbetterthantoexpectperfectionorpromptnessfromoursubwaysystem.Butthisweek,there’sanewfactortotheQtrain’sspottyservice:electricalsurgeshaveblownoutlights,glitchedannouncementboards,andcausednumerousstalledtrains.
OnMonday,theManhattanTransitAuthorityalertedcommuterstoexpectanhourdelayontheQtraininbothdirectionsastheyinvestigatedthecauseoftheelectricalmalfunctions.Serviceresumeditsnormalschedulethatafternoon,butreportsofsuddenstopshavepersisted.
[PhotodepictscommutersonaBrooklyn-boundQtrainontheManhattanBridge.Intheforegroundisamid-twentiesChineseAmericanwomanwithshorthairandaleatherjacket,frowningupataflickeringlightfixture.]
BrooklynresidentJaneSutakestheQtoManhattanandbackeveryday.
TylerMartinfortheNewYorkTimes
“I’vedecidedtodunkDetectivePrimeaux’sballsinpeanutbutterandpushhiminthePontchartrain,”August’smomsays.“Letthefishcastratehimforme.”
“That’sanewone,”Augustnotes,crouchingbehindacartofdirtydishes,theonlyspotinsideBilly’swhereherphonegetsmorethanoneanemicbar.Herfaceistwoinchesfromsomeone’shalf-eatenDenveromelet.LifeinNewYorkisdeeplyglamorous.“What’dhedothistime?”
“Hetoldthereceptionisttoscreenmycalls.”
“Theytoldyouthat?”
“Imean,”shesays,“shedidn’thaveto.Icantell.”
Augustchewsontheinsideofhercheek.“Well.He’sashit.”
“Yeah,”sheagrees.Augustcanhearherfussingwiththefivelocksonherdoorasshegetshomefromwork.“Anyway,howwasyourfirstdayofclass?”
“Sameasalways.Abunchofpeoplewhoalreadyknowoneanother,andme,theextrainacollegemovie.”
“Well,they’reprobablyallshits.”
“Probably.”
Augustcanpicturehermomshrugging.
“DoyourememberwhenyoustolethattapeofSayAnythingfromourneighbors?”sheasks.
Despiteherself,Augustlaughs.“Youweresomadatme.”
“Andyoumadeacopy.Sevenyearsold,andyoufiguredouthowtopirateamovie.HowmanytimesdidIcatchyouwatchingitinthemiddleofthenight?”
“Likeamillion.”
“YouwerealwayscryingyoureyesouttothatPeterGabrielsong.Yougotasoftheart,kid.Iusedtoworrythat’dgetyouhurt.Butyousurprisedme.Yougrewoutofit.You’relikeme—youdon’tneedanyone.Rememberthat.”
“Yeah.”Forhalfanembarrassingsecond,August’smindflitsbacktothesubwayandthegirlwiththeleatherjacket.Sheswallows.“Yeah,you’reright.It’llbefine.”
Shepullsherphoneawayfromherfacetocheckthetime.Shit.Break’salmostover.
She’sluckyshegotthejobatall,butnotluckyenoughtobegoodatit.ShewasmaybetooconvincingwhenLuciethemanagercalledherfakereferencenumberandgotAugust’sburnerphone.Theresult:straightontothefloor,notraining,pickingthingsupasshegoes.
“Sideofbacon?”theguyattablenineteenasksAugustwhenshedropsoffhisplate.He’soneoftheregularsWinfieldpointedoutonherfirstday—aretiredfirefighterwho’scomeinforbreakfasteverydayforthelasttwentyyears.AtleasthelikesBilly’senoughnottocareaboutterribleservice.
“Shit,I’msorry.”Augustcringes.“Sorryforsaying‘shit.’”
“Forgotthis,”saysavoicebehindher,thickwithaCzechaccent.LucieswoopsinwithasideofbaconoutofnowhereandsnatchesAugustbythearmtowardthekitchen.
“Thankyou,”Augustsays,wincingatthenailsdiggingintoherelbow.“How’dyouknow?”
“Iknoweverything,”Luciesays,brightredponytailbobbingunderthegrimylights.ShereleasesAugustatthebarandreturnstoherfriedeggsandwichandadraftofnextweek’sschedule.“Youshouldrememberthat.”
“Sorry,”Augustsays.“You’realifesaver.Myporkproductsavior.”
Luciepullsafacethatmakesherlooklikeabirdofpreyinliquideyeliner.“Youlikejokes.Idon’t.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’tlikeapologieseither.”
Augustbitesdownanothersorryandturnsbacktotheregister,tryingtorememberhowtoputinarushorder.Shedefinitelyforgotthesideofhashbrownsfortableseventeenand—
“Jerry!”Lucieshoutsthroughthekitchenwindow.“Sideofhashbrowns,onthefly!”
“Fuckyou,Lucie!”
SheyellssomethingbackinCzech.
“YouknowIdon’tknowwhatthatmeans!”
“Behind,”Winfieldwarnsashebrushespastwithafullstackineachhand,blueberryontheleft,butterpecanontheright.Heinclineshisheadtowardthekitchen,braidsswinging,andsays,“Shecalledyouanuglycock,Jerry.”
Jerry,theworld’soldestfrycook,bellowsoutalaughandthrowssomehashbrownsonthegrill.Lucie,Augusthasdiscovered,hassuperhumaneyesightandahabitofcheckingheremployees’workattheregisterfromacrossthebar.It’dbeannoying,exceptshe’ssavedAugust’sasstwiceinfiveminutes.
“Youarealwaysforgetting,”shesays,clickingheracrylicsagainstherclipboard.“Youeat?”
Augustthinksbackoverthelastsixhoursofhershift.Didshespillhalfaplateofpancakesonherself?Yes.Didsheeatany?“Uh?…no.”
“That’swhyyouforget.Youdon’teat.”ShefrownsatAugustlikeadisappointedmother,eventhoughshecan’tbeolderthantwenty-nine.
“Jerry!”Lucieyells.
“What!”
“SuSpecial!”
“Ialreadymadeyouone!”
“ForAugust!”
“Who?”
“Newgirl!”
“Ah,”hesays,andhecrackstwoeggsontothegrill.“Fine.”
Augusttwiststheedgeofherapronbetweenherfingers,bitingbackathankyoubeforeLuciethrottlesher.“What’saSuSpecial?”
“Trustme,”Luciesaysimpatiently.“CanyouworkadoubleFriday?”
TheSuSpecial,itturnsout,isanoff-menuitem—bacon,maplesyrup,hotsauce,andarunnyfriedeggsandwichedbetweentwopiecesofTexastoast.Andmaybeit’sJerry,hiswalrusmustachesuggestingunknowablewisdomandhisBrooklynaccentconfirmingsevendecadesofsettinghisinternalclockbythelightatAtlanticandFourth,orLucie,the
It’snearlyoneinthemorningwhenAugustclocksoutandheadshome,streetsteemingandaliveinmuddyorange-brown.Shetradesacrumpleddollarfromhertipsforanorangeatthebodegaonthecorner—she’sprettysureshe’sonacollisioncoursewithscurvythesedays.
Shedigshernailintotherindandstartspeelingasherbrainhelpfullysuppliesthedata:adulthumansneedsixty-fivetoninetymilligramsofvitaminCaday.Oneorangecontainsfifty-one.Notquitestavingoffthescurvy,butastart
Shethinksaboutthismorning’slectureandtryingtofindacheapwritingdesk,aboutwhatLucie’sstorymustbe.AboutthecutegirlfromtheQtrainyesterday.Again.Augustiswearingtheredscarftonight,bundledwarmandsoftlikeapromisearoundherneck.
It’snotthatshe’sthoughtalotaboutSubwayGirl;it’sjustthatshe’dworkfivedoublesinarowifitmeantshegottoseeSubwayGirlagain.
She’spassingthroughthepinkglowofaneonsignwhensherealizeswheresheis—onFlatbush,acrossfromthecheck-cashingplace.ThisiswhereNikosaidhispsychicshopis.
It’ssandwichedbetweenapawnshopandahairsalon,peelinglettersonthedoorthatsayMISSIVY.Nikosaystheownerisachain-smoking,menopausalArgentinianwomannamedIvy.Theshopisn’tmuch,justascuffed-up,grease-stained,grayindustrialdoorattachedtoanondescriptstorefront,thetypeyou’duseforaLaw&Ordershootinglocation.Theonlyhinttowhat’sinsideisthesinglewindowbearinganeonPSYCHICREADINGSsignsurroundedbyhangingbundlesofherbsandsome—oh—thoseareteeth.
Augusthashatedplaceslikethisaslongasshecanremember.
Well,almost.
Therewasonetime,backinthedaysofbootlegSayAnything.AugusttuggedhermomintoatinypsychicshopintheQuarter,onewithshawlsovereverylampsolightspilledacrosstheroomliketwilight.Sherememberslayingherhand-me-downpocketknifedownbetweenthecandles,watchinginaweasthepersonacrossthetablereadhermother’scards.ShewenttoCatholicschoolformostofherlife,butthatwasthefirstandlasttimeshereallybelievedinsomething.
“You’velostsomeoneveryimportanttoyou,”thepsychicsaidtohermother,butthat’seasytotell.Thentheysaidhewasdead,andSuzetteLandrydecidedtheyweren’tseeinganymorepsychicsinthecity,becausepsychicswerefullofshit.Andthenthestormcame,andforalongtime,therewerenopsychicsinthecitytosee.
SoAuguststoppedbelieving.Stucktohardevidence.Theonlyskepticinacityfullofghosts.Itsuitedherfine.
Sheshakesherheadandpullsaway,roundingthecornerintothehomestretch.Orange:done.Scurvy:atbay,fornow.
Onflightthreeofherbuilding,she’sthinkingit’sironic—almostpoetic—thatsheliveswithapsychic.Aquote-unquotepsychic.Aparticularlyobservantguywithconfident,strangecharmandasuspiciousnumberofcandles.ShewonderswhatMylathinks,ifshebelieves.BasedonherNetflixwatchlistandhercollectionofDunemerch,Myla’sahugesci-finerd.Maybeshe’sintoit.
It’snotuntilshereachesintoherpurseatthedoorthatsherealizesherkeysaren’tthere.
“Shit.”
Sheattemptsaknock—nothing.Shecouldtexttoseeifanyone’sawake?…ifherphonehadn’tdiedbeforehershiftended.
Guessshe’sdoingthis,then.
Shegrabsherknife,flicksthebladeout,andsquaresup,wedgingitintothelock.Shehasn’tdonethissinceshewasfifteenandlockedoutoftheapartmentbecausehermomlosttrackoftimeatthelibraryagain,butsomeshityoudon’tforget.Tonguetuckedbetweenherteeth,shejigglestheknifeuntilthelockclicksandgives.
Someone’shomeafterall,putteringaroundthehallwaywithearbudsinandatoolbagattheirfeet.There’sabundleofsageburningonthekitchencounter.Augusthangsupherjacketandapronbythedoorandconsidersputtingitout—they’vealreadyhadonefirethisweek—whenthepersoninthehalllooksupandletsoutasmallyelp.
“Oh,”Augustsaysastheguypullsanearbudout.He’sdefinitelynotNikoorMyla,so—“YoumustbeWes.I’mAugust.I,uh,liveherenow?”
Wesisshortandcompact,askinny,swarthyguywithbonywristsandanklesstickingoutofgraysweatsandagiganticflannelcuffedfivetimes.Hisfeaturesarestrangelyangelicdespitethescowltheyrelaxinto.LikeAugust,he’sgotglassesperchedonhisnose,andhe’ssquintingatherthroughthem.
“Hi,”hesays.
“Goodtofinallymeetyou,”shetellshim.Helookslikehewantstobolt.Relatable.
“Yeah.”
“Nightoff?”
“Uh-huh.”
Augusthasnevermetsomeoneworseatfirstimpressionsthanher,untilnow.
“Okay,well,”Augustsays.“I’mgoingtobed.”Sheglancesattheherbssmolderingonthecounter.“ShouldIputthatout?”
Wesreturnstowhathewasdoing—fiddlingwiththehingeonAugust’sbedroomdoor,apparently.“Ihadmyexover.Nikosaidtheplacewasfullof‘fratenergy.’It’llgooutonitsown.Niko’sstuffalwaysdoes.”
“Ofcourse,”shesays.“Um,whatareyou?…doing?”
Hedoesn’tsayanything,justturnstheknobandwigglesthedoor.Silence.ItwascreakywhenAugustmovedin.Hefixedthehingeforher.
WesscoopsNoodlesupinonearmandhistoolbagintheotherandvanishesdownthehall.
“Thanks,”Augustcallsafterhim.Hisshouldersscrunchuptohisears,asifnothingcoulddispleasehimmorethanbeingthankedforanactofkindness.
“Coolknife,”hegruntsasheshutshisbedroomdoorbehindhim.
FridaymorningfindsAugustshivering,onehandintheshower,beggingittowarmup.It’stwenty-eightdegreesoutside.Ifshehastogetinacoldshower,hersoulwillvacatethepremises.
Shechecksherphone—twenty-fiveminutesbeforeshehastobeontheplatformtocatchhertrainforclass.Notimetoreplytohermom’stextsaboutannoyinglibrarycoworkers.Shepunchesoutsomesympatheticemojisinstead.
WhatdidMylasay?Twentyminutestogetthehotwatergoing,buttenifyou’renice?It’sbeentwelve.
“Please,”Augustsaystotheshower.“Iamverycoldandverytired,andIsmelllikethemayorofHashbrownTown.”
Theshowerappearsunmoved.Fuckit.Sheshutsoffthefaucetandresignsherselftoanotherall-dayaromaticexperience.
Outinthehallway,MylaandWesareontheirhandsandknees,stickinglinesofmaskingtapedownonthefloor.
“DoIevenwanttoask?”Augustsaysasshestepsoverthem.
“It’sforRollyBangs,”Mylacallsoverhershoulder.
Augustpullsonasweaterandsticksherheadbackoutofherdoor.“Doyourealizeyoujustsaywordsinanyrandomorderlikethey’resupposedtomeansomething?”
“Pointingthisouthasneverstoppedher,”saysWes,wholooksandsoundslikehestumbledinfromanightshift.AugustwonderswhatMylabribedhimwithtogethishelpbeforeheretreatedtohiscave.“RollyBangsisagameweinvented.”
“Youstartbythedoorinarollingchair,andsomeonepushesyoudowntheinclineofthekitchenfloor,”Mylaexplains.Ofcourseshe’sfiguredoutawaytouseabuildingcodeviolationforentertainment.“That’stheRollypart.”
“I’mscaredtofindoutwhattheBangsare,”Augustsays.
“TheBangiswhenyouhitthatthresholdrightthere,”Wessays.Hepointstothewoodenlipwherethehallwaymeetsthekitchen.“Basicallycatapultsyououtofthechair.”
“Thelines,”Mylasays,rippingoffthelastpieceoftape,“aretomeasurehowfaryouflybeforeyouhitthefloor.”
Auguststepsoverthemagain,headingtowardthedoor.Noodlescirclesherankles,snufflingexcitedly.“Ican’tdecideifI’mimpressedorhorrified.”
“Myfavoriteemotionalplace,”Mylasays.“That’swherehornylives.”
“I’mgoingtobed.”WesthrowshistapeatMyla.“Goodnight.”
“Goodmorning.”
AugustisshruggingintoherbackpackwhenMylameetsheratthedoorwithNoodles’sleash.
“Whichwayyouwalking?”sheasksasNoodlesflopsaround,tongueandearsflapping.He’ssocute,Augustcan’tevenbemadthatshewasdefinitelymisledabouthowmuchthisdogisgoingtobeapartofherlife.
“ParksideAvenue.”
“Ooh,I’mtakinghimtothepark.MindifIwalkwithyou?”
ThethingaboutMyla,Augustislearning,isthatshedoesn’tplantaseedoffriendshipandtendtoitwithgentlewateringandsunlight.Shedropsintoyourlife,fullyformed,andjustis.Afriendincompletion.
Weird.
“Sure,”Augustsays,andshepullsthedooropen.
There’snoicetoslipon,butNoodlesisnearlyasdeterminedtomakeAugusteatshitonthewalktothestation.
“He’sWes’s,butweallkindofsharehim.We’resuckerslikethat,”MylasaysasNoodlestugsheralong.“Man,IusedtogetoffatParksideallthetimewhenIlivedinManhattan.”
“Ohyeah?”
“Yeah,IwenttoColumbia.”
AugustsidestepsNoodlesashestopstosnifftheworld’smostfascinatingtakeoutcontainer.“Oh,dotheyhaveagoodartschool?”
Mylalaughs.“EverybodyalwaysthinksIwenttoartschool,”shesays,smackinghergum.“Ihaveadegreeinelectricalengineering.”
“You—sorry,Iassumed—”
“Iknow,right?”shesays.“Thescienceissuperinteresting,andI’mgoodatit.Like,reallygood.Butengineeringasacareerkindofmurdersyoursoul,andmyjobpaysmeenough.Ilikedoingartmoreforrightnow.”
“That’s…”August’sworstnightmare,shethinks.Finishingschoolandnotdoinganythingwithit.Shecan’tbelieveMylaisn’tparalyzedatthethoughteveryminuteofeveryday.“Kindofamazing.”
“Thanks,Ithinkso,”Mylasayshappily.
Atthestation,Mylawavesgoodbye,andAugustswipesthroughtheturnstileandreturnstothecomfortable,smellyarmsoftheQ.
Nobodywho’slivedinNewYorkformorethanafewmonthsunderstandswhyagirlwouldactuallylikethesubway.Theydon’tgetthenoveltyofwalkingundergroundandpoppingbackupacrossthecity,thecomfortofknowingthat,evenifyouhitanhourdelayoranindecentexposure,yousolvedthecity’sbiggestlogicpuzzle.Belongingintherush,lockingeyeswithanotherhorrifiedpassengerwhenamariachibandstepson.Onthesubway,she’sactuallyaNewYorker.
Itis,ofcourse,stillterrible.She’salmostsatintwodifferentmysteriouspuddles.Theratsarealmostdefinitelyunionizing.Andonce,duringathirty-minutedelay,apigeonpoopedinherbag.Notonit.Init.
Butheresheis,hatingeverythingbutthesingular,blissfulmiseryoftheMTA.
It’sstupid,maybe—no,definitely.It’sdefinitelystupidthatpartofitisthatgirl.Thegirlonthesubway.SubwayGirl.
SubwayGirlisasmilelostalongthetracks.Sheshowedup,savedtheday,andblinkedoutofexistence.They’llneverseeeachotheragain.ButeverytimeAugustthinksofthesubway,shethinksaboutbrowneyesandaleatherjacketandjeansrippedallthewayupthethighs.
Twostopsintoherride,AugustlooksupfromthePop-Tartshe’sbeeneating,and—
SubwayGirl.
There’snomotorcyclejacket,onlythesleevesofherwhiteT-shirtcuffedbelowhershoulders.She’sleaningback,onearmslungoverthebackofanemptyseat,andshe?…she’sgottattoos.Halfasleeve.Aredbirdcurlingdownfromhershoulder,Chinesecharactersaboveherelbow.Anhonest-to-Godold-timeyanchoronherbicep.
Augustcannotbelieveherfuckingluck.
Thejacket’sstillthere,drapedoverthebackpackatherfeet,andAugustisstaringatherhigh-topConverse,thefadedredofthecanvas,whenSubwayGirlopenshereyes.
Hermouthformsasoftlittle“oh”ofsurprise.
“CoffeeGirl.”
Shesmiles.Oneofherfrontteethiscrookedattheslightest,mostlife-ruiningangle.Augustfeelseveryintelligentthoughtexitherskull.
“SubwayGirl,”shemanages.
SubwayGirl’ssmilespreads.“Morning.”
August’sbraintries“hi”andhermouthgoesfor“morning”andwhatcomesoutis,“Horny.”
Maybeit’snottoolatetocrawlundertheseatwiththeratpoop.
“Imean,sure,sometimes,”SubwayGirlrepliessmoothly,stillsmiling,andAugustwondersifthere’senoughratpoopintheworldforthis.
“Sorry,I’m—morningbrain.It’stooearly.”
“Isit?”SubwayGirlaskswithwhatsoundslikegenuineinterest.
She’swearingtheheadphonesAugustsawtheotherday,’80s-eraoneswithbrightorangefoamoverthespeakerboxes.Shedigsthroughherbackpackandpullsoutacassetteplayertopausehermusic.Awholecassetteplayer.SubwayGirlis?…aBrooklynhipster?Isthatapointagainsther?
ButwhensheturnsbacktoAugustwithhertattoosandherslightlycrookedfronttoothandherundividedattention,Augustknows:thisgirlcouldbehaulingagramophonethroughthesubwayeveryday,andAugustwouldstillliedowninthemiddleofFifthAvenueforher.
“Yeah,um,”Augustchokesout.“Ihadalatenight.”
SubwayGirl’seyebrowsdosomethinginscrutable.“Doingwhat?”
“Oh,uh,Ihadanightshift.IwaittablesatPancakeBilly’s,andit’stwenty-fourhours,so—”
“PancakeBilly’s?”SubwayGirlasks.“That’s?…onChurch,right?”
Sherestsherelbowsonherknees,perchingherchinonherhands.Hereyesaresobright,andherknucklesaresquareandsturdy,likesheknowshowtokneadbreadorwhattheinsidesofacarlooklike.
Augustabsolutely,definitely,isnotpicturingSubwayGirljustasdelightedandfondacrossthetableonathirddate.Andshe’scertainlynotthetypeofpersontositonatrainwithsomeonewhosenameshedoesn’tevenknowandimagineherassemblinganIkeabedframe.Everythingiscompletelyundercontrol.
Sheclearsherthroat.“Yeah.Youknowit?”
SubwayGirlbitesdownonherlip,whichis.Fine.
“Oh?…ohman,Iusedtowaittablestheretoo,”shesays.“Jerrystillinthekitchen?”
Augustlaughs.Luckyagain.“Yeah,he’sbeenthereforever.Ican’timaginehimevernotbeingthere.EverydaywhenIclockinit’sall—”
“‘Mornin’,buttercup,’”shesaysinapitch-perfectimitationofJerry’sheavyBrooklynaccent.“He’ssuchababe,right?”
“Ababe,ohmyGod.”
Augustcracksup,andSubwayGirlsnorts,andfuckifthatsoundisn’tanabsoluterevelation.Thedoorsopenandcloseatastopandthey’restilllaughing,andmaybethere’s?…maybethere’ssomethinghappeninghere.Augusthasnotruledoutthepossibility.
“ThatSuSpecial,though,”Augustsays.
ThesparkinSubwayGirl’seyesignitessobrilliantlythatAugusthalfexpectshertojumpoutofherseat.“Wait,that’smysandwich!Iinventedit!”
“What,really?”
“Yeah,that’smylastname!Su!”sheexplains.“IhadJerrymakeitspecialformesomanytimes,everybodystartedgettingthem.Ican’tbelievehestillmakesthem.”
“Hedoes,andthey’refuckingdelicious,”Augustsays.“Definitelybroughtmebackfromthedeadmorethanonce,so,thankyou.”
“Noproblem,”SubwayGirlsays.She’sgotthisfar-offlookinhereyes,likereminiscingaboutcrankycustomerssendingbackshortstacksisthebestthingthat’shappenedtoherallweek.“God,Imissthatplace.”
“Yeah.Youevernoticethatit’skindof—”
“Magic,”SubwayGirlfinishes.“It’smagic.”
Augustbitesherlip.Shedoesn’tdomagic.Butthefirsttimetheymet,Augustthoughtshe’ddoanythingthisgirlsaid,andalarmingly,thatdoesn’tseemtobechanging.
“I’msurprisedtheyhaven’tfiredmeyet,”Augustsays.“Idumpedapieonafive-year-oldyesterday.WehadtogivehimafreeT-shirt.”
SubwayGirllaughs.“You’llgetthehangofit,”shesaysconfidently.“Smallfuckin’world,huh?”
“Yeah,”Augustagrees.“Smallfuckingworld.”
Theylingerthere,smilingandsmilingateachother,andSubwayGirladds,“Nicescarf,bytheway.”
Augustlooksdown—sheforgotshewaswearingit.Shescramblestotakeitoff,butthegirlholdsupahand.
“Itoldyoutokeepit.Besides”—shereachesintoherbagandproducesaplaidonewithtassels—“it’sbeenreplaced.”
Augustcanfeelherfaceglowingredtomatchthescarf,likeagiant,stammering,bisexualchameleon.Anevolutionarymistake.“I,yeah—thankyouagain,somuch.Iwanted—Imean,itwasmyfirstdayofclass,andIreallydidn’twanttowalkinlookinglike,likethat—”
“Imean,it’snotthatyoulookedbad,”SubwayGirlcounters,andAugustknowshercomplexionhastippedpastblushingandintoMemorialDaysunburn.“Youjust?…lookedlikeyouneededsomethingtogorightthatmorning.So.”Sheoffersamildsalute.
Theannouncercomesovertheintercom,moregarbledthanusual,butAugustcan’ttellifit’stheshittyMTAspeakersorbloodrushinginherears.SubwayGirlpointstotheboard.
“BrooklynCollege,right?”shesays.“AvenueH?”
Augustglancesup—Oh,she’sright.It’sherstop.
Sherealizesasshethrowsherbagoverhershoulder:shemightnevergetthisluckyagain.OvereightandahalfmillionpeopleinNewYorkandonlyoneSubwayGirl,lostaseasilyasshe’sfound.
“I’mworkingbreakfasttomorrow.AtBilly’s,”Augustblurts.“Ifyouwannastopby,Icansneakyouasandwich.Topayyouback.”
SubwayGirllooksatherwithanexpressionsostrangeandunreadablethatAugustwondershowshe’sscrewedthisupalready,butitclears,andshesays,“Oh,man.Iwouldlovethat.”
“Okay,”Augustsays,walkingbackwardtowardthedoor.“Okay.Great.Cool.Okay.”She’sgoingtostopsayingwordsatsomepoint.Shereallyis.
SubwayGirlwatcheshergo,hairfallingintohereyes,lookingamused.
“What’syourname?”sheasks.
Augusttripsoverthetrainthreshold,barelymissingthegap.Someonecollideswithhershoulder.Hername?Suddenlyshedoesn’tknow.Allshecanhearisthewhisperofherbraincellsflyingouttheemergencyexit.
“Uh,it’s—August.I’mAugust.”
SubwayGirl’ssmilesoftens,likesomehowshealreadyknew.
“August,”sherepeats.“I’mJane.”
“Jane.Hi,Jane.”
“Thescarflooksbetteronyouanyway.”Janewinks,andthedoorsshutinAugust’sface.
Janedoesn’tcometoBilly’s.
Augusthoversoutsidethekitchenallmorning,watchingthedoorandwaitingforJanetosweepthroughlikeBrendanFraserinTheMummy,rakishandwindsweptwithherperfectlyswoopyhair.Butshedoesn’t.
Ofcourseshedoesn’t.AugustrefillstheketchupbottlesandwonderswhatdemonjumpedupinsideherandmadeherinviteahotstrangertotolerateherterribleserviceonaSaturdaymorninginaplacewheresheusedtowork.Justwhateverypublictransitflirtationneeds:oldcoworkersandasweatyidiotdumpingsyruponthetable.Whatanextremelysexyproposition.Reallyoutheresmashingpussy,Landry.
“It’sfine,”Winfieldsaysoncehepriesthesourceofheranxiouspacingoutofher.He’sonlybarelypayingattention,scribblingonapieceofsheetmusictuckedintohisguestcheckpad.Hehasapenchantforhandingoutcardsforhisone-manpianoandsaxophonebandtocustomers.“Wegetaboutahundredhotlesbiansthroughhereaweek.You’llfindanotherone.”
“Yeah,it’sfine,”Augustagreestightly.It’sfine.It’snobigdeal.Onlycarryingonherproudfamilytraditionofdyingalone.
ButthenMondaycomes.
Mondaycomes,andsomehow,inaninsanecoincidenceNikowouldcallfate,Auguststepsontohertrain,andJaneisthere.
“CoffeeGirl,”Janesays.
“SubwayGirl,”Augustsaysback.
Janetipsherheadbackandlaughs,andAugustdoesn’tbelieveinmostthings,butit’shardtoarguethatJanewasn’tputontheQtofuckupherwholelife.
Augustseesheragainthatafternoon,ridinghome,andtheylaugh,andsherealizes—theyhavetheexactsamecommute.Ifshetimesitright,shecancatchatrainwithJaneeverysingleday.
Andso,inherfirstmonthintheapartmentonthecornerofFlatbushandParksideabovethePopeyes,AugustlearnsthattheQisatime,aplace,andaperson.
There’ssomethingabouthavingastopthat’sherswhenshespendsmostdaysslumpingthroughalongstreamofnothing.TherewasonceanAugustLandrywhowoulddissectthiscityintosomethingshecouldunderstand,who’dscrapeawayateveryscarythingpushingonherbedroomwallsandpickapartthestreetslikeveins.She’sbeentryingtoleavethatlifebehind.It’shardtofigureoutNewYorkwithoutit.
Butthere’satrainthatcomesbyaround8:05attheParksideAve.Station,andAugusthasneveroncemisseditsinceshedecideditwashers.Andit’salsoJane’s,andJaneisalwaysexactlyontime,soAugustistoo.
Andso,theQisatime.
MaybeAugusthasn’tfiguredouthowshefitsintoanyofthespacessheoccupieshereyet,buttheQiswhereshehunchesoverherbagtoeatasandwichstolenfromwork.It’swhereshecatchesuponTheAtlantic,asubscriptionshecanonlyaffordbecauseshestealssandwichesfromwork.Itsmellslikepenniesandsometimeshotgarbage,andit’salways,alwaysthereforher,evenwhenit’slate.
Andso,theQisaplace.
Itswaysdowntheline,anditticksdownthestops.Itrattlesandhums,anditbringsAugustwheresheneedstobe.Andsomehow,always,withoutfail,itbringshertoo.SubwayGirl.Jane.
Somaybe,sometimes,Augustdoesn’tgetonuntilshecatchesaglimpseofblackhairandblackerleatherthroughthewindow.Maybeit’snotjustacoincidence.
MondaythroughFriday,Janemakesfriendswitheverypersonwhopassesthrough.Augusthasseenherofferastickofgumtoarabbi.She’swatchedherkneelonthedirtyfloortosoftenupscrappyschoolgirlswithjokes.She’sheldherbreathwhileJanebrokeupafightwithafewquietwordsandasmile.Alwaysasmile.Alwaysonedimpletothesideofhermouth.Alwaystheleatherjacket,alwaysapairofbroken-inChuckTaylors,alwaysdark-hairedandruinousandthere,morningandafternoon,untilthesoundofherlowvoicebecomesanothercomfortingnoteinthewhitenoiseofhercommute.Augusthasstoppedwearingheadphones.Shewantstohear.
Sometimes,Augustistheoneshehandsastickofgumto.SometimesJanebreaksofffromwhicheverChineseuncleshe’scharmingtohelpAugustwithherarmloadoflibrarybooks.Augusthasneverhadthenervetoslideintotheseatnexttoher,butsometimesJanedropsdownatAugust’ssideandaskswhatshe’sreadingorwhatthegangisuptoatBilly’s.
“You—”Janesaysonemorning,blinkingwhenAuguststepsonthetrain.Shehasthisexpressionshedoesonoccasion,likeshe’stryingtofiguresomethingout.AugustthinkssheprobablylooksatJanethesameway,butitdefinitelydoesn’tcomeoffcoolandmysterious.“Yourlipstick.”
“What?”Shebrushesahandoverherlips.Shedoesn’tusuallywearit,butsomethinghadtocounterbalancethecirclesunderhereyesthismorning.“Isitonmyteeth?”
“No,it’sjust…”OnecornerofJane’smouthturnsup.“Veryred.”
“Um.”Shedoesn’tknowifthat’sgoodorbad.“Thanks?”
Janenevervolunteersanythingaboutherlife,soAugusthasstartedguessingattheblanks.ShepicturesbarefeetonhardwoodfloorsinaSoHoloft,sunglassesonthefrontstepsofabrownstone,aconfidentandquickorderatthedumplingcounter,acatthatcurlsupunderthebed.Shewondersaboutthetattoosandwhattheymean.There’ssomethingaboutJanethat’s?…unknowable.Ashiny,lockedfiledrawer,thekindAugustoncelearnedtocrack.Irresistible.
Janetalkstoeveryone,butshenevermissesAugust,alwaysafewslywordsoraquickjoke.AndAugustwondersifmaybe,somehow,JanethinksaboutitasmuchasAugust,ifshegetsoffatherstopanddreamsaboutwhatAugustisupto.
Somedays,whenshe’sworkinglonghoursorlockedupinherroomfortoolong,Janeistheonlypersonwho’skindtoherallday.
Andso,theQisaperson.
3
Location&Hours
MTALostandFound
34thSt.and8thAve.
ThisservicewasNOTabletolocatemylostitems!Ilostaveryexpensivehand-knittedredvicu?ascarfontheQtrainwhilevisitingafriendinthecity.Icalledthe511numberandtoldthemexactlywhereIlastsawthescarf,andtheytoldmetheydidn’thaveanyitemsmatchingitsdescriptionandwouldn’tevencheckthetrainsforit,evenAFTERItoldthemhowmuchthescarfwasworth!TheonlyhelpfulpersonIencounteredinthisEXTREMELYdisappointingexperiencewasafriendlypassengernamedJanewhohelpedmelookforthescarfonthetrain.Icanonlyassumeit’slostforever.
TheenvelopeiswaitingonthekitchencounterwhenAuguststepsinsideFridayafternoon,finallyfreefromclassandworkuntilSunday.Allshe’sthoughtaboutthewholewalkhomeismainliningYouTubeeyebrowtutorialsandpassingoutnexttoapersonalpizza.
“Yougotsomethinginthemailtoday,”MylasaysbeforeAugusthaseventakenoffhershoesinobservanceofMylaandNiko’sstrictNoShoesIndoorspolicy.
Myla’sheadpopsupfrombehindthepileofmousetrapsshe’sbeendisassemblingforthelastthreedays.Unclearifthisisforthesamesculptureasthefrogbones.HerartismaybebeyondAugust’sscopeofappreciation.
“Oh,thanks,”Augustsays.“Ithoughtyouhadwork?”
“Yeah,weclosedearly.”
By“we”shemeansRewind,thethriftstoreresponsibleforhershareoftherent.FromwhatAugusthasheard,it’sextremelymustyandextremelyexpensiveandhasthebestselectionofvintageelectronicsinBrooklyn.TheyletMylatakewhateverdoesn’tsellhomeforparts.There’shalfaNixon-eraTVnexttothemicrowave.
“Fuckadick,”Mylaswearsasoneofthetrapssnapsonherfinger.“Anyway,yeah,yougotsomehugeenvelope.Fromyourmom,Ithink?”
Shepointsatathickplasticmailernexttothetoaster.Returnaddress:SuzetteLandry,BelleChasse,LA.
Augustpicksitup,wonderingwhatthehellhermomcouldhavesentthistime.Lastweek,itwashalfadozenpecanpralinesandakeychainmace.
“Yeah,forasecond,IthoughtmymomsentsomestuffforLunarNewYear?”Mylagoeson.“ItoldyoumymomisChinese,right?Anyway,she’sanartteacherandthisyearshegotherkidstomakeLunarNewYearcards,andshewasgonnasendmeonewithsomefahsungtongfromthisplace—Whoa,what’sthat?”
It’snotpralines,orself-defenseparaphernalia,orafestivelittleLunarNewYeartreatmadebysecondgraders.Shedoesn’thavetoopenthemanilafoldertoknowit’sfullofarchivaldocuments,likethemillionsbackhomeinAugust’smother’sapartment,stuffedwithpublicrecordsandclassifiedadsandphonebookentries.There’sanotepaperclippedtothefront.
Iknowyou’rebusy,butIfoundthisfriendofAugie’swhomayhaveendedupinNewYork,heruntidyscrawlsays.Thoughtyoumightbeabletolookintoit.
“God,seriously?”Augustgrumblesatthefolder.Thetatterededgespeerbackatheraroundthesides,impartial.
“Uh-oh,”saysMyla.“Badnews?YoulooklikeWeswhenhisdadsentthethingaboutcuttingoffhistrustfund.”
Augustblinksdumblyather.“Weshasatrustfund?”
“Had,”Mylasays.“But,you…?”
“I’mfine,”Augustsays,tryingtoshrugheroff.“It’snothing.”
“Nooffense,butitdoesn’tlooklikenothing.”
“It’snot.Imean,itis.Nothing.”
“Areyousure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,”Mylasays.“Butifyouwanttotalk—”
“Fine,okay,it’smystupiddeaduncle.”Augustclampsahandoverhermouth.“Sorry,that—soundedfuckedup.Ijust,uh,it’skindofasoresubject.”
Myla’sfacehasgonefromcurioustogentleandconcerned,andit’salmostenoughtomakeAugustlaugh.Shehasnoidea.
“Ididn’trealize,August.I’msosorry.Wereyouclose?”
“No,I’mnot,like,sadaboutit,”Augusttellsher,andalookoffaintalarmcrossesMyla’sface.God,she’sbadatexplainingthis.That’swhyshenevertries.“Imean,itissad,buthedidn’tdie,like,recently.Inevermethim.Imean,Idon’teventechnicallyknowifhe’sdead?”
Mylasetsthemousetrapshe’sbeentoyingwithdown.“Okay…”
So,Augustguessesnowiswhenshefinallyfiguresouthowtotellsomeonewhatthefirsteighteenyearsofherlifewerelike.Thisiswherethewholecharmingsingle-mom-and-daughter,best-friends-forever,us-against-the-worldbitbreaksdown.It’sthethingthatstartedAugust’scynicism,andshedoesn’tliketoadmitit.
ButshelikesMyla.Mylaissurprisingandfunnyandgenerous,andAugustlikesherenoughtocarewhatshethinks.Enoughtowanttoexplainherself.
SoshegroansandopenshermouthandtellsMylathethingthat’sgovernedmostofherlife:“Mymom’solderbrotherwentmissingin1973,andshe’sspentalmostherwholelife—mywholelife—tryingtofindhim.”
Mylaleansheavilyagainsttherefrigerator,nudgingsomephotosoutofplace.“Holyshit.Okay.Andsoshesentyou—?”
“Afuckloadofinformationonsomerandompersonwhomighthaveknownhimandmighthavebeeninthisarea.Idon’tknow.ItoldherIdon’tdothisanymore.”
“‘Dothis’asin,”shesaysslowly,“lookforamissingfamilymember?”
Whenyouputitthatway,Augustguessesshedoessoundlikeadick.
Shedoesn’tknowhowtomakeanyoneunderstandwhatit’slike,howmuchshewashardwiredtodothis,tobethis.Shestillmemorizesfacesandshirtcolors,stillwantstocheckthedustoneverywindowsillforhandprints.Fiveyearsout,andherinstinctsstillpullherbacktothisbootlegVeronicaMarsact,andshehatesit.Shewantstobenormal.
“It’s—”Shetripsonherwordsandstartsover.“Okay,it’slike—onetime,whenIwasinsixthgrade,wehadourend-of-the-yearpartyataskatingrink.Mymomwassupposedtopickmeup,andsheforgot.Becauseshewasatalibrarytwoparishesoverlookinguppolicerecordsfrom1978.Isatonthecurbforhours,andnobodyofferedmearidehomebecauseCatholicschoolgirlsarereallyshittytothepoorlatchkeykidwithaweirdhoarderconspiracytheoristmom.SoIspentthefirstweekofsummervacationwiththeworstsunburnofmylifefromsittingintheparkinglotuntilseveno’clock.Andthatwasjust?…life.Allthetime.”
Augustputsthefilebackintheenvelope,shovingitontopofthefridgebetweenacaseofLaCroixandaCatanbox.
“Iusedtohelpher—takethebusbymyselftothecourthousetofilepublicrecordsrequests,doshadyshitforinformationafterschool.Itwasn’tlikeIhadfriendstohangoutwith.ButthenIrealizedwhyIdidn’thavefriends.ItoldherwhenIleftforcollegethatIwasout.Idon’twanttobeher.IhavetofigureoutwhatthehellI’msupposedtobedoingwithmylifeandnot,like,solvingcoldcasesthatcan’tbesolved.Andshecan’tacceptit.”
There’sanextremelylongpausebeforeMylasays,“Whoa,”and,“that’swhatitis.”
Augustfrowns.“That’swhatwhatis?”
“Yourdeal,”Mylasays,wavingherscrewdriver.“Like,what’sgoingonwithyou.I’vebeenwonderingsinceyoumovedin.You’re,like,areformedgirldetective.”
AmuscleinAugust’sjawtwitches.“That’s?…onewaytoputit.”
“You’relikethishotshotfilmnoirprivateeye,butyouretired,andshe’syouroldbosstryingtogetyoubackinthegame.”
“Ifeellikeyou’remissingthepoint.”
“Sorry,like,it’syourlifeandall,butdoyounothearhowbadassthatsounds?”
AnditisAugust’slife.ButMylaislookingatherlikeshedoesn’tcare—notinthewaypeoplehaveformostofAugust’slife—butlikehowshelooksatNikowhenherecitesNerudatohisplants,orWeswhenhestubbornlyspendshoursdisassemblingandrebuildingapieceofIkeafurnituresomeoneputtogetherwrong.Likeit’sanotherinconsequentialquirkofsomeonesheloves.
Thewholestorydoessoundkindofridiculous.OneofMyla’strapssnapsshutandflipsitselfoffthecounter,skiddingacrossthekitchenfloor.ItstopsatthetoeofAugust’ssock,andshehastolaugh.
“Anyway,”Mylasays,turningtoopenthefreezer.“Thatsucks.I’myourmomnow.Therulesare,noTarantinomoviesandbedtimeisnever.”
Shewrenchesatubofcottoncandyicecreamfromoneoftheoverstuffedshelvesandplunksitonthecounterbythesink,thenopensadrawerandthrowsdowntwospoons.
“Youwannahearaboutmymom’ssecondgraders?”shesays.“They’renightmares.Shehadtogetoneofftherooftheotherday.”
Augustpicksupaspoonandfollowsherlead.
Theicecreamisaradioactiveshadeofblueandhorriblysugary,andAugustlovesit.Mylatalksandtalksaboutheradoptivemom,aboutherclumsybutwell-intentionedattemptsatcookingwaakyeforMylagrowingupsoshecouldfeelconnectedtoherbirthheritage,aboutherdad’swoodworkingprojects(he’smakingaguitar)andherbrotherbackinHoboken(he’smakinghiswaythroughresidency)andhowtheirmainfamilybondingactivityismarathoningoldepisodesofStarTrek.Augustfindsitsoothingtoletitwashoverher.Afamily.Itsoundsnice.
“So?…allthesemousetraps…”Augustnudgestheoneonthefloorwithherfoot.“Whatexactlyareyoumaking?”
Mylahumsthoughtfully.“Theshortanswer?Noidea.Itwasthesamewiththefrogbones,dude.Ikeeptryingtofigureoutwhatthepieceisforme,youknow?Thepoint-of-viewpiece.ThethingthatsumsupeverythingI’mtryingtosayasanartist.”
AugustglancesacrosstheroomatmarshmallowJudy.
“Yeah,”Mylasays.“Ihavenoideawhatthepointofviewofthatthingis.”
“Um,”Augustattempts.“It’s,uh.Acommentaryon?…refinedsugarsandaddiction.”
Mylawhistlesthroughherteeth.“Agenerousinterpretation.”
“I’mascholar.”
“You’reabullshitter.”
“That’s?…true.”
“Here,”shesays,“I’llshowyouwhatI’mworkingon.”
Sheturnsonherheel,hairswishingafterherlikethecartoonsmokeofafastgetaway.
MylaandNiko’sroomislikeAugust’s—longandnarrow,asinglewindowattheend.Likeher,theyhaven’tbotheredwithabedframe,onlyadouble-sizedpalletonthefloorbeneaththewindow,amessoflinensandshabbythrowpillowsshotthroughwithlateafternoonsunlight.
Mylabellyflopsontoitandreachesforacrateoverflowingwithrecords.Asshedigsaround,Augustwafflesatthedoor,eyeingthedeskcoveredinpainttubesandepoxycans,theroundtableloadedwithcrystalsanddrippingcandles.
“Oh,youcancomein,”Mylasaysoverhershoulder.“Sorryit’ssuchamess.”
Itis,admittedly,amess,andthecluttermakesAugust’sskinprickwithmemoriesofmagazinestacksandfileboxes.ButthewallsarecoveredonlysparinglywithsketchesandPolaroids,andAugustonlyhastosteparoundoneabandonedsweaterandatinofcharcoalstogetthroughthedoor.
Onadropclothinthecenterofthefloor,there’sasculptureslowlycomingtogether.Itlooksalmostlikethebottomhalfofaperson,nearlylife-sized,andmadeupofcrushedglassandcomputerpartsandamillionotherfragments.Wiresoverflowbetweenthecrackslikevineseatingitfromtheinside.
“Ihaveabsolutelynoideawhatthisisgoingtobe,”MylasaysasAugustcirclesitslowly.Upclose,shecanseethebitsofembeddedbone,paintedgold.“I’mtryingtowireittomoveandlightup,but,like,whatdoesitmean?FuckifIknow.”
“Thedetailisincredible,”Augustsays.Thiscloseshecanseeallitstinyparts,butfromacrosstheroom,itlookedlikeanelaborate,shimmeringworkofdelicatebeading.“It’smorethanthesumofitsparts.”
Mylasquintsatit.“Iguessso.Youwannalistentosomething?”
Mostofherrecordslooksecondhandandwell-lovedwithnodiscernibleorganization.It’salevelofcomfortablechaosthathasMylawrittenalloverit.
“Thecollection,”shesays,“usedtobelongtomyparents—theyKonMari’dalltheirvinylafewyearsago,butIsavedthem.”
“Ihave,like,themostboringtasteinmusic,”Augusttellsher.“AllIlistentoarepodcastsaboutmurder.Idon’tknowwhohalfthesepeopleare.”
“Wecanchangethat,”Mylasays.“What’reyouinthemoodfor?Funk?Punk?Post-punk?Poppunk?Pop?Old-schoolpop?New-schoolpop?New-schoolold-school—”
Augustthinksaboutyesterday,aboutJaneslidingintothesubwayseatnexttoher,talkingbreathlesslyabouttheClashandholdingoutherheadphones.She’dseemedsodisappointedwhenAugustawkwardlyconfessedshedidn’tknowtheband.
“Doyouhaveany’70spunk?”
“Ooh,yes,”Mylasays.Shewhipsarecordoutandrollsontoherbacklikealizardsunningitself.“Thisisaneasyone.Youprobablyalreadyknowit.”
Sheflashesthecover,blackandcoveredinjagged,thinwhitelines.AugustthinkssherecognizesitfromaT-shirtbutcan’tplaceit.
“Comeon,”Mylasays.“JoyDivision?Everyonewho’severbeenwithinsniffingdistanceofaclovecigaretteknowsJoyDivision.”
“Itoldyou,”Augustsays.“You’regonnahavetoremediateme.”
“Okay,well.”Mylasetstherecordontheturntableinthecorner.“We’llstarthere.Comeon.”Shefluffsapillowbesideher.
Auguststares.She’sadjustingtohavingfriendslikeWinfieldadjuststodayswhenhehastopickupabreakfastshift:crankyandbewildered.Butshesinksdownontothebedanyway.
Theystaythereforhours,flippingtherecordoverandoverasMylaexplainshowJoyDivisionistechnicallynotpunkbutpost-punk,andwhatthedifferencebetweenthetwois,andhowit’spossiblefortheretohavebeenpost-punkinthe’70swhentherewasalsopunkinthe’80sand’90s.MylapullsuptheWikipediapageonherphoneandstartsreadingitoutloud,whichisnewtoAugust:someoneelsedoingtheresearchforher.
Shelistenstothebasslinesspillingoveroneanother,anditstartstomakesense.Themusic,andwhyitmightmeansomuchtosomeone.
ShecanpictureJanesomewhereinthecity,kickedbackinherbed,listeningtothistoo.Maybesheputson“She’sLostControl”whileshedriftsaroundthekitchenmakingdinner,doingtheeasywaltzofroutine,touchingpansandknivesshe’smovedfromoneapartmenttoanother,awholelifefullofthings.Augustbetsshehaswaymorethanfiveboxes.She’sprobablyfullyrealized.She’sprobablygotadaisychainofpastloves,andkissesaren’tabigdealtoheranymorebecauseshe’sgotsocksfromanoldgirlfriendmixedupinherlaundryandanotherone’searringlostbeneathherdresser.
CrazyhowAugustcanimagineawholelifeforthisgirlshedoesn’tevenknow,butshecan’tbegintopicturewhatherownissupposedtolooklike.
Atsomepoint,Mylarollsoverandlooksatherasthemusicplayson.
“We’llfigureitout,right?”shesays.
Augustsnorts.“Whyareyouaskingme?”
“Becauseyouhave,like,theenergyofsomeonewhoknowsthings.”
“You’rethinkingofyourboyfriend.”
“Nah,”shesays.“Youknowstuff.”
“Idon’tevenknowhowto,like,makehumanconnections.”
“That’snottrue.NikoandIloveyou.”
Augustblinksupattheceiling,tryingtoabsorbherwords.“That’s—that’sniceandall,butyoutwoare?…youknow.Different.”
“Differenthow?”
“Like,you’rebothyourownplanets.Youhavegravitationalfields.Youpullpeopleintothemandthat’sit.It’s,like,inevitable.I’mnothalfaswarmorhospitable.Nosupportforlife.”
Mylagroans.“Jesus,Ididn’tknowyoucouldbesofuckingdire.”AugustscowlsandMylalaughs.“Doyoueverhearyourselftalk,though?You’recool.You’resmart.MaybepeopleatyourstupidCatholicschoolwerejustdicks,man.You’vegotabrighterglowthanyourealize.”
“I—Imean,Iguess.That’sniceofyoutosay.”
“It’snotnice,it’strue.”
They’rebothquiet,therecordspinningon.
“Youdotoo,”Augustsaystotheceilingatlast.It’shardforhertosaystufflikethisstraight-on.“Glow.”
“Oh,Iknow.”
Classesexitthedropperiod,andit’sAugustandherpacksofscantronsandlectureafterlecturefivedaysaweek.Thislandsherwiththelatestshifts,andshefindsherselfaudiencetotheweirdestcharactersandmostbizarreeventsthatdescenduponBilly’sunderthecloakofnight.
Herfirstweek,shespenttwentyminutesexplainingtoadrunkmanwhyhecouldn’torderabratwurstand,failingthat,whyhecouldn’tdopelvicfloorexercisesontopofthebar.PartofbeingaBrooklyninstitution,Augusthaslearned,iscollectingalltheNewYorkstrangenessattheendofthenightlikeapoolfilterfullofjunebugs.
Tonight,it’satableofmeninleatherdustersloudlydiscussingthesocialscandalsofthelocalvampirefetishcommunity.TheysentbacktheirfirstorderofpancakeswithademandformorechocolatechipsanddidnottakekindlytotheCountChoculajokeAugustattempted.They’renotleavingatip.
Atthebar,there’sadragqueenfreshfromagig,sippingamilkshake,allskintightcatsuitandheels,herpress-onnailsarrangedintwoneatrowsoffiveonthecounter.ShewatchesAugustattheregister,smoothingtheendsofherpinklacefront.There’ssomethingfamiliaraboutherthatAugustcan’tseemtopindown.
“CanIgetyouanythingelse?”Augustasks.
Thequeenlaughs.“AfrontallobotomytoforgetthenightIhad?”
Augustcringes,commiserative.“Roughone?”
“Walkedinononeofthegirlsexperiencingtheverygraphicaftermathofavegantunameltinthedressingroom.That’swhyI’m—”Shegestureswidelytoherself.“UsuallyIde-dragbeforeItakethesubway,butitwasfuckedupinthere.”
“Yikes,”Augustsays.“IthoughtIhaditbadwiththeLostBoysoverthere.”
Thequeenglancesattheleather-claddisciplesofdarkness,whoarepatientlypassingaroundthebutterpecansyrupfromoneglovedhandtothenext.“NeverthoughtI’dseeavampireIabsolutelydidn’twanttofuck.”
Augustlaughsandleansintothebar.Thisclose,shecancatchthesticky-sweetsmellofhairsprayandbodyglitter.ItsmellslikeMardiGras—amazing.
“Holdup,Iknowyou,”thequeensays.“YouliveabovethePopeyes,right?ParksideandFlatbush?”
Augustblinks,observingthewayhergoldhighlightgleamsontopofherdarkbrowncheekbone.“Yeah?”
“I’veseenyouaroundacoupleoftimes.Ilivetheretoo.Sixthfloor.”
“Oh,”Augustsays.“Oh!Youmustbethedragqueenwholivesacrossthehall!”
“I’manaccountant,”shedeadpans.“Nah,I’mplayingwithyou.Imean,thatismydayjob.Butyeah,that’sme,Annie.”
Shemakesanexpansivegesturetomimicamarquee,milkshakeinonehand.
“AnnieDepressant.PrideofBrooklyn.”Shethinksaboutitforasecond.“OratleastFlatbush.NortheastFlatbush.Kindof.”Sheshrugsandreturnsthestrawtohermouth.“Anyway,I’mveryprolific.”
“I’mAugust,”Augustsays,pointingtohernametag.“I’m,uh,notfamous,byFlatbushstandards,oranyatall.”
“That’scool,”Anniesays.“Welcometothebuilding.AmenitiesincludeluxuriousWorldWarII–eraplumbingandavegetariandragqueenwhocandoyourtaxes.”
“Thanks,”Augustsays.Herbuildingmusthavethehighestconcentrationofaggressivelyfriendlypeoplepersquarefootintheentirecity.“Yeah,Ikindof?…likeit?”
“Oh,it’sthebest,”Anniesaysreadily.“Youmovedinacrossthehall?SoyoulivewithWes?”
“Yeah,youknowhim?”
Annietakesanoisyslurpfromhershakeandsays,“I’vebeeninlovewithWesfor,like,fivehundredyears.”
Augustnearlydropstheragshe’sbeenusingtowipedownthebar.“What?Arey’all?…athing?”
“Oh,no,”Anniesays.“I’mjustinlovewithhim.”
Augustopensandcloseshermouthacoupleoftimes.“Doesheknow?”
“Oh,yeah,I’vetoldhim,”Anniesayswithadismissivewaveofherhand.“We’vekissed,like,threetimes,buthehasthatthingwherehe’sterrifiedofbeinglovedandrefusestobelievehedeservesit.It’ssotedious.”SheseesthelookonAugust’sfaceandlaughs.“I’mjoking.Imean,thatishisdeal.ButI’veneverfoundthatboytedious.”
Annie’ssigningherbillwhensheclocksout,andAugustfindsherselfwalkingbacktotheirbuildingwithadragqueentoweringafootoverher,theclackingofhersix-inchplatformscuttingthesoftthumpsofAugust’ssneakers.
IntheorangeglowofthePopeyes,Augustreachestounlockthedoortotheshabbylittleentranceoftheirbuilding,butAnnieheadsforthePopeyes.
“Areyouactuallytakingthestairs?”Annieasksher.
“Areyou?…not?”
Annielaughsandheadsinside,andAugust’scuriositywinsout.Shefollows.Theguyattheregistertakesafurtivelookaroundbeforeslidingintothehallwaythatleadstothebathrooms,whereheunlocksadoormarkedEMPLOYEESONLY
Anniegiveshimakissonthecheekasshepasses,andAugustwavesawkwardly,buoyedalongbythecurrentofAnnie’senergy.Theytakealeftandthere,behindPopeyesboxesandjugsofsoybeanoil,issomethingAugustneverimaginedshe’dfindinthiswonderfulshitholeofabuilding:anelevator.
“Serviceelevator,”Annieexplainsasshejamsthebuttonwithherthumb.“Nobodyusesitanymore,butthebustedoldbitchworks.”
Ontherideup,Augustuntiesherapron,andAnniestartspullingoffallsixpairsofherfalseeyelashes,depositingtheminaretainercasealongsidehernails.She’sgotaconfidentmeticulousnesstoherchaos,aperfectlycontainedpartywithchampagne.Augustcanpicturehersittinginherapartmentinthemiddleofthenight,allthespareshittybedroomsanaccountant’ssalarycanbuy,hummingalongtoPattiLaBelleasshediligentlyreturnseachnailandlashtotheirplacesinhervanity.
Theelevatordingssixfloorsup,andthedoorsslideopen.
“EverybodysaysNewYorkersaresounfriendly,butyoujusthavetoknowhowtowinthemover,”Anniesaysasshestepsout.She’sholdingherheels,leadingthewaydownthehallonfishnet-coveredfeet,yetsheseemslikeshecouldgoallnight.“Meandthatguygowayback,eversinceIbrokeupafightbetweensomedrunkassholesoverachickentendermeal.”
“Overchickenthatdoesn’tevenhavethebones?”
Anniehumsinagreement.“Right?Ihaven’teveneatenmeatinnineyears,butfuck.”
Theyreachtheirdoors—August’s,6F,Annie’s,6E.
“Cometoashowsometime,”Anniesays.“AndifyouseemearoundandI’maboy,youcancallmeIsaiah.”
“Isaiah.Okay.”Augustreachesintoherpurseandfishesherkeysout.“Thankyoufortheelevatorthing.”
“It’sallgood,”Anniesays.Inthesoftlightofthehallway,Augustseesthewayherfacetransforms,AnnieandIsaiahblurringtogether.“TellWeshiforme.Andthathestillowesmeasliceofpizzaandthirtybucks.”
Augustnods,andthen.Well.She’snotsurewhatmakesherask.Maybeit’sthatshe’sstartingtofeellikeanextrainanextremelylow-budgetLoveActually,surroundedbypeoplelovingandbeinglovedinalltheirmessy,unpredictableways,andshedoesn’ttrustorunderstandit.Ormaybeit’sthatshewantsto.
“Doesitever,like?…Idon’tknow.Makeyoulonely?Tolovesomebodywhocan’tmeetyouthere?”
Sheregretsitimmediately,butAnnielaughs.
“Sometimes.But,youknow,thatfeeling?Whenyouwakeupinthemorningandyouhavesomebodytothinkabout?Somewhereforhopetogo?It’sgood.Evenwhenit’sbad,it’sgood.”
AndAugust—well,Augustfindsherselfwithoutasingledamnthingtosaytothat.
TherearetwothingscoiledinAugust’schestthesedays.
Thefirstisherusual:anxietymeetsfull-ondread.Thepartofherthatsays,trustnobody,evenandespeciallyanyonethatpushessoftlyintothechambersofyourheart.Donotengage.Carryaknife.Don’tstabthem,butalso,maybestabthemifyouhaveto.
Theother,though,istheonethatreallyfreaksherout.
It’shope.
AugustfinishedherfinalsemesteratUofMlastfallinahazeoffinalexamsandhalf-packedcardboardboxes.HerCraigslistroommatewasalwaysatherboyfriend’s,soAugustspentmostdaysalone,tocampusandbackinhershittysecondhandCorolla,rollingpastCatfishCabinandpeoplespillingoutofjukejoints,wonderingwhateveryoneelsegotthatshedidn’t.Memphiswaswarm,itshumidafternoonsandthewayitspeopletreatedoneanother.ExceptAugust.Fortwoyears,AugustwasacactusinafieldofTennesseeirises.
She’dmovedtogetsomespace—somehealthyspace—fromhermomandthecaseandalltheNewOrleansghostsshedoesn’tbelievein.ButMemphiswasn’therplaceeither,soshefiledthetransferpapers.
ShepickedNewYorkbecauseshethoughtitwouldbeeverybitascynicalasher,justascomfortablekillingtime.Shethought,honestly,she’dfinallylandsomewherethatfeltlikeher.
Anditdoes,alotofthetime.Thegraystreets,peoplewiththeirshouldersbracedagainsttheweightofanotherday,allsharpelbowsandtiredeyes.Augustcangetintothat.
But,dangerously,therearepeoplelikeNikoandMylaandWes,andlikeLucieandWinfieldandJerry.There’sakindnessshedoesn’tunderstandandevidenceofthingssheconvincedherselfweren’treal.Andworstofall,forthefirsttimesinceshewasakid,shewantstotrustinsomething.
And,there’sJane.
Hermomcantellsomething’sup.
“Yousoundalldreamy,”shesaysononeoftheirnightlycalls.
“Um,yeah,”Auguststammers.“Justthinkingaboutapizza.”
Hermomhumsapprovingly.“You’rereallymykid,huh?”
Augusthashadcrushesbefore.Girlswhosattwoseatsoverinfreshmangeometry,boyswhotouchedthebackofherhandathazyUNOparties,peoplewhopassedthroughherclassesandpart-timejobs.Theoldershe’sgotten,themoresheprefersthinkingofloveasahobbyforotherpeople,likerockclimbingorknitting.Fine,enviableeven,butshedoesn’tfeellikeinvestingintheequipment.
ButJaneisdifferent.
Agirlwhogetsonthetrainatsomeblurrypointandoffatanunknowndestination,whototesaroundabackpackfullofusefulitemslikeacheerfulvideogameprotagonist,whosenosescruncheshardwhenshelaughs,like,reallylaughs.She’sabeamofwarmthoncoldmornings,andAugustwantstocurlupinherthewayNoodlescurlsupinpatchesofsunlightthathaunttheapartment.
It’sliketouchingahotstoveandlayingherhandontheburnerinsteadoficingit.It’sinsane.It’sirrational.It’stheantithesisofeverywary,thousand-yarddistanceshe’severkept.Augustbelievesinnothingexceptcautionandapocketknife.
ButJane’sthere,onthetrainandinherhead,pacingthefloorboardsofAugust’sroominherredsneakers,recitingAnnie’swordsbacktoher,Evenwhenit’sbad,it’sgood.
AndAugusthastoadmit,it’sgood.
Wednesdaymorning,shestepsontothetrainwithdangerousoptimism.
It’saprettytypicalcrowd—ahalf-dozenteenageboyshuddledaroundsomeone’sphone,aprofessional-lookingcoupletotingbriefcases,anenormouslypregnantwomanandherdaughterhunchedoverapicturebook,touristsburiedinGoogleMaps.
AndJane.
Jane’sleaningagainstapole,leatherjacketshruggeddowntoherelbowsandbackpackslouchingoffoneshoulder,headphoneson,blackhairfallinginhereyesasshenodstothebeat.Andit’sjust?…hope.Augustlooksather,andhopebloomslikecrepemyrtleblossomsbetweenherribs.Likefuckingflowers.Howabsolutelymortifying.
Janelooksupandsays,“Hey,CoffeeGirl.”
“Hey,SubwayGirl,”Augustsays,grabbingthepoleandpullingherselfuptoallherfivefeetfourinches.Jane’sstilltaller.“Listeningtoanythinggood?”
Shepushesoneheadphoneback.“NewYorkDolls.”
Augusthuffsoutalaugh.“Doyoueverlistentoanythingreleasedlaterthan’75?”
Janelaughstoo,andthereitgoesagain,desperateandcloyinghopeinAugust’schest.It’sgross.It’snew.Augustwantstostudyitunderamicroscopeandalsoneverthinkaboutitfortherestofheridiotlife.
“WhywouldI?”Janeasks.
“Well,you’remissingoutonJoyDivision,”Augustsays,referringtothetalkingpointsshemayormaynothavewrittendownafterMyla’spunklesson.“ThoughtheydoowealottotheClash.”
Shequirksaneyebrow.“JoyDivision?”
“Yeah,Iknowthey’retechnicallypost-punkandall,but.Youknow.”
“Idon’tthinkI’veheardofthem.Aretheynew?”
Jane’sfuckingwithher.Augustputsonhersarcasticvoiceandtriestobesmooth.“Yeah,brand-new.I’llmakeyouamixtape.”
“Maybe,”Janesays.“Ormaybeifyou’renice,I’llletyougothroughmycollection.”
Thelightshiftsastheypassintoatunnel,andthere’sajerkinthetrain’smomentum.August,whohasbeensubconsciouslyleaningintoJane’sspacelikeoneofNiko’smostdesperatehouseplantsreachingforthesun,losesherbalanceandstumblesrightintoherchest.
Janecatcheshereasily,onehandonAugust’sshoulder,theotheratherwaist,andAugustcan’tstopthegaspthatescapesathertouch.It’slostinthegrindofthetrainagainstthetrackswhenitshudderstoahalt.
Thelightsblackout.
There’salowmurmur,afewswearsfromthegroupofboys.
“Shit,”Augustsaysintothedarkness.ShecanfeelthepalmofJane’shandburningintoherwaist.
“Staystill,”Janesays,andshe’ssoclosethatAugustcanfeelherbreathrufflingherhairinthedark.Shesmellslikeleatherandsugar.HerhandslidesfromAugust’swaisttothesmallofherback,sturdy,holdingherinplace.“Igotyou.”
Physically,Augustdoesn’treact,butspiritually,she’sfullyonfire.
“Theemergencylightsaregonnacomeon…”Janesaysconfidently.“Now.”
Theemergencylightsflickon,washingthewholecarinsicklyyellowlight,andAugustblinksatJanesuddenlyrightthere,abreath’sspacebetweentheirfaces.ShecanfeelthesoftjutsofJane’shipbonesagainsther,seethebuzzedhairsonthenapeofherneckandthesoftamusementtuggingatonesideofhermouth.
Augusthasneverwantedtobekissedsobadlyinherlife.
Agarbledvoicecracklesovertheintercomforthirtyindecipherableseconds.
“Anybodycatchthat?”saystheguyinthebusinesssuit.
“We’redelayedonaccountofelectricalproblems,”Janesays.HerhandisstillsettledonthesmallofAugust’sback.“Indefinitely.”
Acollectivegroangoesup.Janeoffersacommiserativesmile.
“YouspeakMTA?”Augustsays.
“I’vebeentakingthistrainforalong-asstime,”Janesays.Sheremovesherhandandstridestoanemptyseat,slumpingintoit.ShelooksatAugustandnodsnexttoher.“Mightaswellmakeyourselfcomfortable.”
So,theretheyare.Thetwoofthemandatrainfullofstrangers,trapped.
Augustshufflesoverandtakesherspot,andJanesmoothlystretchesanarmacrossthebackoftheseat,behindhershoulders.Shehasthiswayofmovingthroughtheworldlikesheownseveryplaceshewalksinto,likeshe’sneveroncebeentoldshecan’tdosomething.Shecarriesitwell,becausesheprobablyhasbeentoldwhatshecan’tdo—plentyoftimes—anddoesn’tcare.
Asidewaysglance:Janeinprofile,chintilteduptotheemergencylights.Hernoseisroundedatthetip,kissable.Augustcannotkeepthinkingaboutkissingifshewantstomakeitoutofthisalive.
“So,you’venevermentionedwhereyou’refrom,”Janesaystowardtheceiling.She’sstillgotherheadback,likeshe’ssunbathinginthedark.
“NewOrleans,originally,”Augusttellsher.“Well,rightoutsideit.Whataboutyou?”
“NewOrleans,huh?”shesays.Shelowershereyesfinally,andwhenshecutsthemover,Augustforgetssheeveraskedaquestion.Orwhatquestionsare.Ortheentireprocessofspeech.“Whatbroughtyouhere?”
“Um,school,”Augustsays.Thelightingisalreadyunflattering,soitcan’tbehelpingtheshadeofredsheturnswhenconfrontedwithsignificanteyecontactfrombutchgirlsinleatherjackets.“Itransferred.I’vetriedafewschoolsindifferentcities,butI’veneverreallyfalleninlovewithanyofthem.”
“You’rehopingyoufallinlovehere?”
“Um—”
“Hey,maybeyouwill,”Janesays,andshehonest-to-Godwinks.Augustisgoingtotakeoutafull-pageadintheTimestoscreamaboutit.Thecityneedstoknow.
“Maybeso.”
Janelaughs.“How’sBilly’s?”
“It’sallright.I’mstartingtogetthehangofit.Ikindofscammedthemonmyreferences,soIhadtofakeituntilIfiguredoutwhatIwasdoing.”
Sheraiseshereyebrows.“Ihadn’tpeggedyouforascammer.”
“Well,”Augustsays.“Maybeyou’reunderestimatingme.”
Itsurprisesalaughoutofher,agoodlaugh,deepinherchest.
Janenudgeshershoulderandleansin,closeenoughthatthecreasesofherleathersleevebrushAugust’sarm.“So,whatdoyouthink’stheirstory?”
Shejerksherchintowardtheprofessional-lookingpairafewseatsdown.He’sinarazor-sharpsuitandshe’sinadeepbluedress,herheelspracticalandpointedatthetoe,andhe’slaughingatwhateverstoryshe’stellinghim
“Thosetwo?”Augustexaminesthem.“Well,I’veneverseenthembefore,somaybetheydon’tusuallytakeourtrain.They’rebothwearingweddingbands,andshe’sgottheirbagsunderherfeet,soI’mguessingthey’remarried.Theycommutetogether,somaybetheyworkatthesameplace.Maybetheymetthere.”Shesquintsthroughthelowlight.“Oh,thecuffsofhisshirtsleevesaredamp—someoneforgottoputthelaundryinthedryerlastnight.That’swhythey’renotontheirusualtrain;they’rerunninglate.”
Janeletsoutalowwhistle.
“Damn.Thatwas?…detailed.”
Augustcringes.Shedidthething—thestupiddetectivething—withoutevenrealizing.
“Sorry,badhabit.IgrewupontruecrimesoI,like?…noticestuff.”Shetwistsherhandsinherlap.“Iknow,it’screepy.”
“Ithinkit’scool,”Janesays.Augustturnstocheckherexpression,butshe’swatchingthecouple.“IwasimaginingthemasSovietspiesindeepcover.”
Augustbitestheinsideofhercheek.“Oh.Yeah,okay,Icanseethat.”
“Okay,NancyDrew.Whataboutthatkidoverthere?Theoneintheredjacket.”
AndAugust,whowasprettyconvincedthiswasthemostunattractivesideofher,sitsbackandletsJanehaveit.
“Tallerthanhisfriends,morefacialhair.Hadtorepeatagrade,butitmadeeveryonethinkhe’scoolerbecausehe’solder—lookhowthey’reallfacinghim,he’sthegravitationalcenterofthegroup.”
“Interesting.Ithinkhe’sSpider-Man.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,he’sgotthebuildforit.”
Augustsnorts.“Hedoeslookaerodynamic.”
Janelaughs,whichisrocketingstraightupAugust’slistoffavoritesoundsintheuniverse.She’sgonnatrapitinashelllikeaseawitch.It’sfine.
“Okay,”Augustsays.“Thepregnantlady.What’sherstory?”
“Notpregnant.Smugglingabigbagofpierogies.”
“Aboldsuggestion.”
“Yep.SheremindsmeofthisPolishladyinmybuildingwhomakestheworstpierogiesever.”Augustlaughs,andJanepullsafacelikeshe’stastingthemalloveragain.“Imeanit!Ohman,they’resobad!Butshe’snicesoIeatthemanyway.”
“Well,Ithinkshe’saseamstress.”
“Howcouldyoupossiblyknowthat?”
“Magnifyingglassesstickingoutofherpurse,”Augustpointsout.“Waytooyoungtoneedthoseunlessshedoesfinedetailwork.Andlook,thebottomofherrightshoeismorewornoffthantheleft.Sewingmachinepedal.”
“Holyshit,”Janesays,soundinggenuinelyimpressed.“Okay.Aseamstressandapierogismuggler.”
“Everywomanauniverse.”
Shehumsunderherbreath,lettingacomfortablelullswellbetweenthem,untilsheturnstoAugustandsays,“Whataboutme?”
Augustblinksather.“Whataboutyou?”
“Comeon,what’syourguess?Ifyouhaveoneforthem,youmusthaveoneforme.”
AndofcourseAugusthasamentalfileonher.AugusthasspentweekstickingoffalistofcluesaboutJane,tryingtoparsethebuttonsonherjacketandthepatchesonherbackpacktofigureouthowshe’dkissAugustifshegotheralone.ButJanedoesn’tneedtoknowthatpart.
“Um,”Augustsays.“You—youhaveasuperregularcommute—everymorning,everyafternoon,butyou’renotastudent,becauseyoudon’tgetoffwithmeattheBCstop.Almostthesameoutfiteveryday,soyouknowexactlywhoyouareandwhatyou’reabout,andyoudon’tworkanywhereformal.Pastofworkinginfoodservice.Andeveryoneyoumeetseemstoloveyou,so—um,so.Youworkthebreakfast-to-lunchshiftatarestaurantoffthisline,andyou’regoodatit.Youmakegoodtipsbecausepeoplelikeyou.Andyou’reprobablyonlydoingittofundsomekindofpassionproject,whichiswhatyoureallywanttodo.”
Janelooksatherlikeshe’sassessingeverythingaboutAugusttoo.Augustcan’ttellifthat’sgoodorbad.ShejustknowsJane’scheekboneslookreallynicefromthisangle.
“Hm.That’sagoodguess.”
Augustraiseshereyebrows.“Close?”
“Yougotthejobpartwrong.”
“Thenwhatdoyoudo?”
Shesucksherteeth,shakingherhead.“Uh-uh.Where’sthefuninthat?Yougottaguess.”
“That’snotfair!You’rebeingmysteriousonpurpose.”
“I’mmysteriousbynature,August.”
Augustrollshereyes.“Fuckoff.”
“It’sthetruth!”Shechuckles,nudgingherelbowintoAugust’sside.“Yougottaputinalittlemoreworktocrackthisegg,baby.”
Baby.It’sjustthewayJanetalks—sheprobablycallseveryonebaby—butitstillgoesdownlikesweettea
“Fine,”Augustsays.“Givemesomemoreclues.”
Janethinks,andsays,“Allright,how’boutthis?”
Shescootsdownoneseat,unzipsherbackpack,andupendsitinthespacebetweenthem.
Ontopofherscarfandcassetteplayerandorangeheadphonesareadozencassettetapes,apaperbackwiththecovertornoff,andabatteredhardback.Twopacksofgum,onealmostempty,fromabrandAugustdoesn’trecognize.AfewBand-Aids,aSwissarmyknife,aGREETINGSFROMCALIFORNIApostcard,ajarofTigerBalm,asetofkeys,alighter,atubeofLipSmackerschapstickAugusthasn’tseensinceshewasakid,threenotebooks,fivepencils,asharpener.Shemustkeepherphoneinherjacket,becauseit’snotinthemix.
“They’rekindofjustwhateverI’vefound,”JanesaysasAuguststartspickingthroughthecassettes.“Theycanbehardtocomeacross,soItakewhatIcanget,mostly.SometimesifIsweet-talksomeonewhohasalot,IgetluckyandfindsomethingIwant.”
They’refromdifferenteras—firsteditionsfromthe’70s,amixedbagof’80sand’90s.There’saDianaRoss,aMichaelBolton,aJacksonFive,aNewYorkDolls.Eachonewell-loved,keptsafefromscuffsandcracks.Itlookslikeshetreatsthemlikethemostvaluablethingssheowns.Sincemosthavetobeoutofproduction,Augustimaginesthatmightbetrue.
“Whycassettes?”
Janeshrugs.“It’slikevinyl,butportable.”
Augustpicksuptheboxyplayer,turningitinherhands.“Ihaven’tseenoneoftheseinforever.Where’dyouevengetit?”
IttakesJaneasecondtoanswer,carefullyreelinginacassette’stapewithherfingertip.“Idon’tremember.Betweenyouandme,Ihavenoideahowthisthingworks.”
“Meneither,”Augustsays.“Itlooksancient.”
“Thisone,”Janesays,pullingacassettefromthebottomofthepile,“isoneofmyfavorites.”
Itscaseisaphotowashedoutinblue,thewordsRAISINGHELLinlimegreenletters.
“Run-DMC.Youknow’em?”
“Yeah,”Augustsays.“‘It’sTricky,’right?”
Janetakestheplayerandpopsopenthecompartment.“Youknow?…IhavethistheorythatRun-DMCcanstartapartyanywhere.”
Shesnapsthetapeintoplaceandunplugsherheadphones.August’sstomachdrops.
“OhGod,you’renot—”
“Oh,butIam,”shesays,risingtoherfeet.“Don’tyouthinkthesenicestrandedcommutersdeservesomeentertainment?”
“Ohno,nonono,pleasedon’t—”
“Watchthis,”shesays,andtoAugust’sextremedistress,startstoundoherbelt.August’sbraincuesupaMagicMikenumbersettoRun-DMCinterrifyinganderoticdetail,beforeJanethreadsherbeltthroughthehandleoftheplayerandfastensitbackup.
Oh.Ohno.
“I’mgonnakillyou,”Augustsays.
“Toolate,”Janesays,andshepunchestheplaybutton.
Thecymbalsstartupshortandsharp,andwhenthefirstlinehits,AugustwatchesinmutedhorrorasJanegrabsapoleandswingsherselfout,towardtherestofthetrain,hermouthliningupwiththewordsabouthowthisspeechisherrecital.
And,God,thattiny,ancientspeakerhasgotpipes.It’sloudenoughtocutthroughthecar,butit’sNewYork,sobarelyanyonelooksup.
Unswayedbythelackofresponse,Janejumpsontoaseat,sneakerssqueakingontheplastic,andAugustburiesherfaceinherhandsasJaneshoutsthelyrics.
And,againstallodds,Spider-Mankidshoutsdownthecar,“It’stricky!”
“Jesuslord,”Augustmutters.
Andthethingis,inNewYork,everyoneendsupworndownbytheMTAandtouristsandrentprices.Everybody’sseenitall.Butthatalsomeans,sometimes,everyoneisthesmallestnudgeawayfromdelirium—frombeingtrappedonthesubwayonaWednesdaymorningandturningitintoa’90ship-hopdanceparty.Becausethebasslinecomesin,andJanelungesdowntheaisle,andthehighschoolboysstartwhoopingatthetopsoftheirlungs,andthat’sit.Itiswellandtrulyon.
It’spossible,Augustthinks,thatit’snotonlyNewYorkcatastrophedeliriummakingthishappen.It’spossibleit’sJane,irresistibleandblazing,hershouldersnarrowbutsturdyunderherleatherjacket,cassetteplayerswingingfromherbeltassherocksherhips.Eventheemergencylightsseemtoglowbrighter.Janeislightningonlonglegs—thedarkneverstoodachance.
Suddenlythesongtumblesoutofthefirstchorus,andJaneisinfrontofher
ShethrowsonefootuponAugust’sseat,leaninginonherknee,theripsinherjeansspreadingopen,andherexpressionabsolutelywicked.
“Imetthislittlegirly.”ShereachesouttoskimahandpastAugust’sjaw,tuckingherhairbehindherear.ThepadofherthumbgrazesAugust’searlobe.Augustfeelslikeshe’sastralprojecting.“Herhairwaskindacurly.”
Janewinks,goneasfastasshecame,stompingdowntheaisle,instigatingtheriot,leavingAugust’smouthhangingopen.
Asthesongpoundson,thecoupleacrossthewaystartsgettingintoit,herhittingthesmoothestMillyRockAugusthaseverseen,himholdingontothepoleinfrontofhertoshakehisass.Thewomanthrowsherheadbackandcackleswhenhedropsitdowntothesubwayfloor,andthekidintheredjacketandhisfriendsscreamwithlaughter.EvenPierogiMomischuckling.
Thenextsongis“MyAdidas,”andthen“WalkThisWay,”andJanemanagestokeepthepartygoingfortheentiresideofthecassette.ShefindsherwaybacktoAugust,grinningwiththatcrookedfronttooth,andshejumpsupontoaseatandstartsloudlyrecitingthecassettesshehas.
“PhilCollins?”
“No!”SuitGuyshoutsback.
“BritneySpears?”
Theteenageboysboo.
“Jackson5?”
Amumbleofassent,andshefishesaGreatestHitstapeoutandputsitin.“IWantYouBack”eruptsfromherspeakers,anditstartsagain.
Augustisleaningonapolenow,bobbingherheadalong,andit’simpossiblenottowatchJane.She’salwayscharming,alwayscoaxingsurlycommutersintohappyconversation,butshe’ssomethingelsetoday.Asmirkingshotofdopamine.
Evenifshe’sswornoffsolvingmysteries,AugustneedstoknowJane’sstory.Shehastoknowhowsomeonelikethisexists.
AftertheJackson5,theteenstakeoverwithaBluetoothspeakerfromabackpack.TheadultsshoutdownPostMalonewhentheyattemptit,buttheyfindacompromiseinBeyoncéandcrankthevolumeupon“Countdown.”
Jane’slaughingsohard,tearsgetcaughtinthecrinkledcornersofhereyes,andshepeelsherjacketoffandthrowsitdownatopherpileofcassettes.
“Hey,”shesays,turningtoAugust,andthenshehasAugustbythehand.“Dancewithme.”
Augustfreezes.“Oh,uh,no,Ican’tdance.”
“Can’tordon’t?”
“Both?It’s,like,betterfortheworldifIdon’tdance.”
“Comeon,”shesays,“you’refromNewOrleans.Peoplegotrhythmthere.”
“Yes,noneofwhichwasabsorbedbyme.”
Themusickeepsgrooving,Beyoncéwailingthroughakeychangein“LoveOnTop.”Peoplekeepshoutingandlaughingandgyratingintheaisle,andthere’sJane’shandonthesmallofAugust’sback,pullinghercloseruntilthey’realmostchesttochest.
“CoffeeGirl,don’tbreakmyheart,”Janesays.
So,Augustdances.
Andsomethinghappenswhenshestartsdancing.
Jane’sfacelightsup—reallylightsup,likeRockefellerCenter’sChristmastree,FrenchmenStreetattwointhemorning,full-scalesunshine.SheliftsAugust’shandabovetheirheads;Augustdoesaclumsyspin.Itshouldbeembarrassing.ButJanelooksatherlikeshe’sneverbeenmoredelightedinherentirelife,andAugustcan’tdoanythingbutlaugh.
It’slikeslowmotion.LikesomebodycameintoAugust’sroomandthrewallhertextbooksoutthewindowandsaid,learnthisinstead.Janepullsherbackin,fingersbrushingthroughherhair,justbehindherear,andforasecond,Janeisthewholepointofbeinginthecityinthefirstplace.
Augustisopeninghermouthtosaysomethingwhenthefluorescentscomebackon.Thetrainshuddersbackintotentativemotiontoaroundofcheers,andJaneswayswithit,awayfromAugust.Shelooksflushedandthoroughlypleasedwithherself.
Augustchecksherphone—nearlynoon.Classesareabust.TheseedylittlebarwhereNikoworksissquirreledawayafewblocksfromhere.Itshouldbeopeningsoon.
ShelooksatJane,astepawaybutstillclose,andshethinksaboutthewayJane’shandtrailedthroughherhair,hergaspoflaughterinAugust’sear.JustbecauseJanedidn’tcometoBilly’sdoesn’tmeanit’shopeless.
“Idon’tknowaboutyou,”Augustsays,“butIcoulduseadrink.There’saprettycooldivebarrightbymystop,if,uh,you’renotdoinganything?”
AndJane?…staresather,likeshe’stryingtoworkoutifAugustreallyaskedwhatshethinksshedid.
“Oh,”shesaysfinally.Augustcanhearthewinceinhertonebeforesheevensaysthenextpart.“Idon’tthinkIcan.”
“Oh,I—”
“Imean,thatsoundsnice,butIcan’t.”
“No,it’stotallyokay,Iwas,um—Ididn’tmean—uh.Don’tworryaboutit.”
“I’msorry,”Janesays.Shelookslikeshemeansit.
Augustissavedbythecreakofthebrakesastheypullintoastation.BeforeJanecansayanythingelse,she’sgone.
4
newyork>brooklyn>community>missedconnections
PostedNovember3,2007
CutegirlonQtrainbetweenChurchAv&King’sHighway(Brooklyn)
Hi,ifyou’rereadingthis.WewerebothontheQheadedtowardManhattan.Iwasacrossfromyou.Youwerewearingaleatherjacketandredhi-topConverseandlisteningtosomethingonyourheadphones.IwaswearingaredskirtandreadingapaperbackcopyofSputnikSweetheart.Lastnight,November2nd,around8:30p.m.Yousmiledatme,Idroppedmybook,andyoulaughed,butnotinameanway.IgotoffatKing’sHighway.Please,pleasereadthis.Ican’tstopthinkingaboutyou.
AugustcannevertaketheQagain.
Shecan’tbelievesheaskedJaneout.Jane.Janeoftheeffortlesssmilesandsubwaydanceparties,whoisprobablyafuckingpoetor,like,amotorcyclemechanic.Sheprobablywenthomethatnightandsatatabarwithherequallyhotmotorcyclepoetfriendsandtalkedabouthowfunnyitwasthatthisweirdgirlonhertrainaskedherout,andthenwenttobedwithherevenhottergirlfriendandhadnice,satisfying,un-clumsysexwithsomeonewhoisn’tadepressedtwenty-three-year-oldvirgin.They’llgetupinthemorningandmaketheircoolandsexysex-havertoastanddrinktheirwell-adjustedcoffeeandmoveonwiththeirlives,andeventually,afterenoughweeksofAugustavoidingtheQ,Janewillforgetallabouther.
August’sprofessorpullsupanotherPowerPointslide,andAugustpullsupGoogleMapsandstartsplanninghernewcommute.
Great.Fine.She’llneverseeJaneagain.Oraskanyoneoutfortherestofherlife.Shewasonasolidstreakofbelligerentsolitude.Shecanpickitbackup.
Cool.
Today’slectureisoncorrelationalresearch,andAugustistakingnotes.Sheis.Measuringtwovariablestofindthestatisticalrelationshipbetweenthemwithoutanyinfluencefromothervariables.Gotit.
LikethecorrelationbetweenAugust’sabilitytofocusonthislectureandtheamountofathletic,mutuallygratifyingsexJaneishavingwithherhypotheticalsuperhotandprobablyFrenchgirlfriend,like,rightnow.NottakingintoconsiderationtheextraneousvariablesofAugust’semptystomach,herachinglowerbackfromdoublesatwork,orherphonebuzzinginherpocketasMylaandWesargueinthegroupchatovertonight’sstir-fry.She’spushedthroughthosetotakenotesbefore.NonewerehalfasdistractingasJane.
It’sannoying,becauseJaneisjustapersononatrain.Simplyaverybeautifulwomanwithanice-smellingleatherjacketandawayofbecomingtheabsoluteshimmeringfocalpointofeveryspacesheoccupies.OnlymarginallythereasonAugusthasn’talteredhercommuteonceallsemester.
It’schill.Augustis,asshehasbeenherentirelife,verydeeplychill.
Shegivesupandchecksherphone.
augustmylilbbiknowyouhatebrocbutwe’redoingbroci’msorry,Myla’stexted.
Idon’tmindbroccoli,Augustsendsback.
I’mtheonewhohatesbroccoli,Wessendswithapoutyemoji.
ooointhatcasei’mnotsorry:),Mylareplies.
Thisshouldbeenough,shethinks.Augusthas,howeverdubiously,stumbledintothistangleofpeoplethatwanthertobeapartofthem.She’slivedforalong-asstimeonlesslovethanthis.She’sbeenaloneineveryway.Nowshe’sonlyaloneinsomeways.
Shetextsback,Funfact:broccoliisanexcellentsourceofvitaminC.Noscurvyforthisbitch.
Withinseconds,MylahassentbackAYYYYYYYandchangedthenameofthechattoSCURVYFLIRTY&THRIVING
WhenAugustopensthedoorthatnight,Wesissittingonthekitchencounterwithanicepackonhisface,bloodspattereddownhischin.
“Jesus,”Augustsays,droppingherbagnexttoMyla’sskateboardbythedoor,“what’dy’alldothistime?”
“RollyBangs,”Wessaysmiserably.Mylaisafewfeetdownthecounter,choppingvegetables,whileNikodumpstheremainsofaplanterintothetrash.“TheyconvincedmetodoaroundbeforeIleftforwork,andnowIhavetocallinonaccountofabustedlipandemotionaldistressbecausesomeonepushedthechairtoohard.”
“Yousaidyouwantedtogofortherecord,”Mylasaysimpartially.
“Icouldhavelostatooth,”Wessays.
Mylawipesherhandsonheroverallsandleansover.“You’refine.”
“I’vebeenmaimed.”
“Youknewtherisksofthegame.”
“It’sagameyoucameupwithwhenyouwerefriedoffapotcookieandNiko’sshadykombucha,notGameoffuckingThrones.”
“Thisiswhyyou’resupposedtowaitforthelinejudgetogethome,”Augustsays.“Wheny’allkilloneanother,I’minheritingtheapartment.”
Wesslumpsofftothecouchwithabook,andMylacontinuesherworkondinnerwhileNikotendstotheplantsthatweren’tcasualties.Augustspreadshernotesonresearchmethodsoutonthelivingroomfloorandtriestocatchuponwhatshemissedinclass.
“Anyway,”Mylaissaying,tellingNikoaboutwork.“ItoldherIdon’tcarewhoherdeadhusbandis,wedon’tbuyusedjockstraps,notevenfrommembersofthe1975SuperBowl–winningPittsburghSteelers,becausewesellnicethingsthataren’tcoveredinballsweat.”
“Morethingsarecoveredinballsweatthanyoumightimagine,”Nikosaysthoughtfully.“Ballsweat,actually,isallaroundus.”
“Okay,then,soakedinballsweat,”Mylacounters.“BrinedlikeaThanksgivingturkeyinballsweat.Thatwasthesituationweweredealingwith.”
“Canwemaybenottalkaboutballsweatrightbeforedinner?”Augustasks.
“Goodpoint,”Mylaconcedes.
NikolooksupfromatomatoplantatAugust,quizzical.“Hey,what’supwithyou?Whohurtyourfeelings?”
Livingwithapsychicisapainintheass.
“It’s—ugh,it’ssostupid.”
Mylafrowns.“Whodoweneedtoframeformurder?”
“Nobody!”Augustsays.“It’s—didyouhearhowtheQshutdownforafewhourstheotherday?Well,Iwasonit,andtherewasthisgirl,andIthoughtwehad,like,amoment.”
“Ohshit,really?”Mylasays.She’sswitchedtopeppersandisslicingthemwitharecklessenthusiasmthatsuggestsshedoesn’tcareifafingerhastobereattachedlater.“Oh,that’saKateWinsletmovie.Trappedinasurvivalscenario.Didyouhavetohuddlenakedforwarmth?Areyoubondedforlifebytraumanow?”
“Itwaslikeseventydegrees,”Augustsays,“andno,actually,Ithoughtwewerehavingamoment,soIaskedheroutforadrink,andsheturnedmedown,soI’mjustgonnafigureoutanewcommuteandhopefullyneverseeheragainandforgetthiseverhappened.”
“Turnedyoudown,asin?”Mylaasks.
“Asin,shesaidno.”
“Butinwhatway?”Nikoasks.
“Shesaid,‘Sorry,butIcan’t.’”
Mylatuts.“So,notthatshe’snotinterested,butlike?…shecan’t?Thatcouldmeananything.”
“Maybeshe’ssober,”Nikosuggests.
“Maybeshewasbusy,”Mylaadds.
“Maybeshewasonherwaytodumphercurrentgirlfriendtobewithyou.”
“Maybeshe’s,like,insomekindofcomplicatedentanglementwithanexandshehastosortitoutbeforeshegetsinvolvedwithsomeone.”
“Maybeshe’sbeencursedbyamalevolentwitchtoneverleavethesubway,notevenfordateswithsupercutegirlswhosmelllikelemons.”
“Youtoldmethatkindofthingcan’thappen,”WessaystoNiko.
“Sure,no,itcan’t,”Nikohedges.
“Thanksfornoticingmylemonsoap,”Augustmumbles.
“Ibetyoursubwaybabenoticedit,”Mylasays,wagglinghereyebrowssuggestively.
“Jesus,”Augustsays.“No,therewasdefinitely,like,anoteoffinality.Itwasn’t‘notrightnow.’Itwas‘notever.’”
Mylasighs.“Idon’tknow.Maybeyouwaitandtryagainifyouseeher.”
It’seasyforMylatosay,withherperfectlyhighlightedcupid’sbowandself-satisfiedconfidenceandhotboyfriend,butAugusthasthesexualprowessofagoldfishandtheemotionalvocabularytomatch.Thiswasthesecondtry.There’snothird.
“Babe,canyougrabmethosegreenonionsoutofthefridge?”Mylaasks.
Niko,whohasmovedontoeyeballinghishomemadeAlcoholadocollectionwithextremescrutiny,says,“Onesecond.”
“Igotit,”Augustsays,andshepullsherselfupandpadsovertothefridge.
Thegreenonionsareonanovercrowdedshelfbetweenato-goboxofpadthaiandsomethingNikohasbeenfermentinginajarsinceAugustmovedin.Shehoversonceshe’spassedthemoff,examiningthephotosonthefridgedoor.
Atthetop:Mylawithfadedpurplehair,orangeyatends,beaminginfrontofamural.AblurrypolaroidofWesallowingMylatosmearcupcakeicingdownhisnose.Niko,hishairalittlelonger,makingfacesatadisplayofradishesatanoutdoormarket.
Below,someolderones.AtinyMylaandherbrotherswaddledintowelsnexttoasignannouncingthebeachinChinese,twoparentsdrapedinshawlsandsunhats.AndaphotoofachildAugustcan’tquiteplace:longhairtoppedwithapinkbow,poutinginaCinderelladressasDisneyWorldglowsinthebackground.
“Who’sthis?”Augustasks.
Nikofollowsherfingerandsmilessoftly.“Oh,that’sme.”
Augustlooksathim,hissharpeyebrowsandsteadypresenceandslimcutjeans,and,well,shedidwonder.She’shabituallyobservant,thoughshedoestrytoneverassumewiththingslikethis.Butanaggressivekindofwarmthrushesintoher,andshesmilesback.“Oh.Cool.”
Thatmakeshimlaugh,hoarseandwarm,andhepatsAugustontheshoulderbeforewanderingofftopokeattheplantinthecornernexttoJudy.Augustswearsthatthinghasgrownafootsinceshemovedin.Sometimesshethinksithumstoitselfatnight.
It’sfunny.That’sonebigthingoutofthewaybetweenthefourofthem,butit’salsoasmallthing.Itmakesadifference,butitalsomakesnodifferenceatall.
Mylahandsoutbowls,andWesshutshisbook,andtheysitontheflooraroundthesteamertrunkanddivvyupchopsticksandpassaroundadishofrice.
NikoturnsupthevolumeonHouseHunters,whichthey’vebeenhate-watchingwiththecableMylastolefromtheapartmentnextdoor.Thewifeofthiscouplesellslactationcookies,thehusbanddesignscustomstained-glasswindows,andtheyhaveabudgetof$750,000andapowerfulneedforanopen-conceptkitchenandabackyardfortheirchild,Calliope.
“Whydorichpeoplealwayshavetheworstpossibletaste?”Wessays,feedingapieceofbroccolitoNoodles.“Thosecountertopsareahatecrime.”
Augustsnortsintoherdinner,andNikochoosesthatmomenttowhipthePolaroidcameraoffthebookshelf.HesnapsaphotoofAugustinanunflatteringlaugh,ababycornhalfwaylodgedinherwindpipe.
“Goddammit,Niko!”shechokesout.Hecrowswithlaughterandstridesoffinhissocks.
Shehearsthesnapofamagnet—he’saddedAugusttothefridge.
Itdoesn’tfeellikeaFridaythatshouldchangeeverything.
It’sthesameaseveryFriday.Fighttheshowerforhotwater(she’sfinallygettingthehangofit),cramcoldleftoversintohermouth,makeherwaytocampus.Returnabooktothelibrary.Sidestepahandsystrangernexttothefalafelcartandtradetipsforstreetmeat.Hikebackupthestairsbecausehername’snotAnnieDepressantandshedoesn’thavethenervetoaskabouttheserviceelevatorinsidePopeyes.
ChangeintoherPancakeBilly’sT-shirt.Scrubatthecirclesunderhereyes.Tuckherknifeintoherbackpocketandmakeherwaytowork.
Atleast,shethinks,therewillalwaysbeBilly’s.There’sWinfield,gentlyexplainingthedailyspecialstoanewhirewholooksasscaredshitlessasAugustprobablydidonherfirstday.There’sJerry,grumblingoverthegriddle,andLucie,perchedonacountertop,monitoringitall.Likethesubway,Billy’shasbeenhereforhereveryday,aconstantatthecenterofherconfusingNewYorkuniverse—adingy,grease-soakedlittlestar.
Halfwayintohershift,sheseesit.
She’sduckingintothebackhallway,checkingherphone:atextfromhermom,adozennotificationsinthehouseholdgroupchat,aremindertorefillherMetroCard.Shestaresatthewall,tryingtorememberiftheMetroCardmachineathernewstationworks,wishingshehadn’thadtochangeherwholecommute—
And,oh.
TherearehundredsofphotosclutteringthewallsofBilly’s,mismatchedframesbumpingtogetherlikebonyshoulders.Augusthaspassedalotofoddhoursbetweenrushescountingcelebritieswho’vedinedhere,thevintageDodgersphotoswedgedbetweenRayLiottaandJudithLight.Butthere’sthisonephoto,afoottotheleftofthemen’sroomdoor,asepia-tonedfour-by-sixinabluepearlframe.Augustmusthavelookedpastitathousandtimes.
There’sayellowednotecardstucktoitwithfourlayersoftape,reinforcedagainandagainovertheyears.Inhandwrittenblackink:PancakeBilly’sHouseofPancakesGrandOpening—June7,1976.
It’sBilly’satitsmostpristine,notascorchedbitofFormicainsight,shotfromabovelikethephotographerclimbedproudlyupontoabarstool.Therearecustomerswithblown-outhairandshortssoshort,theirthighsmust’vestucktothevinyl.Ontheleftsideoftheframe,Jerry—nomorethantwenty-five—pouringacupofcoffee.Augusthastoadmit:hewasababe.
Butwhatmakesherripthephotooffthewall,frameandall,andfakeaboutofpukingsoshecanclockoutearlywithitshoveddownthefrontofhershirt—isthepersoninthebottomrightcorner.
Thegirlisleaningupagainstthecornerofabooth,apronsuggestingshewanderedoutofthekitchentotalktosomecustomers,theshortsleevesofherT-shirtrolledupabovethesubtlecurveofherbiceps.Herhair’schin-lengthandspiky,sweptbackfromherface.AlittlelongerthanAugustisusedto.
Belowthecuffofhersleeve,ananchortattoo.Abovethat,thetailfeathersofabird.Atherelbow,theneatlineofChinesecharacters.
1976.Jane.Asingledimpleatonesideofhermouth.
Barelyadayyoungerthanshelookseverymorningonthetrain.
Augustrunsthetwelveblockshomewithoutstopping.
August’sfirstwordwas“case.”
Itwasn’tacutewordforthebabybooklike“mama”(shecalledhermotherSuzetteasatoddler)or“dada”(neverhadone,justaspermdonoraweekafterhermom’sthirty-seventhbirthday).Itwasn’tsomethingthatwouldmagicallymakeherjudgmentalgrandparentsandtheiroldNewOrleansmoneydecidetheycaredtospeaktohermomorknowAugust,likemaybe“taxevasion”or“HueyP.Long.”Itwasn’tevensomethingcool.
No,itwassimplythewordsheheardmostwhilehermothertapedepisodesofDatelineandreadcrimenovelsoutloudtohersquishybabyformandworkedtheonegreatmissingpersonscaseoftheirlives.
Case.
Shetookdevelopmentalpsychhersophomoreyear,sosheknowscrucialdevelopmentalphases.Agethree,learninghowtoread,soshecouldhandhermomthefilethatstartswithMinsteadofN.Agefive,abletocarryonaconversationindependently,likeexplainingtearfullytothemanatthefrontdeskofaFrenchQuarterapartmentbuildinghowshe’dgottenlost,sohermomcouldscavengehisfileswhilehewasdistracted.It’shardwired.
It’stooeasy,now,todigitallbackout.
She’ssittingonherbedroomfloor,photoononeside,notebookontheotherfilledwithfivefront-and-backpagesofnotesandquestionsandhalf-formedtheorieslikehotzombie?andmartymcfly???Herbedspreadisburritoedaroundherlikeafoilshockblanketonaplanecrashsurvivor.She’sgonefullTrueDetective.It’sbeenfourhours.
She’sunearthedhermother’sLexisNexispassword,filedthreepublicrecordsrequestsonline,putholdsonfivedifferentbooksatthelibrary.She’sshakingdowndouble-digitpagesofGooglesearchresults,tryingtofindsomekindofanswerthatisn’tcompletelybatshitfuckinginsane.“Immortalhottie”hasnorelevantreturns,onlypeopleingothbandswholooklikeKyloRen.
She’stakenthephotooutoftheframe,lookedatitundernaturallight,LEDlight,yellowlight,helditinchesfromherface,walkeddowntothepawnshopnexttoNiko’sworkandboughtafuckingmagnifyingglasstoexamineit.Noevidencethatit’sbeendoctored.OnlythefadedshapeofJane,tattoosanddimpleandcockysetofherhips,thecontinuing,impossiblefactthatshe’sthere.Forty-fiveyearsago,she’sthere.
Shesaidit,thatdayshetoldAugusthername.SheworkedatBilly’s.
Shenevermentionedwhen.
Augustpacesherroom,tryingtomakesenseofwhatsheknows.JaneworkedatPancakeBilly’swhenitopenedin1976,longenoughforanoff-menuitemtobenamedafterher.She’sintimatelyfamiliarwiththeworkingsoftheQ,andpresumablylivesineitherBrooklynorManhattan.
ThescrapsofCraigslistpostsandarticlesandpolicereportsandone2015PeopleoftheCityInstagrampostwithJaneblurryinthebackgroundareallAugusthastogoon.She’ssearchedeverypossiblepermutationofJaneSushecanthinkof,alternatespellingsandromanizations—Sou,Soo,So,Soh.Noluck.
Butthere’ssomethingelse,apatternshe’sstartingtopiecetogether,onesheprobablywouldhavefiguredoutifsheweren’talwayssodeterminedtoreasonthingsaway.
HowJaneneverhadaheaviercoatthanherleatherjacket,evenwhenitwaspunishinglycoldbackinJanuary.Howshedidn’tknowwhoJoyDivisionwas,themessofhercassettecollection,thatshehasacassetteplayerinthefirstplace.Itshouldn’thavebeeneasytoalwayscatchhertrain.Theyshouldhavemissedeachother,justonce.Buttheyneverhave,notsincethefirstweek.
She?…God.Whatif?…
Augustpullsherlaptopintoherlap.Herhandshoverindecisivelyoverthekeys.
Janedoesn’tage.She’smagneticandcharmingandgorgeous.She?…kindoflivesunderground.
ThecursorontheGooglesearchbarblinksexpectantly.Augustblinksback.
Throughaslightfogofhysteria,sheremembersthoseweirddudesfromBilly’stalkingaboutthevampirecommunity.ShewasprettysurethatwassomekindofBDSMrole-plaything.Butwhatif—
Augustsnapsherlaptopshut.
JesusChrist.Whatisshethinking?ThatJaneissomethousand-year-oldsuccubuswho’sreallyintopunkmusicbutcan’tkeepherreferencesstraight?Thatshespendshernightshauntingthetunnels,eatingratsandgettinghornedupoverO-positiveandusinghersupernaturalcharmtomaneuverSPF75outofstrangers’DuaneReadebags?She’sJane.She’sjustJane.
Really,sincerely,fromtheverybottomofAugust’sheart:Whatthefuck?
Somewherebeneathitall,avoicethatsoundslikeAugust’smomsayssheneedsaprimarysource.Aninterview.Someonewhocantellherexactlywhatshe’sdealingwith.
ShethinksaboutJerry,orevenBilly,theowneroftherestaurant.TheymusthaveknownJane.Jerrycouldtellherhowlonghe’sbeencookingtheSuSpecial.Ifsheshowsthemthepicture,theymightrememberwhethertheyevercaughtherhissingatthejugsofmincedgarlicinthewalk-in.ButAugust’sjobishangingbyathinenoughthreadwithoutbargingintothekitchendemandingtoknowifanyformeremployeesdisplayedsignsofbloodlust.
No,there’ssomeoneelsetotalktofirst.
5
Classifieds
PERSONALS
BUTCHONTHEQTRAIN—Areyoutheshort-hairedAsianwoman,20-30,whotakestheQfromManhattantoBrooklynonThursdayafternoons?Doyouwearablackleatherjacket?Doyouliketobespoiled?Thiswealthyolderbusinesswomancanprovideyouwithalifeofsensualityandluxury.POBox2348,Queens,NY11101.10/18/1983
Niko’sdescribedthebarwhereheworksenoughtimesforAugusttohaveitfiledawayunderPertinentBrooklynLocations:beneathabookstoreanddownaflightofcreakymetalstairsthatthreatentodropherintothemurkybowelsofthecity.She’sgotacoffeeinhandforabribe,andthankfullythegirlcheckingIDsdoesn’tsayanythingaboutit
Shecan’tbelieveshe’sworkingacase.Andshereallycan’tbelieveshe’sabouttodothethinghermomsworeshe’ddiebeforedoingagain:consultingapsychic.
Slinky’sisexactlythetypeofplacewhereshewouldexpectNikotowork.Thewholeroomiswashedinabloodyredglow,multicoloredstringlightsstrungupoverabarthatlooksstickyevenfromhere.Mostoftheflooristakenupwithroundteatablessurroundedbycurvedandoverstuffedbooths,batteredpurpleleatherpatchedineveryfabricpatternfromstarrygalaxytopicnicgingham.Thefinishingtouchistheceiling,linedwithhundredsofpairsofunderoosandboxersandfrillypanties,theoddbraorpieceoflingeriedanglingfromarafter.
Niko’sbehindthebarinadenimvest,botharmsoftattoosonfulldisplay.HegrinsaroundachickenwingwhenheseesAugust.
“August!”Hefinisheshischickenwingandcasuallyslidesthebonesintothepocketofhisvest.Augustdecidesnottoask.“Thisisawesome!Hi!”
Shesidlesuptoasparklybarstool,waveringbetweenadozenopenings—Itwasatwo-for-onespecial.Thebaristaaccidentallygavemeadoubleorder.Arevampiresreal?—beforegivingupandplunkingthecoffeedown.
“Igotyouacoffee,”Augustsays.“Iknowhownightshiftsare.”
Heblinksowlishlythroughglasses,roundandtintedyellow.“AgiftfromAugust?WhatgodhaveIpleased?”
“I’mnotthatwithholding.”
Hesmilesenigmatically.“Ofcoursenot.”
“Youlikelavender,right?”Augustsays.“TheyhavealavenderhoneylatteatBean&Burnand—Idon’tknow,Ithoughtofyou.Ican,um,tossitifyouhateit.”
“No,no!”Nikosays.Hepicksupthecupandsniffsit.“Althoughwearegoingtodiscussyourbougiechoiceofcoffeeshoplater.Thereisaperfectlygoodcombinationjerkchickenanddonutjointacrossthestreetthatdoescupsforfiftycents.”
“Okay,”Augustpusheson.“CanIaskyouaquestion?”
“Ifit’sabouttheunderwearontheceiling,”Nikosays,turningawayandreachingforacoupleofbottles,“itstartedwhenoneguylefthisunderwearinthebathroomandnowpeoplejustkeepbringingthemandtheownerthinksit’shilarious.”
Augustlooksupatapairofbriefs—cartoonteethonthecrotchandUNLEASHTHEBEASTacrosstheback—andbacktoNiko.He’slinedupthreebottlesonhisworkstationandismuddlingahandfulofherbsandberries.
“NotwhatIwasgoingtoask,butgoodtoknow.”
“Ah,”Nikosayswithawink,andAugustrealizeshealreadyknew.Stupidpsychics.She’sstillnotevensureshebelievesheknowsanything,butshedoesn’thaveanyotheroptionbuttotrusthim.
“So,um…”shegoeson.“Yourlineofwork?…youknowabout,like,uh.Supernaturalstuff?”
Theenigmaticsmileisback.“Yes?”
“Like…”Augustresolvesnottodoanythingwithherfacialexpression.“Creatures?”
“Oh,I’mlovingthisalready,”Nikosaysreadily.“Whatkindofcreatures?”
“Youknowwhat?”shesays,hoppingdownfromherstool.“Thisisinsane.Forgetit.”
“August,”hesays,andit’snotteasingorapologeticorevenlikehe’stryingtogethertostay.It’sthewayhealwayssaysAugust’sname,softandsympathetic,likeheknowssomethingaboutherthatshedoesn’t.Shesettlesbackdownandburiesherfaceinthesleevesofhersweater.
“Okay,fine,”shesays.“So,like.YouknowthegirlItoldy’allabout?TheoneIaskedout?”
Nikodoesn’tsayanything.Whenshelooksup,hekeepsmeasuringoutliquors.
“Hername’sJane.Shetakesthesametrainasme.TheQ,everysinglemorningandafternoon.AtfirstIthought,like,wow,okay,crazycoincidence,buttonsofpeopleprobablyhavethesamecommutes,and?…Idefinitelywentoutofmywaytocatchthesametrainasher,whichIrealizesoundsalotlikestalking,butIpromiseIwasn’tweirdaboutit—anyway,todayatwork,Ifoundthis.”
Sheslidesthephotoacrossthebar,andNikonudgeshissunglassesupontohisforeheadtoexamineit.
“That’sher,”Augustsays,pointing.“I’mathousandpercentsureit’sher.Shehasthesametattoos.”Shelooksupathim.“Niko,thisphotoisfromopeningdayatBilly’s.Summer’76.Shehasn’tagedinforty-fiveyears.Ithinkshe’s—”
TherattleofNiko’scocktailshakercutsthroughhersentence,drowningherout,andhewiggleshiseyebrowsuntilhisglassesfallbackdowntohisnose.
Augustisgoingtokickhisassoneday
Shehastowaitthirtywholesecondsforhimtopopthetopofftheshakerandpourthedrinkintoaglasssoshecanfinish.“Ithinkshe’snot?…human.”
Nikoslidesthedrinkover.“Blackberrymintmule.Onthehouse.Whatdoyouthinksheis?”
She’sgoingtohavetosaythisoutloud,isn’tshe?BellaSwan,eatyourhornylittleMormonheartout.
“Ithinkshemightbe?…avampire?”Nikoraisesaneyebrow,andsheburiesherfaceinherarmsagain.“Itoldyouitwasinsane!”
“It’snotinsane!”hesays,alaughinhisvoice,butnotameanone.ItneveriswithNiko.“Onceyou’retappedintotheotherside,it’sreallyeasytostartseeingstuffbeyondthisone.Like,whenIwaseightIspentthesummerwithmycousinsinBayamón,andtheytotallyhadmeconvincedtheirneighbor’sdogwasawerewolf.But,asfarasIknow,werewolvesaren’treal,andneitherarevampires.”
Augustpicksherheadup.“Right.Ofcourse.I’manidiot.”
“Well,”Nikosays.“She’snotavampire.Butshemightbedead.”
Augustfreezes.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Itsoundslikeshemightbeanapparition,”heexplains.“Aparticularly?…strongone.Shemightnotevenknowshe’s—”
“Aghost?”Augustoffershelplessly.Nikopullsasympatheticgrimace.“OhmyGod,soshe’sdead?Andshedoesn’tknowshe’sdead?Ican’tevenaskheronadate;howamIsupposedtotellhershe’sdead?”
“Okay,holdon.Youcan’tjusttellsomebodythey’redead.Wehavetomakesureshe’sdeadfirst.”
“Right.Okay.Howdowedothat?”She’sgotherphoneout,alreadygooglinghowtotellifsomeoneisaghost.Apparently,there’saGrouponforthis.“Wait.Holyshit.Sheisalwayswearingtheexactsamething.”
“Youonlyjustnoticedshehasoneoutfit?”
“Idon’tknow!It’srippedjeansandaleatherjacket!EverylesbianI’veevermethasthatoutfit!”
“Huh.Goodpoint,”Nikosaysthoughtfully.“Haveyouevertouchedher?”
“Um.Yes?”
“Andhowdiditfeel?Cold?”
“No,theopposite.Like?…reallywarm.Sometimesstaticky.Likeashock.”
“Hmm.Interesting.Areyoutheonlyonewhocanseeher?”
“No,shetalkstopeopleonthetrainallthetime.”
“Okay,haveyoueverseenhertouchanythingoranyone?”
“Yeah,shehasthis,like,backpackfullofstuff,andshe’sgivenmethingsfromit,gum,ascarf.OnetimesheputaBand-Aidonthiskidwhoskinnedhiskneeonthestairs.”
Herestshischinonhishand.“Cute.Maybeapoltergeist.Acutepoltergeist.CanImeether?”
Augustsnapshereyesupfromherphone.“What?”
“Well,ifImether,Icouldgetabettersenseofwhatexactlysheis,ifshe’sonthissideornot,orsomewhereinbetween.It’donlytakeafewquestions.Maybesomelightphysicalcontact.”
Shetriestopictureit,NikoinallhisNiko-ness,puttinghishandonJane’sshoulder:Hello,howareyou,IthinkyoumaybeanunmooredspirittrappedinsomekindofMTApurgatory.
“Yousaidyoudidn’twanttofreakherout.”
“Ineversaidthat.Isaidyoushouldn’ttellsomebodythey’redeadunlessyou’resurethey’redead.Verybadenergy.”
“Whatwouldyouevenaskher?”
“Idon’tknow.Itwoulddependonhowthingsfeel.Soundslikeafunexperiment.”
Augustgrindsherteeth.“Isn’ttheresomethingelsewecoulddofirst?Like—canIpouraringofsaltaroundherorsplashherwithholywaterorsomething?Butlike,inasubtleway?”
“YouandIcomeatsubtletyfromverydifferentdirections,”Nikoobserves.“Butwecoulddoaséance.”
AugustcanpracticallyhearhermotherscoffingintoherLeanCuisinefromthenexttimezone.
“A?…séance?”
“Yeah,”hesayscasually.“Totalktoher.Ifshe’saghost,sheshouldbeabletovisit,andboom,we’dknow.”
“Andifnothinghappens,wecanruleoutghost?”
“Yep.”
Andso,AugustLandry,world’sleadingskeptic,openshermouthandsays,“Okay,let’sdoaséance.”
“Loveit,”Nikosays.He’sproducedatoothpickfromhispocketandstartschewingonitashewipesdownthebar.“Yeah,we’llneednumbers,soweshouldaskMylaandWes.Wecandoitattheshopafterclose.Idon’tlikewherethemoonisrightnow,though,solet’sdoitnightaftertomorrow.Doyouhaveanythingthatbelongstoher?”
“I,um,”Augustsays,“Ido,actually.Shegavemeherscarf.”
“That’lldo.”
Sheleansdowntotakeasipofherdrinkandpromptlychokesonit.
“Goodlord,thatisdisgusting.You’reterribleatthis.”
Nikolaughs.“Mylatriedtotellyou.”
“So,”Wessays.He’swatchingAugustdouseherfriesinCholulawithanextremelyNewEnglandexpressiononhisface.“You’vegatheredusheretodaytotellusyou’rebonedupforaghost.”
“Jesus,canyoukeepyourvoicedown?”Augusthisses,eyeingWinfieldashepassestheirtable.Sheshouldhaveknownbetterthantoslideintotheboothwiththisinformationafterhershiftandthinkthisparticulargroupofdelinquentswouldbediscreet.“Iworkhere.”
“Wait,so—”Mylacutsin.“Shereallyusedtoworkhere?Whenitfirstopened?Andnowshe’sonthesubwaylookingexactlythesame?”
“Yes.”
Sheleansbackinthebooth,eyesalight.“Ican’tbelieveyou’vebeeninNewYorkfor,like,amonthandalreadyfoundthecoolestpersonintheentirecity.BacktotheFutureass.”
“We’remoreattheintersectionofGhostandQuantumLeap,”Augustpointsout.“Butthat’snotthepoint.”
“Thepointis,”Nikosays,“we’redoingaséancetogetafeelforthesituation.Andconsideringthiswholethingislow-keyapsychic’swetdream,we’dloveifyouwouldhelp.”
Andso,onSundaynight,thefourofthemarehuddledtogetheronChurchStreet,tryingtolooksmallandinconspicuousoutsidethelockeddoorofMissIvy’s.
“Doyouwantmetopickit?”Augustasks,glancingnervouslydownthestreet
“What?Pickthelock?”Wessays.“Whatkindofferalchildareyou?AreyouJessicaJones?”
“We’renotbreakingandentering,”Nikosays.“Ihaveakey.Somewhere.”
AugustturnstosniffinMyla’sdirection.“YousmelllikeaMcRib.”
“What?”
“Youknow,like,smoky.”
MylajabsanelbowintoWes’sribs.“SomeoneforgottheirlunchinthetoasteroventodayandIhadtoputoutakitchenfire,”shesays.“We’re,like,onefireawayfromlosingoursecuritydeposit.”
“Welostoursecuritydepositwhenyoutookituponyourselftorewiretheentireapartment,”Wesreplies.
Nikochucklesunderhisbreath.He’sfingeringthrougharingofkeysinthedimglowofthestreetlights.Augustwonderswhatallthekeysarefor—knowingNiko,he’sprobablytalkedhiswayintohavingakeytohalftheplantsupplystoresanddivebarsinBrooklyn.
“Howourapartmenteverhadasecuritydeposittobeginwithisajoke,”Augustsays.“Theovendoesn’tevengooverthree-fifty.”
“Anditdidn’tgooverone-fiftybeforeIrewiredit,”Mylasays
“Wes?”
ThefourofthemjoltlikeScoobyDooandthegang,caughtintheact.Nikoisnottechnicallyallowedtousehiskeyforafter-hourscommunicationswiththedead.Nopersonalcalls,basically—theycan’tgetcaught.
Butit’sonlyIsaiah,freshfromagiggoingbytheduffelbagthrownoverhisshoulderandthesmudgedeyeliner.It’sthefirsttimeAugusthasproperlyseenhimoutofdrag.InhisT-shirtandjeans,it’sallverysuperherosecretidentity.
“Isaiah,”Wessays.Nikoreturnstosearchingfortherightkey.“Hey.”
Eveninthewashed-outdarknessofthestreet,it’sobviousWesisblushingunderhisfreckles.AsNikowouldsay,that’sinteresting.
“Hey,uh?…whatarey’alldoing?”Isaiahasks.
“Uh—”Wesstammers.
Nikoglancesoverhisshoulderandsaysflatly,“Aséance.”
Weslooksmortified,butIsaiahisintrigued.“Oh,noshit?”
“Youwannajoin?”Nikosays.“Ifeelgoodaboutthenumberfivetonight.”
“Sure,uh—”Heturns,addressingtheguywho’sbeenwaitingforhim.“Yougoodtogethome?”
“Noworries,babe,”theguysays.Hewavesandheadsofftowardthenearestsubwaystop.
“Whowasthat?”Wessays,veryobviouslytryingtosoundlikehedoesn’tcareatall.
Isaiahgrins.“That’smynewdragdaughter.Freshlyhatchedlittlebaby.GoesbySaraTonin.”
Mylalaughs.“Genius.”
“Aha!”Nikocrows,victorious,andthedoortotheshopswingsopen.
Nikoleavestheoverheadlightsoffandmovespurposefullyaroundtheshop,lightingvelonesdesantosliketheoneshe’sshownherathomeuntiltheglowmixeswiththemoonlightandthemuddyfloodofthestreetlights.Thespaceiswall-to-wallshelves,fullofstonesandbundlesofherbsandanimalskulls,bottlesofNiko’shome-brewedAlcoholado.Onericketybookshelfsagsunderhundredsofbottlesandjars,mostfilledwithmurkyoilandlabeledthingslikeFASTLUCKandDRAGON’SBLOOD.There’sacollectionofpillarcandlestoo,withcardsexplainingtheiruses.TheoneclosesttoAugustiseitherforreunitingpastlovesorpenisenlargement.Sheshouldprobablygettheprescriptiononherglassesupdated.
“So?…isthisa?…generalséance?”Isaiahsays.He’sontheothersideoftheroom,examiningajarofteeth.“Orarewetryingtotalktosomeoneinparticular?”
AndnowAugustisinWes’sposition,stammeringandhopingNikodoesn’tcomethroughwiththetruth.
“We’redoingaséancetoreachawomanAugusthasacrushon,”Nikosays,comingthroughwiththetruth.
“Please,sir,”MylasaysinanabsolutelyterribleSouthernaccent.“It’smygirlfriend,she’sverydead.”
Augustconsiderspullingtheshelfofpotionsoveronherselfandendingitall.“Thankyoubothformakingmesoundlikeanecrophiliac.”
“Youknow,IthoughtyouwerealittlespicywhenImetyou,”saysIsaiah,takingitremarkablyinstride.
“Wedon’tknowifshe’sdead,”Augustsays.“Shejusthappenstohavenotagedsince1976.”
“That’sbasicallywhatwesaid,”Nikosays.“Followme.”
Inthebackisatinyroomwitharoundtabledrapedinthesameheavyblackclothasthewallsaroundit.Littlepoufssurroundit,andashimmery,sheerscarfrestsontop,purpleandglisteninginthelowlight,spiralsofgoldandsilverstarswinkingupatthem.
Niko’salreadylitabundleofsageandsetittosmolderinanabalonebowl.He’satthetable,carefullyarrangingincenseandaringofcrystalsaroundtallwhitecandles,thekindyouseeinaCatholicchurchwhenyou’releavingaprayerfortheVirginMary,exceptAugustisdefinitelytheonlyvirginhereandshedoesn’tthinkprayingtoherwouldaccomplishanything.
“Grabaseat,”Nikosays.He’sholdingaspentmatchbetweenhisteethandalitonebetweenhisthumbandforefinger.Augusthasneverseenhimsofullyinhiselement.Mylalooksturnedon.
“Howisthisgoingtowork?”Augustasks.
“We’regoingtotrycallingJane’sspirit,”Nikosays.“Ifshe’sdead,sheshouldbeabletoprojectherselfhereandtalktous,andthenwe’llknowforsure.Ifshe’snot,well.Probablynothingwillhappen.”
“Probably?”
“Somethingelsemightcomeforward,”hesays,lightinganothermatchwithtotalnonchalanceasifhehasnotjustsuggestedsomeunknownforcefromthegreatbeyondcouldBeetlejuiceintotheroomandrubitslittledemonhandsalloverthem.“Ithappens.Ifyouopenadoor,anythingcancomethroughit.Butit’llbefine.”
“IsweartoGod,ifaghostkillsme,I’llhaunttheshower,”Wessays.“Youguyswillneverhavehotwateragain.”
“Wedon’thavehotwaternow,”Augustpointsout.
“Fine,I’llhauntthetoilet.”
“Whydoyouwanttohauntabathroom,man?”Isaiahasks.
“It’swherepeoplearemostvulnerable,”Wessays,likeit’sobvious.Isaiahfrownsthoughtfullyandnods.
“Ghostscan’tkillyou,”Nikosaysmildly.“Everyonehush.”
Helightstheremainingcandles,speakingquietSpanishtosomeonenoonecansee.WestensesatAugust’ssideasthelastflamegoesup.
“August?”Nikosays.He’slookingatherexpectantly,andsherealizes:thescarf.Sheunwindsitfromherneckandlaysitonthetable,theimageofheruncle’spocketknifelaidacrossagauzyclothflashingthroughherbrain.
“Okay,”hesays.“Takeoneanothers’hands.”
Myla’scallusedpalmslotsneatlyintoAugust’s.Weshesitates,lookingunwillingtoreleasehisirongriponhissweatshirtsleeves,buthefinallygivesinandlaceshisfingersthroughAugust’s.They’reclammyandasbonyastheylook,butcomforting.HetentativelypicksupIsaiah’sonhisotherside.
Acrossthetable,Nikocloseshiseyesandreleasesalong,steadybreathbeforespeaking.
“Thisworksbetterifeveryoneisopentowhat’shappening,”hesays.“Evenifyoudon’tknowthatyoubelieve,oryou’reafraid,trytoopenyourmindandfocusonradiatingasenseofwelcomingandwarmth.We’reaskingforafavor.Bekindaboutit.”
Augustbitesherlip.Isaiah’susualbrightglowhasdimmedtoareverentsmolderashebrusheshisthumbacrossWes’shand.It’sprettylateonaweeknightforapost-dragséance,especiallyconsideringheworksadeskjob,buthelooksunbotheredbythetime.
“August,”Nikosays,andshesnapshereyestohim.“Areyouready?”
Focus.Welcomingandwarmth.Openmind.Shereleasesabreathandnods.
“Spiritguides,”Nikosays,“wecometoyoutonightinsearchofunderstanding,inthehopeswe’llreceiveasignofyourpresence.Pleasefeelwelcomeinourcircleandjoinuswhenyou’reready.”
ShouldAugustclosehereyes?Leavethemopen?Mylaslideshereyesshut,totallyatpeace;Augustguessesshe’shadalotoftimetogetusedtothiskindofthing.Niko’ssignaturelookofmildconstipationistakingoverhisface,andAugustchewsontheinsideofhercheek,fightingawaveofnervouslaughter.
“Jane,”Nikosays.“Jane,ifyou’rethere.Augustishere.I’dloveforyoutocomeforward.She’dlovetotalktoyou.”
Andsuddenly,Augustcouldn’tlaughifshetried.
Itwasonethingtotalkinhypotheticals—ifJaneisn’twhatsheseems,iftheycanreachher,ifshe’sdead.It’ssomethingelsetobehere,breathinginsmoke,face-to-facewithwhatevertheanswermightbe.ThisgirlAugusthasspentalmosteverymorningandafternoonwithsinceshemovedtothecity,who’smadeherfeelthingsshehasn’tfeltsinceshewasakid,likerecklesshope—
Niko’seyelidsflickeropen.
“It’sgonnabeokay,August.”
Augustgulpsdownabreath.
“Jane,”hesays,louderandclearerthistime.“Maybeyou’relost,oryou’renotsurewhereyouare,orwhoyoucantrust.Butyoucantrustme.”
Theywait.ThesecondhandonMyla’swatchtickson.Isaiah’sfingerstwitch.Wesexhalesashakybreath.Augustcan’tlookawayfromNiko’sface,fromthesetofhismouth,fromhislashestwitchingandfanningoutonhischeeks.Minutesgobyinsilence.
Maybeshe’simaginingit—maybeit’sthefear,theuncertainty,theatmospherecreepingunderherskin—butsheswearsshefeelsit.Somethingcoldbrushingagainstthebackofherneck.Ahoarsewhisperintothecreakoftheoldbuilding.Achargeintheair,likesomeone’sdroppedatoasterinabathtubdowntheblock,asurgeofpowerjustbeforethelightsgoout.Theflamesonthecandleslisttooneside,butAugustcan’ttellifit’sfromhersharpinhaleorsomethingshecan’tsee.
“Hm,”Nikogruntssuddenly,hislipspullingintoafrown.Myla’sknucklesgowhite,grippingNiko’shandtighter,andAugustwondersfleetinglyhowmanytimesshemusthavedonethis—groundingNikotothissidewhilehedragshisfingersthroughtheother.
Nikomumblesunderhisbreath,hisbrowfurrowed,andsomehow,theairsettles.Somethingthat’sbeenunfoldedtucksitselfbackinandtiesitselfoff.August’searsstartringing.
Nikoopenshiseyes.
“Yeah,fuck,she’snotthere,”hesays,shatteringthemood,andWesdeflateswithrelief.NikolooksatAugustalmostapologetically.“She’snotaghost,August.She’snotdead.”
“You’resure?”Augustasks.“Like,totallysure?”
“Thespiritguidesaretellingmewrongnumber,so,”hesayswithasmallshrug.
Heleadsthemthroughaclosingprayerandthanksthespiritspolitelyandpromisestotalkagainsoonlikethey’reagrandparenthecallsonmajorholidays—which,Augustrealizes,theymightbe.Heblowsoutthecandlesandstartsbundlingtheherbsbackup.Theotherspullthemselvestotheirfeet,tuckingshirtsbackin,rollingsleevesbackdown.Likenothinghappened.
Augustissittingthere,frozeninherseat.
“Whatdoesitmean?”sheasksNiko.“Ifshe’snotaghost?Ifshe’snotdead,andshe’snotalive,whatisshe?”
Nikodumpsthecrystalsintoabowlofcoarsesaltandturnsbacktoher.“Idon’tknow,honestly.I’veneverseenanythinglikeherbefore.”
Maybetherearemoreclues,somethingshemissed.Maybesheneedstogobackoveralltheinformationshehas.MaybeshecanbreakintotheemploymentrecordsatBilly’s.Maybe—
Shit.Shesoundslikehermother.
“Okay,”Augustsays,standinganddustingoffherjeans.She’sacrosstheshopinseconds,dodgingatableofpendulumsandtarotcards,whippingherjacketoffthebackofachair.ShejabsafingeratNiko.“You.Let’sgo.”
Whenthedoorsofthetrainhissopen,thereareafewterriblesecondsinwhichAugustglancesatNikoandwondersifshe’sabouttomakeacompleteassofherself.
It’sthemiddleofthenight.WhatifJane’snotonthetrain?Whatifsheneverwas?Whatifshe’salonelinesshallucinationbroughtonbytoolittlesleepandtoomanyyearsofnotgettinglaid?Orworse—whatifshe’ssomenice,normal,unsuspectingwomanjusttryingtogetthroughhercommutewithoutbeingharassedbyfreakswhothinkshe’sasexypoltergeist?
ButJane’sthere.Inthemiddleofanemptybench,readingabook,asmatter-of-factasthescuffsonthetunnelwalls.
Jane’sthere,andtheworldtips.
TheskepticinAugustwantedtobelieveitwasn’treal.ButJane’shere,onthesametrain,atthesametimeasAugust,again.
Nikonudgesheron,andJanekeepsbeingthere,longlegsstretchedoutlooselyinfrontofher,batteredhardbackopeninherlap.Nikostepsonbehindher,andJanelooksupandseesthem.
“CoffeeGirl,”shesays,tuckingafingerbetweenthepages.
It’sthefirsttimeAugusthasseenJanesinceshewasrejectedbyher.Anddespitethewholeundeadmysteryofher—whetherJaneisavampireoraghostorafuckingteenwolf—thatremainshumiliating.AndJaneremainsdistressinglyhot,allkindbrowneyesandrippedjeansandasoft,conspiratorialsmile.ItwouldbereallyhelpfulifJanewouldstopbeingconfusingandgorgeouswhilethey’retryingtofigureoutwhetherornotshe’shuman.
Thetrainjerksintomotion,andNikohastograbAugust’swaisttokeepherfromtrippingoverherfeet.Janeeyesthem,Niko’sfingersclenchedinthefabricofAugust’sjacket.
“You’reoutlate,”sheobserves.
“Yeah,we’remeetingmygirlfriendinSoho,”Nikoliessmoothly.It’satrickofthelight,Augustthinks,whenamuscleinJane’sjawtwitchesandrelaxes.
NikonudgesAugusttowardaseat,andshefocusesonnotlettingtheirimpendinginterrogationofJane’scorporealitytelegraphacrossherface.
“Neat,”Janesays,alittlesarcastically.“Thisbooksucksanyway.”Sheflashesthecover—it’sanearlyeditionofWatershipDown,theorangey-redprintrubbedhalfwayoff.“IfeellikeI’vereaditadozentimestryingtofigureoutwhatpeoplelikeaboutit.It’sadepressingbookaboutbunnies.Idon’tgetit.”
“Isn’titsupposedtobeanallegory?”Nikooffers.
“Alotofpeoplethinkthat,”Augustsaysautomatically.Hervoiceclipsupintodaughter-of-a-librarianmode,andshe’spowerlesstostopit.She’stoonervous.“Like,alotofpeoplethinkit’sreligioussymbolism,butRichardAdamssaiditwasjustsomebunnyadventureshemadeupforhisdaughtersasabedtimestory.”
“Lotofcarnageforabedtimestory,”Janesays.
“Yeah.”
“So,wherehaveyoubeen?”Janeasksher.“IfeellikeIhaven’tseenyouaround.”
“Oh,”Augustsays.Shecan’ttellherthatshechangedherentirecommuteinmourningofthejointNetflixaccountthey’llnevershare.“I—uh,Imean,wemustkeepmissingeachother.Oddsareweweregonnagetondifferenttrainsoneofthesedays,right?”
Janeleansherchinonherhand.“Yeah,youwouldthink.”
Nikocrosseshislegsandchimesin,“Youtwohavereallyalwaysbeenonthesametrainuntilnow?”
“Thesamecar,even,”Janesays.“It’snuts.”
“Yeah,”hesays.“Theoddsofthat?…wow.”
“I’mjustlucky,Iguess,”Janesayswithagrin.AndAugustistoobusytryingtofigureouteverythingelsetofigureoutwhatthatmeans.“I’mJane,bytheway.”
SheleansforwardandextendsherhandtoNiko,andexcitedcuriositysparksinhiseyeslikeMylapresentedhimwithanantiquealarmclock.Hetakesitgingerly,foldinghisotherhandontop,whichwouldbeweirdorcreepyifitwasanyonebutNiko.Jane’ssmilesoftens,andAugustwatchesthefaintestexpressionflitteracrossNiko’sfacebeforeheletsgo.
“You’renotfromaroundhere,areyou?”heasksher.
“Areyou?”shesays.
“I’mfromLongIsland,”Nikotellsher.“ButIspentalotoftimeinthecitybeforeImovedhere.”
“Youcameforcollegetoo?”Janeasks,gesturingbetweenNikoandAugust.
“Nah.Mygirlfriend.Collegewasn’treallyforme.”Herunsathumbalongtheedgeofhisseat,contemplative.“Thesetrainsalwayshavethemostinterestingsmells.”
“What,likepiss?”
“No,like?…youeversmell,like,petrichor?Orsulfur?”
Janeeyeshim,tongueinthecornerofhermouth.“Idon’tthinkso?Piss,mostly.Sometimessomeonespillstheirtakeoutandit’spissandporklomein.”
“Uh-huh,”Nikosays.“Interesting.”
“Yourfriendisweird,”JanesaystoAugust,notunkindly.Shedoesn’tlookannoyed,onlymildlyentertained,likeshe’senjoyingtheturnhernighthastaken.
“He’s,uh,”Augustattempts,“reallyintosmells?”
“Superintosmells,”Nikosaysvaguely.“Loveanaroma.YouliveinBrooklyn?OrManhattan?”
Shepausesbeforeanswering.
“Brooklyn.”
“Ustoo,”hesays.“WeliveinFlatbush.Whatneighborhoodareyouin?”
“Um,I’minFlatbushtoo,”shesays.
ThatonesurprisesAugust.Jane’snevermentionedlivinginFlatbush.She’salsoneverlookedquitethisshifty.Nikoadjustshisshoulders.TheybothknowJaneislying,butthatdoesn’tmeananything—maybeshedoesn’twantthisguyshejustmettoknowwhereshelives.
“That’sinteresting,”hesays.“Maybewe’llseeyouaroundsometime.”
“Yeah,maybeso,”shesayswithasmallchuckle.
Augustdoesn’tknowhowlongNikoneeds,orwhatexactlyhe’sreadingoffofJane,buthewatchesherreturntoherbookwithhishandspalm-uponhisknees,fingersrelaxed,holdinguptheweightoftheair.
Augustkeepswaitingforhimtobustoutanotherquestion.Hey,everwalkedthroughawall?Or,Doyouhaveanyunfinishedbusinessintherealmoftheliving,likemaybeatragicunsolvedmurder,oralovedonewhoneedstogivealltheworkersatthefactoryChristmasoff?Or,Doyouhappentoseehornedcreatureswhenyoucloseyoureyes?Buthesitsthere,andJanesitsthere,bothofthemincomprehensible.
Finally,asthey’repullingintothefirstManhattanstation,Nikoannounces,“Thisisourstop.”
Augustlooksathim.“Itis?”
Henodsdecisively.“Yep.Youready?”
SheglancesoveratJane,likeshemighthavedisappearedinthelastfewseconds.
“Ifyouare.”
TheyhavetopassbyJanetoexit,andAugustfeelsagentlehandclosearoundherelbow.
“Hey,”Janesays.
WhenAugustturns,thatmuscle’stwitchinginherjaw.
“Don’tbeastranger.”
Nikopausesontheplatformtolookbackatthem.
“Okay,”Augustsays.“MaybeI’ll—I’llseeyouonMonday.”
SheturnstoNikoassoonasthetrainpullsaway,buthe’seyeingtheceilingthoughtfully.Shewaitslikeshe’soneofthenunsatherCatholicmiddleschoolwaitingtoheariftheypickedanewpope.
“Yep,”hesaysfinally.“Okay.”Heuncrosseshisarmsandturns,stridingoffdowntheplatform.Augusthastojogtocatchup.
“Okay,what?”
“Hmm?”
“What’stheverdict?”
“Oh,tacos,”hesays.“Idecidedtacos.There’sastandthat’sopenlateafewblocksfromhere;wecanpicksomeupandtakethe5home.”
“ImeantaboutwhetherornotJaneisdead!”
“Oh!”hesays,soundinggenuinelysurprised.SometimesAugustwishesshecouldknowforevenasecondwhatgoesoninNiko’shead.“Yeah,no,Idon’tthinkso.”
Herheartdoesanuncomfortablesortofparkourmaneuver.“You—youdon’t?You’resure?”
“Mostly,”hesays.“She’sreally,like,present.Solid.She’snotaghost.She’scorporeal.DoyouthinkIshouldtrytheseitanthistime?”
Augustblowsstraightpasthisquestion.“So,she’sanaliveperson?”
“Oh,Iwouldn’tsaythat,”hesays.Thecrystalsaroundhisneckbounceagainsthischestashewalks.“Yeah,I’mgonnadotheseitan.”
“Thenwhatisshe?”
“She’salive,”hesays.“But?…alsonot?Idon’tthinkshe’sdead.She’ssortof?…inbetween.Nothere,notontheotherside.Shefeelsreally?…distant,likenottotallyrootedhereandnow.Exceptwhenshetouchedyou,thenshefeltsuperhere.Whichisinteresting.”
“Is—isthereanyotherwaytotestthis?”
“NotthatIknowof,”Nikosays.“Sorry,babe,it’snotreallyanexactscience.Ooh.MaybeIshoulddotheshrimpinstead.”
Right.Notanexactscience.ThisiswhyAugusthasneverconsultedapsychicbefore.Hermomalwayssaid,youcan’tstartwithguesses.Thefirstthingshelearnedfromher:startwithwhatyouabsolutelyknow.
Sheknows?…Janewasin1976,andJaneishere.Alwayshere,ontheQ,somaybe?…
ThefirsttimeAugustmetJane,shefellinlovewithherforafewminutes,andthensteppedoffthetrain.That’sthewayithappensonthesubway—youlockeyeswithsomeone,youimaginealifefromonestoptothenext,andyougobacktoyourdayasifthepersonyoulovedinbetweendoesn’texistanywherebutonthattrain.Asiftheynevercouldbeanywhereelse.
Maybe,withJaneontheQ,it’sactuallytrue.
MaybetheQistheanswer.
MaybetheQiswhereAugustshouldstart.
Sheglancesovertotheoppositeplatform,andshecanjustmakeoutthearrivalboard.Brooklyn-boundQ,incomingintwominutes.
“Oh,”Augustsays.It’spunchedoutofher,involuntary.“Oh,fuck,whydidn’tIthinkofitbefore?”
“Iknow,”Nikosays,“shrimp,right?”
“No,I—”Shespinsaround,lungingforthestairs,shoutingoverhershoulder.“Gogetyourtaco,I’llmeetyouathome,I—Ihaveanidea!”
ShelosessightofNikoasshethrowsherselfdownstairs,skitteringintoatrashcanandsendingapizzaboxflying.There’sonewayshecanprovetotally,definitively,thatJaneismorethansheseems.Thatthisisn’tinherhead
Augustknowsthisroute.Shememorizeditbeforeshestartedtakingit,determinedtounderstand.It’satwo-minuteridebetweenCanalandPrince,andJaneleftintheoppositedirection.There’snophysicalwayJanecanbeonthenexttraintopullup,evenifsheranforit.SheshouldstillbeonherwaythroughManhattan.Ifshe’sonthistrain,thenAugustknows.
Oneminute.
Augustisalone.It’snearlyfourinthemorning.
Therushofthetraincomes,headlightsspillingontothetoesofhersneakers
Thebrakesgrind,andAugustpicturesthenightfiftyfeetabove,theuniversewatchingasshetriestopiecetogetheronetinycornerofitsmystery.Shestaresdownathershoes,attheyellowpaintandchewed-upgumontheconcrete,andtriestothinkaboutnothingbuttheplacewhereherfeettouchtheground,theabsolutecertaintyofit.That’sreal.
Shefeelsunbelievablysmall.Shefeelslikethisisthebiggestthingthat’severhappenedinherentirelife.
Sheletsthetraincruisepastuntilitcoaststoastop.Itdoesn’tmatterifshechasesdownaparticularcar.Theoutcomewillbethesame.
Auguststepsthroughthedoors.
Andtheresheis.
Janelooksexactlythesame—jacketslouched,backpackatherside,oneshoecominguntied.Butthetrainisdifferent.Thelastonewasnewer,withlong,smoothbluebenchesandatickerofstopsalongthetopnexttotheadvertisements.Thisoneisolder,thefloorsdustier,theseatsamixtureoffadedorangeandyellow.Itdoesn’tmakeanysense,butheresheis.ShelooksasconfusedtoseeAugustasAugustistoseeher.
“WhenIsaidnottobeastranger,”Janesays,“Ididn’tthinkyou’dbebackquitesosoon.”
They’retheonlytwopeopleinthecar.Maybethey’retheonlytwopeoplealive.
Maybeoneofthemisn’taliveatall.
Thisisit,then.Janedidtheimpossible.Sheis,whateversheis,impossible
Augustcrossesovertoherandsitsdownasthetrainswaysbackintomotion,carryingthemtowardConeyIsland.ShewondersifJanehasever,evenonce,gottenoutattheendofthelineandsunkherfeetintothewater.
Augustturnstoher,andJane’slookingback.
There’salwaysbeenaschematicinAugust’sheadofhowthingsaresupposedtobe.Herwholelife,shemanagedthenoiseandbuzzandcreepingdreadinherbrainbymappingthingsout,tellingherselfthatifshelookedhardenough,she’dfindanexplanationforeverything.Butheretheyare,lookingateachotheracrossthesteadydelineationofthingsAugustunderstands,watchingthelineblur.
“CanIaskyousomething?”Augustsays.Herhandfidgetsuptoherear,tuckingherhairback.“It’s—uh.Itmightsoundweird.”
Janeeyesher.MaybeshethinksAugustisgoingtoaskheroutagain.Jane’sbeautiful,alwaysimprobablybeautifulunderthesubwayfluorescents,butadateisthelastthingonAugust’smind.
“Yeah,”Janesays.“Ofcourse.”
Augustcurlsherhandsintofistsinherlap.“Howoldareyou?”
Janelaughssoftly,reliefflashinginhereyes.“Easy.Twenty-four.”
Okay.Augustcanworkwiththat.
“Doyou…”Shetakesabreath.“Sowhatyearwereyouborn,then?”
And—
Ittakesonlyasecond,abreath,butsomethingpassesoverJane’sfaceliketheheadlightsofapassingcaroverabedroomwallatnight,goneassoonasitwasthere.Janesettlesintoherusualslysmile.Augustneverconsideredhowmuchofadeflectionthatsmilewas.
“Why’reyouasking?”
“Well,”Augustsayscarefully.She’swatchingJane,andJaneiswatchingher,andshecanfeelthismomentopeninguplikeamanholebeneaththem,waitingforthemtodrop.“I’mtwenty-three.Youshouldhavebeenbornaboutayearbeforeme.”
Janestiffens,unreadable.“Right.”
“So,”Augustsays.Shebracesherself.“Sothat’s?…that’s1995.”
Jane’ssmileflickersout,andAugustswearsafluorescentlightabovethemdimstoo.
“What?”
“Iwasbornin1996,soyoushouldhavebeenbornin1995,”Augusttellsher.“Butyouweren’t,wereyou?”
ThesleeveofJane’sjackethasriddenupononeside,andshe’stracingthecharactersaboveherelbow,diggingherfingertipsinsothecolorflowsoutofherskinundertheink.
“Okay,”shesays,tryingonadifferentsmile,hereyesdroppingtothefloor.“You’refuckingwithme.Igetit.You’reverycuteandfunny.”
“Jane,whatyearwereyouborn?”
“IsaidIgotit,August.”
“Jane—”
“Look,”shesays,andwhenhereyesflashup,it’sthere,thethingAugustglimpsedbefore—anger,fear.Shewashalf-expectingJanetolaughitoff,likeshedoeshercassetteplayerandherbackpackfullofyears.Shedoesn’t.“Iknowsomething’s?…wrongwithme.Butyoudon’thavetofuckwithme,okay?”
Shedoesn’tknow.Howcanshenotknow?
It’sthefirsttimeJane’sletitshow,heruncertainty,andthelinesofherarefilledinalittlemore.Shewasthisdreamgirl,toogoodtobetrue,butshe’sreal,finally,asrealasAugust’ssneakersonthesubwayplatform.Lost.ThatAugustcanunderstand.
“Jane,”Augustsayscarefully.“I’mnotfuckingwithyou.”
Shepullsoutthephoto,unfoldsit,smoothsoutthecreasedownthemiddle.SheshowsittoJane—thewashed-out,yellow-tintedbooths,thefadedneonofthesignabovetheto-gocounter.Jane’ssmile,frozenintime.
“That’syou,right?”
ItcomesoverJaneinabreathlessrush,likethetrainblowingAugust’shairbackasithurtlesintothestation.
“Yeah?…yeah,that’sme,”Janesays.Herhandsonlyshakealittlewhenshetakesthephoto.“Itoldyou.Igotajobthererightafteritopened.”
“Jane.”Thetraintrundleson.Thewordisalmosttooquiettobeheardoverthenoise.“Thisphotowastakenin1976.”
“Thatsoundsright,”shesaysdistantly.She’sstoppedtracingthetattooonherarm—insteadtracingtheshapeofherchininthephoto.Augustwonderswhatthedistanceisbetweenthepersoninfrontofherandtheoneinthephoto.Decades.Notimeatall.“Imovedhereacoupleofyearsago.”
“Doyouknowwhatyear?”
“God,probably.…’75?”
Augustconcentratesonkeepingherfaceandvoicecalm,likeshe’stalkingtosomeoneonaledge.“Okay.I’mgonnaaskyousomething.IsweartoGod,Iamnotfuckingwithyou.Trytohearmeout.Doyourememberthelasttimeyouweren’tonthistrain?”
“August…”
“Please.Justtrytoremember.”
ShelooksupatAugust.Hereyesareshining,wet.
“I—”shestarts.“Idon’tknow.Idon’tknow.It’s—it’sblurry.It’sallblurry.AsfarbackasIcanremember.IknowI—IworkedatBilly’s.1976.That’sthelastthingIremember,andIonlyknowbecauseyouremindedme.You—youbroughtthatback,Iguess.”Herusualconfidenceisgone,ashaky,panickedgirlinitsplace.“Itoldyou,Ithink,um.Something’swrongwithme.”
AugustsettlesahandoverJane’swrist,bringingthephotodownintoherlap.She’snevertouchedherlikethisbefore.She’sneverhadthenervebefore.She’sneverruinedsomebody’slifebefore.
“Okay,”Augustsays.“It’sokay.There’snothingwrongwithyou.ButIthinksomethinghappenedtoyou.AndIthinkyou’vebeenstuckonthistrainforalongtime.Like,areallylongtime.”
“Howlong?”
“Um.Aboutforty-fiveyears.”
Augustwaitsforhertolaugh,cry,cussherout,havesomekindofmeltdown.Instead,shereachesforapoleandpullsherselftoherfeet,herbalancepracticedandsureevenasthetraintakesacurve.
WhensheturnstoAugust,herjawisset,hergazesteadyanddark.She’sheartbreakinglygorgeous,evennow.Especiallynow:squareduptotheuniverse.
“That’salongfuckingtime,huh?”shesaysflatly.
“What,um,”Augustattempts.“Whatcanyouremember?”
“Iremember…”shesays.“Iremembermoments.Sometimesdays,oronlyhours.IknewIwasstuckhere,somehow.IknowI’vetriedtogetoffandblinkedandopenedmyeyesinadifferentcar.IremembersomepeopleI’vemet.ThathalfthethingsinmybagaresomethingItradedfor,stole,orfound.Butit’s—it’sallfuzzy.Youknowwhenyoudrinktoomuchandblackoutexceptforrandompieces?It’slikethat.IfIhadtoguess,Iwould’vesaidI’vebeenonherefor?…maybeafewmonths.”
“Andbefore?Whatdoyourememberbeforeyouwereonthetrain?”
ShefixesAugustwithaflatgaze.“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“NothingbutaflashofBilly’s.”
Augustbitesdownonherlip.“Yourememberyourname.”
Janelooksatherlikeshefeelssorryforher,onesideofhermouthpullingintoajoylessapproximationofhersmile.Shetakesherjacketoffandflipsitaround,inside-out.Thewornfabrictagsticksoutfromtheinsideofthecollar,blocklettersembroideredincarefulredthread.
JANESU
“Iknowmynamebecausethisjacketsaysit’smyname,”shesays.“IhavenofuckingideawhoIam.”
6
BunchofPunks
JayneCounty,NewYorkDolls,andtheteeminglifeinsideMax’sKansasCity,apunkhaveninGramercy
“Ileftabloodstainonthatboothoverthere.Ikissedthatbartender.Thatonesleptonmycouchlastweek.Anybodywhosayspunkisn’tqueerdoesn’tknowwhatpunkis.”
—JaneSu
“Okay,now!”
Janejumps,and—
She’sgone,again.
Augustsighsandstepsontothetrainbeforethedoorsclose,makinganoteontheminiaturestenoshe’sstartedkeepinginherjacketpocket.BergenAve.:nope.
“Thisisgettingrepetitive,”saysJane’svoice,herchinsuddenlyonAugust’sshoulder.Augustyelpsandstumblesbackintoher.
“Iknow,”Augustsays,lettingJanerighther,“butwhatifoneofthesestopsistheoneyoucangetoffat?Wehavetoknowwhatwe’redealingwith.”
Theytryitateverystop,startingattheshinyNinety-sixthStreetStationontheManhattanend.Everytimethedooropens,Auguststepsoutandsays,“Now!”AndJanetriestogetoff.
It’snotlikesheseesJanephysicallydisappearorreappear.Janewilltakeasteporahopor—onceinamomentofdeliriousfrustration—arunningleapthroughtheopendoors,andnothinghappens.Shedoesn’tsmackintoaninvisiblebarrierorvanishwithapop.She’sjustthere,andthenshe’snot.
Sometimessheresetstotheplacewhereshewasstandingwhenshestarted.SometimesAugustblinksandJane’sontheotherendofthesamecar.Sometimesshe’sgonecompletely,andAugusthastowaitforthenexttraintofindherwaitingagainstapole.Notasinglepassengernoticeshersuddenpresence;theycontinuetheiraudiobooksandmascara
“So,youreallycan’tgetoffthetrain,”AugustfinallyadmitsundertheglassandsteelarchesofConeyIsland,theverylaststopontheline.Janecan’tgetoffthereeither.
That’sthefirststep,figuringouthowtrappedJaneis.Theansweris:verycompletelytrapped.Thenextquestionis,how?
Augusthasabsolutelynofuckingclue.
She’sonlyeverdealtwithhardfacts.Concreteandquantifiableevidence.Shecanreasonherwaythroughthisrightuptothepointofunderstandinghowitishappening,andthen:deadend.Awallmadeofthingsthataren’tsupposedtobepossible.
Jane,ultimately,isagoodsport.She’sadjustingremarkablywelltobeingforty-fiveyearsfromhomeanddoomedtotakethesamesubwayrideeveryminuteofeveryday—shegrinsandsays,“Honestly,it’snicerthanmyfirstapartment,accordingtothe0.5secondsIrememberofit.”SheeyesAugustwithsomeunreadablesignificance.“Bettercompanytoo.”
ButJanestilldoesn’tknowwhosheis,orwhysheis,orwhathappenedtogetherstuck.
AugustlooksatherasthetrainreversespastGravesendrooftops,thisgirloutoftime,thesamefaceandbodyandhairandsmilethattookAugust’slifebytheshouldersinJanuaryandshook.Andshecan’tbelieveJanehadthenerve,theaudacity,tobecometheonethingAugustcan’tresist:amystery.
“Okay,”Augustsays.“Timetofigureoutwhoyouare.”
TheafternoonsunfallsinJane’sbrowneyes,andAugustthinksshe’sgoingtoneedmorenotebooks.It’lltakeamilliontoholdthisgirl.
WhenAugustwaseight,hermomtookhertothelevee.
ItwasrightaftertheFourthofJuly.Shewasturningninesoonandreallyintoheragethatyear.She’dtelleveryonethatshewasn’teightbuteightandahalf,eightandthree-quarters.Goingtotheleveewasoneofthefewthingstheyeverdidwithoutacasefilebetweenthem—justagallon-sizebagofwatermelonslicesandabeachtowelandaperfectspottosit.
Sheremembershermother’shair,howthecopperybrownwouldglowunderthesummersunlikethewetplanksofthedocks.Shealwayslikedhowitwasthesameashers,howtheysharedsomanythings.ItwasinthosemomentsthatAugustsometimespicturedhowhermomlookedwhenshewasyounger,beforeshehadAugust,andatthesametime,shecouldn’tbegintoimagineatimewhentheydidn’thaveeachother.AugusthadherandshehadAugust,andtheyhadsecretcodestheyspokein,andthatwasit.Thatwasenough.
Sheremembershermomexplainingwhatleveeswerefor.Theyweren’tmadeforbeachtowelpicnics,shesaid—theyweremadetoprotectthem.Tokeepwateroutwhenstormscame.
Itwasn’tlongafterwardthatastormtoobigfortheleveescame.2005.TheirapartmentinBelleChasse,theIdlewildplace,goteightfeetofwater.Allthefiles,maps,photos,alltheyearsofhandwrittennotes,awetpulpshoveledoutthewindowofacondemnedbuilding.August’smomsavedonetupperwaretuboffilesonherbrotherandnotasingleoneofAugust’sbabypictures.Augustlosteverythingandthoughtthatmaybe,ifshecouldbecomesomeonewhodidn’thaveanythingtolose,she’dneverhavetofeelthatwayagain.
SheturnednineinaRedCrossshelter,andsomethingstartedtosourinherheart,andshecouldn’tstopit.
AugustsitsontheedgeofanairmattressinBrooklynandtriestoimaginehowitwouldfeelifshedidn’thaveanyofthosememoriestounderstandwhatmadeherwhosheis.Ifshewokeuponedayandjustwasanddidn’tknowwhy.
Nobodytellsyouhowthosenightsthatstandoutinyourmemory—leveesunsetnights,hurricanenights,firstkissnights,homesicksleepovernights,nightswhenyoustoodatyourbedroomwindowandlookedattheliliesoneporchoverandthoughttheywouldstandout,singularandcrystallized,inyourmemoryforever—theyaren’treallyanything.They’reeverything,andthey’renothing.Theymakeyouwhoyouare,andtheyhappenatthesametimeatwenty-three-year-oldamillionmilesawayiswarmingupsomeleftovers,turninginearly,switchingoffthelamp.They’resoeasytolose.
Youdon’tlearnuntilyou’reolderhowtozoomoutofthatextremeproximityandmakeitfitintothebiggerpictureofyourlife.Augustdidn’tlearnuntilshesatknee-to-kneewithagirlwhocouldn’trememberwhoshewas,andtriedtohelpherpieceeverythingbacktogether.
Thenextfewdaysgolikethis:
August’salarmgoesoffforclass.HershiftscomeupatBilly’s.Heressaysandprojectsandexamsstayloomingoverherlikeacavefullofbats.Sheignoresallofit.
Shegoesbackintoworkexactlyonetime,tohangtheopeningdayphotobackuponthewallandwaylayJerryashepassesitonhiswayoutofthebathroom
“Hey,”shesays,“Inevernoticedhowcoolthispicturewas.Theseventiesseemlikeahellofatime.”
“That’swhatI’vebeentold,”Jerrysays.“Ibarelyremember’em.”
“Imean,youmustrememberthis,though,right?Openingday?AlltheoriginalBilly’screw?”
Sheholdsherbreathasheleansintosquintatthephoto.“Buttercup,anyoneofthesesonsofbitchescouldwalkinhereandsockmeinthefaceandIwouldn’tevenknowitwasthem.”
Shepushesit.“NoteventheonewhoinventedtheSuSpecial?”
“Iwaswhatyoumightcallanalcoholicatthetime,”Jerrysays.“I’mluckyIcanrememberwhatgoesinthesandwichatall.”
“Areyousure?”
Jerryraisesabushyeyebrowather.“Y’knowpeopleinNewYorkmindtheirbusiness,right?”
Hetrudgesbacktothekitchen,Augustfrowningafterhim.HowcanhehaveforgottenJane?
SheflagsdownLucieonherwayout,askingaboutthelasttimeBillyhimselfvisitedtherestaurant,thinkingmaybeshecouldaskhim—but,no.He’smostlyretired,livesinJerseynowwithhisfamilyandalmostnevercomesin,justsignsthepaychecks.He’sputLucieandWinfieldinchargeanddoesn’tseemtobewelcomingphonecallsfromrookieserversnewtothecity.
So,sheleaves.Sheskipsclass.Shecallsinsicktowork.ShelistenstoLucietutatheroverthephone,likesheknowsAugustisfaking.Shedoesn’tcare.
Instead,sheshovesherlegsintojeansandherfeetintoVansandherheartdeep,deepdownintoherchestwhereitcan’tdoanythingstupid,andsheswipesherwayintoherstation.
Everymorning,Jane’sthere.Usuallytheseatsareacool,cleanblue,thelightsshinyandbright,butoccasionally,it’sanoldtrain,burntorangeseatswithFUCKREAGANscrawleddownthesideinfadedmarker.Sometimesthereareonlyafewsleepycommuters,andsometimesit’spackedwithfinanceguysbarkingdowntheirphonesandhuskerssingingintothemorningrush.
ButJane’salwaysthere.SoAugustistoo.
“Istilldon’tunderstand,”Wessays,whenAugustfinallymanagestowrangleeveryoneintothesameroom.He’sjuststumbledhomefromthetattooshop,bagelinhand,whileNikoblearilypourshimselfcoffeeandMylabrushesherteethoverthekitchensink.Thebathroomplumbingmustbeactingupagain.
“She’sstuckonthetrain,”Augustexplainsforwhatfeelslikethefivehundredthtime.“She’slostintimefromthe’70s,andshecan’tleavetheQtrain,andshedoesn’trememberanythingbeforeshegotthere.”
“Andyou,like,”Wessays,“definitelyruledoutthepossibilitythatshe’smakingitup?”
“She’shonest,”Nikomumbles.Helooksperturbedathavingtoopenhisthirdeyebeforeeightinthemorning.He’sbarelyopenedhistworegularones.“Imether.Icouldtell.Honestandsane.”
“Nooffense,butyousaidthesamethingabouttheguywhomovedindownstairs,andhestoleallmyweedandghostedmeandmovedtoLongBeachtobestonedallthetime.LesshonestandsaneandmorecomatoseinCalifornia.”
Mylaspitsinthesink.“ComatoseinCaliforniaismyfavoriteLanaDelReyalbum.”
“He’sright,”Augustcutsin.“Ibelieveher.She’snevernotonthetrainwhenIgeton,evenifit’sadifferenttrainaminutelater.Idon’tseehowshecandothatunlessshe’snotlivingbythelawsofreality.”
“So,whatareyougonnado?50FirstDates?Girlfriendwithnomemories?”
“Firstofall,”Augustsays,gatheringupherbagandsweater,“thatmoviewasaboutshort-termmemoryloss,notlong-termmemoryloss—sherememberswhoIam.Secondofall,she’snotmygirlfriend.”
“You’rewearingthatredlipstickforher,though,”Mylapointsout.
“I—thatisastylechoice.”Augustmaneuvershersweateroverherheadsonobodycanseewhatcolorherfaceisandtalksthroughthewool.“Evenifshewantedmetobehergirlfriend,Ican’t.Wedon’tevenknowwhosheis.Figuringthatoutiswaymoreimportant.”
“Soaltruisticofyou,”Wessays,unwrappinghisbagel.“I—Ohgoddammit,theygotmyorderwrong.Howabsolutelydarethey.”
“Criminal,”Mylasays.
“Igothereeverysinglemorningandordertheexactsamething,andtheystillcan’tgetmyorderright.Thedisrespect.Weliveinasociety.”
“Goodluckwiththat,”Augustsays,shoulderingherbag.“Igottagoun-amnesiaaghost.”
“She’snotaghost,”Nikosays,butshe’salreadyoutthedoor.
Wesdidgiveheranidea,though.Shedoesn’tknowhowtofixJane,butruleoneisstartwithwhatyouknow.SheknowsJanewasaNewYorker.Sotheystartthere:withhercoffeeandbagelorder.
“Idon’tremember,”shesayswhenAugustasks.“That’showitiswithalotofstuff.IrememberIgothere.Iknowtherewasstuffbeforeit.ButIdon’trememberwhatitwasorhowIfelt,untilsomethingsparks.LikewhenIsawthatladywhoremindedmeofmyneighborwiththepierogies.”
“It’sokay,”Augustsays,andshehandsoveracoffeewithonesugarandaplainbagelwithcreamcheese.“YoulivedinNewYorkforatleastacoupleofyears.There’snowayyoudon’thaveacoffeeandbagelorder.We’lldoprocessofelimination.”
Janetakesonebiteandwrinkleshernose.“Idon’tthinkthisisit.”
Forthenextfourdays,Augustbringsheradifferentcoffeeandbagel.Blackandaneverythingwithlox.Cappuccinowithcinnamonandatoastedparmesanwithgarlicherb.It’snotuntildayfive(chocolatechipandpeanutbutter)thatsheopensthepaperbagandsniffsandsays,“OhmyGod.Chocolate.”
“Jesus,”Augustsays,asJanedownshalfofitinonebitelikeaboaconstrictor.“EveryNewYorkerinathirty-mileradiusjustbecameirateandtheydon’tknowwhy.”
“Yeah.Theguyatthedelialwayslookedsodisgusted.”
“Like,atthatpoint,whynoteatadonut?”
“Lessfilling,”shesaysthroughamouthful.AndthenshegrabsAugust’shandandsays,“Wait.Fivesugars!”Andthat’showtheydiscoverJane’sincorrigiblesweettooth.Shetakeshercoffeewithtwocreamsandfivesugarslikesomekindofmaniac.Auguststartsbringingherachocolatechipbagelwithpeanutbutterandacoffeefullofsugarandcreameverymorning.
Sheridesthelineupanddownandbackupagain.OnaTuesdayafternoon,acrosstheEastRiverandovertheManhattanBridge,alongsideallthelandmarksshegrewuppressingintothecornersofenvelopesintheshapeofpostagestamps.OnaSaturdaymorning,downtoConeyIslandandthearchingraftersofthestation,jostledbytoddlerswithfloppyhatsandsunscreenstreaksandresignedparentswithbeachbags.
“WhogoestothebeachinMarch?”AugustmumblesastheywaitforthetraintopullbackoutofConeyIsland,theendoftheline.It’sthelongestthetrainiseverstationary.Janelikestoclaimyoucanheartheoceanifyoutryhardenough.
“Comeon,endofwinterpicnicsneartheshore?”Janesays,wavingherbagelintheair.“Ihappentothinkthey’reromanticashell.”
SheglancesatAugustlikesheexpectsaresponse,liketherewasajokeandAugustmissedthepunchline.Augustpullsafaceandkeepseating.
Theysitandeattheirbagelsandtalk.That’sallthereistodo—Augusthashitadeadend.WithoutcluesaboutherfamilyorherlifebeforeNewYork,Janeistheprimarysource.
Herprimarysource,andherfriend,now
That’sall.Nothingmorethanthat.That’sallitcanbe.
AugustglancesatthepeanutbutterleftbehindonJane’slip.
It’sfine.
OnaWednesday,Jane’sonherthirdbiteofbagelwhensheremembersherelementaryschool.
Thecity’svague,butsheremembersatinyclassroom,andotherkidsfromherneighborhoodsittingintinydesksandtinychairs,andaposterofahot-airballoononthewall.Sheremembersthesmellofpencilshavingsandherfirstbestfriend,agirlnamedJiawholovedpeanutbuttersandwiches,andthefoggywalkbetweentheirhomes,thesmellofwetpavementfromshopkeepershosingdowntheirsidewalksattheendofthenight.
Anotherday,she’sjustfinishedhercoffeewhenhereyeslightup,andshetellsAugustaboutthedayshegottoNewYork.ShetalksaboutaGreyhoundbus,andafriendlyoldmanatthestationwhoexplainedhowtogettoBrooklyn,winked,andslidabuttonintoherpocket,thelittlepinktrianglepinnedbelowhershoulder.ShetellsAugustaboutpayingcashforherfirsteverrideonthesubway,aboutclimbingupfromundergroundintoagraymorningandturninginaslowcircle,takingitallin,andthenbuyingherfirstcupofNewYorkcoffee.
“Youseethepattern,right?”Augustsayswhenshe’sdonewritingeverythingdown.
Janeturnstheemptycupoverinherhands.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“It’ssensorystuff,”Augustsays.“Yousmellcoffee,itbringsbacksomethingassociatedwiththesmell.Youtastepeanutbutter,samething.That’showwecandothis.Wejusthavetoexperiment.”
Jane’squiet,studyingtheboardmappingoutstops.“Whataboutasong?Couldthatworktoo?”
“Probably,”Augustsays.“Actually,knowingyouandmusic,Ibetitcouldhelpalot.”
“Okay,”Janesays,sittingupsuddenly,attentionrapt.ThelookonherfaceisoneAugusthascometorecognizeasreadinesstolearnsomethingshedoesn’tunderstand:headcockedslightly,oneeyebrowtickedup,partconfusion,parteagerness.SometimesJaneexudesthesameenergyasagoldenretriever.“There’sthisonesongIhalfwayremember.Idon’tknowwhoitwasby,butitgoeslike,ohhhh,giiiiirl…”
“Thatcoulddescribealotofsongs,”Augustsays,untuckingherphonefromherpocket.“Doyourememberanyoftheotherlyrics?”
Janebitesherlipandfrowns.Shesingsunderherbreath,warmandoff-keyandalittlecrackly,liketheairaroundherfeels.“HowIdependonyouuu,togivemelovehowIneedit.”
AugusttriesveryhardtothinkonlyofscientificcuriosityassheconsultsGoogle.“Oh,okay.When.It’sgivemelovewhenIneedit.Thetitleofthesongis‘Oh,Girl.’It’sbyabandcalledtheChi-Lites.Cameoutin1972.”
“Yeah!That’sright!Ihaditonaseven-inchsingle.”Janecloseshereyes,andAugustthinksthey’repicturingthesamething:Jane,cross-leggedonabedroomfloorsomewhere,lettingtherecordspin.“God,IwishIcouldlistentoitrightnow.”
“Youcan,”Augustsays,swipingthroughapps.“Hangon.”
Ittakesherallofthreesecondstopullitup,andsheunwindsherearbudsfromherpocketandhandsonetoJane.
Thesongfadesinsoulfulandlonging,stringsandharmonica,andthefirstwordscomeexactlyhowJanesangthem:Ohhhhgiiiiiirl?…
“OhmyGod,”Janesays,sittingbackinherseat.“That’sreallyit.Shit.”
“Yeah,”Augustsays.“Shit.”
ThesongplaysonforanotherminutebeforeJanesitsupandsays,“IheardthissongforthefirsttimeonaradioinasemitruckWhichisweird,becauseIdefinitelydon’tthinkIeverdrovesemitrucks.ButIthinkIrodeinsome.Thereareafew—like,flashes,youknow?”
Augustjotsitdown.“Hitchhiking,maybe?Thatwasabigthingbackthen.”
“Ohyeah,itwas,”shesays.“Ibetthat’sit.Yeah?…yeah,inatruckfromCalifornia,headingeast.ButIcan’trememberwhereweweregoing.”
Augustsucksonthebudofthepencileraser,andJanelooksather.Athermouth,specifically.
Shepullsthepenciloutofhermouth,self-conscious.“That’sokay,thisisagreatstart.Ifyourememberanyothersongs,Icanhelpyoufigurethemout.”
“Soyoucan?…listentoanysongyouwant?”Janesays,eyeingAugust’sphone.“Wheneveryouwantto?”
Augustnods.They’vebeenthroughsomeprettyrudimentaryexplanationsofhowsmartphonesandtheinternetwork,andJanehaspickedupalotfromobservation,butshestillgetsallwide-eyedandawed.
“Wouldyouwantmetogetyouaphonelikethis?”Augustasks.
Janethinksaboutit.“Imean?…yesandno?It’simpressive,butthere’ssomethingabouthavingtoworkforitwhenyouwanttolistentoasong.Iusedtolovemyrecordcollection.ThatwasthemostmoneyIeverspentinoneplace,shippingittoanewaddresswheneverIlandedinanewcity.Iwantedtoseetheworldbutstillhaveonethingthatwasmine.”
August’spencilfliesacrossthepaper.“Okay,soyouwereadrifter.Adrifterandahitchhiker.That’sso…”
“Cool?”Janesuggests,raisinganeyebrow.“Daring?Adventurous?Sexy?”
“Unbelievablethatyouweren’tstrangledbyoneofthedozensofserialkillersmurderinghitchhikersupanddowntheWestCoastinthe’70s,iswhatIwasgonnasay.”
“Well,”Janesays.Shekicksonefootup,crossingherankleoverherknee,andpeersatAugust,handsbehindherhead.“What’sthepointoflifewithoutalittledanger?”
“Notdying,”Augustsuggests.Shecanfeelcolorflaringinconvenientlyinhercheeks.
“Yeah,Ididn’tdiemywholelife,andlookwhereitgotme,”Janesays.
“Okay.Point.”Augustshutshersteno.“Thatwasabigmemory,though.Wegotourselvesalead.”
AugustgivesJaneherburnerphoneandteachesherhowtouseitandtheyexperiment,likesomekindofamnesiacscavengerhunt.Janetextshersnippetsoflyricsorimagesfrommoviesshesnuckintodollartheaterstowatch,andAugusttearsthroughthriftstoresforrecordsfamiliartoJane’shandsandavintageJawslunchbox.AugustbringseveryfoodshecanthinkoftotheQ:stickybuns,challah,slicesofpizza,falafelsweatingthroughitspaperwrapper,steamedspongecakes,icecreammeltingdownherwrist.
“Youknow,thistrainusedtobecalledtheQB,”Janerememberscasuallyoneday.“Iguessit’sjusttheQnow.Weird.”
Thingsstartcomingbackslowly,inpieces,onemomentatatime.AboxofgreasypepperonisplitwithafriendonapatioinPhilly.WalkingdowntheblockinhersandalsonahotJulyafternoontobuysoftgreenteacakeswithnickelsfromthecouch.AgirlshelovedbrieflywhodrankthreeArnoldPalmersaday.Agirlshelovedbrieflywhosnuckabottleofwineoutofherfamily’sSeudatPurimbecausetheywerebothtoopoortobuyone.Agirlshelovedbrieflywhoworkedatamovietheater.
Thereare,Augustnotices,alotofgirlsthatJanelovedbriefly.There’sasecretsetoftallymarksinthebackofoneofhernotebooks.It’suptoseven.(She’scompletelyfinewithit.)
TheygothroughJane’sbackpackforclues—thenotebooks,mostlyfilledwithjournalentriesandrecipesinmessyshorthand,thepostcardfromCalifornia,whichhasaphonenumberthat’sdisconnected.AugusttakespicturesofJane’sbuttonsandpinssoshecanresearchthemanddiscoversJanewassomethingofaradicalinthe’70s,whichopensupawholenewlineofresearch.
Augustdigsthroughlibraryarchivesuntilshefindscopiesofpamphlets,zines,flyers,anythingthatmighthavebeenpinneduporpastedorcrammedunderadoorintoaseedybarwhenJanewasstompingthroughthestreetsofNewYork.ShedigsupanissueofIWorKuen’snewspaper,pagesinChineseandEnglishonMarxismandself-determinationandescapingthedraft.ShefindsaflyerforaRedstockingsstreettheaterperformanceaboutabortionrights.SheprintsoutanentireissueoftheGayLiberationFront’smagazineandbringsittoJane,abrightpinkstickytabmarkinganessaybyMarthaShelleytitled“GayIsGood.”
“‘Yourfriendlysmileofacceptance—fromthesafepositionofheterosexuality,’”Janereadsaloud,“‘isn’tenough.Aslongasyoucherishthatsecretbeliefthatyouarealittlebitbetterbecauseyousleepwiththeoppositesex,youarestillasleepinyourcradle?…andwewillbethenightmarethatawakensyou.’”
Shefoldsthepagedownandlicksherbottomlip.
“Yeah,”shesays,smirking.“Yeah,Irememberthisone.”
TosaythatthepapersunlocknewpartsofJanewouldbealie,becausethey’vealwaysbeenthere.Theydon’trevealanythingnotalreadyspelledoutbythesetofherchinandthewaysheplantsherfeetinthespaceshetakesup.Buttheycolorinthelines,pindowntheedges—shethumbsthroughandremembersprotests,riots,curlsherhandsintofistsandtalksaboutwhatmadethemusclememoryinherknuckles,hand-paintedsignsandblackeyesandabandanatiedoverhermouthandnose.
Augusttakesnoteafternoteandfindsitalmostfunny—thatallthefightingonlyconspiredtomakeJanegentle.Fearsomeandflirtyandfullofbadjokes,anincorrigiblesweettoothandasteel-toebootasalastresort.That,Augustislearning,isJane.
Itwouldbeeasier,Augustthinks,iftherealJaneweren’tsomeoneAugustlikedsomuch.Infact,it’dbeextremelyconvenientifJanewasboringorselfishoranasshole.She’dlovetodoonepieceofcaseworkwithoutthewholehalfway-in-love-with-her-subjectthinggettingintheway.
Inbetween,whenJaneneedsabreak,Augustdoesthethingshe’sdoneherbesttoavoidmostofherlife:shetalks.
“Idon’tunderstand,”AugustsayswhenJaneasksabouthermom,“whatdoesthathavetodowithyourmemories?”
Janeshrugs,touchingthetoesofhersneakerstogether.“Ijustwanttoknow.”
Janeasksaboutschool,andAugusttellsherabouthertransfersandextrasemestersandherfreshmanroommatefromTexaswholovedTakisFuego,anditremindsJaneofthisstudentshedatedwhenshewastwentyandcouch-surfingthroughtheMidwest(tallymarknumbereight).SheasksaboutAugust’sapartment,andAugusttellsheraboutMyla’ssculpturesandNoodlesbarrellingthroughthehalls,anditbringsbackJane’sneighbor’sdoginherBrooklynapartment,onedoordownfromthePolishlady.
(Theyalmostnevertalkabout2020andwhatit’slikeaboveground.Notyet.Augustcan’ttellifshewantstoknow.Janedoesn’task.)
Augustsitsnexttoheroracrossfromheror,sometimes,ontheseatbeneathher,whenJanegetsworkedupandpacesthecar.TheyhuddlebythemapofthecitypostednearthesubwaydoorsandtrytotraceJane’soldpathsthroughBrooklyn.
Twoweeksin,AugusthasthreenotebooksfilledwithJane’sstories,hermemories.Shetakesthemhomeatnightandspreadsthemoutonherairmattressandtakenotesofhernotes,lookingupeverynameJanecanrecall,searchingthecityforoldphonebooks.ShetakestheCaliforniapostcardhomeandreadsitoverandover:Jane—Missyou.Catchmeup?It’ssignedonlywiththewordsMuscadineDreamsandaphonenumberwithanOaklandareacode,butnoneoftheJaneSusin1970sSanFranciscoleadanywhere.
Shebuystwomaps:oneoftheUnitedStatesandoneofNewYork,allfiveboroughsspreadoutinpastels.ShetapesthemonherbedroomwallandtuckshertonguebetweenherteethandpressespushpinsintoeveryplaceJanementions.
They’regoingtofindJane.Shemusthaveleftthingsbehind,placesandpeoplethatrememberher.Augustwatchesherlightupoverthesteadyshakeofthetraineverydayandcan’timaginehowanyonecouldeverforget.
Augustasksheroneafternoon,whenshe’sblowingoffanexamreviewtomakequietjokesaboutthepeoplewhogetonandoffthetrain,“Whendidyourealizeyouwerestuck?”
“Honestly?”Janesays.Shereachesoverandgentlyswipesfrostingfromthatmorning’sdonutoffAugust’sbottomlip.TheeyecontactissoterriblyclosethatAugusthastolookdownbeforeherfacesayssomethingshecan’ttakeback.“ThedayImetyou.”
“Really?”
“Imean,itwasn’tclearrightaway.Butitwaskindof?…foggybefore.ThatwasthefirsttimeIwasreallyawareofstayinginonetimeandplaceforafewdays.Afteraweekorso,IrealizedIhadn’tmoved.Atfirst,IcouldonlytellbycountingwhenIsawyouandwhenIdidn’t.Theweekyoudidn’tcome?Everythingstartedgettingblurryagain.So…”
Itdropsquietlyintothespacebetweenthem:maybeit’sthem.Maybeit’sAugust.Maybeshe’sthereason.
MylabribesAugustwithabagofZapp’sfromabodegafourblocksovertointroducehertoJane.
AfterNiko,she’sheldoffonintroducinganyone.It’snotlikeJanedoesn’thaveenoughtodealwith,recentlybeinginformedthatshe’sascientificanomalytrappedforty-fiveyearsinthefuturewithnomemoryofhowshegotthereandall.She’sstillgettingusedtotheideathatshe’snotgoingtogetarrestedforbeinggayinpublic,whichwasawholethree-dayemotionalrollercoaster.Augustistryingtotakeiteasyonher.
“YoucouldjusttaketheQyourself,”AugusttellsMyla,tuckingthechipsontohershelfinthepantry.Afteramomentofconsideration,sheattachesaPost-itnotethatsaysTOUCHTHESEANDDIE.“She’salwaysonit.”
“Itried,”Mylasays.“Ididn’tseeher.”
Augustfrowns,slidingapacketofstrawberryPop-Tartsoutofthepantry.Notimeforabagel.“Really?That’sweird.”
“Yeah,guessIdon’thavethewholemagicalsoulmatebondyouhavewithher,”shesays.It’sarainyFridayafternoon,andshe’sgotabrightyellowrainjacketonliketheMortonSaltgirlwith4Ahair.
“Wedonothaveamagicalsoulmatebond.Whyareyousoinvestedinourrelationshipanyway?”
“August,Iloveyouverymuch,andIwantyoutobehappy,andI’mveryconfidentthatyouandthisgirlare,like,fatedbytheuniversetofingerblasteachotheruntilyoubothdie,”shesays.“Buthonestly?Iaminthisforthesci-fiofitall.I’mlivingareallifeepisodeofTheX-Files,okay?Thisisthemostinterestingthingthat’severhappenedtome,andmylifehasnotbeenboring.So,canwego,Scully?”
Onthewateryplatform,Mylalaunchesherselfatthetrainsofast,shenearlyshovesAugustintoanoldwomantotteringout.
“Bye,Mrs.Caldera!”Janecallsafterher.“TellPacoIsaidhiandthathebetterstudyforhisalgebratest!”SheseesAugust,andhersmileshiftsfromfriendlyintosomethingAuguststillcan’tname.“Oh,hey,August!”
Mylanudgesahead,extendingahandtoJane.“Hi,wow,I’mMyla,hugefan.Loveyourwork.”
Janebemusedlytakesherhand,andAugustcanseeMylamakingawholecatalogofscientificobservationsastheyshake.Shereallyshouldhavepushedherontothetrackswhenshehadthechance.
“Canyoupleasesitdown?”Augusthisses,nudginghertowardaseat.ShepullsthePop-Tartsoutofherpocketandhandsthemover,andJaneimmediatelyripsintothem.“Um,Jane,thisisoneofmyroommatesItoldyouabout.”
“I’vebeendyingtomeetyou,”Mylasays.“IhadtobribeAugustwithchips.Zapp’s.SweetCreoleOnion.”
JanelooksupfromthePop-Tartswrappershe’sbrutalizing.“Zapp’s?”
“It’saLouisianachipbrand,”Augusttellsher.“They’reamazing.I’llbringyousome.”
“Whoa,”Mylainterjects,“youcaneat?”
“Myla!”
“What?It’safairquestion!”
Janelaughs.“It’sokay.Yeah,Icaneat.Anddrink,thoughIdon’tthinkIcangetdrunk.Ifoundaflaskofwhiskeyonce,anditdidn’treallydoanything.”
“Maybeyourfirstmistakewasdrinkingoutofaflaskyoufoundonthesubway,”Augustsuggests.
Janerollshereyes,stillgrinning.
“Look,”shesaysthroughamouthful,“ifIturnedmynoseupateverythingthat’sleftonthesubway,Iwouldhavenothingtodo.”
“Wait,so,”Mylasays,leaningforward,elbowsonherknees,“doyougethungry?”
“No,”Janesays.Shethinksforasecond.“Icaneat,butIdon’tthinkIhaveto.”
“And?…digestion?”
“Myla,IsweartoGod—”
“Nothinghappens,”Janesayswithashrug.“It’slike…”
“Suspendedanimation,”Mylasupplies.
“Yeah,Iguess.”
“Wow,thatisfascinating!”Mylasays,andAugustismortified,butshecan’tpretendshe’snottakingmentalnotestoberecordedlater.“Andyoureallydon’trememberanything?”
Janefrownsthoughtfullyaroundanotherbite.“Iremembermorenow.It’ssortoflike?…musclememory?Popculturestuffiseasierthanpersonalstuffforsomereason.Andforalotofstuff,IhaveasensethatI’vedoneitbefore,evenifIcan’trememberitspecifically.Like,IknowhowtospeakCantoneseandEnglish,eventhoughIcan’trememberlearningeither.Morestuffcomesbackeveryday.”
“Wow.And—”
“Myla,”Augustsays,“canwemaybenottreatherlikeacreatureoftheweek?”
“Ah,sorry,”Mylasayswithawince.“Sorry!I’mjust—thisissocool.Imean,obviously,it’snotcoolforyou,butit’sfascinating.I’veneverheardofanythinglikeyou.”
“Isthatacompliment?”Janeasks.
“Itcanbe.”
“Anyway,”Augustsays.“Myla’sageniusandveryintosciencefictionandmultiversetheoryand,like,smart-peoplestuff,soshe’sgonnahelpfigureoutwhatexactlyhappenedtoyouandhowwecanfixit.”
Jane,whohasmovedontothesecondPop-Tartandisplowingthroughitlikeshe’stryingtobeatalandspeedrecord,squintsatAugustandsays,“Areyouassemblingataskforce,Landry?”
“Notataskforce,”Augustsays,heartskippingatthesoundofherlastnameinJane’smouth.“Justa?…ragtagbandofmisfits.”
ThecornersofJane’smouthpressinaslygrin.“Loveit.”
“VeryGoonies,”Mylachimesin.
“What’regoonies?”Janeasks.
“Onlyoneofthegreatestadventuremoviesof1985,”Mylasays.“Wait,ohman,youmissedSpielbergcompletely,didn’tyou?”
“ShewouldhavecaughtJawsin’75,”Augustautomaticallysupplies.
“Thankyou,EncyclopediaBrown,”Mylasays.SheleansinandtellsJane,“Augustknowseverythingabouteverything.It’shersuperpower.Sheshouldbeteachingyouallthe’80smovies.”
“Idonotknoweverything.”
“That’strue,youdidn’tknowabout’70spunk.Ihadtoteachyouthat.”
Janelooksather,smirkingslightly.Augustswallows.
“You’retheonewhotaughtherthat?”
“Ohyeah,”Mylachirpshappily,“Ithinkshewantedsomethingtotalktoy—”
“Anyway!”Augustinterrupts.They’repullingintoastation,andsheyanksMylaupbyhersleeve.“Billy’sisn’tfarfromthisstop,andI’mhungry.Aren’tyouhungry?Let’sgo,bye,Jane!”
MylaandJanebothseemvisiblyputout,butAugustisoneembarrassingnonsequiturawayfromthrowingherselfouttheemergencyexit.Thosetwoareadangerouscombination.
“Wait,what’syoursign?”MylashoutsoverAugust’sshoulder.
Janescrunchesherfaceuplikeshe’stryingtorememberwheresheleftherkeys,notherownbirthday.“Don’tremember.Summer,though?I’mprettysureIwasborninthesummer.”
“Icanworkwiththat!”Mylasays,andAugustissmilingapologeticallybackatJaneandwhiskingMylaaway,andJaneislostinthecrowdofcommuters.
“I’mgonnakillyou,”Augustsaysastheypicktheirwaytowardthestairs.
“Themostinterestingthingthat’severhappenedtome!”Mylayellsoverhershoulder.
“Whatdidyouthinkofher?”
Mylahopsuponthelanding,tuggingherminiskirtdown.“Imean,honestly?That’swifematerial.Like,threekidsandadogmaterial.Ifshelookedatmethewayshelooksatyou,myIUDwouldhaveshotoutlikeapartypopper.”
“JesusChrist,”Augustsays.And,involuntarily,“Howdoyouthinkshelooksatme?”
“Likeyou’reherPop-Tartangel.Likeyoushitsunshine.Likeyouinventedloveasaconcept.”
Auguststaresather,tryingtotakethatin,thenturnsonherheelandheadsofftowardtheexit.“No,shedoesn’t.”
“Likeshewantstoeatyoualive,”Mylaadds,joggingtocatchup.
“Youdon’thavetolietomakemefeelbetter,”Augustsays.
“I’mnotlying!She—oh,fuck.”
Mylahasscreechedtoahalt—literally,therubberofherbootssqueakingonthedamptilefloor—infrontofasignpostedonthestationwall.Augustbacktrackstoreadit.
SERVICEALERT,thesigndeclares.
Below,there’stheyellowbubbleoftheQ.Commuterskeepwalkingrightpastit,justanotherinconvenienceintheirday,butAugustfreezesandstaresandfeelsallherridesontheQspinoutaroundherinafilmreeluntilabreakerflipsandtheyallgoblack.
“They’reshuttingthelinedownformaintenanceattheendofthesummer,”Mylareads.
“Shuttingitdown?”ThedatesindicateSeptember1throughOctober31.“Twomonths?Iwon’tbeabletoseeherfortwomonths?”
Mylaturnstoher,eyeswide.“Didn’tyousay—ifshedoesn’tseeyou—?”
“Yeah,”Augustsays.“WhenIstoppedridingtheQ,everythinggotblurryagainforher.Doyou?…doyouthinkshewould…?”
AugustpicturesJanetrappedformonths,aloneandconfusedandstatickyandforgetting,orworse—trippingbackoutofthisprecisemomentintimejustlikeshetrippedintoit,lostagain,gonefurtherthanAugust’sresearchcouldeveruncover.Theyhavenoideahowfirmlyshe’splantedhereandnow.
Augustjustfoundher.It’stoosoontoloseher.
AtBilly’s,LuciedoesnotlookhappytoseeAugust,consideringshe’sbeenfakingmonoforweeks.Butsheshovestwomenusandtworollsofsilverwareatherandwordlesslyseatsthematthebar.
Winfielddropsoffaplateoffries,andoncehe’sgone,Augustleansoverandasks,“Whatthehelldowedo?”
“Okay,”Mylasays.“Ihaveatheory.”
AugustopenshermouthbeforesnappingitshutwhenWinfielddropsofftheketchup.Assoonashe’sgone,sheasks,“What?”
Mylaleansin.“Doyouknowanythingabouttimeslips?”
Augustblinks.“No.”
“Okay,”Mylasays.Sheseizestheketchup,dumpingitoverthefries.Augustpullsaface,andMylawavesitoff.“It’sthissci-fitropewheresomebodygetslostintime.So,like,AConnecticutYankeeinKingArthur’sCourt.MarkTwainbook.GuygetshitintheheadandwakesupinCamelot.Maybesomethinghappenedtoheronthetrainthatthrewheroutoftime.”
Augustfrowns.“Like,shetimetraveled?”
“Sortof,”Mylasaysthoughtfully.“Butyoufoundproofshewasaroundinthe’80sand’90s,right?”Augustnods.“Soit’snotonlythentonow.Maybeshe’sbeen,like?…flickeringthroughtime.Maybeshe’sstuckonthesubwaybecausesomebigevent,somebiganomaly,tetheredherthere.She’s,like,trappedinthein-between.”
“Inbetweenwhat?”
“Deadandalive,maybe,”shesays.“Realandnotreal.”
“Sothetrainislike?…purgatory?”HowveryCatholic.
“Yeah,but?…not.Like,okay.Youandme,we’rereal.We’restucktoreality,inthistimeline.Linear.WestartedatpointA,andwemoveforwardthroughpointsB,C,D,etcetera.Thisisbecausenothinghaseverinterferedwithourreality.There’sneverbeenaneventthatcouldhavedisruptedourtimeline.SoourpointsA,B,C,D,correspondtothesameorderofpointsinlineartime.Butsaytherewasaneventlike—likeonLost,whentheydetonatetheHbombandgetthrownforwardintime.Somethingjustbigenoughtomakeacrackthatonepersoncouldslipthrough,anditknockedherloosefromthetimelineofreality.HerpointBcouldbeourpointD,herpointEcouldbeourpointC.It’snotlinearforher.Shecanbein1980onemomentand2005thenextand1996afterthat,becauseshecameunstuck.”
Augustscrunchesherhandsupinherhair,tryingtowrapherbrainaroundit.
“Okay,solike?…likemusicontheradio,”sheattempts.“Like,theradiowavesstartinoneplaceandthey’repickedupbywhateverreceivercatchesthem.She’sthetransmission,andherreceiversare—”
“Allatdifferentmomentsintime,right,”Mylasays.“So,ifwelookatitthatway,she’sthemusic,andwe’rethereceiverpickingherup.”
“Andtheotherpeoplethathaveseenherandinteractedwithheronthetrainovertheyears,thosewere—”
“Likeantennasoncarscatchingaradiostationastheypassthroughtown.She’s—she’salwaysbroadcastingoutofthesametower.”
Augustfeelslikeherbrainisgoingtomeltoutofhernose.“TheQ.She’sbroadcastingoutoftheline.”
“Right.So?…whateveritwasmusthavehappenedwhileshewasonthetrain,”Mylasaysslowly.Thefriesaregoingsoggy.“Wejustneedtofigurewhat.”
“Howdowedothat?”
“Noidea.”
Auguststraightens,shovingherglassesuphernose.Shecandothis.Herbrainiswiredtosolvethings.“Imean,abigenougheventtothrowapersonoutoftime—therewouldbearecordofthat,right?”
Mylalooksather.“Girl,Idon’tknow.Thisisallhypothetical.”ShemustseethefrustrationflashacrossAugust’sface,becauseshepicksupafryandpointsitather.Itflopsoverpathetically,drippingketchupontothetable.“Look,youmightberight.Butitcouldhavebeentotallylocalized.Peoplecouldhavemisseditcompletely.”
Augustsighs.Propsherelbowsuponthetable.Triestoavoidtheketchup.“Whatabouthermemories?Whyarethosegone?”
“LikeIsaid,Idon’tknow.Couldbebecauseshe’snotrootedtoanything.She’snotfullyreal,sohermemoriesaren’teither.Theimportantthingis,they’renotgoneforgood.”
“So…”Augustsays,“sowehavetogethertorememberwhathappened.And…”
“Andthenmaybewecanfindawaytofixitbeforetheendofsummer.”
Augustletsthatsettleintheairbetweenthem:theideathattheycouldgetJaneout.She’sbeensofocusedonhelpingJanefigureoutherpast,shehasn’tthoughtaboutwhatcomesafter.
“Andthenwh-what?”Augustasks,wincingatthewayhervoicegoesshaky.“Ifwefigureoutwhathappenedandhowtofixit,whathappenswhenwedo?Shegoesbacktothe’70s?Shestayshere?She?…she’sgone?”
“Idon’tknow.But…”
AugustputsdownherFrenchfry.She’slostherappetite.“Butwhat?”
“Well,shesaidit’sonlyfeltlikeafewmonthsforher,untilnow?Ithinkshe’sgottenanchoredhereandnow.Andfromwhatyou’vetoldme,thisisthefirsttimethat’shappened.”
“So,wemightbeheronlychance?Okay,”Augustsays.Shefoldsherarmsacrossherchestandtucksherchindown,jawset.“Nomatterwhat,wetry.”
So,that’sit.Augustkindofknew,butnowsheknows.Shecan’tdothisandhaveacrushonJaneatthesametime.
It’sfine.It’sonlythatAugustusedtoloveSayAnythingbeforelifeintervenedtomakeherhateeverything,andJaneisthefirstpersontoevermakeherfeelallJohn-Cusack-and-Ione-Skye.It’snotabigdealthatJane’shandistheperfectsizetobraceagainstAugust’swaist,orthatwhenJanelooksather,shecan’tlookbackbecauseherheartstartsdoingthingssobigandloudthattherestofhercanbarelyholdthesizeandsound.She’lllive.
Thebottomline:there’snochance.EvenifsomehowJanefeelsthesame,Augusthasadeadline.ShehastohelpJanefigureoutwhosheis,howshegotstuck,andhowtogetherout.
Andifshemanagestopullthatoff,Jane’snotexactlyherepermanently.She’snotexactlyhereatall.And,well,Augusthasnevertrulyhadherheartbrokenbefore,butshe’sprettysurethatfallinginlovewithsomeoneonlytosendthembacktothe1970swould,asfirstheartbreaksgo,wintheFuckYouUpOlympics.
Anyway,shecancompartmentalize.ShespentherchildhoodgettingpaidinHappyMealstobreakintopeople’spersonalarchivesandpretendingthatwasnormal.Shecanpretendshe’sneverthoughtaboutJaneholdingherhandinacuteEastVillagebrownstonewithaWestElmsofaandawinefridge.Thiscrush,shedecides,isjustnotgoingtoworkforher.
Whichmeans,ofcourse,thenexttimeAuguststepsontheQ,Janesays,“IthinkIshouldkissyou.”
Itdoesn’tstartthatway.ItstartswithAugust,toobusythinkingaboutnotthinkingaboutJanetochecktheweatherforthemorning’sfreakthunderstorm,slippinginherownpuddleofrainwater.
“Whoa,”Janesays,catchingherundertheelbowbeforeshehitsthesubwayfloor.“Whotriedtodrownyou?”
“ThefuckingMTA,”Augustsays,lettingJanehelphertoherfeet.Shepusheshersoppinghairoutofhereyes,blinkingthroughtheraindropsonherglasses.“Twenty-minutedelayonanoutdoorplatform.Theywantmedead.”
Augusttakesoffherglassesanddesperatelychecksherselfforasingledryinchoffabrictowipethemon.
“Here,”Janesays,pullingupthetailofhershirt.Augustseesthesmoothskinofherstomach,hintsofasecrettattoospillingupoverherwaistbandononehip,andforgetstobreathe.Janetakesherglassestowipeoffthelenses.“Youdidn’thavetocometoday.”
“Iwantedto,”Augustsays.Sheaddsquickly,“We’vebeenmakinggoodprogress.”
Janelooksup,halfwaygrinning,andstops,August’sglassesstillinherhand.
“Oh,wow,”shesayssoftly.
Augustblinks.“What?”
“It’s—withoutyourglasses,thewethair.”Shehandsthemback,buthereyes,distantandalittledazed,don’tleaveAugust’sface.“Igotaflashofsomething.”
“Amemory?”
“Sortof,”Janesays.“Likeahalfmemory.Youremindedme.”
“Oh,”Augustsays.“Whatisit?”
“Akiss,”Janesays.“Idon’t—Ican’trememberexactlywhereIwas,orwhoshewas,butwhenyoulookedatme,Icouldremembertherain.”
“Okay,”Augustsays.She’dtakeanoteifhernotebookwasn’tcompletelysoaked.Alsoifshethoughtshewassteadyenoughtoholdapen.“What,uh,whatelsecanyouremember?”
Janechewsonherbottomlip.“Shehadlonghair,likeyours,butmaybeblond?It’sweird,like—likeamovieIsaw,exceptIknowithappenedtome,becauseIrememberherwethairstucktothesideofherneckandhowIhadtopeelitoffsoIcouldkissherthere.”
JesusChrist.
Life-ruiningdescriptionsofthingsJanecandowithhermouthaside,itdoespresenta?…possibility.ThefastestwaytorecoverJane’smemorieshasbeentomakehersmellorhearortouchsomethingfromherpast.
“Youknowhowwedidthethingwiththebagels,”Janesays,apparentlythinkingthesamething,“andthemusic,thesensorystuff?IfI—ifwe—canre-createhowthatmomentfelt,maybeIcanremembertherest.”
Janelooksaround—it’saslowdayfortheQ,onlyafewpeopleattheotherendofthecar.
“Doyouwantto—youcouldtry,um,touchingmyneck?”Augustofferslamely,hatingherself.“For,like,research.”
“Maybe,”Janesays.“Butitwas?…itwasinanalley.Wehadduckedoutoftherainintoanalley,andwewerelaughing,andIhadn’tkissedheryet,butI’dbeenthinkingaboutitforweeks.So—”Sheturnsdistractedlytowardtheemptybackwallofthecar,nexttotheemergencyexit.
“Oh.”Augustfollows,wetsneakerssquelchingunattractively.
Janeturnstoher,dragstwofingersacrossthebackofherhand.Thelookonherfaceisintent,likeshe’sholdingthememorytightinherhead,transposingitoverthepresent.ShegrabsAugustbythewrist,backingherintothewallofthecar,and,ohshit.
“Shewasleaningagainstthewall,”Janeexplainssimply.
Augustfeelshershouldershitsmoothmetal,andinapanic,sheimaginesbricksscrapingagainstherbackinstead,askyinsteadofhandrailsandflickeringfixtures,herselfwithanykindofgracetosurvivethis.
“Okay,”Augustsays.SheandJanehavebeenpressedcloserthanthisduringcommuterrushes,butit’snever,notonce,feltlikethis.Shetipsherchinup.“Likethis?”
“Yeah,”Janesays.Hervoicehushed.Shemustbeconcentrating.“Justlikethat.”
Augustswallows.It’salmostfunny,howmuchshe’sabsolutelygoingtodie.
“And,”Janesays,“Iputmyhandhere.”SheleansinandbracesonehandagainstthewallnexttoAugust’shead.Herbodyheatcracklesbetweenthem.“Likethis.”
“Uh-huh.”
It’sresearch.It’sonlyresearch.LiebackandthinkofthefuckingDeweyDecimalSystem.
“AndIleanedin,”Janesays.“AndI—”
HerotherhandghostsoverAugust’sthroatbeforeslidingbackward,herthumbgrazingAugust’spulse,andAugust’seyescloseoninstinct.ShetouchesAugust’shairwithherfingertipsandpullsitgentlyawayfromthesideofherneck.Thecoolairisashocktoherskin.
“Is—isithelping?”
“Hangon,”Janesays.“CanI—?”
“Yeah,”Augustsays.Itdoesn’tmatterwhatthequestionis.
Janemakesasmallsound,ducksherhead,andthere’sbreathagainstAugust’sbareskin,closeenoughtomimicthegesturebutonlyjustnotmakingcontact,whichissomehowworsethanakisswouldbe.It’smoreintimate,thesilentpromisethatshecouldifshewantedto,andAugustwouldlether,iftheybothwantedthesamethinginthesameway
Jane’slipsskimAugust’sskinwhenshesays,“Jenny.”
Augustopenshereyes.“What?”
“Jenny,”Janesays,drawingback.“HernamewasJenny.Wewereablockfrommyapartment.”
“Where?”
“Ican’tremember,”Janesays.Shefrownsandadds,“IthinkIshouldkissyou.”
August’smindgoessearinglyblank.
“You—what?”
“I’malmostthere,”Janesays,andfuckifAugustcan’tsuppressashiveratthosewordsinthatvoicefromthatsoftmouth.“Ithink—”
“Thatifyou—”Augustclearsherthroatandtriesagain.“Youthinkthatifyou—ifyoukissme—”
“I’llremember,yeah.”She’slookingatAugustwithaprecisekindofinterest.Notlikeshe’sthinkingaboutakiss,butmorelikeshe’sfocusinghardonanobjective.Ithappenstobeadisastrouslygoodlookonher.Herjawgoesalljuttyandangular,andAugustwantstogiveheranythingshewantsandthenchangeherownnameandskipthecontinent.
Jane’swatchingherface,trackingaraindropthatrollsfromherhairlinetoherchin,andAugustknows,sheknows,ifshedoesthis,she’snevergoingtostopthinkingaboutitfortherestofherlife.Youcan’tun-kissthemostimpossiblepersonyou’veevermet.She’snevergoingtoforgetwhatthattasteslike.
ButJanelookshopeful,andAugustwantstohelp.And,well.Shebelievesinin-depth,hands-onevidencegathering.That’sall.
Compartmentalize,Augusttellsherself.FortheloveofGod,Landry.Compartmentalize.
“Okay,”Augustsays.“It’snotabadidea.”
“Yousure?”Janesaysgently.“Youdon’thavetoifyoudon’twantto.”
“That’snot—”That’snottheissue,butifJanedoesn’tknowthatbynow,sheprobablyneverwill.“Idon’tmind.”
“Okay,”Janesays,visiblyrelieved.God,shehasnoidea.
“Okay,”Augustsays.“Forresearch.”
“Forresearch,”Janeagrees.
Augustsquareshershoulders.Forresearch.
“WhatshouldIdo?”
“Canyoutouchme?”JanetakesoneofAugust’shandsandholdsittoherchest,rightbelowthehardlineofhercollarbone.“Righthere?”
“Okay,”Augustsays,moreofashakyexhalethanaword.“Thenwhat?”
Jane’sleaningin,takingadvantageofherheighttobracketAugustin,burningsohotthatAugustcan’tmakesenseofthechillsweepingupherspine.Sosteadyandbeautifulandclose,tooclose,nevercloseenough,andAugustissocompletely,irreversibly,spectacularlyscrewed.
“And,”Janesays,“Ikissedher.”
Thetrainplungesoutofatunnelandbackintothedeafeningrain.
“Didshekissyouback?”
Jane’sotherhandfindsitswaytoAugust’swaist,totheplacethatfeelsdesignedbytheprofoundunfairnessoftheuniversetofititsoexactly.
“Yeah,”Janesays.“Yeah,shedid.”
AndJanekissesher.
Thetruthaboutwantingsomeonetokissyouforagesis,itrarelylivesuptowhateveryou’veimagined.Realkissesaremessy,awkward,toodry,toowet,imperfect.Augustlearnedyearsagothatmoviekissesdon’thappen.Thebestyoucanhopeforinafirstkissistobekissedback.
Butthen,there’sthiskiss.
There’sJane’shandonherwaist,andtherainrushingdownontotheroofofthetrain,andahalf-rememberedmomentpinnedagainstabrickwall,andthiskiss,andAugustcouldn’thaveimagineditwouldfeellikethis.
Jane’smouthissoftbutinsistent,andAugustfeelsthepressofitinherbody,inaplacemuchtooclosetoherheart.IflookingatJanefeelslikeflowersopening,beingkissedbyherfeelsheavier,theweightofabodythat’llbegonebymorningsettlingintobedbesideher.Itremindsherofbeinghomesickformonthsandtastingsomethingfamiliarandrealizingit’sevenbetterthanyouremember,becauseitcomeswiththesweetgutpunchofknowingandbeingknown.Itmeltsinhermouthlikeicecreamatthecornerstorewhenshewaseight.Itacheslikeabricktotheshin.
Janekissesherandkissesher,andAugusthascompletelylosttrackofwhatthiswasevensupposedtobeabout,becauseshe’skissingJaneback,swipingherthumbintothedipofJane’scollarbone,andJane’stongueistracingthesoftseamofherlips,andAugust’smouthisfallingopen.Jane’shanddropsfromthewalltobraceagainstAugust’sface,tangledupinherwethair,andshe’severywhereandnowhere—inhermouth,atherwaist,againstherhips,touchingtoomuchforAugusttopretendthisisn’trealtoherbutnotenoughtoknowifit’srealtoJanetoo.
AndthenJanepullsbackandsays,“Oh,fuck.”
Augusthastoblinkfivetimesbeforehereyesrememberhowtofocus.Whatthefuckwasshedoing?Kissingherwaytoself-destruction,that’swhat.
“What?”sheasks.Hervoicecomesoutstrangled.Jane’shandisstillinherhair.
“NewOrleans,”shesays.“TheBywater.That’swhereIwas.”
“What?”
“Ilivedthere,”shesays.Augustisstaringathermouth,darkpinkandswollen,andtryingdesperatelytodragherbrainintheoppositedirection.“IlivedinNewOrleans.Ayear,atleast.Ihadanapartment,andaroommate,and—oh,holyshit,Iremember.”
“Areyousure?”Augustasks.“Areyousureyou’renotgettingitmixedupbecauseI’mfromthere?”
“No,”Janesays,“no,Iremembernow.”Shemovessuddenly,thewayshedoeswhenshe’sfeelingsomethingbig,andscoopsAugustupinherarmsandspinsheraround.“OhmyGod,you’refuckingmagic.”
Augustthinks,asherfeetliftofftheground,thatnobodyhasevercalledhermagicinherentirelife.
Theysliderightbackintotheirnormalplaces:Augustperchedontheedgeofaseatwithhernotebookopentothedryestpageshecanfind,andJanepacingtheaislerecitingeverythingshecanrecall.ShetalksaboutaburgerjointintheQuarterwheresheworked,aboutJenny(tallymarkeleven),aboutashotgunapartmentonthesecondfloorofanoldhouseandasweet-facedroommatewhosenameshecan’tremember.Augustwritesitalldownanddoesn’tthinkabouthowJanekissedher—Janekissedher—JaneputherhandonAugust’sfaceandkissedher,andAugustknowshowherlipsfeel,andshecan’teverstopknowing,and—
“Didyougetthat?”Janesays,pausingherpacing,apparentlycompletelyunaffected.“ThesnowballplaceintheMarigny?Youlooklikeyouspacedoutforasecond.”
“Oh,yeah,”Augustsays.“Definitelygotit.”
Whenshestumblesbackintotheapartmentthatnight,Nikotakesonelookatherandsays,“Oh,youfuckedup.”
“It’sfine!”Augustsays,shoulderingpasthimtowardthefridge.
“Youareprojectingsomanyfeelingsrightnow,Ican’tbelieveyourskin’sstillon.”
“I’mrepressingit!”Sheyanksacartonofleftoversesamechickenoutandpopsthetop,shovelingitintohermouthcold.“Letmerepressit!”
“Icanseehowyouwouldthinkthatiswhatyou’redoing,”hesays,soundinggenuinelysorryforher.
7
POLICEDEPARTMENTCITYOFNEWYORK
FiledApril17,1992
Incident:At1715hourson17April1992,I,OfficerJacobHaley#739,wasdispatchedtoTimesSquare-42ndStreetsubwaystation.MarkEdelstein(DOB8-7-1954)reportedmiddle-agedwhitemaleapprox.5’9struckhimineyewithclosedfistindisputeoverseatonBrooklyn-boundQtrain.Hestatesmanshoutedanti-semiticslurathimbeforeassault.Suspectabsentfromscene.Victimstatesanotherpassenger,mid-twentiesAsianfemaleapprox.5’7,forcedattackerofftrainat49thStreetStation.Passengeralsoabsentfromscene.
August’sphonechimesatsixonaThursdaymorningwithatextfromJane.
Sherollsontoherside,elbowdiggingintoherairmattress,whichhashalfwaydeflatedduringthenight—sheneedstogetarealbed.Threetextsfromhermom.OnemissedcallandvoicemailfromBilly’s.Aredbubbleannouncingseventeenunreadmessagesinherschoolemail.Onenotificationfromherbank:heraccountisat$23.02.
Normally,anytwoofthoseoverlappingwouldsendherintoanhour-longanxiety-fueledtearofaggressiveproductivityuntileverythingwassquaredaway,evenifshehadtolieandcheattodoit
Hermom’stextssay:Hey,wantedtocheckinonthatfileIsentyou.andAreyouscreeningmycalls,turd?andMissyoualwaysbutespeciallywhenIhaveanewfileshipment.Youwerealwayssomuchbetteratsortingthese.
She’lldealwithit.Shewill.Just?…tomorrow.
SheopensJane’stext.
HeyAugust,gotanewone:arestaurantonMottwhereIgotdumplings.Imayhavegotteninafightwithacookthere.Can’tplacetheyear.Anyideas?Thanks,JaneSu
Janehasnotyetfiguredoutshedoesn’thavetoincludeagreetingandasign-off,andAugusthasn’thadthehearttocorrecther.
P.S.I’mstillthinkingaboutthatjokeyoumadetheotherdayaboutJFK.Hilarious.You’reagenius.
Augusthasdecided,inwhatshebelievesisashowofextremematurityanddedicationtohelpingJane,topretendthekisswascompletelyunimportant.Diditgettheinformationtheyneeded?Yes.Didshelieawakethatnightthinkingaboutitforthreeandahalfhours?Yes.Diditmeananything?No.So,no,she’snotsittingaround,picturingJanedroppingherjacketonAugust’sbedroomfloorandpushingherdownontothebed,breakingthebed,puttingthebedbacktogether—God,notthestupidbed-assemblyfantasyagain.
No,thatwouldbeextremelyimpractical.AndAugustthinks,asshespendssevenofherlastdollarsonacontainerofto-godumplingsforJane,thatshe’sverypractical,andeverythingisundercompletecontrol.
“Myhero,”JaneswoonswhenAugustboardstheQandhandsthebagover.
She’slookingparticularlybrighttoday,soakinginthesunthatpoursthroughthewindows.ShetoldAugustlastweekhowthankfulsheistoatleastbestuckonatrainthatspendsalotofitsrouteaboveground,anditshows.HerskinglowsagoldenbrownthatremindsAugustofhumidsummerafternoonsintheBywater—which,Augustrealizes,issomethingthey’vebothfelt.Whataretheodds?
“Anythingcomingbacktoyou?”Augustasks,climbingintotheseatnexttoher.Shepercheshersneakersontheedge,tuckingherkneesuptoherchest.
“Gimmeasecond,”Janesays,chewingthoughtfully.“God,thesearegood.”
“CanI–?”Auguststomachgrowlstofinishthesentence.
“Yeah,here,”Janesays,holdingadumplingupontheendofaplasticforkandopeninghermouth,indicatingAugustdothesame.Shedoes,andJaneshovestheentireoverstuffeddumplinginandlaughsasAuguststrugglestochew,reachingovertowipesauceoffherchin.“Yougottaeatitallinone.”
“You’resomeantome,”Augustsayswhenshemanagestoswallow.
“I’mshowingyouhowtoeatdumplingstherightway!”Janesays.“I’mbeingsonice!”
Augustlaughs,and—God.Shehastostoppicturingwhattheylookliketoeveryothercommuter:acouplelaughingovertakeout,ribbingeachotherontheridetoManhattan.There’sacoupledownthecar,amanandwoman,wrappedaroundeachotherlikethey’retryingtofusebyosmosis,andAugusthatesthatpartofherwantstobethem.It’dbesoeasytoslideherhandintoJane’s.
Instead,shepullsanotebookfromherbagandapencilfromherhair,whereit’sbeenholdingafrizzy,half-assedupdoinplaceallmorning.
“Letmeknowifanythingcomestoyou,”Augustsays,shakingherhairout.Itfallsdownhershoulders,herback,everywhere.Janewatcheshertrytocontendwithitwithabemusedexpression.
“What?”Janesaysvaguely.
“Like,ifyourememberanything.”
“Oh,”shesays,blinking.“Yeah.…ItwasthistinyplaceonMott,myfavoritedumplingsinthecity—Iwentthereonceortwiceaweek,atleast.IthinkIwasinChinatownalot,eventhoughIlivedinBrooklyn.ItwaseasytojusttaketheQtoCanal.”
“Okay,”Augustsays,takinganote.
“ButIfuckedup.Isleptwithacook’sex-girlfriend,andshefoundoutandletmehaveitnexttimeIcamein,andIcouldn’tgobackafterthat.But,shit,itwasworthit.”
ThedetectivesideofAugustcontemplatesafollow-upquestion,butthesideofherthatwantstolivetoseetomorrowdecidesagainstit.
“Allright,”Augustsays,notlookingupfromhernotepad.“ArestaurantinChinatownthatservesdumplings.Thereareonly,like?…fivemillionofthose.”
“Sorry,”Janesays,returningtoherto-gobox.“Youcannarrowitdowntotheonesthatwereopeninthe’70s?”
“Sure,assumingthey’restilloperating,andhaveemploymentrecordsgoingbackthatfar,Icouldmaybegetanameforthatemployeeandmaybetrackherdownandmaybeshe’llknowsomething.”Augustputsherpencildown,looksatJanefinally—whoisstaringatherwithcheeksstuffedfullofdumplingandastartledexpression—andpraysshesurvivesthis.“Or,wecouldgetyoutorememberthisgirl’sname.”
“How’llwedothat?”Janesaysthroughamouthfulofporkanddough.
Augustlooksatherpuffycheeksandswoopyhairandblowsrightthrougheverypieceofmentalcautiontapetosay,“Kissme.”
Janechokes.
“You—”Janecoughs,forcingitdown.“Youwantmetokissyouagain?”
“Here’sthething,”Augustsays.She’scalm.She’stotallycalm,justdoingcasework.Itdoesn’tmeananything.“It’sApril.TheQshutsdowninSeptember.We’rerunningoutoftime.Andtheotherday—whenwekissed—thatworked.Itbroughtbacksomethingbig.So,Ithink—”
“Youthinkifyoukissme,it’llbringthisgirlbacklikeitbroughtbackJenny?”
“Yeah.So.Let’s…”Augustthinksbacktowhattheysaidlasttime.“Doitforresearch.”
“Okay,”Janesays,expressionunreadable.“Forresearch.”
Shebundleshertakeoutbackintoitsbag,andAuguststandsandthrowsherhairoverhershoulder.Shecandothis.Startwithwhatyouknowandworkfromthere.Augustknowsthiscanwork.
“So,”Augustsays,“tellmewhattodo.”
Abeat.Janelooksupather,browfurrowed.Thenherfacesmoothsout,andasmileplaysatthecornerofhermouth,theonewiththedimple.
“Okay,”shesays,andshespreadsherlegsapartafewinches,gesturinglooselyforAugusttosit.“Getdownhere.”
Shit.Augustsupposesshedidaskforit.
AugustsettlesherselfononeofJane’sthighsandtucksherlegsbetweenthem,herfeetskimmingthefloorbetweenJane’ssneakers.Ifshe’sbeinghonest,she’simaginedmorethanonce,morethanafewtimes,whatJane’sthighsfeellike.They’restrongandfirm,sturdierthantheylook,butAugustdoesn’thaveachancetofeelanythingaboutitbeforeJane’sfingertipsarenudgingherchinuptolookather.
“Isthisokay?”Janeasks.HerhandsqueezesthecurveofAugust’ship,holdingherinplace.
Augustlooksather,lettinghergazedroptoJane’slips.That’sthewholepointofthis.It’smechanics.“Yeah.Isthishowyourememberit?”
“Kindof,”shesays.And,“Pullmyhair.”
Forafewringingseconds,Augustimaginesherselfmeltingontothefloorofthetrainliketheghostsofamillionspilledsubwayslushiesanddroppedicecreamcones.
Completelyundercontrol.
ShepushesherfingersintoJane’sshorthair,scrapinghernailsacrossthescalpbeforesheclosesthemonafistfulandtugs.
“Likethat?”
Janereleasesashortbreath.“Harder.”
Augustdoesasshe’stold,andJanemakesanothersound,onedeepinherthroat,whichAugustassumesisagoodsign
“Now…”Janesays.She’slookingatAugust’smouth,eyesdarkasthepitatapunkshow.“WhenIkissyou,bite.”
AndbeforeAugustcanaskwhatshemeans,Janeclosesthespacebetweenthem.
Thekissis?…differentthistime.Hotter,somehow,eventhoughit’snotreal.It’snotreal,Augustrecitesinherheadasshetriestopretendthere’sabsolutelyanythingacademicaboutthewayhermouthdropsopenatthepressofJane’slips,anythingscientificallyimpartialaboutthewayshepullsharderatJane’shairandsinksintoit,lettingJanedrinkherin.
Jane’swordscomebacktoher,syrupysweetandslow,bite,andsoshesucksJane’sbottomlipbetweenhersanddigsherteethin.Shehearshersharpinhale,feelsJane’shandtighteninthefabricofhershirt,andthinksofitasprogress.Results.ShemovesthewaysheimaginesthegirlJanerememberswouldhavemoved,triestogiveherthememorywithhermouth—bitesharder,tugsatherlip,runshertongueoverit.
Itlastsonlyaminuteortwo,butitfeelslikeayearlostinJane’shairandJane’slipsandJane’spast,Jane’shandsfistinginhercurls,Jane’sthighwarmandsteadyunderher,Janeforhours,Janefordays.Itpullslikeanundertow,andthecaseisuponthesurface,andAugustistryingtostaytheretoo.
Whentheybreakapart,August’sglassesarecrookedandsmudged,andanoldwomanisstaringdisapprovinglyatthemfromacrosstheaisle.
“Yougotaproblem?”Janesays,armslingingprotectivelyacrossAugust’sshoulders.
Thewomansaysnothingandreturnstohernewspaper.
“Mingxia,”Janesays,turningtoAugust.“Thatwashername.Mingxia.ItookherbacktomyplaceinProspectHeightson?…UnderhillAvenue.Itwasabrownstone.Ihadthesecondfloor.ThatwasthefirstplaceIlivedinNewYork.”
Augustwritesdownthestreetnameandtheplaygroundacrossthestreetandthenearestintersectionandspendsanafternoonpullingownershiprecordsoneverybrownstoneontheblock,callinglandlordsuntilshefindsthesonofonewhoremembersaChineseAmericanwomanrentingthesecondfloorwhenhewasakid.
Thekissreveals:JanemovedtoNewYorkinFebruary1975.
Andso,itbecomesanotherthingtheydo.Thefoodandthesongsandtheoldarticlesand,now,thekisses.
Therearecertaincrucialbitsofinformationtheystilldon’thave—likeJane’schildhood,orherinfuriatinglyelusivebirthcertificate,ortheeventthatgotJanestuckinthefirstplace—butthere’snowaytopredictwhatmemorymightcauseachainreactionleadingtosomethingimportant.
Thekissesarestrictlyforevidencegathering.Augustknowsthis.Augustisabsolutely,100percentclearonthis.She’skissingJane,butJaneiskissingJenny,Molly,April,Niama,Maria,Beth,MaryFrances,Mingxia.It’snotaboutherandJane,atall.
“Kissmeslow,”Janesays,grinningonaTuesdayafternoon,hersleevesrolledupenticingly,andit’sstillnotaboutthem.
TheykissunderthedappledsunlightoftheBrightonBeachStation,strawberryicecreamontheirtongues,andJanerememberssummer1974,amonthcrashingwithanoldfriendnamedSimonewho’dmovedtoVirginiaBeach,whosecatabsolutelyrefusedtoleavethemaloneinbed.TheykisswithAugust’searbudssplitbetweenthemplayingPattiSmith,andJaneremembersautumn1975,abassplayernamedAlicewholeftlipstickstainsonherneckinthebathroomofCBGB.Theykissatmidnightinadarktunnel,andJaneremembersNewYear’sEve1977,andMina,whotattooedthevermilionbirdonhershoulder.
Augustlearnsallthis,butshealsolearnsthatJanelikestobekissedeverykindofway:likeasecret,likeafistfight,likecandy,likeahousefire.ShelearnsJanecanmakehersighandforgetherownnameuntilitallblurstogether,pastandpresent,thetwoofthemonManhattanbalconiesandindampNewOrleansbarroomsandthecandyaisleofaconveniencestoreinLosAngeles.Jane’skissedagirlineverycornerofthecountry,andprettysoon,Augustfeelslikeshehastoo.
Forresearch.
It’snotlikekissingisallAugustdoes—thetimeshespendsthinkingaboutthekissesandchasingdownleadsfromthekisseswhenshe’snotactuallyhavingthekissesnotwithstanding.It’sbeenthreeweekssincesheworkedasingleshift.Shedoeshavetopayrent,eventually,andsotostaveoffabsolutebankruptcy,shefinallycallsBilly’sand,withsomecoughingandbegging,convincesLucietoputherontheschedule.
“SweetJesus,shelives,”Winfieldsays,pretendingtofaintdramaticallyoverthecounterwhenAugustreturnstothebar.
“Youliterallysawmelastweek.”Augustbrushespasthimtoclockin.
“Wasthatyou?”Winfieldasks,gatheringhimselfbackupandbeginningtochangethecoffeefilter.“OrwasthatsomegirlwholookedlikeyoubuthasnotbeenbedriddenforweekslikeyoutoldLucieyouwere?”
“Iwasfeelingbetterthatday,”Augustsays.SheturnstoseeWinfield’sskepticallook.“What?DidyouwantmetogetBilly’sshutdownforgivingmonotoallthecustomersintablesfifteenthroughtwenty-two?”
“Mm-hmm.Okay.Well.Speakingof.Youmissedthebignewslastweek.”
“IsJerry’soldassfinallyretiring?”
“No,buthemighthavetonow.”
Augustwhipsherheadaround.“What?Why?”
Winfieldturnswordlessly,hummingafewnotesofafuneraldirgeasheheadstowardthekitchenandLuciefillshisplacebehindthebar.
Shelooks?…rough.Oneofhertypicallyflawlessacrylicsisbroken,andherhairisfallingoutofitsscraped-backponytail.SheshootsAugustafleetingglarebeforesettingasmalljardownonthecounter.
“Ifyou’renotsick,Idon’tcare,”shesays.Shejabsafingertowardthejar.“Ifyouare,takethis.Threespoonfuls.You’llfeelbetter.”
Augusteyesthejar.“Isthat—?”
“Onionandhoney.Oldrecipe.Justtakeit.”
Evenfromthreefeetdownthebar,itsmellslethal,butAugustisnotinapositiontotalkbacktoLucie,soshetucksthejarintoherapronandasks,“What’sgoingon?What’dImiss?”
Luciesniffs,pickinguparaganddescendinguponaspotofsyruponthecounter,andsays,“Billy’sisclosing.”
August,whowasintheprocessofslidingahandfulofstrawsintoherpocket,missesandscattersthemalloverthefloor.
“What?When?Why?”
“Somanyquestionsforsomeonewhodoesnotcometowork,”Lucietuts.
“I—”
“Landlordisdoublingrentattheendoftheyear,”shesays.She’sstillscrubbingawayatthecounterlikeshedoesn’tcare,buthereyelinerissmudgedandthere’saslightshakeinherhands.She’snottakingthiswell.Augustfeelslikeadickformissingit.“Billycan’taffordit.WecloseinDecember.”
“That’s—Billy’scan’tclose.”TheideaofBilly’sboardedup—orworse,gonethewayofsomanypo’boyjointsandcornerstoresAugustfrequentedgrowingupinNewOrleans,madeoverintoIHOPsandoverpricedboutiquegyms—issacrilege.Nothere,notaplacethathasbeenopensince1976,notsomewhereJanelovedtoo.“Whatifhe—hasheaskedifthelandlordwillsellittohim?”
“Yeah,”Winfieldsays,poppingupinthekitchenwindow,“butunlessyougotahundredgrandtomakeuptheloanthebankwon’tgiveBilly,thisshitisabouttobecomeanorganicjuicebarinsixtoeightmonths.”
“Sothat’sit?”Augustasks.“It’sjustover?”
“Thatishowgentrificationworks,yeah.”Winfieldshovesamassiveplateofpancakesintothewindow.“Lucie,theseareyours.August,tablesixteenlooksreadytopopoff,youbettergetinthere.”
WhenAugustclocksouteighthourslater,shefindsherselfbackontheQ,lookingatJane,who’scurledupreadingabook.ShetradedtheoldWatershipacoupleofweeksagotosomefanoffirsteditionsandisnowreadingabatteredJudyBlume.Shelovesitearnestly.Forapunkwhoknowshowtofight,sheseemstoloveeverythingearnestly.
“Hey,CoffeeGirl,”Janesayswhensheseesher.“Anythingnewtoday?”
AugustthinksofBilly’s.Janedeservestoknow.Butshe’ssmiling,andAugustdoesn’twanthertostopsmiling,soshedecidesnottotellher.Nottoday.
Maybeit’sselfish,ormaybeit’sforJane.It’sgettinghardertotellwhichiswhich.
Instead,shefoldsherselfintotheseatbesideherandhandsoverasandwichwrappedtwiceinaluminumfoilsotheyolkandsyrupandsaucecan’tleakout
“ASuSpecial,”Augustsays.
“God,”Janegroans.“I’msojealousyougettohavetheseallthetime.”
Augustnudgesanelbowintoherribs.“DidyoukissanygirlswhoworkedatBilly’s?”
Janeripsoffabitoffoil,eyessparkling.
“Youknowwhat?”shesays.“Isuredid.”
“I’msorry,whatareyousaying?”
TheBCofficesaresmall,crammedupagainstthesideofalecturehall.Awomanfileshernailsatreception.Thesludgyrainhalf-heartedlyteststhelimitsoftheoldwindows,lookingthewayAugust’sinsidesfeel:sloshyandapprehensiveofwhat’shappening.
Thecounselorkeepsclackingawayonherkeyboard.
StoptwoonAugust’sapologytour:figuringoutifshe’sscrewedforthissemester.She’snot,itturnsout,sinceshewasabletomakeupthetwomidtermsshemissed.Sheexpectedtohavetogrovel,fakeadeadrelativeorsomething,anythingbutthis:aprinted-outtranscriptonthedeskinfrontofher,almosteverylittleboxofrequirementscheckedoff.
“I’msurprisedyoudidn’tknow,”shesays.“YourGPAisgreat.Slippingalittlelately,obviously,butnowthatyou’rebackontrack,you’llbefine.Morethanfine.Moststudentswhoperformthiswell—especiallyoneswhohavebeenenrolledforasmanyyearsasyouhave—”Atthis,sheglancesoverhercat-eyeglassesatAugust.“Well,you’reusuallytheonesbangingdownmydamndoorallsemesteraskingwhenyoucancompleteyourdegree.”
“Somydegreeis?…complete?”
“Almost,”thecounselorsays.“You’vegotyourcapstoneandacoupleofelectivesleft.Butyoucanfinishthoseinthefall.”ShefinishestypingandturnstowardAugust.“Pullittogetherforthisnextmonth,andyoucangraduateafteronemoresemester.”
Augustblinksatherafewtimes.
“Graduate,like?…bedone.Withcollege.”
SheeyesAugustdubiously.“Mostpeoplearehappiertohearthis.”
Tenminuteslater,Augustisstandingoutsideunderashabbyoverhang,watchinghertranscriptslowlywiltinthehumidity.
She’sbeendeliberatelynotdoingthemathonhercredits,caughtinanxietylimbobetweenanotherstudentloanandtheinevitablepushofftheledgeintoadulthood.Thisistheledge,sheguesses.Andthepush.Shefeelslikeacartooncharacterinmidair,lookingdowntoseethedesertfloorandajacuzzifullofTNTfivehundredfeetbelowher.
Whatthefuckisshesupposedtodo?
Shecouldcallhermom,buthermotherhasonlylivedinoneplace,onlyeverwantedonething.It’seasytoknowwhoyouarewhenyouchoseonceandneverchangedyourmind.
There’sthisfeelingAugusthashadeverywhereshe’severlived,likeshe’snotreallythere.Likeit’sallhappeninginadream.Shewalksdownthestreet,andit’slikeshe’sfloatingafewinchesoffthepavement,neverrooteddown.Shetouchesthings,acanisterofsugaratacoffeeshop,orthepostofastreetsignwarmfromtheafternoonsun,anditfeelslikeshehasn’ttouchedanythingatall,likeit’sallaplaceshelivesinconcept.She’sjustouthere,shoesuntied,hairamess,noideawhereshe’sgoing,scrapingherkneesandnotbleeding.
Somaybethat’swhy,insteadofcallinghermom,orcrawlinghometosomeblunttruthfromMylaorcrypticencouragementfromNiko,shefindsherselfsteppingontotheQ.Atleastheresheknowswheresheis.Time,place,person.
“Youlooklikeyousawaghost,”Janesays.Sheshimmieshershoulders,jabbingafingerguninAugust’sdirection.Shescoredabaseballcapfromaseventhgraderlastweek,andshe’swearingitbackwardtoday.Augustpencilsinthirtyminutesbetweenhomeworkandpublicrecordstoscreamaboutit.“Getit?”
“You’rehilarious.”
Janepullsaface.“Okay,butreally.What’supwithyou?”
“IfoundoutI,uh.”Shethinksofhertranscript,inevitable,soggy,andfoldedupinthepocketofherraincoat.“Icangraduatenextsemester,ifIwant.”
“Oh,hey,that’sgreat!”shesays.“You’vebeeninschoolforever!”
“Yeah,exactly,”Augustsays.“Forever.Asin,it’stheonlythingIknowhowtodo.”
“That’snottrue,”Janesays.“Youknowhowtodotonsofthings.”
“Iknowlogisticallyhowtoperformsometasks,”Augusttellsher,squeezinghereyesshut.Thatdynamitehottubisstartingtosoundveryappealing.“Idon’tknowhowtohavesomethingthatIdo,everyday,likeasanadultwhodoesathing.It’snutsthatweallstartouthavingthesevagueideasofwhatweliketodo,hobbies,interests,andthenonedayeverybodyhastheirthing,youknow?Theyusedtojustbeapersonandnowthey’rea—anarchitect,orabanker,oralawyer,or—oraserialkillerwhomakesjewelryoutofhumanteeth.Like,things.Thattheydo.Thattheyare.Whatifthere’snotthatthingforme,Jane,Imean,whatifI’veneverwantedtobeanythingotherthanjustanAugust?Whatifthat’sallthereisforme?WhatifBilly’sclosesandnobodyelsewillhireme?WhatifIgetoutthereandenduprealizingthere’snotadreamforme,orapurpose,oranything—”
“Okay,”Janesays,cuttingheroff.“Okay,comeon.”
WhenAugustopenshereyes,Jane’sstandinginfrontofher,handoutstretched.
“Let’sgo.”
“Gowhere?”Augustsays,evenasshegrabson.Immediately,she’spulledtowardthebackofthecar,trippingoverherfeet.“I’mtryingtohaveanervousbreakdownhere.”
“Yeah,exactly,”Janesays.They’reattheemergencyexit,andJanereachesforthedoorhandle.
“OhmyGod,whatareyoudoing?”
“I’mgonnashowyoumyfavoritethingtodowhenIfeellikeI’mgonnaloseitdownhere,”Janesays.“Allyougottadoiskeepup.”
“WhydoIfeellikeI’mabouttotakemylifeintomyownhands?”
“Becauseyoushould,”Janesayseasily.Shewinksasifshe’ssealingAugust’sfateinanenvelopewithakiss.“ButIpromiseyou’llbeokay.Doyoutrustme?”
“What?Whatkindofquestionisthat?”
“Canyouturnthatbrainofyoursoffforasecondandtrust?”
Augustopensandshutshermouth.
“I—IguessIcantry.”
“Goodenoughforme,”Janesays,andshewrenchesthedooropen.
There’sbarelytimetopanicaboutthenoiseandwindandmotionexplodingthroughtheopendoorbeforeJane’ssteppingontothetinyplatformbetweentrains,pullingAugustwithherbyonesweatyhand.
It’schaos—thedarknessofthetunnel,theblueandyellowflashesoftrainlightsandflickeringwallfixtures,thedeafeningrattleofthetracksflyingpast,dirtandconcreterushingoutfromunderneaththem.Augustmakestheabsolutelyterriblemistakeoflookingdownandfeelslikeshe’sgoingtothrowup.
“OhmyGod,whatthefuck,”shesays,butshecan’thearherownvoice.
Thetracksarerightthere.Onewrongstepandafewinchesofairbetweenstayingaliveandbeingscrapedofftherails.Thisistheworstpossibleideaanyonecouldeverhave,andit’swhatJanedoesforfun.
“Itmakesyoufeelalive,right?”Janeshouts,andbeforeAugustcanyankthembothbackintothecar,Janestepsacrossthegaptotheplatformofthenextcar.
“ItmakesmefeellikeI’mgonnadie!”Augustyellsback.
“That’sthesamething!”
Augustisclingingtothecar,backpressedagainstthedoor,nailsscrabbling.Janegrabsthehandleofthenextdoorwithonehandandreachesouttheothertoher.“Comeon!Youcandothis!”
“Ireallycan’t!”
“August,youcan!”
“Ican’t!”
“Don’tlookatthetracks!”sheyells.“Eyesup,Landry!”
EverythinginAugust’sbrainisscreamingathernotto,butshedragshereyesupfromtherailsandtothecarinfrontofher,thetinyplatform,Janestandingtherewithonehandout,thewindwhippingherhairaroundherface.
Augustrealizes,suddenly,it’sthefirsttimeshe’severseenJaneoutsideofthetrain.
That’swhatmakesherdoit.BecauseAugustdoesn’tdothistypeofthing,butJaneisoutside.
“Ohfuck,”Augustmutters,andshegrabsJane’shand.
Sheclearsthegapfromonecartothenextinabreath,ascreamcaughthighinthebackofherthroat,andthenherfeetareonmetal.
Shedidit.Shemadeitacross.
AugustcrashesintoJane’schest,andJanecatchesheraroundthewaistlikeshedidthedaythelightswentout,thedayAugustthoughtshe’dblownitforgood.Janelaughs,andonahystericalburstofadrenaline,Augustlaughstoo,herraincoatflyingaroundthem.
Heretheyare.Twosetsofsneakersonascrapofmetal.Twogirlsinthemiddleofahurricane,tearingdowntheline.She’slookingupatJane,andJane’slookingdownather,andAugustfeelshereverywhere,eventheplacesshe’snottouching,pressedcloseastheworldroarson.
“See?”shesays.Butshe’slookingatAugust’smouthwhenshesaysit.“Youdidit.”
AndAugustthinks,asshetipsherchinup,thathere,inthespacebetweensubwaycars,rightontheedgeofwhereJaneexists,iswhereJane’sfinallygoingtokissherforreal.Nopretense.Nomemories.Butbecauseshewantsto.HerfingersarespreadingonAugust’swaist,diggingintothefabricofherjacket,and—
“Comeon,”Janesays,yankingthedooropen,andtheytumbleintothenextcar.
Janepullsherhalf-runningpastunbotheredcommuters,dodgingpolesandstandingpassengersuntiltheyreachthenextdoor.Theyjumpfromonecartothenext,outonedoorandinanother,untilitstopsbeingsoterrifyingtostepoff,untilAugustbarelyevenhesitatesbeforetakingherhand.
“Okay,”Janesays,whentheygettotheirseventhchangeover.“Youfirst.”
Augustturns,eyeswide.Thatisn’twhatshesignedupfor.
“What?”
“Youtrustedme,right?”Augustnods.“Nowtrustyourself.”
Augustturnstothenexttraincar.Herbrainchoosesthismomenttoremindherthatforty-eightpeoplediedinsubwayaccidentsin2016.Shedoesn’tthinkshecandothiswithoutJanestandingtheretocatchherifsheslips,andshe’sreallynotinterestedingoingdowninhistoryasadelayontheQwhilesomeonecallsthemedicalexaminer.
ShetrustedJane,though.ShetrustedJaneandhertimeonthistrainandthatcockygrintogethertheresafely.Whycan’tshedothesameforherself?She’slearnedthistrainbackwardandforward.TheQishome,andAugustisthegirlwiththeknifepickingitsstopsapartonebyone.Shedoesn’tbelieveinthings.Butshecanbelieveinthat.
Shestepsoff.
“Hellyeah!”Janecrowsfrombehindwhenshemakesit.Shedoesn’twaitforAugust’shand,hoppingacrossandontotheplatform.“That’smygirl!”
Janeslidesthedooropen,andontheotherside,Augustcollapsesintothenearestseat.
“Holyshit,”Augustsays,panting.“Holyshit,Ican’tbelieveIdidthat.”
Janeleansonapoletocatchherbreath.“Youdid.Andthatiswhatyouneedtotrustin.Becauseyougotwhatyouneed.Andsometimes,theuniversehasyourback.”
Augustinhalesonce,exhales.ShelooksatJane,forty-fiveyearsawayfromwhereshe’ssupposedtobe,andyeah,sheguessesinsomeways,theuniversedoeshaveherback.
“So,”Janesays,“let’stakeitdowntoonething.Whatscaresyouthemost?”
Augustthinksaboutitasherlungslevelbackout.
“I—”sheattempts.“Idon’tknowwhoIam.”
Janesnorts,raisinganeyebrow.“Well,thatmakesfuckin’twoofus.”
“Yeah,but—”
“Stop,okay?Forfiveminutes,let’spretendeverythingelsedoesn’tmatter,andI’mme,andyou’reyou,andwe’resittingonthistrain,andwe’refiguringitout.Canyoudothat?”
Augustgritsherteeth.“Yeah.”
“Okay,”Janesays.“Now,listentome.”
ShecrouchesinfrontofAugust,bracingherhandsonAugust’sknees,forcinghertolookintohereyes.
“Noneofusknowexactlywhoweare,andguesswhat?Itdoesn’tfuckingmatter.GodknowsIdon’t,butI’llfindmywaytoit.”SherubsherthumboverAugust’skneecap,pokinggentlyintothesoftpartbelowherthigh.“Like—okay,Idatedthisgirlwhowasanartist,right?Andshe’ddofiguredrawing,whereshe’ddrawthenegativespacearoundapersonfirst,andthenfillintheperson.Andthat’showI’mtryingtolookatit.MaybeIdon’tknowwhatfillsitinyet,butIcanlookatthespacearoundwhereIsitintheworld,whatcreatesthatshape,andIcancareaboutwhatit’smadeof,ifit’sgood,ifithurtsanyone,itmakespeoplehappy,ifitmakesmehappy.Andthatcanbeenoughfornow.”
Jane’slookingupatherlikeshemeansit,likeshe’sbeenridingtheserailsallthistimeonthathope.She’safighter,arunner,ariotgirl,andshecan’tbeanyofthatdownhere,sosherunsbetweentrainstofeelsomething.Ifshecanbehereandlivewiththatandhaveenoughleftoverforthis,shemustknowwhatshe’stalkingabout.
“Shit,”Augustsays.“You’regoodatthis.”
Janesmileswide.“Look,Iwasgayinthe’70s.Icanhandleanemergency.”
“God,”AugustgroansasJaneclambersintoherownseat.“Ican’tbelieveImadeyoutalkmedownfromanexistentialcrisis.”
Janetiltsherheadtolookather.She’sgotthisabilitytomovebetweenprettyandhandsomefrommomenttomoment,asubtledifferenceinthewaysheholdsherchinorthesetofhermouth.Rightnow,she’stheprettiestgirlAugusthaseverseen.
“Shutup,”Janesays.“You’respendingyourliferidingthesubwaytohelpastrangerwithnoevidenceshecanbehelped,okay?Letmedoonethingforyou.”
Augustreleasesabreath,andshe’ssurprisedattheproximitywhenitrufflestheendsofJane’shair.
Janekeepslookingather,andAugustswearssheseessomethingmovebehindhereyes,likeamemorydoeswhenshe’sthinkingaboutMingxiaorJennyoroneoftheothergirls,butnew,different.Somethingdelicateasaspark,andonlyforAugust.It’sthesamefeelingfromtheplatform:maybethistime,forreal.
Augustisn’tsupposedtocare.She’snotsupposedtowantthat.Butthewayherheartkicksupintoafeverfrequencysaysthatshestillgoddamndoes.
“You’renotastranger,”Augustsaysintothefewinchesbetweenthem.
“No,you’reright,”Janeagrees.“We’redefinitelynotstrangers.”Sheleansbackandstretchesherarmsoverherhead,turningherfaceawayfromAugust,andsays,“Iguessyou’remybestfriend,huh?”
Thetraineasesintoanotherstation,andsomethingclenchesinthevicinityofAugust’sjaw.
Friend.
“Yeah,”Augustsays.“Yeah,Iguessso.”
“Andyou’regonnagetmebacktowhereI’msupposedtobe,”Janegoeson,smiling.Smilingattheideaofgoingbackto1970-somethingandneverseeingAugustagain.“Becauseyou’reagenius.”
Thetrainrattlesandgroanstoastop.
“Yeah,”Augustsays,andsheforcesasmile.
“You’vebeendoingwhatforresearch?”Mylaasks.It’shardtocatchthequestionwhenshe’sgotascrewdriverbetweenherteeth,butAugustgetsthegist.
MylahasherownofficeinthebackofRewind,completewithshelvesfulloftypewritersandoldradiosandaworkstationstrewnwithparts.ShetoldAugustshegotthejobafterwanderinginhalfwaythroughherfinalsemesteratColumbiaandpullingapairofpliersoutoftheowner’shandstorewirea1940srecordplayer.She’sanerdfortheoldies,shealwayssays,anditcameinhandy.She’sclearlygoodenoughatwhatshedoesthatherbossdoesn’tmindherdecoratingherworkstationwithahomemadecross-stitchthatsaysBIGDICKENERGYISGENDERNEUTRAL
She’slookingatAugustthroughthegiantmagnifyinglensmountedoverherstation,sohermouthandnosearenormalsized,buthereyesarethesizeofdinnerplates.Augusttriesnottolaugh.
“Kissing,okay,we’vebeenmakingout—”
“Onthetrain?”
“Don’tthinkNikohasn’ttoldmeaboutthetimeunderthepizzaboxafterThanksgivinglastyear.”
“Okay,thatwasaholiday.”
“Anyway,”Augustgoeson,“asIwassaying,rememberingkissesandgirlsthatshe,youknow,feltsomethingfor,bringsbackalotforher,andthebestwaytodothatistore-createthem.”ThegrimaceMylapullsismagnifiedabouttentimesbythelens,distortedlikeadisapprovingDalí.“Stopmakingthatface,okay,Iknowit’sabadidea.”
“Imean,it’sasifyouliketobeemotionallytortured,”Mylasays,finallysittingbacksoherfacialproportionsreturntonormal.“Wait,isthatwhatitis?Becauselike,damn,butokay.”
“No,that’sthewholething,”Augustsays.“Ihavetostop.Ican’tkeepdoingit.It’s—it’sfuckingmeup.Sothat’swhyIcamehere—Ihaveanideaforsomethingthatcouldworkinstead.”
“Andwhat’sthat?”
“Aradio,”Augustsays.“Anotherbigthingforherismusic.Shetoldmeshedoesn’twantSpotifyoranything,butmayberandomsongsfromtheradiomighthelpherrememberthings.Iwonderedify’allhadanyportableradiosinstock.”
Mylapushesbackfromherstation,foldingherarmsandsurveyingherdomainofdeconstructedcashregistersandjukeboxpartslikeasteampunkTonyStarkinaleatherskirt.“Wemighthavesomethingintheback.”
“And,”Augustsays,followinghertowardthestorageroomintherearofthestore,“IsawJanestepoutsideofthetrain.”
Mylawhipsherheadaround.“Shegotoffthetrain,andyouledwiththekissing?God,youarethemostuselessbisexualI’veevermetinmyentiregoddamnlife.”
“Shewasn’toffthetrain,shewasoutsideofit,”Augustclarifies.“Shecanwalkbetweenthecars.”
“Soit’snotthetrainthat’sgothertrapped,it’stheline,”Mylaconcludessimply,unlockingthestorageroomdoor.“Goodtoknow.”
AugustleavesfifteenminuteslaterwithaportableradioandareminderfromMylatopickupbatteries,andwhenshehandsittoJane,shegetstowatchherfacelightuplikeChristmascameearly.Which,shehastoadmit,ispartofwhysheboughtit.Theotherreasonquicklypresentsitself.
“There’sthisthingI’mtryingtoremember,”Janesays.“FromLA.There’satacotruck,andCokewithlime,andthissongbySlyandtheFamilyStone?…andagirl.”ShelooksatAugust.AndAugustcould—shecouldgetoffthetrainandreturnwithawedgeoflimeandakiss,wantstoeven,butshethinksaboutwhatJanesaidaboutgettingoutofhere,thewayshesmiledatthethoughtofleaving.
“Oh,man,”Augustsays.“That,uh—thatsoundslikeagoodlead,butI’m—Igottaclockin.Igotadoubletoday,youknow,needthemoneyso—anyway.”Shegathersupherbag,eyeingtheboardforthenextstop.Notevenclosetowork.“Trytheradio.Seeifyoucanfindafunkstation.Ibetithelps.”
“Oh,”Janesays,spinningthedial,“okay.Yeah,goodidea.”
AndAugustdipsoutofthetrainwithawaveassoonasthedoorsslideopen.
Shethinks—sheisprettysure,actually,thatshe’sfiguredoutasolutiontoherproblem.Aradio.Thatshouldbefine.
ItstartsonaSaturdaymorningwhenJanetexts,August,Putyourradioon90.9FM.Thanks,Jane
Obviously,Augustdoesn’townaradio.AnditwouldneveroccurtoJanethatAugustdoesn’townaradio.Evenifshedid,she’soutsideforonce,sittingbythewaterinProspectPark,watchingduckssquabbleoverpizzacrustsandstonerspassajointunderagazebo.She’dbeonthetrainwithJaneexceptNikopersonallypackedherasandwichandinsistedshetakeadvantageofherSaturdaymorningoffto“recenter”and“absorbdifferentenergies”and“trythishavartiIgotatthefarmer’smarketlastweek,it’sgotalotofcharacter.”
ButitonlytakesaminutetodownloadanFMtunerapp,andAugustthumbsthroughthedialtothestation.Aguywithadryvoiceisreadingalistofprogrammingforthenextsixhours,soshetextsback,Okay,whatnext?
Justwait,Janereplies.Irememberedanothersong,soIcalledinandrequestedit.
Theguyonthemicswitchesgearsandsays,“Andnow,arequestfromagirlinBrooklynwhowantstohearsomeold-schoolpunk,here’s‘Lovers’bytheRunaways.”
Augustleansbackonthebench,andtheharshguitarandpoundingdrumsstartup.Herphonebuzzes.
TodayIrememberedthatIdatedagirlinSpanishHarlemwholikedtogetheadtothisalbum!XOXOJane
Augustchokesonhersandwich.
Itbecomesthenewritual:JanetextsAugustdayandnight,Hey!Turnontheradio!Love,Jane.Andwithinminutes,there’llbeasongsherequested.Thankfully,afterthefirst,they’realmostneversongsthatsheusedtoeatgirlsoutto.
Sometimesit’soneJanejustrememberedandwantstohear.Onedayit’s“War”byEdwinStarr,andshegiddilytellsAugustaboutaVietnamprotestin’75whereshebrokeafingerinafightwithsomeoldracistwhilethesongblastedoverthespeakers,howabunchoftheguyswhohungoutonMottStreetpassedaroundacoffeecantocollectthemoneytogetitsetcorrectly.
Butsometimes,it’sasongthatshelikes,orwantsAugusttohear,asongfromthebackofhermindorhermenagerieofcassettes.MichaelBoltonraspinghiswaythrough“SoulProvider”orJamMasterJayspittingout“YouBeIllin’.”Itdoesn’tmatter.90.9willplayit,andAugustwilllistenjusttofeelthatunder-the-same-moonfeelingofJanelisteningtothesamethingatthesametimeassheglidesacrosstheManhattanBridge.
AndsuddenlyAugustisashandcuffedtotheradioasJaneusedtobe.It’sextremelyfuckinginconvenient,honestly.She’sbusyworryingaboutwhat’sgoingtohappentoLucieandWinfieldandJerryonceBilly’sgetsshutdown.Shehastrainstocatchandshiftstoworkandclassestocatchuponand,ononeparticularSunday,aCraigslistadtoansweracrossBrooklyn.
“Please,Wes,”Augustbegs.Hehasthenightoff,sohe’sactuallyawakebeforesunset,andhe’susinghisdaylighthourstosketchonthecouchandshootdeeplyput-uponlooksatAugustacrosstheapartment.Forsomeonesodeterminedtoneverexpressemotion,hecanbeincrediblydramatic.
“I’msorry,howexactlydoyouexpectustogetadeskandanentirebedhomefromfuckingGravesend?”
“It’sawritingdeskandatwinmattress,”Augusttellshim.“Wecandoitonthesubway.”
“Iamnotgoingtobetheassholewhotakesamattressonthesubway.”
“Peopletakeobnoxiousthingsonthesubwayallthetime!IwasontheQlastweekandsomeonehadanentirerecliner!Ithadcupholders,Wes.”
“Yeah,andthatpersonwasanasshole.Youhaven’tbeeninNewYorklongenoughtoearntherighttobeanassholewithimpunity.You’restillinthetouristzone.”
“Iamnotatourist.Aratclimbedupmyshoeyesterday,andIjustletithappen.Couldatouristdothat?”
Wesrollshiseyes,sittingupandbattingadanglingvineoutofhisface.“Ithoughtyouwereintominimalism,anyway.”
“Iwas,”Augustsays.Shetakesoffherglassestocleanthem,hopingtheblurryshapeofWesdoesn’trecognizeitforwhatitis:nothavingtoseesomeone’sfacewhenshesayssomethingvulnerable.“Butthatwas?…beforeIfoundsomewhereworthputtingstuffin.”
Wesisquiet,thensighs,puttinghissketchbookdownonthetrunk.
Hegritshisteeth.“Isaiahhasacar.”
Twohourslater,they’repickingtheirwaybacktoFlatbush,AugustTetris’dintothebackseatwithherricketynewwritingdeskandatwin-sizemattressstrappedtotheroofofIsaiah’sVolkswagenGolf.
Isaiahissayingsomethingabouthisdayjob,aboutInstagraminfluencersaskingiftheycanwriteoffhandcraftedorchidcrownsontheirtaxes,andWesislaughing—eyesclosed,headthrownback,nosescruncheduplaughing.Augustknowsshe’sstaring.She’snever,notoncesinceshemovedin,seenWescrackmorethanasarcasticchuckle.
“Yougoodbackthere?”Isaiahasks,glancingintherearviewmirror.Augustwhipsherphoneout,pretendingshe’snotmonitoringtheirconversation.“Yougotenoughlegroom?”
“I’llsurvive,”Augustsays.“Thanksagain.Yousavedmylife.”
“Noproblem,”hesays.“It’snotasbadaswhenIdidthisforWes.Hisbed’saqueen.Thatwasabitchtomove.”
“YouhelpedWesmoveabed?”
“I—”Wesstarts.
“It’sverytasteful,”Isaiahcontinues.“Birchheadboard,matcheshisdresser.Hemaynotbearichkidanymore,buthestillgotbougietaste.”
“That’snot—”
“You’veseentheinsideofWes’sbedroom?”Augustinterrupts.“Ihaven’tevenseentheinsideofWes’sbedroom,andIshareawallwithhim.”
“Yeah,it’scute!Youexpectittolooklikeahobbithole,butit’sreallynice.”
“Ahobbithole?”Weshisses.He’saimingforindignant,buthismouthsplitsintoabegrudgingsmile.
Oh,man.Heisinlove.
August’sphonechimes.Jane,tellinghertoputontheradioagain.
“Hey,”shesays.“Doyoumindifweputtheradioon?”
“God,please,”Isaiahsays,pullingtheAUXcordoutofWes’sphone.“IfIhavetolistentoBonIverforanotherblock,I’mgonnadriveintoatelephonepole.”
Wesgrumblesbutdoesn’tprotestwhenAugustreachesforward,tuningto90.9.Thesongthatcomesonisonesherecognizes—gentlepiano,alittletheatrical.
“LoveofMyLife”byQueen.
Oh,no.
Therewas,sherealizes,amajorflawinherplan.ShemaynotbekissingJaneanymore,butthisisworse.Howisshesupposedtoknowif,whenJanerequests“I’veGotLoveOnMyMind,”Augustissupposedtoreadintothelyrics?DearNatalieCole,whenyousangthelineWhenyoutouchmeIcan’tresist,andyou’vetouchedmeathousandtimes,wereyouthinkingaboutaconfusedqueerwithaterriblecrush?DearFreddieMercury,whenyouwrote“LoveofMyLife,”didyoumeanforittoreachacrossspaceandtimeinaplatonicwayorareal-deal,break-your-heart,throw-you-up-against-a-walltypeofway?
“Yousureyougotenoughroom?”Isaiahasks.“Youkindoflooklikeyou’redying.”
“I’mfine,”Augustcroaks,slidingherphonebackintoherpocket.Ifsheabsolutelyhastohavefeelings,shecanatleastdoitinprivate.
TheyunloadIsaiah’scarandcarryeverythingupsixflightsandintoAugust’sbedroom,andIsaiahblowsthembothakissonhiswayout.WessitsnexttoAugustonherdeflatingairmattress,eachwigglingtheirassestoforcetheairout.
“So…”Augustsays.
“Don’t.”
“I’mjust?…curious.Idon’tgetit.Youlikehim.Helikesyou.”
“It’scomplicated.”
“Isit,though?Like,mycrushlivesonthesubway.Youhaveitsomucheasier.”
Wesgrunts,abruptlygettingtohisfeet,andthesuddenlackofcounterbalancesendsAugust’sassthumpingontothefloor.
“I’ddisappointhim,”hesays,maintainingstubborneyecontactashedustshisjeansoff.“Hedoesn’tdeservetobedisappointed.”
Wesleavesheronthefloor.Sheguessesshekindofdeservedthat.
Later,whenshe’smanagedtoassemblethecheapbedframesheorderedandtuckthesheetsontohernewbed,sheopenshertexts.
What’sthestorybehindthesong?
Janetextsbackaminutelater.Sheaddressesandsignsitthewaysheusuallydoes.Augustissousedtoitthathereyeshavestartedskippingrightovertheintroductionandsignoff.
Idon’tremembermuch.IlistenedtoitinanapartmentIhadwhenIwas20.IusedtothinkitwasoneofthemostromanticsongsIeverheard.
Really?Thelyricsarekindofdepressing.
No,yougottalistentothebridge.It’sallaboutlovingsomeonesomuchyoucan’tstandtheideaoflosingthem,evenifithurts,thatallthehardstuffisworthitifyoucangetthroughtogether.
Augustpullsitup,letsitspinpastthefirsttwoverses,intotheline:Youwillremember,whenthisisblownover?…
Okay,shetypes,thinkingofWesandhowdeterminedheisnottoletIsaiahhandhimhisheart,ofMylaholdingNiko’shandashetalkstothingsshecan’tsee,ofhermomandawholelifespentsearching,ofherself,ofJane,ofhoursonthetrain—allthethingstheyputthemselvesthroughforlove.Okay,Igetit.
8
newyork>brooklyn>community>missedconnections
PostedJune8,1999
GirlwithleatherjacketonQtrainat14thStreet-UnionSquare(Manhattan)
DearBeautifulStranger,you’llprobablyneverseethis,butIhadtotry.Ionlysawyouforaboutthirtyseconds,butIcan’tforgetthem.IwasstandingontheplatformwaitingfortheQonFridaymorningwhenitpulledupandyouwerestandingthere.Youlookedatme,andIlookedatyou.Yousmiled,andIsmiled.Thenthedoorsclosed.Iwassobusylookingatyou,Iforgottogetonthetrain.Ihadtowaittenminutesforanotheroneandwaslateforwork.IwaswearingapurpledressandplatformSkechers.IthinkI’minlovewithyou.
Isaiahopensthedoorwearingatophat,leatherleggings,andaviolentlyuglybutton-down.
“YoulooklikeamemberofToto,”Wessays.
“AndwhatbetterdaythanthisholySundaytoblesstherainsdowninAfrica,”hesays,wavingthemintohisapartmentwithaflourish.
TheinsideofIsaiah’splacefeelslikehim:asleekleathersectional,stuffedandmeticulouslyorganizedbookshelves,splashesofcolorinrugsandpaintingsandasilkrobeslungoverthebackofakitchenchair.Tasteful,stylish,well-organized,withasparebedroomfullofdragtuckedbesidethekitchen.HispolishedwalnutdiningtableisdecoratedwithdozensofJesusfigurinesdressedinhomemadedrag,andthefaintsoundsoftheJesusChristSuperstarsoundtrackunderscorethesloshingofthepunchhe’smakingatthecounter.
Sothisistheeventannouncedviahandwrittenflyershovedundertheirdoor:Isaiah’sannualdragfamilyEasterbrunch.
“Lovingthesacrilege,”Nikosays,unloadingapanofvegetarianpasteles.Hepicksuponeofthefigurines,whichiswrappedinabedazzledsock.“WhiteJesuslooksgreatinpuce.”
Augusthaulshercontribution—analuminumdishfullofBilly’sbiscuits—overthethresholdandcontemplatesifshe’sthereasonthesetwohouseholdsarefinallymerging.It’stechnicallythefirsttimetheganghasbeeninvitedtothebrunch,unlessyoucountlastyearwhenthepartyspilledintothehallandMylaendedupgettingalapdancefromaBronxqueenonherwaytothemailbox.Butlastweek,AugustrodethePopeyesserviceelevatorwithIsaiahandmadeapointtomentionWes’ssulkingfitafterhissisterInstagrammedaWes-lessPassoverseder.
“Arewethefirstones?”Augustasks.
Isaiahshootsheralookoverhisshoulder.“Youevermetapunctualdragqueen?Whydoyouthinkwe’rehavingbrunchatseveno’clockatnight?”
“Point,”shesays.“Wesmadescones.”
“It’snothingspecial,”Wesgrumblesasheshoulderspasthertothekitchen.
“Tellhimwhatkind.”
There’saheavypauseinwhichshecanpracticallyhearWes’steethgrinding
“Orangecardamomwithamaplechaidrizzle,”hebitesoutwithallthefuryinhistinybody.
“Ohshit,that’swhatmysister’sbringing,”Isaiahsays.
Weslooksstricken.“Really?”
“No,dumbass,she’sgonnashowupwithabunchofDoritosandaziplockbagofweedlikeshealwaysdoes,”Isaiahsayswithahappylaugh,andWesturnsdelightfullypink.
“Praiseitandblazeit,”Mylacomments,floppingontothecouch.
WhenthefirstmembersofIsaiah’sdragfamilystarttoshow—SaraToninindewydaytimedragandahandfuloftwenty-somethingswithflashymanicuresandthick-framedglassestohidetheirshaved-offbrows—themusiccranksupandthelightscrankdown.Augustisquicklyrealizingthatit’sonlyabrunchintheabsoluteloosestdefinitionoftheword:thereisbrunchfood,yes,andIsaiahintroduceshertoaMontrealqueenhotoffatouringgigwithafistfulofcashandaNalgenefullofmimosas.But,mostly,it’saparty.
Apartment6Fisn’tthetheonlygroupoutsideofIsaiah’sdragfamilytowarrantaninvitation.There’sthemorningshiftguyfromthebodega,theownerofoneofthejerkchickenjoints,stonersfromthepark.There’sIsaiah’ssister,freshoffthetrainfromPhillywithpurpleboxbraidsdowntoherwaistandaWawabagoverhershoulder.EveryemployeefromthePopeyesdownstairsendsuptherethesecondthey’veclockedout,passingaroundboxesofspicydark.Augustrecognizestheguywhoalwaysletsthemontheserviceelevator,stillwearinganametagthatsaysGREGORY,halfthelettersrubbedoffsoitreadsREGRY
Thepartyfillsandfills,andAugusthuddlesinthekitchenbetweenIsaiahandWes,theformertryingtogreeteverypersonwhostumblesthroughthedoorwhilethelatterpretendshe’snotwatchinghimdoit.
“Wait,ohmyGod,”Isaiahsayssuddenly,gogglingatthedoor.“Isthat—Jade,Jade,isthatVeraHarry?OhmyGod,I’veneverseenheroutofdrag,youwereright,bitch!”Heturnstothem,gesturingacrosstheroomatanincrediblyhotandstubblyguywho’swalkedin.HelookslikehefelloutofaCWshowandintoIsaiah’slivingroom.Wesisinstantlyglaring.“Thatisanewqueen,movedfromLAlastmonth,everybody’sbeentalkingabouther.She’sthiscrazystuntqueen,butthen,outofdrag?Trade.BestthingtoeverhappentoThursdaynights.”
“SucksforThursdaynights,”Wesmutters,butIsaiahhasalreadyvanishedintothecrowd.
“Oof,”Augustsays,“you’rejealous.”
“Wow,holyshit,youfigureditout.You’regonnawinaPeabodyAwardforreporting,”Wesdeadpans.“Where’sthekeg?Iwastoldtherewouldbeakeg.”
NoisyminuteslurchbyinamessofshinyeyelidsandIsaiah’scuratedplaylist—it’sjustshiftedfrom“YourOwnPersonalJesus”to“Faith”byGeorgeMichael—andAugustissnatchingabiscuitfromthetrayshebroughtwhensomeonesetsaplatterofbun-and-cheesedownbesideitandsays,“Shit,Ialmostbroughtthesamething.Thatwouldhavebeenawkward.”
Augustlooksup,andthere’sWinfieldinasilkshirtcoveredincartoonfish,hisbraidsbundledupontopofhishead.BesidehimisLuciewho,whenshe’snotinherBilly’suniform,apparentlyfavorsextremelytinyblackdressesandlace-upboots.Shelooksmorelikeagirlinanassassinmoviethanthemanagerofapancakejoint.Auguststares.
“You—Whatareyoudoinghere?Y’allknowIsaiah?”
“IknowAnnie,”Winfieldsays.“Shedidn’tputmeindragmyfirsttime,butshesatatmycounterenoughtoconvincemeIshouldtryit.”
What?
“You’re—youdodrag?Butyou’venevermentioned—andyou’renot—”Augustfumbleswithhalfadozenwaystoendthatsentencebeforelandingeloquentlyon,“Youhaveabeard?”
“What,younevermetabeardedpansexualdragqueen?”Helaughs,andit’sthenthatAugustnotices:WinfieldandLucieareholdinghands.WhatintheworldgoesonatdragfamilyEasterbrunch?
“I—you—y’allare—?”
“Mm-hmm,”Winfieldhumshappily.
“Asfunasitistobreakyourbrain,”Luciesays,“nobodyatworkknows.TellthemandIbreakyourarm.”
“OhmyGod.Okay.You’re…”August’sheadisgoingtoexplode.ShelooksatWinfieldandgasps,“Ohfuck,that’swhyyouknowsomuchCzech.”
Winfieldlaughs,andtheydisappearasquicklyastheyappeared,anditis?…nice,Augustthinks.Thetwoofthemtogether.LikeIsaiahandWesorMylaandNiko,itmakesastrangesense.AndLucie—shelookedhappy,affectionateeven,whichisincredible,sinceAugustkindofassumedshewasmadefromwhattheyuseatBilly’stoscruboutthefloordrains.Emotionalsteelwool.
Bythepunchbowl,theconversationhasshiftedtoeveryone’sEasterfamilytraditions.AugustrefillshercupasIsaiahasksMyla,“Whataboutyou?”
“Myparentsare,like,hippieagnostics,sowenevercelebrated.I’mprettysurethat’stheonlythingNiko’sparentsdon’tlikeaboutme,myheathenupbringing,”shesays,rollinghereyesasNikolaughsandthrowsanarmoverhershoulders.“OurbigAprilholidaygrowingupwasTombSweepingDay,butmygrandparentsandgreat-grandparentskeeprefusingtodie,sowejustburnapaperFerrarieveryyearformygreat-unclewhowasinlovewithhiscar.”
“MyparentsalwaysmadeusgotoSábadodeGloria,”Nikochimesin.“TheCatholicchurchtaughtmeeverythingIknowaboutdrama.Andcandles.”
“Oh,noshit?”Isaiahsaysappreciatively.“Mypopsisapastor.Momleadsthechoir.OurparentsshouldgettogetherwiththebloodofChristsometime.ExceptmineareMethodist,soit’sgrapejuice.”
Wes,whoisperchedonthecountertopobservingtheconversationwiththevaguestofinterest,says,“August,didn’tyougotoCatholicschoolforamillionyears?IsyourfamilyhornyforJesustoo?”
“Onlytheextendedfamily,”shesays.“Didn’tgoforJesusreasons.Louisianapublicschoolsarecrazyunderfundedandmymomwantedmetogoprivate,soIwentandwewerebrokemywholelife.Supergreattime.Oneofthenunsgotfiredforsellingcocainetostudents.”
“Damn,”Wessays.Heneverdidfindthekeg,butthere’sathirty-rackofPBRbesidehim,andhe’sfishingoneout.“Wannashotgunabeer?”
“Iabsolutelydon’t,”Augustsays,andtakesthebeerWesholdsoutanyway.Sheuntucksherpocketknifefromherjeanjacketandhandsitover,thenfollowsWes’sleadandjamsitintothesideofhercan.
“Istillthinkthatknifeiscool,”Wessays,andtheypopthetopsandchug
Whenpeoplestarthavingtodoshotsinthehallway,Mylaflingsopenthedoorto6Fandyells,“Shoesoffandnobodytouchtheplants!”Andeverythingoverflowsintobothapartments,dragqueensperchedonthesteamertrunk,Popeyesapronsdroppedinthehall,WesreclinedacrossIsaiah’skitchentablelikeaRenaissancepainting,VeraHarrycradlingNoodlesinhisbeefyarms.MylabustsoutthegrocerybagofLunarNewYearcandyhermomsentandstartspassingitaroundtheroom.Isaiah’sCanadianfriendtrompsbywithaboxofwineonhershoulder,singing“mooooreFraaanziaaaa”tothetuneof“OCanada.”
Atsomepoint,Augustrealizesherphone’sbeenchiminginsistentlyfromherpocket.Whenshepullsitout,allthemessageshavecollectedtofillthescreen.Sheswallowsdownanembarrassinglypleasedsoundandtriestoplayitoffasaburp.
“Who’sblowingupyourphone,BabySmurf?”Mylasays,asifshedoesn’tknow.AugusttiltsherphonesoMylacansee,bearingherweightwhensheleansinsoclosethatAugustcansmelltheorangeylotionsheputsonaftershowers
Hello,I’mverybored.—Jane
HiAugust!—Jane
Areyougettingthese?—Jane
Hellooooo?—JaneSu,QTrain,Brooklyn,NY
“Aw,she’salreadylearnedhowtodoubletext,”Mylasays.“Doesshethinkshehastosignitlikealetter?”
“IguessIleftthatpartoutwhenIwasshowingherhowtouseherphone.”
“It’ssocute,”Mylasays.“You’resocute.”
“I’mnotcute,”Augustsays,frowning.“I’m—I’mtough.Likeacactus.”
“Oh,August,”Mylasays.Hervoiceissoloud.She’sverydrunk.Augustisverydrunk,sherealizes,becauseshekeepslookingatMylaandthinkinghowcoolhereyeshadowisandhowprettysheisandhownutsitisthatsheevenwantstobeAugust’sfriend.Mylagrabsherchininonehand,squeezinguntilherlipspokeoutlikeafish.“You’reacreampuff.You’reacupcake.You’reayarnball.You’re—you’realittlesugarpumpkin.”
“I’magarlicclove,”Augustsays.“Pungent.Fiftylayers.”
“Andthebestpartofeverydish.”
“Gross.”
“Weshouldcallher.”
“What?”
“Yeah,comeon,let’scallher!”
Howithappensisablur—Augustdoesn’tknowifsheagrees,orwhy,butherphoneisinherhandandacallconnecting,and—
“August?”
“Jane?”
“Didyoucallmefromaconcert?”JaneshoutsoverthesoundofPattiLaBellewailing“NewAttitude”onsomeone’sBluetoothspeaker.“Whereareyou?”
“Easterbrunch!”Augustyellsback.
“Look,IknowIdon’thavethefirmestgraspontime,butI’mprettysureit’sreallylateforbrunch.”
“What,areyouintorulesnow?”
“Hellno,”Janesays,instantlyaffronted.“Ifyoucarewhattimebrunchhappens,you’reacop.”
That’ssomethingshe’spickedupfromMyla,whoAugusteventuallyallowedtovisitJaneagain,andwholovestosaythatallkindsofthings—payingrentontime,orderingacinnamonraisinbagel—makeyouacop.AugustsmilesattheideaofherfriendsrubbingoffonJane,athavingfriends,athavingsomeoneforherfriendstoruboffon.ShewantsJanetobetheresobadlythatshetucksherphoneintothepocketbyherheartandstartscarryingJanearoundtheparty.
It’soneofthosenights.NotthatAugusthasexperiencedanightlikethis—notfirsthand,atleast.She’sbeentoparties,butshe’snotmuchofadrinkerorasmoker,evenlessofadazzlingconversationalist.She’smostlyobservedthemlikesomekindofhousepartyanthropologist,neverunderstandinghowpeoplecouldfallinandoutofconnectionsandconversations,flippingswitchesofmoodsandpatternsofspeechsoeasily.
ButshefindsherselfembroiledinamostlySpanishdebateaboutgrilledcheesesandwichesbetweenNikoandthebodegaguy(“Onceyouputanyproteinotherthanbacononthere,thatshitisofficiallyamelt,”Janeweighsinfromherpocket)andamostlylawlessdrinkinggameinthenext(“NeverhaveIeverthrownamolotovcocktail,”Janesays.“Didn’tyouheartherules?Whenyousayitlikethat,you’resayingthatyouhave,”Augustsays.“Yeah,”Janeagrees,“Iknow.”).Foronce,she’snotthinkingaboutstayingalerttofendoffdanger.It’sallpeopleIsaiahknowsandtrusts,andAugustknowsandtrustsIsaiah.
Andshe’sgotJanewithher,whichshefuckingloves.Itmakeseverythingeasier,makesherbraver.AJaneinherpocket.PocketJane.
ShefindsherselfwedgedbetweenLucieandWinfield,shoutingoverthemusicaboutcustomersatBilly’s.Thenshe’stradingjokeswithVeraHarry,andshe’slaughingsohardshespillsherdrinkdownherchin,andIsaiah’ssistercallsout,“Notsayingshit’sgoneofftherails,butIjustsawsomeonemixschnappswithaCapriSunandsomeoneelseisinthebathtubhandingoutshrooms.”
Andthensomehow,she’snexttoNiko,ashegoesonandonabouttheexistentialdreadofbeingayoungpersonunderclimatechange,twirlingthethreadoftheconversationaroundhisfingerlikeamagician.Ithitsherlikethingsdosometimeswhenyou’rebuzzedenoughtoforgetthecontextyourbrainhasbuilttounderstandsomething:Nikoisapsychic.She’sfriendswithawholepsychic,andshebelieveshim.
“CanIaskyouapersonalquestion?”Augustsaystohimoncethegroupdissolves,hearinghervoicecomeoutsloppy
“ShouldIgo?”Janesaysfromherpocket.
“Noooo,”Augustsaystoherphone.
Nikoeyesheroverhisdrink.“Askaway.”
“Whendidyouknow?”
“ThatIwastrans?”
Augustblinksathim.“No.Thatyouwereapsychic.”
“Oh,”Nikosays.Heshakeshishead,thefangdanglingfromhisearswinging.“Wheneversomeoneasksmepersonalquestions,it’salwaysaboutbeingtrans.That’s,like,solowonthelistofthemostinterestingthingsaboutme.Butit’sfunnybecausetheanswer’sthesame.Ijustalwaysknew.”
“Really?”Augustthinksdistantlyabouthergradualstumbleintoknowingshewasbisexual,theyearsofconfusingcrushesshetriedtorationalizeaway.Shecan’timaginealwaysknowingsomethinghugeaboutherselfandneverquestioningit.
“Yeah.IknewIwasaboyandIknewmysisterwasagirlandIknewthatthepeoplewholivedinourhousebeforeushadgottenadivorcebecausethewifewashavinganaffair,andthatwasit,”heexplains.“Idon’tevenremembercomingouttomyparentsortellingthemIcouldseethingstheycouldn’t.Itwasjustalways?…whatitwas.”
“Andyourfamily,they’re—?”
“Catholic?”Nikosays.“Yeah,theyare.Kinda.MorewhenIwasakid.Thewholepsychicthing—mymomalwayscalleditmygiftfromGod.Sotheybelievedmeaboutbeingaboy.Ourchurchwasn’tsochillaboutitwhenIwantedtotransitionthough.Mymomkindagotintoitwiththepriest,sononeoftheRiverashavebeentomassinawhile.Notthatmyabueloknowsthat.”
“That’scool,”Jane’svoicesays.
“Verycool,”Augustagrees.SuddenlysheknowswhereNikogetshisconfidencefrom.Shepullsonhisarm.“Comeon.”
“Where?”
“YouhavetobeonmyteamforRollyBangs.”
Thebatteredofficechairappearsoutofnowhere,andWestapesoffthefloorofthehallwaywhileMylastandsonatableandshoutstherules.Anassortmentofprotectivegearmanifestsonthekitchencounter:twobicyclehelmets,Myla’sweldinggoggles,someskigearthatmustbelongtoWes,onelonelykneepad.AugustpostsasheetofpaperonthewallandgetsIsaiahtohelpherdeviseatournamentbracket—twodrunkbrainsmakeonesmartbrain—andit’son,thekitchenclearedandcheeringcrowdsgatheredoneithersideoftheapartmentasthegamesstart.
Augustputsonahelmet,andwhenNikoflingsherchairtowardthehallwayandshegoesflyingandscreamingthroughtheair,Janewarminherpocketandnocareforwhethershebreakssomething,theonlythoughtinherheadisthatshe’stwenty-threeyearsold.She’stwenty-threeyearsold,andshe’sdoingsomethingabsolutelystupid,andshe’sallowedtodoabsolutelystupidthingswhenevershewants,andtherestdoesn’thavetomatterrightnow.Howhadshenotrealizeditsooner?
Asitturnsout,lettingherselfhavefunisfun.
“Wheredoesthatdisembodiedvoicekeepcomingfrom?”saysIsaiahbetweenrounds,sidlingupbesideAugust.He’swearingafurmuffasahelmet.
“That’sAugust’sgirlfriend,”Wessupplies,slurringslightly.“She’saghost.”
“OhmyGod,Iknewthisplacewashaunted,”Isaiahsays.“Wait,theonefromtheséance?She’s—?”
Someoneelseleansintotheconversation.“Séance?”
“Ghost?”SaraToninchimesinfromatoptherefrigerator.
“Isshehot?”Isaiah’ssisterasks.
“She’snotmygirlfriend,”Augustsays,wavingthemoff.Shepointstothephonestickingoutofherfrontpocket.“Andshe’snotaghost,she’sjustonspeaker.”
“Boo,”saysJane’svoice.
“She’salwayswearingtheexactsamething,”Wessaysashehaulstheofficechairback,oneofthewheelslistingpathetically.“That’sghostbehaviorifyouaskme.”
“IfI’meveraghost,IhopeIgetachoiceinwhatI’mcursedtowearfortherestofeternity,”Isaiahsays.“Like,doyouthinkit’sjustwhateveryou’rewearingwhenyoudie?Oristhereanafterlifegreatesthitsmoodboardwhereyougettoassembleyourownghostdrag?”
“IfIgettopick,Iwanttobewearing,like…”Mylathinksaboutitforalongsecond.Herdrinksloshesdownherarm.“OneofthosejumpsuitsfromtheendofMammaMia.Igotohauntpeoplebutitalwaysturnsintoamusicalnumber.That’stheenergyIwanttobringtothehereafter.”
“Brocadesuit,openjacket,noshirt,”Nikosaysconfidently.
“Wes,”Mylashoutsathimasheclimbsintotherollingchair,“whatwouldyourghostwear?”
Hestrapsonapairofskigoggles.“Aslanketcoveredinshrimpchipcrumbs.”
“VeryTinyTim,”Isaiahnotes.
“Shutupandthrowmeacrosstheroom,youbigbitch.”
Isaiahobliges,andthetournamentcontinues,buthecomesbackthreeroundslater,smilingabroadsmile,thegapbetweenhistwofrontteethunfairlycharming.
HepointsatAugust’sphone.“What’shername?”
“Jane,”Augustsays.
“Jane,”Isaiahrepeats,leaningintoAugust’sboobstoshoutatthephone.“Jane!Whyaren’tyouhereatmyparty?”
“Becauseshe’sablipinrealityfromthe1970sboundtotheQandshecan’tleave,”Nikosupplies.
“Whathesaid,”Janeagrees.
IsaiahignoresthemandcontinuestoyellatAugust’stits.“Jane!Theparty’snotoveryet!Youshouldcome!”
“Man,I’dloveto,”Janesays,“Ihaven’tbeentoagoodpartyinforever.AndI’mprettysuremybirthdayiscomingup.”
“Yourbirthday?”Isaiahsays.“You’rehavingapartyforthat,right?Iwannacome.”
“Probablynot,”Janetellshim.“I’msortof—well,myfriendsarekindofunavailable.”
“That’ssuchbullshit.OhmyGod.Youcan’thaveabirthdayandnotcelebrateit.”Isaiahleansbackandaddressestheparty.“Hey!Heyeverybody!Sincethisismyparty,Igettodecidewhatkindofpartyitis,andIamdecidingit’sJane’sbirthdayparty!”
“Idon’tknowwhoJaneis,butokay!”someoneyells.
“Howsooncanyougethere,Jane?”
“I—”
AndmaybeIsaiahrememberstheséance,andmaybehebelieveswhat’shappeninghere,andmaybeheseesthepanickedlookAugustandNikoexchange,ormaybehe’sjustdrunk.Buthisgrinspreadsimpossiblywider,andhesays,“Actually.Hangon.Everybody,pleasetransferyourdrinktoanunmarkedcontainer,we’retakingittothesubway!”
Isaiah’sfriendsarenothingifnotgame—and,inmanycases,crossed—sotheyflowdownthestairsandoutontothestreetlikeadambreaking,drinksintheair,caftansandcapesandapronstrailingbehindthem.AugustisbetweenLucieandSaraTonin,carriedbythecurrenttowardherusualstation.
“Whichoneishe?”SaraisaskingLucie.
LuciepointsatWinfield,who’sthrowinghisheadbacktolaugh,glitterglintinginhisbeard,lookinglikethelifeoftheparty.Shetampsdownasmileandsays,“That’shim,”andAugustlaughsandwantssobadlytoknowwhatitfeelsliketoshowoffthepersonwho’syoursfromacrossthecrowd.
Thentheyallpileontothetrain,Augustupfront,pointingtoJaneandtellingIsaiah,“That’sher,”andsheguessesshedoesknow.Maybewhatshereallywantsistobethepersonacrossthecrowdwhobelongstosomeone.
“Youbroughtmeaparty?”Janeasksasthecarfills.Nikohasalreadystartedblasting“Suavamente.”
“Technically,Isaiahbroughtyouaparty,”Augustpointsout.
ButJanelooksaroundatthedozensofpeopleonthetrain,paintednailsandshrieksoflaughterupanddownherquietnight,andit’sAugust,notIsaiah,shelooksatwhenshegrinsandsays,“Thankyou.”
SomeoneplacesaplasticcrownonJane’shead,andsomeoneelsepressesacupintoherhand,andsheridesonintothenight,beamingandproudasawarhero.
Myla’sbagofcandystartsmakingtheroundsagain—Augustcan’tbesure,butshethinkssomeonehasslippedinsomeedibles—andatsomepoint,maybeafterIsaiahandtheCanadianFranziaenthusiasthaveadance-off,Augustgetsanidea.SheconvincesoneofIsaiah’sdragdaughterstogiveherthesafetypinstuckthroughtheirearlobe,andshereturnstoJanewithit,grabbinghershoulderstocatchherbalance.
“Hiagain,”Janesays,watchingasAuguststicksthepinthroughthecollarofherleatherjacket.“What’sthis?”
“SomethingwedoinNewOrleans,”Augustsays,pullingadollaroutofherpocketandpinningittoJane’schest.“Thoughtyoumightremember.”
“Oh?…ohyeah!”Janesays.“Youpinadollartosomebody’sshirtontheirbirthday,andwhentheygoout—”
“—everyonewhoseesitissupposedtoaddadollar,”Augustfinishes,andthelightofhappyrecognitioninJane’seyesissobrightthatAugustsurprisesherselfwithherownvolumewhensheyellstothecrowd.“Hey!Hey,newpartyrule!Pinthecashonthebirthdaygirl!Keepitgoing,tellyourfriends!”
BythetimethetrainloopsbackintoBrooklyn,therearepeopleswingingfromsubwaypolesandastackofbillsstuckthroughJane’ssafetypin,andAugustwantstodothingssheneverwantstodo.Shewantstotalktopeople,shoutthroughconversations.Shewantstodance.ShewatchesWesasheslowly,warilyletshimselfslipagainstIsaiah’sside,andsheturnstoJaneanddoesthesame.NikobobsbywithhisPolaroidcameraandsnapsaphotoofthem,andAugustdoesn’tevenwanttoduckaway.
Janelooksatherthroughadustingofconfettithat’sappearedoutofnowhereandsmiles,andAugustcan’tcontrolherbody.Shewantstoclimbupontoaseat,soshedoes.
“Ilikebeingtallerthanyou,”shesaystoJane,chewingonapieceofpeanutandsesamebrittlefromMyla’sbagofcandy.
“Idon’tknow,”Janeribsher.“Idon’tthinkitsuitsyou.”
Augustswallows.Shewantstodosomethingstupid.She’stwenty-threeyearsold,andshe’sallowedtodosomethingstupid.ShetouchesthesideofJane’sneckandsays,“Didyoueverkissanygirlswhoweretallerthanyou?”
Janeeyesher.“Idon’tthinkso.”
“Toobad,”Augustsays.SheleansdownsoJanehastotipherchinuptomaintaineyecontact,andshefindsthatshelikesthatanglequitealot.“Nomemoriestobringback.”
“Yeah,”Janesays.“It’djustbekissingtokiss.”
Augustiswarm,andJaneisbeautiful.SteadyandimprobableandunlikeanyoneAugust’severmetinherlife.“Surewould.”
“Uh-huh.”JanecoversAugust’shandwithhers,theirfingerstangling.“Andyou’redrunk.Idon’tthink—”
“I’mnotthatdrunk,”Augustsays.“I’mhappy.”
Sheswaysforward,andsheletsherselfkissJaneonthemouth.
Forhalfasecond,thetrainandthepartyandeverythingelseexistontheothersideofapocketofair.They’reunderground,underwater,sharingabreath.AugustbrushesherthumbbehindJane’sear,andJane’smouthparts,and—
Janebreaksoffabruptly.
“Whatisthat?”sheasks.
Augustblinksather.“Um.Itwassupposedtobeakiss.”
“No,that?…the—yourlips.Theytastelikepeanuts.And?…sesamepaste?Theytastelike—”
Shetouchesahandtohermouthandstaggersback,eyeswide,andAugust’sstomachdrops.She’srememberingsomething.Someone.Anothergirlwho’snotAugust.
“Oh,”Janesaysfinally.Someonecrashesintohershoulderastheydanceby,andshedoesn’tevennotice.“Oh,it’s—Biyu.”
“Who’sBiyu?”
Janelowersherhandslowlyandsays,“Iam.”
August’sfeethitthefloor.
“I’mBiyu,”Janegoeson.AugustreachesoutblindlyandgetsahandfulofJane’sjacket,watchingherface,holdingontoherasshetripsbackwardintomemories.“That’smyname—whatmyparentsnamedme.SuBiyu.Iwastheoldest,andmysistersandme,weusedto—weusedtoeatallthefahsungtongbeforetheNewYearpartywasevenover,somydadwouldhidethemontopofthefridgeinasewingtin,butIalwaysknewwhereitwas,andhealwaysknewwhenIstolesomebecausehe’dcatchmesmellinglike—likepeanuts.”
Augusttightenshergrip.Themusickeepsplaying.Shethinksofstormsurges,ofrushesandwallsofwater,andholdsontighter,feelsitcomingandplantsherfeet.
“Hisname,Jane,”shesays,suddenlyandstartlinglysober.“Tellmehisname.”
“Biming,”shesays.“Mymom’sisMargaret.Theyowna—arestaurant.InChinatown.”
“Here?”
“No—no.SanFrancisco.That’swhereI’mfrom.Welivedabovetherestaurantinalittleapartment,andthewallpaperinthekitchenwasgreenandgold,andmysistersandIsharedaroomandwe—wehadacat.Wehadacatandapotofflowersbythefrontdoorandapictureofmypoponexttothephone.”
“Okay,”Augustsays.“Whatelsedoyouremember?”
“Ithink…”Asmilespreadsacrossherface,awestruckanddistant.“IthinkIremembereverything.”
9
Theparty’sgone.Augusthasbeenonthetrainforfivehoursstraight,glitterinherhair,dollarbillsonJane’scollar,ridingthelineandlisteningtotheflowofJane’smemories.TheywatchedthesunriseovertheEastRiverwiththefirstcommutersoftheday,recordedaslewofvoicenotesonAugust’sphone,waitedforNikotoreturnwithanencouragingsmile,twocoffees,andastackofblankstenos.
AugustwritesandJanetalksand—wedgedbetweenhalf-asleeprastasandmothersofthree—theyrebuildawholelifefromthebeginning.Andmorethanever,morethanwhensheaskedJaneout,morethanthefirsttimetheykissed,AugustwishesJanecouldleavethegoddamnsubway.
“Barbara,”Janesays.“IwastwowhenmysisterBarbarawasborn.Bettycamethenextyear.MyparentsgavemetheonlyChinesenamebecauseIwastheoldest,buttheydidn’twantanytroubleformysisters.Theyalwaystoldme,‘Biyu,lookafterthegirls.’AndIleftthem.That’s?…fuck.Iforgothowthatfelt.Ileftthem.”
Sheswallows,andtheybothwaitforhervoicetoevenoutbeforesheexplainsthatsheleftwhenshewaseighteen.
“My—myparents—theywantedmetotakeovertherestaurant.Mydadtaughtmetocook,andIlovedit,butIdidn’twanttobetieddown.Imean,Iwassneakingoutatnighttoseegirls,andmyparentswantedmetocareaboutbalancingthebooks.I—Idon’teventhinkIfullyknewIwasgayyet?Iwasjustdifferent,andmydadandIwouldfight,andmymomwouldcry,andIfeltlikeshitallthetime.Icouldn’tmakethemhappy.Ithoughtrunningawaywouldbebetterthanlettingthemdown.”
Leaving,shesays,wasthehardestthingsheeverdid.HerfamilyhadbeeninSanFranciscoforgenerations.Itneverfeltliketherightchoice.Butitfeltliketheonlychoice.
“Summer’71,Iwaseighteen,andthisband—someno-nameband,totalproto-punktrashplayingtheabsoluteworstshit—askedmydadiftheycouldplayattherestaurant.Andheletthem.AndIfellinlove—withthemusic,thewaytheydressed,thewaytheycarriedthemselves.Iwentupstairs,cutoffallmyhair,andpackedmybackpack.”
Inthevan,theyaskedhername,andshesaid,“Biyu.”
“ItwasLAfirst,”shegoeson.“Threemonthsworkingforafishmongerbecausemyunclebackhomeownedafishmarket—that’sthistattoo,righthere.”Shepointstotheanchor.Herfirstone.“Ihadafriendwho’dmovedthere,soheputmeup,thenhetookajobinPittsburghandIleft.ThatwaswhenIstartedhitchingrideswhereverpeopleweregoingandseeinghowIlikedit.IdidClevelandforacoupleofweeks,thatwasanightmare.DesMoines,Philly,Houston.Andin’72,IendedupinNewOrleans.”
Sheremembersstraydetailsabouteverycityshepassedthrough.Anapartmentwithbarsonthewindows.Recitingherparents’phonenumbertotheraftersofanatticintheHoustonHeights,wonderingifsheshouldcall.AlmostbreakingherarmataVietnamprotestinPhiladelphia.
NewOrleansisblurry,butAugustthinksthat’sbecauseitmeantmore.ForJane,themostimportantmemoriesareeitherrazor-sharpTechnicolororpixelatedandmuted,likethey’retoomuchtoholdinherhead.Sherememberstwoyears,anapartmentwithasweet-facedroommatewhosenamestillwon’tcome,abasketofclothesinthekitchenbetweentheirroomsthatthey’dbothpullfrom.
Sheremembersmeetingotherlesbiansingrungybars—shelearnedtocookburgersandfriesinthekitchenofonecalledDrunkJane’s.Thegirlsspentherfirstmonthwatchingheracrossthebar,daringoneanothertotalktoher,untiloneaskedheronadateandconfessedthey’dbeencallingherDrunkJanebecausenoonehadthenervetoaskhername.Everylesbianintheneighborhoodhadanickname—Birdy,Noochie,T-Bev,NattyLight,amillionhilariousnamesbornfromamillionmessystories.Sheusedtojoketheysoundedlikeabandofpirates.Sheconsideredherselflucky,really,thatthenamethatstuckonherwasDrunkJane,andthatoverthemonthsitbecameoneword.Jane.
NewOrleanswasthefirstplaceshefeltathomesincetheBay,butthespecificsarehard,andthereasonsheleftisgone.
Somethinghappenedthere,somethingthatsentherrunningagain.Thefirsttimesomeoneaskedhernameafterward—abusdriverinBiloxi—sheswallowedandgavehernickname,becauseitwastheonethingfromthatpartofherlifeshechosetokeep:Jane.Itstuck.
AfterNewOrleans,ayearofhitchhikingfromcitytocityontheEastCoast,fallinghalfwayinlovewithagirlineveryoneandthencuttingandrunning.Shesaysshelovedeverygirllikesummer:brightandwarmandfleeting,nevertoodeepbecauseshe’dbegonesoon.
“Therewerepeopleinthepunksceneandtheanti-warcrowdwhohatedgays,andpeopleinthelesbiancrowdwhohatedAsians,”Janeexplains.“Someofthegirlswantedmetowearadresslikeit’dmakestraightpeopletakeusseriously.EverywhereIwent,someonelovedme.ButeverywhereIwent,someonehatedme.Andthentherewereothergirlswhowerelikeme,who?…Idon’tknow,theywerestrongerthanme,ormorepatient.They’dstayandbuildbridges.Oratleasttry.Iwasn’tabuilder.Iwasn’taleader.Iwasafighter.Icookedpeopledinner.Itookthemtothehospital.Istitchedthemup.ButIonlystayedlongenoughtotakethegood,andIalwaysleftwhenthebadgotbad.”
(Janesaysshe’snotahero.Augustdisagrees,butshedoesn’twanttointerrupt,sosheputsapininitforlater.)
ShereadaboutSanFrancisco,aboutthemovementshappeningthere,aboutAsianlesbiansridingonthebacksofcablecarsjusttoshowthecitytheyexisted,aboutleatherbarsonFultonStreetandbasementmeetingsinCastro,butshecouldn’tgoback.
Shedidn’tstopuntilNewYork.
BackinNewOrleans,herfriendswouldtalkaboutabutchtheyusedtoknownamedStormé,who’dmovedtoNewYorkandpatrolledoutsidelesbianbarswithabat,whothrewapunchatcopsoutsidetheStonewallInnandinstigatedariotbackin’69.Thatsoundedlikethekindofpersonshewantedtoknowandthekindoffightshewantedtobein.SoshewenttoNewYork.
SheremembersfindingfriendsinadifferentChinatown,inGreenwichVillage,inProspectHeights,inFlatbush.Sherememberscurlingupontwinmattresseswithgirlswhowereworkingnightstosaveupforthebigoperation,pushingtheircurlsbehindtheirearsandcookingthemcongeeforbreakfast.Sheremembersfightsinthestreets,raidsonbars,thepolicedraggingheroutincuffsforwearingmen’sjeans,spittingbloodonthefloorofapackedcell.Itwasearly—tooearlyforanyonetohaveanyideawhatwashappening—butsheremembersfriendsgettingsick,takingaguyfromthefloorabovetothehospitalinthebackofacabandbeingtoldshewasn’tallowedtoseehim,andlater,watchinghisboyfriendgettoldthesamething.Sterilewhites,skinnyankles,hunchedinwaitingroomchairswithbruisesfromcopsstillmottlingherskin.
(Augustgoeshomeanddoesherownresearchlater:nobodywascallingitAIDSuntil’81,butitwasthere,creepingsilentlythroughNewYork.)
Butshealsoremembersbrightlightsonherfaceatclubsfulloffeathersandthriftstoreeveninggownsandglitteringturbansperchedatopgingerwigs,bareshoulderssmudgedwithlipstick,bottomshelfgin.ShelistsoffthenamesofguyswithheavyeyelinerwhothrewpunchesatCBGBandrecitesthesummer’75concertcalendar,whichshe’dpinnedtoherbedroomwall.Sheremembersgettinginafightwithherupstairsneighbor,beforehegotsick,andsettlingitoverapackofcigarettesandagameofbridge,laughinguntiltheycried.SherememberssteamingdumplingsinakitchenthesizeofaclosetandinvitingasmallcrowdofgirlsfromChinatowntoeataroundhercoffeetableandtalkaboutthingstheywerejustbeginningtosuspectaboutthemselves.SheremembersBilly’s,jabbinganelbowintoJerry’sribsatthegrill,hotsauceandsyrupdribblingdownherwristsasshebitintohersandwichanddeclareditthebestideasheeverhad,theexactlookonJerry’sfacewhenhetasteditandagreed.
Sheremembersthephone,alwaysthephonelookingbackather,alwaysthesameninedigitsrepeatinginherhead.Herparents.Sheknewsheshouldcall.Shewantedto.Sheneverdid.
Augustcanseeitpullather—aroundhereyes,hermouth.Sometimesshelaughs,rememberingmakingherselfsickontoomuchfriedchickenfromtheshopdowntheblockandhermommumbling“yeethay”atherdisapprovinglyevenasshepattedherforeheadandbroughtherchrysanthemumtea.Sometimesshestaresattheceilingwhenshetalksabouthersistersandthewaytheyusedtowhispertooneanotherintheirroomatnight,gigglingintothedarkness.She’sfoundandlosteverything,allinthespanofafewhours.
Itallmakessense,though.ItfillsinmostofthegapsinAugust’sresearch—thelackofofficialdocumentsusinghername,theconfusingtimelines,theimpossibilityofpinningdownexactlywhereJanewasformostofthe’70s.AnditmakessenseofJanetoo.Sheranawaybecauseshedidn’tthinkshecouldmakeherfamilyhappy,andsheneverwentbackbecauseshethoughtshedidthemafavor.Shekeptrunning,becausesheneverquitelearnedwhathomewassupposedtofeellike.That,especially,Augustcanunderstand.
It’shard,topictureJane’slifeforty-fiveyearsagoandunderstandhowcloseitfeelsforher—amatterofmonths,shesaidonce.It’salwayssoakedinsepiaforAugust,grainyandwornattheedges.ButJanetellsitinfullcolor,andAugustseesitinhereyes,intheshakeofherhands.Shewantstogoback.Toher,it’sonlyashortsummeraway.
ButhowNewYorkendedforJaneisstillmissing.ShetooktheQtoandfromherapartmentoften,butshecan’trememberhowsheendedupstuckthere.
“That’sokay,”Augustsays.SheleanshershoulderintoJane’s.Janeleansback,andAugustpushesawaytheknowledgethatshekissedherafewhoursago,letsitbeburiedundereverythingelse.Janewatchesanotherstationslideawaywithasoftexpressiononherface,freedomunreachableontheothersideofaslidingdoor.“That’swhatI’mherefor.”
WhenAugustclocksinatBilly’sonThursdayafternoon,Lucieisonthephone,staringblanklyataMetsclippingonthewall.
“Wecanonlysellthree,”shesaysinamonotone,soundingabsolutelybored.“$100each,$250fortheset.It’sahistoricNewYorklandmark.No,notontheregistry.”Apause.“Isee.”Amuchlongerpause.“Yes,thankyou.Iinviteyoutoeatadick.Goodbye.”
Sheslamsdownthephonehardenoughthatthecoffeeinthepotbehindthecountertrembles.
“Whowasthat?”Augustasks.
“Billywantstoraisemoneytobuythebuildingbysellingthingswecanspare,”Lucieexplainstersely.“PutsomeofthebarstoolsonCraigslist.Peoplearecheap.Andidiots.Cheapidiots.”
Shestormsoffintothekitchen,andAugustcanhearherswearingupastorminCzech.ShethinksofthejarofonionandhoneyandthewayLucieconcealedasmileunderthestreetlights,andsheturnstoWinfield,who’sputteringaroundthecounter.
“There’smoretoitthansheletson,”Augustsays,“isn’tthere?”
Winfieldsighs,throwingatoweloverhisshoulder.
“Youknow,I’mfromBrooklyn,”hesaysafterapause.“Seemslikenobodywholiveshereisfromhere,butIam—grewupinEastFlatbush,big-assJamaicanfamily.ButLucie—sheemigratedwhenshewasseventeen,wasonherownlonger.Cameherehungryonenightandcouldn’tpaythebill,andBillycameoutthebackandofferedherajobinstead.”
Hehopsupontothebar,narrowlyavoidingputtinghisassinapecanpie.
“I’djuststartedworkingheretheyearbefore.Iwasonlyakid.Shewasonlyakid.Shewassoskinny,meanasshit,dishwaterblond,learningEnglishonthejob,andshestartedtellingpeoplewhattodo,andthenonedaysheshowedupwithredhairandblacknailslikeshehadsomekindaWonderWomanlevelup.Thisplacemadeherwhosheis.It’sthefirsthomesheeverhad.Shit,Ihadahome,andevenIfeelthatsometimes.”
“There’sgottabeawaywecansaveBilly’s,”Augustsays.
Winfieldshrugs.“That’sBrooklyn,man.Placesgetboughtupandshutdownallthetime.”
Sheglancesoverhershoulderthroughthekitchenwindow,towhereJerryisbusywithanomelette.SheaskedhimaweekagoifheremembersthepersonwhocameupwiththeSuSpecial.Hedoesn’t
AugustpasseshershiftthinkingaboutJaneandghosts,thingsthatdisappearfromthecitybutcan’teverreallybeerased.Thatafternoon,AugustfindsherontheQ,sittingcross-leggedacrossthreeseats.
“Mmm,”JanehumswhenAugustsitsdownnexttoher.“Yousmellgood.”
Augustpullsaface.“Ismellliketheinsideofadeepfryer.”
“Yeah,likeIsaid.”SheburieshernoseinAugust’sshoulder,inhalingthegreasyghostofBilly’s.August’sfaceflasheswarm.“Yousmellgood.”
“You’reweird.”
“Maybe,”Janesays,drawingback.“MaybeIjustmissBilly’s.Itsmellsexactlythesame.It’snicetoknowsomethings’llneverchange.”
God,itsucks.PlaceslikeBilly’s,they’reneverjustplaces.They’rehomes,centralpointsofmemories,firstloves.ToJane,it’sasmuchofananchorastheoneonherbicep.
“Jane,I,uh,”Auguststarts.“Ihavetotellyousomething.”
Andshebreaksthenews.
Janeleansforward,elbowsonherknees,tonguingherbottomlip.“God,I—Ineverimaginedit’devernotbethere,notevennow.”
“Iknow.”
“Maybe…”shesays,turningtoAugust,“maybeifyougetmebacktowhereI’msupposedtobe,Icoulddosomething.MaybeIcouldfixthis.”
“Imean,maybe.Idon’treallyknowhowanyofthisworks.Myla’sprettysurewhatever’shappeningnowishappeningbecausewhateverhappenedinthepastisalreadydone.”
Janefrowns,deflatingslightly.“IthinkIunderstoodsomeofthosewords.So,you’resaying?…ifthere’sanythingIcoulddoaboutit,it’dalreadybedone.”
“Maybe,”Augustsays.“Butwedon’tknow.”
There’slongbeatofquiet,andJanesays,“Haveyou?…haveyoueverfoundanythingaboutmenow?Like,ifImakeitback,andIstaythere?…thereshouldbeanothermeoutthere,right?Backontherighttrack?Alloldandwiseandshit?”
Augustfoldsherhandsinherlap,lookingdownatJane’sredsneakers.She’sbeenwonderingwhenJanewouldaskthis;it’ssomethingthat’sbuggedAugustsincethebeginning.
“No,”sheadmits.“I’msureshe’soutthere,butIhaven’tfoundheryet.”
Janesighs.“Damn.”
“Hey.”Shelooksup,attemptingasmallsmile.“Thatdoesn’tnecessarilymeananything.Wedon’tknowthatthingscan’tchange.Maybetheycan.Ormaybeyou’llchangeyournameagain,andthat’swhyIcan’tfindyou.”
“Yeah,”Janesays,quietandheavy.“Maybe.”
AugustfeelsithangingaroundJane,thesamethingthatpulledathertheothermorningasshetoldherstories.
“Anythingyouwanttotalkabout?”Augustasks.
Janereleasesalongbreathandcloseshereyes.“Ijust?…missit.”
“Billy’s?”
“Yeah,butalso?…life,”shesays.Shefoldsherarmsandshifts,slidingdownuntilshe’slyingacrossthebench,herheadonAugust’slap.“Mydimsumplace.Thecatinmybodega.Bangingontheceilingbecausetheneighborwaspracticinghistrombonetooloud,youknow?Dumbshit.Imissfiguringoutscamswithmyfriends.Havingabeer.Goingtothemovies.Dumb,smalllifethings.”
“Yeah,”Augustsays,becauseshedoesn’tknowwhatelsetosay.“Iknowwhatyoumean.”
“Itjust—itsucks.”Jane’seyesareclosed,herfaceturneduptowardAugust,mouthsoft,jawclenched.Augustwantstosmoothherthumbacrossherstrong,straightbrowsandpullthetensionoutofher,butshesettlesforpushingahandintoherhair.Janeleansintothetouch.“Icanrememberitnow,howIfeltmywholelife—Iwantedtogoplaces,seetheworld.Alwayshatedstayinginoneplacefortoolong.Fuckin’ironic,huh?”
Shefallssilent,tracingherfingertipsoverherside,whereatattooispeekingaroundthehemofherT-shirt.
Augustwishesshewerebetteratthis.She’sgreatattakingnotesandpickingapartfacts,butshe’sneverbeengoodatnavigatingtheriversoffeelingsthatrunbeneath.Jane’scheekboneispressedintotheknobofherkneethroughherjeans,andAugustwantstotouchit,holdhercloser,makeitbetter,butshedoesn’tknowhow.
“Ifithelps…”Augustsaysfinally.Jane’shairissleekandthickbetweenherfingers,andsheshiverswhenAugustscratchesherscalp.“I’veneverfoundanywhereIwantedtostayeither,untilnow.AndIstillfeeltrappedsometimes,inmyhead.Like,evenwhenI’mwithmyfriends,andI’mhavingfun,andI’mdoingallthedumb,smalllifethings,sometimesitstillfeelslikesomething’swrong.Likesomething’swrongwithme.Evenpeoplewhoaren’tstuckonatrainfeelthatway.WhichIrealizesounds?…bleak.ButwhatI’vefiguredoutis,I’mneverasaloneasIthinkIam.”
Jane’squiet,considering.“Thatdoeshelp,”shesays.
“Cool,”Augustsays.Shebumpsherkneegently,nudgingJane’shead.“Yousaidyoumissedgoingtothemovies,right?”
Janeopenshereyesfinally,lookingupintoAugust’s.“Yeah.”
“Okay,so,myfavoritemovieofalltime,”Augustsays,fishingherphoneout.“It’sfromthe’80s.It’scalledSayAnything.How’boutthis—welistentothesoundtrack,andI’lltellyouaboutit,andit’llbealmostasgood.”
Augustextendsanearbudtoher.Sheeyesit.
“Myladidsayyoushouldbeteachingmethisstuff.”
“She’sasmartwoman,”Augustsays.“Comeon.”
Janetakesit,andAugustcuesupthemusic.AugusttellsheraboutLloydandDianeandthepartyandthekeys,thedinner,thediatribesaboutcapitalismandthebackseatofthecar.Shetalksabouttheboomboxandthepenandthepayphone.Shetalksabouttheplaneattheend,abouthowDianesaysnobodybelievesit’llworkout,howLloydsaysthateverysuccessstorystartsoutthatwaytoo.
Janehumsandtapsthetoeofhersneaker,andAugustkeepstouchingherhair,andshetriestomakeherfeelingssmallandquietenoughtofocusongettingitright,thequoteaboutnotknowingwhatyou’resupposedtobedoingorwhoyou’resupposedtobewheneveryoneelsearoundyouseemssosure:Idon’tknow,butIknowthatIdon’tknow.Thatonefeelsimportant.
It’sembarrassingtotheAugustwholikestoplaytough,forthisstupidmovietomeansomuchtoher,but“InYourEyes”comeson,andJanebreathesoutlikeshe’sbeenpunchedinthegut.Shegetsit.
Augustdoesn’twanttothinkaboutkissingJanewhenthemusicfadesoutorwhenthedoorsslideopenatParksideAve.orwhenshetucksherapronunderherarmandwavesgoodnight.Butshedoes,andshedoes,andshedoes.
Whenshegetshome,Myla’ssprawledoutonthecouchandNikoisputteringaroundthekitchen,finishingupthelastfewdays’worthofdishes.
“WedecidedtofinishaseasonofLost,”Nikosaysashetowelsoffacerealbowl.“Ican’tbelievetheymovedtheisland.Iam,asIsaiahwouldsay,gooped.”
“Yeah,waituntilyougettothepartwithClaire’screepyBlairWitchbaby.”
“Don’tspoilhim!”Mylasays.She’scradlinganenormousbagofjellybeanslikeit’sababy.Augustthinksshemightbestoned.
“He’sliterallyapsychic.”
“Still.”
Augustholdsupherhandsinsurrender.
“How’sourgirltonight?”Nikoasks.
“She’sallright,”Augusttellshim.“Kindasad.It’shardonher,beingstuckdownthere.”
“Ididn’tmeanJane,”hesays.“Imeantyou.”
“Oh,”Augustsays.“I’m?…I’mokay.”
Nikonarrowshiseyes.“You’renot.Butyoudon’thavetotalkaboutit.”
“Ijust…”AugustpacesovertooneoftheEameschairsanddropsintoitbonelessly.“Ugh.”
“What’swrong,littleswampfrog?”Mylasays,shovingahandfulofjellybeansintohermouth.
Augustburiesherfaceinherhands.“Howdoyouknowifagirllikesyou?”
“Oh,thisagain,”Mylasays.“Ialreadytoldyou.”
Augustgroans.“It’sjust?…it’sallgottensocomplicated,andIneverknowwhat’srealandwhat’snotandwhat’sbecausesheneedssomebodyandwhat’sbecauseIneedsomebody,andit’s—ugh.It’sjustugh.”
“Youhavetoactuallysaysomethingtoher,August.”
“Butwhatifshedoesn’tfeelthesame?We’restuckwitheachother.I’mtheonlyonewhocanhelpher.I’llmakethewholethingweird,andshe’llenduphatingmebecauseit’salwaysawkward,andIcan’tdothattoeitherofus.”
“Okay,but—”
“Butwhatifshedoeslikeme,andshegoesbacktothe’70sandIneverseeheragainandIcouldhavetoldherandIdidn’t?Andsheneverknows?Ifsomeonefeltthiswayaboutme,I’dwanttoknow.Sodoesshedeservetoknow?Or—”
Mylastartslaughing.
Augustpullsherfaceoutofherhands.“Whatareyoulaughingabout?”
Mylaburrowsthesideofherfaceintothearmrest,stillgiggling.Afewjellybeansspillontothefloor.“It’sjustthat,you’reinlovewithaghostfromthe1970swholivesonthesubway,andit’sstilltheexactsameasalways.”
“She’snotaghost,andI’mnotinlovewithher,”Augustsayswithaneyeroll.Then,“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Imean,”Mylasays,“youhavefallenintothehomoeroticqueergirlfriendship.It’sallcuteatfirst,andthenyoucatchfeelings,andit’simpossibletotellifthejokeflirtingisactualflirtingandiftheplatoniccuddlingisromanticcuddling,andnextthingyouknow,threeyearshavegoneby,andyou’reobsessedwithher,andyouhaven’tdoneanythingaboutitbecauseyou’retooterrifiedtofuckupthefriendshipbyguessingitwrong,soinsteadyousendeachotherhornyplausibledeniabilitylovelettersuntilyou’rebothdead.Exceptshe’salreadydead.”Shelaughs.“That’swild,bruh.”
Nikodriftsintotheroom,settingafewhandlelessteacupsandateapotdownonthesteamertrunkwithatinklingofchippedporcelain.
“Myla,Janeisourfriend,”hesays.“Youhavetostopmakingjokesaboutherbeingdead.Itwouldbecoolerifshewas,though.”
Augustgroans.“Y’all.”
“Sorry.”Mylasighs,acceptingateacup.“Justtextherlike,‘HeyJane,yougotarockin’bod,wouldlovetoconsensuallysmash.XOXO,August.’”
“SoundsexactlylikesomethingIwouldsay.”
Mylalaughs.“Well,sayitinanAugustway.”
Augustexhales.“It’stheworstpossibletiming,though.Shejustrememberedwhosheis.Andithasn’texactlybeeneasyonher.”
“There’snogoodtiminginthissituation,”Mylasays.
“Maybenogoodtimingmeansthere’snobadtimingeither,”Nikosayssimply.“Andmaybeyoucanmakeherhappywhileshe’shere.Maybeit’sselfishtokeepthatfromher.Maybeit’sselfishtokeepitfromyou.”
Anhourgoesby,andMylafallsasleeponthecouchwhileNiko’scleaningupthetea.Augustwatcheshimgentlytugthebagofjellybeansoutofherarmsandwondersifhe’sgoingtowakeherandmovehertotheirroom.Itfeelsstrangeandprivatetowatchindecisionflickeracrosshisfacewhenshe’susedtohiscertain,confidentlines,buteventuallyitsoftensintosomethingquietandfond.
Hepullsablanketoffthebackofthecouchandspreadsitoverher,takingspecialcaretotuckitaroundhershouldersandfeet.Hebrushesherhairoffherforeheadandghoststhefaintestofunintrusivekissesoverit.
Heswitchesoffthelamp,andwhenheturnstowardtheirroom,Augustseesthesoftmeltofhissmile,thegentlecreaseatonesideofhismouth,asecretthing.They’llsleepseparatelytonight,andsomehowthishurtsherheartmore,theeasytetherbetweenthemthatdoesn’tneedaconstanttouch.Theassurancethattheotherpersonisrightthereinyourorbit,always,waitingtobetuggedbackin.NikoandMylacouldbeonoppositesidesofanoceanandthey’dbreatheinsync.
Aphantomfeelingburnsintothebackofherthroat,likeatIsaiah’sparty,onthewalktothestation:ofwhatitwouldbeliketohavesomeonebitedownasmilewhentheypointandsay,“Yeah,her.She’smine.”Tolivealongsidesomeone,tokissandbekissed,tobewanted.
“Night,”Nikosays.
“Night,”Augustsays,hervoicethickinherears.
Thatnightinherroom,Jane’sthere.Shesmileswarmandslow,untilit’ssobigitscruncheshernoseup.Sheleansagainstthewindowandtalksaboutthepeopleshemetonthetrainthatday.Shestandsinhersocksatthefootofthebedandsaysshe’snotgoinganywhere.ShetouchesthepadofherthumbtoafreckleonAugust’sshoulderandlooksatherlikeshe’ssomethingtolookat.Likeshedoesn’teverwanttostoplooking.
Augustrollsontoherbackandlevelsherpalmsagainstthemattress,andJane’soneithersideofherhips,kneesdiggingintothesheets.Inthedark,it’shardertostopherselffrompaintingsoftorangesfilteredinfromthestreet.ShecanseethemthreadedintoJane’shair,tuckedbehindherears,brushedalongthegentlecantofherjaw.Theresheis.Thisgirl,andawantsobad,itburrowsintoAugust’sbonesuntiltheyfeellikethey’llcrack.
Shewondersifthingsweredifferent,ifmaybetheycouldfallintothekindoflovethatdoesn’tneedtoannounceitself.Somethingthatsettlesintothebricksaseasilyaseveryothertruethingthat’severunfoldeditslegsandwalkedupthesestairs.
Herphonebuzzesfromwithinthesheets
Radio,itsays.Hopeyou’renotasleepyet.
Augustpullsupthestation,andthenextsongcomesup.Byrequest.“InYourEyes.”
Themoonlightmoves,acoolslashacrossthefootofthebed,andAugustsqueezeshereyesshut.There’snopointtoit,lovingagirlwhocan’ttouchtheground.Augustknowsthis.
Buttokissandbekissed.Tobewanted.That’sadifferentthingfromlove.Andmaybe,maybeifshetried,theycouldhavesomething.Noteverything,butsomething.
Augusthasaplan.
MylatoldhertosayitinanAugustway.TheAugustwayishavingaplan.
It’scontingentonafewthings.Ithastobetherightdayandtime.Butshe’sriddentheQfromoneendtotheotherenoughtohavethedatasheneeds,carefullytalliedinthebackofanotebookrightbelowallofJane’sgirls.
Definitelynotduringpeakworkcommutehours,ormidnight,whichbringsarushofpeoplegettingoffhospitalnightshifts,orweekendswhenshitfacedcommuterswillbebarfingalongtheline.Theslowesttime,whenthetrainismostlikelytobealmostcompletelyempty,is3:30a.m.onaTuesdaymorning.
SoshegathersupwhatsheneedsandstuffsitintothereusablegrocerybagsNiko’sguiltedherintousingreligiously.Shesetsheralarmfor2:00a.m.togiveherselftimetotameherhairandapplyalipstickthatwon’tsmudge.Ittakestwentyminutestofigureoutwhattowear—sheendsupwithabutton-downtuckedintoaskirt,apairofgraythigh-highsockssheboughtlastmonth,heranklebootswithheels.Shetugsonthesocksinthemirror,fussingoverthefit,butthere’snotimetosecond-guess.Shehasatraintocatch.
Shesitsonthebenchandwaits.Andwaitssomemore.Janewillbeonwhichevertrainshegetson,andshewantsittobeagoodone.Anewone,withshinyseatsandprettylightsthatcountdownthestops—andanemptycar.She’stryingtomakethesubwayromantic.Sheneedsallthehelpshecanget.
Finally,atrainwithawell-maintained,coolblueinteriorpullsup,andAugustgathersherbagsandstandsattheyellowlinelikeanervousteenagerpickinguptheirpromdate.(Sheassumes.Sheneverwenttoprom.)
Thedoorsopen.
Janeisinthefarcornerofthetrain,sprawledonherback,jacketbunchedupunderherhead,tapeplayerbalancedonherstomach,eyesclosed,onefoottappingalongtothebeat.Hermouthisquirkedupinthecornerlikeshe’sreallyenjoyingit,thelinesofherlooseandlanguidandoverflowing.August’sheartgoesunforgivablysoftinherchest.
That’shergirl.
Janeis,atthemoment,blissfullyunawareofhersurroundings,andAugustcan’tresist.Sheedgesuptohersilently,leansclosetoherear,andsays,“Hey,SubwayGirl.”
Janeyelps,flailssideways,andpunchesAugustinthenose.
“Agh,whatthefuck,Jane?”Augustyells,droppingherbagstoclutchherface.“AreyouJasonBourne?”
“Don’tsneakuponmelikethat!”Janeyellsback,pullingherselfupright.“Idon’tknowwhoJasonBourneis.”
Augustpullsonehandawayfromhernosetoexamineit:noblood,atleast.Offtoanauspiciousstart.“He’sanactionmoviecharacter,asecretagentwhohadhismemorieserasedandfindsouthe’sabadassbecauseheknowshowto,like,shootpeopleanddocomputerstuffhecan’trememberlearning.”Shethinksaboutitforasecond.“Hangon.MaybeyouareJasonBourne.”
“I’msorry,”Janesays,butshe’slaughing.Sheleansforward,tuggingAugust’shandsdown.“Areyouokay?”
“I’mfine,I’mfine,”Augusttellsher.Hereyesarewatering,butitreallydoesn’thurtmuch.Itwasmoreofaglancing,half-asleepblowthantheriotgirlpunchsheknowsJaneiscapableof.
“Whatareyouevendoinghere?”Janeasks.“It’sthemiddleofthenight.”
“Exactly,”Augustsays.ShescoopsherbagsupanddepositsthemontheseatnexttoJane,yankingoutthefirstitem:ablanket.Shethrowsitdownoverthebench.“Wealmostnevergettohangoutjustthetwoofus.”
“Sowe’re?…havingasleepover?”
“No,we’rehavingfood,”Augustsays.Herfacefeelshotandred,andnotbecauseitwasrecentlypunched,soshefocusesonunpacking.Abottleofwine.Acorkscrew.Twoplasticcups.“Allthestuffyouwanttotry.Ithoughtwecoulddo,like,atastetest.”
AugustpullsoutoneofMyla’scuttingboardsnext,scorchedononesidefromasaucepan.ThentheTakis,thesweetcreoleonionZapp’s,boxafterboxofPop-Tarts.Fivedifferentflavors.
“Afeast,”Janesays,reachingforapacketofchips.Shesoundsalittledubious,alittleawed.“Yougotmeafeast.”
“That’sageneroususeoftheword.I’mprettysuretheguyatthebodegathoughtIwasstoned.”
AugustfinallylooksuptofindJaneturningtheTakisoverinherhandslikeshe’snotsurewhattodowiththem.
“Ibroughtthistoo,”Augustsays,pullingacassettetapeoutofherpocket.Ittookherthreedifferentthriftstores,butitfinallyturnedup:theChi-Lites’greatesthits.SheholdsitouttoJane,whoblinksatherafewtimesbeforepoppingopenthedeckonhercassetteplayerandslidingthetapein.
“Thisis?…nice,”Janesays.“LikeI’manormalperson.That’snice.”
“Youareanormalperson,”Augustsays,sittingontheothersideoftheirmakeshiftjunkfoodcharcuterieboard.“Underun-normalcircumstances.”
“Prettysurethewordforthatisabnormal.”
“Hushandopenthewine,”Augustsays,handingthebottleover.
Shedoes,andthensheripsthebagofTakisopenwithherteeth,andAugust’sbrainrapidlyrunsthroughawhole3DView-Masterreelofotherthingsshe’dlikeJanetodowithherteeth,butthatisgettingaheadofherself.Shedoesn’tevenknowifJanewantstodoanythingwithherteeth.Thisisn’tevenaboutthat.ThisisaboutmakingJanehappy.It’sabouttrying.
Theyeat,andtheytoasttheirlittleplasticcupsofwine,andJaneranksthePop-Tartflavorsfromworsttobest,withthesweetest(strawberrymilkshake)predictablyatthetop.TheChi-Litescroon,andtheygoroundandroundthecityintheirwell-traveledloop.Augustcan’tbelievehowcomfortablethishasgotten.Shecanalmostforgetwheretheyare.
Augustthinks,allthingsconsidered,fora3:00a.m.dateonthesubwaywithagirluntetheredfromreality,it’sgoingprettywell.Theydowhatthey’vealwaysdone:theytalk.That’swhatAugustlikesbest,thewaytheyeatupeachother’sthoughtsandfeelingsandstoriesjustashungrilyasthebagelsordumplingsorPop-Tarts.JanetellsAugustaboutthetimeshekickedinadoortorescueadistressedchildthatturnedouttobeanespeciallyvocalhousecat,AugusttellsJaneabouthowhermomledabartenderonfortwomonthssoshecouldaccessthebaremploymentrecords.Theylaugh.Augustwants.It’sgood.
“Ithinkthiswineisactuallydoingsomething,”Janesays,inspectingherplasticcup.ShekeepspeeringatAugustoverherchipsforasecondtoolong,andthere’safaintflushoverthetopofhercheeks.SometimesAugustthinksJanelookslikeawatercolorpainting,fluidandlovely,darkerinplaces,bleedingthroughthepage.Rightnow,thewarmshadowsofhereyeslooklikeaheavydownstroke.Thejutofherchinisacarefulflickofthewrist.
“Yeah?”Augustsays.She’scomparingJanetoaVanGoghinherhead,soobviouslythewineisworkingonher.“That’snewforyou,huh?Beingabletogetdrunk?”
“Yeah,”Janesays.“Huh.How’boutthat?”
Thecassetterunsout,andtherushandrattleofthetrainfeelstooquietstretchedoutbetweenthem.
Thisisit,Augustthinks.
“Flipthetape,”shesays,andshepushesherselftoherfeet.
“Where’reyougoing?”Janeasks.
“We’reabouttobeonthebridge,”Augustsays.“Wecrossthisbridgeeverysingleday,andweneverenjoytheview.”
SheturnstolookatJane,who’ssittingontheirblanket,watchingAugustwithcarefuleyes.Augustwantstosaysomethinglovelyandprofoundandsexyandcool,somethingthat’llmakeJanewantherjustasmuch,butwhensheopenshermouth,allthatcomesoutis,“Comehere.”
Janestands,andAugusthoversontheedgeofthemomentandtriestoimaginewhattheylooklike,watchingeachotherfromtenfeetapartonaspeedingtrain,theStatueofLibertyglidingpastoverhershoulder,theBrooklynBridge,theglitteringskylineanditsshiveringreflectiononthewater,thelightsflickeringoverthemthroughthebeamsofthebridge.JohnCusackandIoneSkyecouldnever.
Andthen,JanelooksAuguststraighton,foldsherarmsacrossherchest,andsays,“Whatthefuck,August?”
Augustmentallyflipsthroughtheplanfortonight—nope,definitelynotpartofit.
“What?”
“Ican’tdothisanymore,”Janesays.ShepacestowardAugust,sneakersthumpinghardonthefloorofthecar.She’spissedoff.Browfurrowed,eyesvividandangry.Augustscramblestofigureouthowshescrewedthisupsofast.
“You—youcan’tdowhat?”
“August,”shesays,andshe’srightinfrontofher.“Isthisadate?AmIonadaterightnow?”
Fuck.Augustleansagainstthedoor,equivocating.“Doyouwantittobeadate?”
“No,”Janesays,“youtellme,becauseIhavebeenputtingeverymoveIknowonyouformonthsandIcan’tfigureyouout,andyoukeptsayingyouwereonlykissingmeforresearch,andthenyoustoppedkissingme,butthenyoukissedmeagain,andyou’restandingtherelookinglikethatinfuckingthighhighsandbringingmewineandmakingmefeelthingsIdidn’tevenknowIcouldrememberhowtofeel,andI’mgoingoutofmygoddamnmind—”
“Wait.”Augustholdsbothhandsup.Jane’sbreathsarecominghighandshort,andAugustsuddenlyfeelsclosetohysterical.“Youlikeme?”
Jane’shandsclenchintofists.“Areyoukiddingme?”
“ButIaskedyouonadate!”
“When?”
“ThattimeIaskedyououttodrinks!”
“Thatwasadate?”
“I—but—andyou—allthoseothergirlsyoutoldmeabout,youwerealways—youjustwentforit,Ithoughtifyouwantedmelikethat,youwouldhavegoneforitbynow—”
“Yeah,”Janesaysflatly,“butnoneofthosegirlswereyou.”
Auguststares.
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Jesus,August,whatdoyouthinkImean?”Janesays,voicecracking,armsthrownoutathersides.“Noneofthemwereyou.Notasingleoneofthemwasthisgirlwhodroppedoutofthefuckingfuturetosavemewithherridiculoushairandherprettyhandsandherbig,sexybrain,okay,isthatwhatyouwantmetosay?Becauseit’sthetruth.Everythingelseaboutmylifeisfucked,so,canyou—canyoupleasejusttellme,amIonafuckingdaterightnow?”
Shemakesahelplessgesture,andAugustisbreathlessatthepurefrustrationinit,thewayitlookssobrokenin,likeJane’sbeenlivingwithitformonths.Andherhandsareshaking.She’snervous.Augustmakeshernervous.
ItsinksinandrearrangesinAugust’sbrain—theborrowedkisses,thetimesJane’sbitherliporslidherhandacrossAugust’swaistoraskedhertodance,allthewaysshe’striedtosayitwithoutsayingit.They’rebothhopelessatsayingit,Augustrealizes.
SoAugustopenshermouthandsays,“Itwasneverjustresearch.”
“Ofcourseitfuckingwasn’t,”Janesays,andshehaulsAugustinbytheswayofherwaistandfinally,finallykissesher.
Itstartshard,butquicklydissolvesintosomethingsofter.Tentative.GentlerthanAugustexpected,gentlerthanshe’sbeeninanyofthestoriesshe’stoldAugust.It’snice.It’ssweet.It’swhatAugusthasbeenwaitingfor,asoftslideoflips,theloosepresenceofhermouth,butAugustbreaksoff.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Augustasks.
Janestaresback,gazeflickeringbetweenhereyesandmouth.“I’mkissingyou.”
“Yeah,”Augustsays,“butthat’snothowyoukiss.”
“Itissometimes.”
“Notwhenyoureallywantsomething.”
“Look,I—thisisn’tfair,”Janesays,andthefluorescentsilluminatetheblushonhercheeks.Augusthastobitedownasmile.“YouknowhowIliketobekissed,butIdon’tknowwhatyoulike.You’ve—you’vebeenpretending.Youhaveaheadstart.”
“Jane,”Augustsays.“AnywayyouwanttokissmeisthewayIwannabekissed,okay?”
Apause.
“Oh,”Janesays.ShestudiesAugust’sface,andAugustcanpracticallyseethatconfidencemeterofhersfillingup,righttoSmugBastard,whereitusuallysits.Augustwouldrollhereyesifitweren’tsoendearing.“It’slikethat?”
“Shutupandkissme,”Augustsays.“Likeyoumeanit.”
“Here?”SheleansupandteasesatthehingeofAugust’sjaw.
“Youknowthat’snotwhatImeant.”
“Oh,here?”Anotherkiss,herearlobethistime.
“Don’tmakeme—”
BeforeAugustcangetthethreatout,Janetwistsheraround,backingherintothedoorsofthetrain.ShepinsAugustatthehips,shouldersbracedagainsthers,handwrappedaroundherracingpulseatthewrist,andAugustcanfeelJanelikelightninginherveins.Herkneespartonanansweringinstinct,andJanedoesn’twastetimegettingalegbetweenthem,leaninginsoAugust’sownweightgrindsherdownintoJane’sthigh.
“Soprettyforme,”shemurmursintothecornerofAugust’smouthwhenshegasps,andthey’rekissingagain.
JaneSukisseslikeshetalks—withleisureandindulgentconfidence,likeshe’sgotallthetimeintheworldandsheknowsexactlywhatshewantstodowithit.Likeagirlwho’sneverbeenunsureofasinglethinginherlife.
Shekisseslikeshewantsyoutopicturewhatelseshecoulddogiventhechance:theswingofherhipsifyoupassedheronthestreet,everybeerbottleshe’severhadhermoutharound.Likeshewantsyoutoknow,downtoyourguts,thesoundherbootsmakeontheconcretefloorofapunkshow,thesplitlipsandthewayherskinsmellssweetattheendofthenight,allthethingsshe’scapableof.Shekisseslikeshe’smakingareputation.
AndAugust?…Augustcheats.
Becauseshedoeshaveaheadstart.ShespentweekslearningwhatJanelikes.Soshegrabsatherhairandtugs,nipsatherbottomlip,tiltsherchinupandbaresherneckforJane’slips,justtohearthesoftlittlemoansthatfalloutofhermouth,highonthefeelingofgivingJaneexactlywhatshewants.It’sbetterthananyoftheirfirstkisses,anymemory,redhotandrealunderherhands.Thecityglidespastthroughthewindow,framingthemin,andAugust’sskinisonfire.Herskinisonfire,andJane’sdraggingherfingersthroughtheembers.
“Thesefuckin’thighhighs,”Janemutters.Herhandgrazesoverthetopofone,shortfingernailsskimmingtheplacewhereelasticcutsintoAugust’sthigh.Shewasnervouswhensheputthemon,afraidoflookinglikeshewastryingtoohard,worriedaboutthewaytheydigintohersoftfat.“Whatthefuck,August?”
“What—ah—aboutthem?”
“They’recriminal,that’swhat,”Janesays,pressingherthumbhardenoughintothefleshtherethatAugusthisses,knowingit’llleaveamark.
Janesnapstheelasticoverthesamespot,andthesharppaingoesstraightthroughherandouthermouthinabreathless“fuck.”
“August,”Janesays.Shedipsintohershoulder,nosingathercollarbonethroughhershirt,andAugust’sbrainslowlysurfaces.“August,whatdoyouwant?”
“Iwanna?…kissyou.”
“Youarekissingme,”Janesays.“Whatelsedoyouwant?”
“It’sembarrassing.”
“It’snotembarrassing.”
“Itiswhenyou’veneverdoneitbefore,”Augustblurtsout,andJanestills.
“Isthatit?”shesays.“You’veneverhadsexwithagirlbefore?”
Augustfeelsherfaceflush.“I’veneverhadsexwithanyonebefore.”
“Oh,”Janesays.“Oh.”
“Yeah,Iknow,it’s—”
“It’sokay,”Janesayseasily.“Idon’tcare.Imean—Icare,itjustdoesn’tbotherme.”ShetracesathumbuptheinsideofAugust’sthigh,andhermouthmeltsintoaloosesmirkwhenAugustgaspsquietly.“Butyouhavetotellmewhatyouwant.”
AugustwatchesJanelickherbottomlip,andathousandimagesflashthroughhermindsofast,shefeelslikeshemightblackout—Jane’sshorthairbetweenherfingers,herteethdiggingintotheinklinesonJane’sbicep,wetfingers,wetmouths,weteverywhere,Jane’slowvoicepitchedupanoctave,Jane’seyesburningupatherfromtheendofthebed,theinsidesofJane’sknees,milesofskinshiningwithsweatandthelightthroughherbedroomwindow.ShewantsJane’shandsfistedinherbedsheets.Shewantstheimpossible.
“Iwantyoutotouchme,”shefinallymakesherselfsay.“Butwecan’t.”
Andthetrainstops.Thelightsgooff.
Forasecond,Augustthinksshedidblackout,untilhereyespickouttheshapeofJanesquintingbackatherinthedark.
“Shit,”Augustsays.“Diditjust—?”
“Yeah.”
Augustblinks,waitingforhervisiontoadjust.She’ssuddenlypainfullyawareofherself,ofJane’sfingerswrappedaroundherwrist.“Emergencylights?”
Janecloseshereyes,mouthingalongasshecountsthesecondsinherhead.Sheopensthem.
“Idon’tthinkthey’recomingon.”
Augustlooksather.Janelooksback.
“Sowe’re?…trappedonadarktrain,”Augustsays.
“Yeah.”
“Alone.”
“Yes.”
“Withnochanceforanyoneelsetogeton.”
“Correct.”
“Onthebridge,”Augustsays,moreslowly.“Wherenoonecanseeus.”
Sheshifts,adjustingherweightonJane’sthigh,andcloseshermouthonthesoundthattriestoslipoutatthefriction.
“August.”
“No,you’reright,”Augustsays,movingtoslideJane’shandoffher,“it’sabadidea—”
Jane’sgriptightens.
“ThatisliterallytheoppositeofwhatIwasabouttosay.”
Augustblinksonce,twice.“Really?”
“Imean?…whatifit’stheonlychanceweget?”
“Yeah,”Augustagrees.Itreallyisagoodpoint,pragmatically.Theyhavefiniteresourcesoftimeandprivacy.Also,AugustwilldieifJanedoesn’ttouchherwithinthenextthirtyseconds.Whichisanotherlogisticalconsideration.“You—yeah.”
“Yeah?Yousure?”
“Yeah.Yes.Please.”
Ithappensfast—Augustinhales,exhales,andsuddenlyJane’sjacketisgone,thrownblindlyatthenearestseat,andthey’rekissing,handseverywhere,messyandwetandfullofsmallsounds.August’shairkeepsgettingintheway,andwhenshebreaksofftoripaponytailholderoffherwristandhaphazardlypullitback,Jane’satherneck,tonguesoothingovereveryspotsheintroducesherteethto.Everythinggoesfuzzy,andAugustrealizesJanehastakenherglassesoffandchuckedtheminthedirectionofherjacket.
SomehowthebuttonsofAugust’sshirtareundone,andshecan’tthinkaboutanythingbutwantingmore,wantingskinonskin.Shewantstoriptheirclothesoff,useherteethandherfingernailsifshehasto,andcan’t—nothere,notthewayshewants.Still,sheslidesherfingertipsunderthewaistbandofJane’sjeans,catchesthehemofherT-shirt,andshewaitshalfasecondforJanetostopkissingherandnodbeforeshe’suntuckingandpushingitup,andohGod,theresheis,thisishappening.
Inthemoonlight,Jane’sbodyiskinetic.SheshiversandtensesandrelaxesunderAugust’shands,anipped-inwaistandsharphipbones,asimpleblackbra,gentleridgesofribs,tattooswindingupanddownherskinlikespilledink.AndAugust—Augusthasnevergottenthisfarbefore,notreally,butsomethingtakesover,andshe’sdroppingakissonJane’ssternum,andshe’spressingheropenmouthtotheswelljustabovethecupofherbra,thedevastatinggiveofit.EverypartofJaneisspartan,practical,madeintowhatitisbyyearsofsurvival,andyet,somehow,itgives.Shealwaysgives.
ItoccurstoAugustthatJaneisthinnerthanher,andmaybesheshouldcarethatherownhipsarewiderandherstomachissofter,butJane’shandsareonher,pushinghershirtopen,everywhereshe’safraidtobetouched—theshapeofherwaist,thedimplesofherthighs,thefullnessofherchest.AndJanegroansandsays,forthethirdtimeofthenight,“Whatthefuck,August?”
Augusthastochokedownasightosay,“What?”
“Lookatyou,”shesays,draggingherthumbsoutfromthecenterofAugust’sstomachtoherhips,skimmingoverthewaistbandofherskirt.SheleansinandtucksherfaceunderAugust’scollar,biteshershoulder,pressesakissthere,thenpullsbackandjustlooksather.Looksatherlikeshedoesn’teverwanttostoplooking.“You’relike—likeafuckingpaintingorsomethingstupidlikethat,whatthefuck.Youjustwalkaroundlikethisallthetime.”
“I—”August’smouthtriestoformseveralwords,maybeevensomethatmakesense,butJane’shandsarespanningherwaist,brushingthedelicatelaceedgesofherbra,andhermouthistrailinglower,andallthatcomesoutis,“Ididn’tknow.You—Ididn’tknowyouthoughtthat.”
Jane’seyesflashuptoher,glintingwickedinthelowlight.
“Youhavenofuckin’idea,girl,”Janesays,andthenshe’spushingthelaceoutoftheway.
Therearehands,andmouths,andfingertips,andtongues,andasoundcomingoutofAugustsomewherebetweenahissandasigh,andthere’sJane’sbreathhotonherskin.Thereare,objectively,alotofthingsgoingon,Augustunderstandsvaguely,butallshecanthinkiswant—howmuch,howhard,howdeepshe’sbeenwantingit,Jane’sbeenwantingit,allofitheldbetweenJane’slipsnow,pressingandbloomingthroughher,sokeenthatithurts.Janebitesdown,andAugustsucksinabreaththroughherteeth.
ThehandonAugust’sthighisinchingupherskirt,fabricgatheringatJane’swrist.WhenJaneleansintoAugust’sear,thecottonofJane’sbraisagainsther,theinsistentheatofherbody,theunbearableslideofskinagainsthers.
“Iwannagodownonyou,”Janemurmurs.“Isthatcool?”
August’seyessnapopen.
“Wha-whatthefuckkindofquestionisthat?”
Jane’sheaddropsbackwithabarkoflaughter,eyesshutandlipsswollen,thelineofherthroatobsceneandgorgeous.
“Ineedayesorno.”
“Yes,okay,Jesus.”
“TheycallmeJane,actually,”Janesays,andAugustrollshereyesasJanesinksdowntooneknee.
“That’stheworstlineI’veeverheard,”Augustsays,fightingtokeepherbreathsteadyasJanetugsonthetopofoneofherthighhighswithherteeth.Theelasticsnapsback,andJanegrinsagainsttheinsideofAugust’sthighatthelittleyelpitearnsher.“Didthatshitreallyworkongirlsinthe’70s?”
“Itseems,”Janesays,kissingherwayup,andAugustknowsherhandisshakingwhenshepushesitintothehairatthecrownofJane’shead,butshe’llbegoddamnedifshe’llactlikeit,“tobeworkingjustfinenow.”
“Idon’tknow.”Jane’sfingerscatchonthewaistbandofAugust’sunderwear.AuguststaresacrossthecarataBrooklinenad,ofallridiculousthings,becauseifsheconfrontstherealityofJanekneelingbetweenherlegsandtuggingherunderweardownherthighs,she’sgoingtohaveafull-scalementalcollapse.“Don’tgettoococky.”
“Youmightwannausethedoor,”Janesays,“forbalance.”
“Why?”
“Becauseinaminuteyou’renotgonnabeabletofeelyourlegs,”Janesays,andwhenAugustfinallylooksdownather,mouthopeninshock,she’ssmilinginnocently.ShepushesthehemofAugust’sskirtupandsays,“Holdthisforme,yeah?I’mbusy.”
“Absolutelyfuckyou.”Augustlaughs,andshedoesasshe’sasked.
Truthfully:Janehasneveroncemadeapromiseshecouldn’tbackup.
Augustturnsherheadtotheside,tryingtogroundherselftothesturdinessofthedooragainstherback,thewayhershirtbunchesupbetweenhershoulderbladeswhensheshivers,howherbreathcloudstheglassinasteady,too-fastrhythm.Throughtheglass,thecityisshining—thebridgesandbuildings,thecarouselontheedgeofthewater,thepinpricksofboatsinthedistance,andshe’stryingtotakestockofitall,ofhowitfeelstohavesomeonesoimpossiblyclosetoherforthefirsttime.Shecan’tbelieveshegetstohaveallthis,thisviewandthisgirlonherknees.
AugusthassteppedinsideamillionothermomentswithJaneandamillionothergirls,butnobodyelsecanhavethisone.
IfthiswereoneofJane’smemories,shecanalmostimaginehowJanewouldtellit:agirlwithlonghairtwistedupmessily,hershirtthrownopen,moonlightturningthelaceonherchesttogossamer,hermouthslippingopenaroundabrokensound,underweararoundherkneesandlookingabsolutelywrecked.ShelooksupatAugust,astrandofdarkhairfallingacrosshereyes,mouthbusy,andAugustknowsshe’dtellitherselfinfivewords:girl,tongue,subway,sawGod.
Augustneverknew—sheneverworkeditoutinherhead,exactly,whatwouldqualifyassexwithsomeonewhohasthesametypeofbodyashers,nomatterhowmuchshewantedit,pictureditwithonehandbeneaththesheets.Shedidn’tthinkshe’dknow,sinceshe’sneverdoneanyofit,wherethelineis.Butthis,this—Jane’smouthonher,wetfingers,everyhumandhitchofJane’sbreathgettingheroffasmuchasatouch,thegiveandtakeofhowgooditfeelstomakesomeoneelsefeelgood—issex.It’ssex,andAugustisdrowninginit.Shewantsmore.Shewantstofillherlungsup.
“Jane,”shesays,anditcomesoutweakfromthebackofherthroat.HerknucklesarewhiteinJane’shair,soshemakesherselfrelaxthem,dragsherfingersdowntoJane’ssharpcheekbone.“Jane.”
“Hm?”
“Fuck,I—comeback,”shegrindsout.“Uphere.Please.”
WhenAugustpullsherintoanotherkiss,shecantasteherselfonJane’stongue,andthat,morethananything,thefiercewaveofpossessivenessitpullsoverher,iswhathasherfumblingatthefasteningsofJane’sjeans.
It’sablur—Augustdoesn’tknowhowshesenseswhattodo.There’ssupposedtobeanawkwardlearningcurvewithsomeoneyou’veneverfuckedbefore,butthere’snot.There’sthisflowbetweenthemthat’snevermadeanygoddamnsensesincethatstaticshockthedaytheymet,andit’slikeshe’sfoundherwayintothisgirl’sjeansathousandtimes,likeJane’shadherfiguredoutforyears.Shethinksdazedlythatmaybeit’stimetostartbelievinginsomething.ThefuckingdivineconstructionofJane’sfingerswhentheypressintoher,maybe—that’sahigherpowerforsure.
It’soverinagasp,atripoversomeedgeAugustdoesn’tseeuntilthey’resuddenlythere,anopen-mouthedkissthat’smoreahotexchangeofbreaththananythingelse,teethandskin,alowswear.Janeslumpsforward,hershoulderdiggingintoAugust’schest,onehandstilltuckedneatlybeneaththelaceofAugust’sbra,andAugustfeelsalive.Shefeelspresent,somehow,here.Exactly,reallyhere.ShesmearsamessykissacrossthetopofJane’scheekandfeelslikeJaneisthefirstthingshe’severtouchedinherlife.
“Youwereright,”Augustsays.
“Aboutwhat?”
“Ican’tfeelmylegs.”
Janelaughs,andthelightscomebackon.
Janemovesfirst,pickingherheaduptoglareatthelights.Andit’ssoridiculous,sofunnyandunbelievableandJane,perturbedattheworldfordaringtodefyherinsteadoftheotherwayaround,thatAugusthastolaugh.
“Getyourhandoffmyboob.We’reinpublic,”shesaysasthetraineasesbackintomotion.
“Shutthefuckup,”Janesnorts,andshestumblesbackhalfasteptoletAugustbuttonhershirt.ShewatchesAugustshimmyherunderwearbackupherthighswithdevilishinterest,lookingpleasedwithherself,andAugustwouldblushifsheweren’talreadypinkfromeverythingelse.
JanebuttonsherjeansandtuckshershirtinanddisentanglesAugust’sglassesfromherjacket,andthenshe’scrowdingbackintoAugust’sspace,gentlyslidingherglasseson.
“Ican’tbelieveyouthrewthem,”Augustsays.“Theycouldhavefallenonthefloorandpickedupabacterialinfection.Youcouldhavegivenmeconjunctivitis.”
“Mmm,yeah,saymorebigwords.”
“It’snotsexy!”Augustsays,evenashersmilegetssobigithurts,evenassheletsJanepressherintothedoor.“Icouldhavelostaneye!”
“Iwasinahurry,”Janesays.“Ihaven’tgottenlaidinforty-fiveyears.”
“Technicality,”Augustsays.
“Letmehavethis,”Janesays,trailinghersmilingmouthoverAugust’spulse.
“Okay.”Augustlaughs,andshedoes.
Theykissagain,andagain,meltingkissesthatbarelyholdtheweightofwhatjusthappened,andAugustkeepswaiting.Augustkeepswaitingforoneofthemtosaysomethingthatwillchangeeverything,buttheydon’t.TheyjustkissuntiltheypullintoastationinBrooklyn,andablearycommuterclimbsonwithacoffeeandanunamusedexpression,andJanemufflesalaughinherneck.
It’sgood,Augustthinks,thattheydon’tsayanything.Janeloveslikesummerforareason—shedoesn’tstickaround.Augustknowsit.Janeknowsit.There’snothingeitherofthemcandoaboutit.
It’senough,Augustdecides.Tohaveherlikethis,here,fornow.Time,place,person.
10
NewRestaurantLucille’sBurgersOpensinFrenchQuarter
PUBLISHEDAUGUST17,1972
[Photo:Anolderwomaninanapronstandsinfrontofabar,armscrossed,whileayoungwomaninthebackgroundcarriesatrayofburgers]
LucilleClementremembersgrowingupinhermother’skitchenwhilewaitressBiyuSudeliversorderstocustomers.
RobertGautreauxforTheTimes-Picayune
“Soyou’resleepingwithJane?”
Augustturns,toothbrushinmouth.Niko’slookingatherfromtheendofthehallway,holdingagoldenbarrelcactusthesizeofabasketballbetweentwotattooedhands.
ShemanagedtododgehimwhenshestumbledbackintotheapartmentatfiveinthemorningwithhershirtbuttonedwrongandtheshapeofJane’smouthbruisedontothesideofherneck.Butsheshouldhaveknownshecouldonlyavoidtheresidentpsychicforsolong.
Shespitsandrinses.“Canyounotdothat?”
“Sorry,wasIskulking?SometimesIskulkwithoutrealizing.”
“No,thethingwhereyouknowthingsaboutmypersonallifejustbylookingatme.”Sherackshertoothbrush.“Butalsotheskulking.”
Hepullsaface.“Idon’tmeanto,it’sjust,like?…theenergyyouputoutaboutJane.It’sburninganewholeintheozonelayer.”
“Youknow,theoldholeintheozonelayerclosedup.”
“Ifeelthatyouaredeflecting.”
“IcansendyouaNationalGeographicarticleaboutit.”
“Wedon’thavetotalkaboutit,”Nikosays.“ButI’mhappyforyou.Youcaresomuchabouther,andshecaressomuchaboutyou.”
Auguststaresintothemirror,gettingtherarechancetowatchherselfturnpink.Ithappensinbig,unattractivesplotches.ThisiswhatJanesees.It’samiracleshewantstohavesexwithher.
Sex.SheandJanehadsex.SheandJaneare,iftheycanfigureoutthelogistics,possiblygoingtohavemoresex.Augustisn’tavirginanymore.
Shewondersifsheshouldbehavingsomekindofmentaljourneyaboutthat.Shedoesn’tfeeldifferent.Shedoesn’tlookanydifferent,justround-facedandsplotchy,likeahard-boiledeggwithasunburn.
“Virginityisasocialconstruct,”Nikosaysmildly,andAugustglaresathim.Hedoesavaguesorry-for-reading-your-mindgesture.Augustisgoingtodropkickhiscactusoutthewindow.
“It’strue,”Mylasays,headpoppingoutoftheirbedroom,eyeswidebehindherweldinggoggles,stillwearinghersatinbonnetfromthenightbefore.“Thewholeideaisbasedoncissexistandheteronormativeandquitefranklycolonial-assbullshitfromatimewhengettingadickinyouwastheonlydefinitionofsex.Ifthat’strue,meandNikohaveneverhadsexatall.”
“Andwebothknowthat’sabsolutelynotthecase,”Nikosays.
“Yeah,ourwallsarethinandIhaveears,”Augustsays,headingtowardherbedroominsearchofsomethingtotieherhairup.“Whatkindofsafewordis‘wafflecone,’anyway?”
“Speakingofoverhearingthings,”Mylapresseson,“didIhearNikosayyou’resleepingwithJane?”
“I—”AugustshootsaperturbedglanceatNiko,whohasthedecencytolookassheepishasheeverdoes,whichismostlyjustaslightlylessjovialjutofhiships.“Youcan’treallycallit‘sleeping.’There’snotreallyabedinvolved.”
“Fuckingfinally!Like,literally!”
“Lord.”
“Didyoumakesureshewasclean?CanyoucatchanSTIfromaghost?”
“She’snotaghost,”AugustandNikosayinunison.
“Okay,still,letmebeamomforasecond.”
“Look,yeah,she’s—it’sfine.”Augustwouldlovefortheircreakyfloorboardstofinallyopenupanddropheroutofthisconversation.“It’scomeupbefore.Ihavetokeeptrackofeverythingsheremembers,okay?”
“Oh,yeah,classicgetting-to-know-youconversation,”Mylasaysfromacrossthehall.“Whatkindofmusicdoyoulike?Whereareyoufrom?Doyounoworhaveyoueverhadcrabs?”
“Youjustdescribedourfirstdate,verbatim,”Nikopointsout.
August,stillsearchingforaponytailholder,picksupherbagandupendsitonthebed.
Herblueponytailholderfromlastnightfallsout,andshetriesnottothinkabouttyingherhairupwhileJane’steethworriedatherskin.WithNikoontheothersideofthewall,shemightaswellprojectaPowerPointpresentationofherselfgettingrailedonthesubwayforthewholeapartment.
Shefrownsdownatthemessfromherbag.Apackofbatteries?Wheredidthosecomefrom?
“Oh,”shesays,realizing.“Ohhhh,bitch.”
God,shecan’tbelieveittookhersolongtonotice.Thisiswhyyouaren’tsupposedtokissyourcase.Shefumblesherphoneoffherdesksofast,shenearlyflingsitouttheopenwindow.
Weirdquestion,shetextsJane,fingerstrembling.Distantly,shehearsNikoandMylainthehallwaydiscussingsoilbrands.Canyouopenthebatterycompartmentonyourradioandtellmewhatyousee?
Nothing?There’snothinginthere.Why?
Therearenobatteriesinyourradio?
Nope.
Didn’tyoueverwonderhowitworks?
Ifigureditwaslikemycassetteplayer?Itdoesn’thavebatterieseither.I’masci-fifreakshow,Ijustassumedthatwaspartofit.
You’vehadamagicalcassetteplayerallthistimeandyouneverthoughttoinvestigate??????Ormentionit???????
Idon’tknow!ItoldyouwhenIshowedittoyouthatIdidn’tknowhowitworked!Ithoughtyouknew!
Ithoughtyoumeantyoudidn’tknowhowitworkedbecauseitwassoold???
Wow,that’scallingMEold.
asldfjasfifIthoughtyoucoulddieIwouldstrangleyou
Sheslamsbackoutofherroomandintothehall,almostgettingafacefulofNiko’scactus.
“Careful!Cecilissensitive!”
Sheignoreshim,throwingthepackagedownonthefloorinfrontofthealarmclocksMylahasbeenblowtorchingtogetherallafternoon.“Batteries!”
“What?”
“Batteries,”Augustrepeats.“Whenyousoldmethatradio,youtoldmetomakesureIputbatteriesinit.SoIboughtthose,but—butthatwasinthemiddleofthewholekissing-inducedhorninessfog,soIforgottogivethemtoher.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Butitstillworks.Herradio,hercassetteplayer—shit,herphone,IgaveheraportablebatteryforitweeksagobutI’veneverseenheruseit.Noneofherelectronicsneedbatteriestowork.Sothatmeans—”
“—whateveriskeepingheronthetrainhastodowithelectricity,”Mylafinishes.Sheshoveshergogglesupontoherforehead.“Whoa.”
“Yeah.”
“Wait.Wow.Yeah,thatwouldmakesense.It’snotthetrain,it’stheline.Maybeshe’sboundto—”
“Thecurrent.Theelectricalcurrentofthetracks.”
“So—sowhatevereventthrewheroutoftime—itmighthavebeenelectrical.Ashock,maybe.”Shesitsbackonherheels,sendingLaCroixcansrattlingacrossthefloor.It’simpossibletotellifthey’reforMyla’sprojectorhydration.“Butsomethinglikethat,thevoltageoftheline—Idon’tunderstandhowitwouldn’tjustkillher.”
“Andshe’sdefinitelynotdead,”Nikohelpfullyremindsthem.
“Idon’tknoweither,”Augustsays.“Theremustbemoretoit.Butthisissomething,right?Thisisbig.”
“Itcouldbe,”Mylasays.
It’saconversationthatgoesonfordays.Augustjotsdownthoughtsonherarminthemiddleoffinals,takesnotesduringshiftsinherguestcheckpad,meetsMylaatMissIvy’stotalkitthroughforthehundredthtime.
“YourememberthefirsttimeItriedtomeetheronmyown?”Mylasays.She’sunpackingato-gobagfullofvegancurryandpatties,Niko’slunch.He’sinthebackwithaclient,andMissIvyisontheothersideoftheshop,watchingthemwarily.“AndIcouldn’tfindher?ButwhenyoubroughtNikowithyou,shewasthere.”
“Yeah,”Augustsays.SheglancesatMissIvy.It’sprobablynottheweirdesttopiceverdiscussedhere.Shelowershervoiceanyway.“Butwe’veallgonedownaloneandseenheratsomepoint.”
“Butnotuntilafteryouintroducedus.You’rethemostimportantpointofcontact.Wecanfindherbecausesherecognizesusthroughyou.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“August,yousaidityourself—ifshedoesn’tseeyouforawhile,shestartstocomeunstuck.It’snotlikeshe’soneverytrainallthetime—she’sflickeringtotheoneyou’reon.You’rewhat’skeepingherhere.You’vewatchedLost—you’reherconstant.”
Augustdropsdownontoaricketystool,rattlingtheshelfofcrystalsbehindit.Herconstant.
“But?…why?”Augustasks.“How?Whyme?”
“Thinkaboutit.Whatarefeelings?Howdoesyourbodycommunicatetoyourbrain?”
“Electricalimpulses?”
“AndhowdoyoufeelwhenyoulookatJane?Whenyoutalktoher?Whenyoutouchher?”
“Idon’tknow.Likemyheartisgonnacomeoutofmyassandsuplexmeintothemantleoftheearth,Iguess.”
“Exactly,”shesays,jabbingaplasticforkinAugust’sdirection.She’sstartedinonNiko’scurry.Ifhedoesn’tfinishcommuningwiththebeyondsoon,he’snotgoingtohavealunch.“That’schemistry.That’sattraction.That’s,like,bonercity.Andthatcomeswithallthesesuperpowerfulelectricalimpulsesbetweenyournerveendings,allthroughoutthatbigbeautifulbrainofyours.Ifwe’rerightandherexistenceistetheredtotheelectricityoftheline,theneverytimeyoumakeherfeelsomething,everytimeyoutouchherorkissher,everyinteractionyouhaveisgeneratingmoreelectricalimpulses,whichmeansyou’remakinghermore?…real.”
“Whenwe—”Augustrealizesoutloud.“Theotherday,whenwe—youknow—”
“August,we’readults,justsayyougotyourbackblownout.”
Acrosstheroom,MissIvyunfurlsapaperfanlikeshedoeswhenshe’shavingahotflash.
“Canyouplease,”Augustbegs.“Anyway,before,rightwhenIsaidIwantedto—thetrainbrokedown.So,areyousaying—?”
AdirtysmiledawnsonMyla’sface.
“OhmyGod.Sheliterallyshortedoutthetrainbecauseshewashorny,”shesays,eyessparklingwithabsoluteawestruckadmiration.“She’sanicon.”
“Myla.”
“She’smyhero.”
“God,so—sothat’s?…that’swhy,”Augustsays.“It’safeedbackloopbetweenherandtheline.That’showsheknowswhentheemergencylightsaregonnacomeonandwhentheyaren’t.That’swhythelightsgocrazywhenshe’supset.It’sallinterconnected.”
“Andwhyyourinsanekissing-for-researchplanworked,”Mylasays.“Theattractionbetweenyoutwoisliterallyaspark,andit’sthesamesparkthat’sbringingherbackintoreality.Shefeelssomething,thelinefeelsit,electricalimpulsesinherbrainstartfiring,itpiecesherbacktogether.It’syou,August.You’rethereasonshe’sstayinginoneplace.You’rewhat’skeepingherhere.”
That’s?…alot,Augustthinks.
Janetextsherthatnight,Missedyoutoday,andAugustthinksaboutherwarmmouthandcollarbonesinthemoonlightandwants,butthenextdayisanexamstraightintoalateshift.Soshetakesadifferenttrain,andMylameetsheratBilly’sandsitsatthecounterwithaburger,pickinguprightwheretheyleftoff.
“Okay,butwhyme?”Augustsays.
“Ithoughtwehadgottenpastyourdenialthatshewantstoeatchocolatefondueoffyourassandthencosignamortgage.”
“No,Imean,Icanbelievethatshe—shelikesme,”Augustsaysinatonethatsoundslikeshecannotbelieveitatall.“Butshe’sbeenonthattrainsolong.I’vefoundCraigslistpostsandpersonalads—peoplehavebeenfallinginlovewithherforyears.Shereallyneverhadacrushonanyonebeforenow?Whywasmeetingmethefirsttimeshelockedintoamomentintime?”
Mylaswallowsanenormousbiteofbeef.It’snotthatNikoenforcesavegetarianhousehold,it’sjustthatMylaenjoysmeatmorewhenNiko’snottheretolookdistantlysadabouttheenvironment.
“Maybeyou’remeanttobe.Loveatfirstsight.Ithappenedtome.”
“Idon’tacceptthatasahypothesis.”
“That’sbecauseyou’reaVirgo.”
“Ithoughtyousaidvirginitywasaconstruct.”
“AVirgo,youfuckingVirgonightmare.Allthis,andyoustilldon’tbelieveinthings.TypicalVirgobullshit.”Mylaputsherburgerdown.“Butmaybetherewas,like,anextrasparkwhenyoumet,thatpulledthetrigger.Whatdoyourememberaboutit?”
God,whatdoessheremember?Besidesthesmileandkindeyesandgeneralauraofpunkrockguardianangel?
Shetriestothinkpastthat—totheskinnedknee,thewayshehadtuggedthesleevesofherjacketoverherhandstohidethescrapes,tryingnottocry.
“Ihadspilledcoffeeallovermytits,”Augustsays.
“Verysexy,”Mylanotes,nodding.“Igetwhatsheseesinyou.”
“Andshegavemeherscarftocoveritup.”
“Dreamgirlstatus.”
“Idoremembertherewas,like,astaticshock,whenIreachedforthescarfandourhandsbrushed,butIwaswearingwoolandthescarfwaswoolandIjustneverthoughtanythingofit.Doyouthinkthatwasit?”
Mylaconsiders.“Maybe.Ormaybethatwasasideeffect.Energygoingnuts.Anythingelse?”
“Ihadjustcomefromwork,andshetoldmeIsmelledlikepancakes.”
“Oh.Hm.”Sheuncrossesherlegs,leaningforwardacrossthecounter.“Sheusedtoworkhere,right?”
“Right.”
“Andthisplacedoeshavea?…veryparticularsmell,right?”
“Right…”Augustsays.“Oh.Oh!Soyouthinkitwasasensememory?LikesherecognizedBilly’s?”
“Smellisthestrongestmemorytrigger.Couldhavedoneit.Maybeitwasthefirsttimesheencounteredsomethingshereallyrecognizedonthetrain.”
“Seriously?”AugustliftsthecollarofherT-shirttohernose.“Wow,I’mnevergonnabitchaboutsmellinglikepancakesagain.”
“Youknow,”Mylasays,“ifwecanfigureoutwhathappened,exactlyhowherenergygottiedintotheenergyoftheline,andwecanre-createtheevent…”
Augustdropshershirtcollar.“Wecouldundoit?That’showwegetherout?”
“Yeah,”Mylasays.“Yeah,Ithinkitcouldwork.”
“And—andshesnapsbacktothe’70sforgood?”
Mylathinks.“Probably.Butthere’sachance?…Imean,therearen’treallyanyrulesinthis.Sowhoknows?Maybethere’sachanceshecouldlockintorighthere,rightnow.”
Auguststaresather.“Like?…permanently?”
“Yeah,”Mylasays.
Augustallowsherselffivesecondstopictureit:Jane’sjeanstangledupinAugust’slaundry,latenightsandsplitbills,kissesonthesidewalk,oversweetcoffeeinbed.
Sheshakestheideaout,turningbacktotheregister.“Sheprobablywon’t,though.”
Thatafternoon,AugustfinallymakesherwaytotheQ.Shedidn’tmeantogothreedayswithoutseeingJaneaftertheyhadsex,honestly—shejustgotcaughtupinthecase.IthasabsolutelynothingtodowithhowJanekissedherforrealinsideaperfectmomentinthemiddleofthenightandAugustdoesn’tknowhowtoapproachthisinsideanormalThursdayafternoon.
Onherwaytotheplatform,sheseesthesign.Samewarning,samedeadline:September.TheQisclosinginSeptember.ShecouldloseJaneforeverinSeptember.Andevenifshefiguresthingsout,she’llprobablyloseJaneanyway—tothe’70s,herowntime.
So,there’sthat,andthere’stheveryfreshmemoryofgaspingintooblivionontheManhattanBridge,andthere’stheideathatwhatevertheyaretoeachotheriswhatmakesJanereal,andthere’sAugust,standingonaplatform,tryingtofileeachthingneatlyawayintodifferentfiledrawersinherbrain.
It’scrowdedtoday,butJane’ssitting,tuckedattheendofabenchbetweenthebackwallofthecarandsomeone’stoweringIkeahaul.
“Hey,CoffeeGirl,”JanesayswhenAugustmanagestowedgeherwaybetweencommuters.Augusttriestoreadherface,butherfeaturesassembleintoherusualexpression:gentleamusement,likeshe’sthinkingofahalf-rememberedjokeatnobody’sexpense.
Augustwantstokisshermouthagain.August,inconveniently,wantstodoalotofthingsagain.
“Where’veyoubeen?”Janeasks.
“Sorry,Ididn’tmeanto—Ihadthisbigbreakthroughwithyourcase,andfinals,everythingwasnuts,but—anyway,Ihavealottocatchyouupon.”
“Okay,”Janesaysplacidly.“Butcanyoucomedownhereandtellme?”
“What—”Auguststarts,beforeJanegrabsherandpullsherdown.ShethumpsgentlyintoJane’slap.“Oof.Hello.”
Janegrinsback.“Hi.”
“Oh,it’snicerdownhere,”Augustsays.
“Yeah,Imadereservations.”
There’sacertainthresholdatwhichapackedsubwaycargoesfromtoopersonaltocompletelyimpersonal,somanypeoplethattheyblendtogetherandnobodytakesnoticeofanyoneelse.InJane’slittlepocketofbench,surroundedbybackpacksandturnedbacksandboxed-upBj?rksn?sunits,italmostfeelsprivate.
Augustsettlesin,bundlingherjeanjacketintoherlap.Herskirthasfannedoutbehindher,drapingoverthemboth,andshe’sacutelyawareofthewayJane’sdenimfeelsagainstherbarethighs,theripsthatallowskintotouchskin.
“What?”Janesays,studyingherface.Augustimaginesthelookonit:acombinationofuptightandturnedon,whichprettymuchsumsherup.
“Ineedtotellyouaboutthecase,”Augustsays.
“Uh-huh,”Janesays.“Butwhat?”
“Youknowwhat.”
OneofJane’shandstravelsup,spanningthetopofAugust’sthigh.Augustlooksather,andsomethingtugsinherchest,andshewondersifthat’sit—theelectricity.Desireandchemistrycoiledupinsidesomethingbigger,somethingdeeperandsofter.
“Listen,”Janesays.“Youcan’tlookatmelikethatandnottellmewhatyou’rethinking.”
“I’mthinking—”Auguststarts,andthethinginherchesttugsharder,andshecan’t.Shecan’tsaythatwhateverisbetweenthemisthereasonthisishappeningatall.Ifshesaysit,she’llbreakit.“I’mthinkingaboutyou.”
Janenarrowshereyes.“Whataboutme?”
“About?…theothernight.”Notacompletelie.
“Yeah,”Janesays.“Iguesswehaven’ttalkedaboutit.”
“Dowehaveto?”
“Iguessnot,”shereplies,herthumbstrokingacurvedlineuptheinsideofAugust’sleg.“Butweshouldtalkaboutwhatyouwant.”
Andit’s?…God.Augustcanfeelit:thewaythingshaveshifted,theintentthatsparksoffofJanelikeflint,thewaysherakeshereyesdownfromAugust’smouthtoherthroatlikeshe’sthinkingaboutthemarksheleftthere.Augustcamedownheretodebrief,butshemightaswellbeunbuttoninghershirtforhowpresentherbrainis.
Isthiswhatit’salwayslike?Towantsomeoneandknowtheywantyouback?Howintheworlddoesanyonegetanythingdone?
“Iwanttotalkaboutthecase.”Augustwantstoscream.Spiritually,sheisscreaming.
Jane’shandpauses.“Okay.”
“It’s—it’ssuperimportant.Reallybigstuff.”
“Soundslikeit.”
“But.”
“Yeah,”Janesays.Theireyesmeet.God,it’shopeless.
“Thiswholethingwehavegoingonis?…it’sverybadformyproductivity,”Augustsays.
“Whatexactlydowehavegoingon?”Janeasksher.“Youstillhaven’ttoldme.”
“ThethingwhereIwantedyouformonths,andthenIhadyou,andnowIwantyouallthetime,”Augustsaysbeforeshecanstopherself.Shefeelsherfacegopink.“We’reonadeadline,andit’sdistracting.”
Jane’ssmiling,hereyeswhiskeybrownandfulloftrouble.
“Allthetime?”Janesays.“Like?…rightnow?”
Yeah,definitelytrouble.
“Imean,”Augustsays,“notnecessarilyrightnow.”Yes,rightnow.Rightnowallthetimealways.“Ihavetotellyouaboutthecase.”
“Sure,”Janesays.ButherfingertipsslideunderthehemofAugust’sskirt.Itstartlesasoftgaspoutofher,andJanesaysquietly,“I’llstopanytimeyoutellmetostop.”
Shemovesasiftopullherhandaway,andAugustholdsherwristdownonreflex.
“Don’tstop.”
“Okay,then,”Janesays.“Youtellmeaboutthecase,andI’ll…”HerhanddisappearsbeneaththefabricpooledinAugust’slap.“Listen.”
Augustswallows.“Right.”
Shetalksabouttheelectricityandthetracks,holdingjustenoughback—thepartsabouttheconnectionbetweenthetwoofthem—andJanelistensquietlyassheunravelstheirideasaboutfeedbackloopsandfeelingsandmemories.
“So,”Augustgoeson,“ifyoucanrememberwhatexactlyhappenedthatgotyoustuckhere,maybethere’llbeawaytore-createtheeventandundoit.Likeamanualreboot.”
“Knockmebackintoplace,”Janesays
“Yeah,”Augustagrees.“Andthen?…then,theoretically,wecouldgetyoubacktothe’70s.Whereyou’resupposedtobe.Unlesswecan’tfigureitout,then?…well,itdoesn’tmatter.I’llfigureitout.”
“Okay,”Janesays.Hereyeshavegonealittledistant.
“So,wehavetogetyoutorememberwhathappenedthedayyougotstuckhere.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Anyideashowwemightdothat?”
Janehums,herhandslidinghigher,hiddencompletelyunderAugust’sskirtandthejacketinherlap.“Ihavealotofideas,actually.”
“I—”Auguststutters.“Idon’tunderstandhowyou’resolaid-backaboutthis.It’syourexistenceonthemortalplane.”
“Look,”Janesays,fingersspreadingtogriprightbelowherass.August’shandtightensonJane’scollar.“Ifyou’reright,I’mhereforagoodtime,notalongtime.So,maybeIwanttohavealittlefun.Itdoesn’talwayshavetobesoserious.”
Augustthinksaboutthetallymarks,thegirlsJanekissedineverycity,andshewondersifthisisallJanereallywantsfromher.MaybeAugustisdifferentfromtheothergirls,butJaneisstillJane,lovingwithfirecrackerquickness,usingherhandsandhermouthandhalfofherheart.Agoodtime.Nothingserious.
AndAugust,whohasspentmostofherlifetakingeverythingseriouslywiththeoccasionaldetourintocynicaljokesforsurvival,hastoadmit—Janehasapoint.
“Okay,”Augustsays.“Yougotme.”
“IknowIgotyou,”Janesays,andthereitis:thedullscrapeofshortnailsagainstthecottonofAugust’sunderwear.
Fuck.
“Jane,”shesays,eventhoughnobodyaroundisremotelypayingattention.
Jane’shandstillscarefully,butsheleansup,intoAugust’sneck,lipsbrushingherearlobewhenshesays,“Tellmetostop.”
AndAugustshould.Augustshouldtellhertostop.
Sheshouldreallywanttotellhertostop.
ButJane’sfingertipsarebrushingagainsther,teasingouthernerveendingsandmakingherhipsache,andshethinksaboutallthemonthsofwantinghoneddowntoanexquisitelyfinepoint,sharpagainstherskinuntilitfeelslikeitcoulddrawblood.
Cautionandaknife.Sheusedtoswearbyit.Butthisissharper,andshedoesn’twantittostop.
SowhenJane’sthumbswipesupunderthecotton,andJanelooksintohereyesforananswer,Augustnods.
ThethingaboutJaneis,she’sexactlywhatAugustisn’t,anditworks.Whereshe’ssoft,Janeishard.Whereshe’sharshandpricklyandresistant,Janeisallgeneroussmilesandease.Augustislostinsomethingdangerouslylikelove,andJaneislaughing.Andhere,betweenstops,betweenherlegs,she’sanxiousandtenseandJaneisconfidentandsmooth,draggingherfingers,findingherway,slickandmaddening.
Hermindissofteningattheedges,sinkingintothefeelingofnothavingtobeincontrol,lettingJanepushherrighttotheedgeofherlimits.
“Keeptalking,angel,”Janewhispersinherear.
“Uh—”Auguststammers,strugglingtokeepablankface.Jane’smiddlefingerdoesatightcircleandAugustwantstopushintoit,pressdown,butshecan’tmove.She’sneverbeensothankfulforpeoplewhobringIkeafurnitureonthesubway.“Shit.”
ShefeelsthewarmburstofJane’squietlaughagainstthesideofherneck.
“Wecould—”Augustattempts.Ittakeseverythingtokeephervoicelevel.“Wecouldtryrebuildingeverythingfromsummerof’76on.Icanbreak—fuck—um,intotheofficeatBilly’sandseeifthere’s—oh—uh,iftheyhaveanyrecordsthatwouldbehelpful.”
“Breakingandentering,”Janesays.Thecarswaysintodaylight,andAugusthastodigherfingernailsintoJane’skneetokeephercomposure.“Doyouknowhowhotthatis?”
“I’m,uh—”Ashortgasp.Shecan’tbelievethisishappening.Shecan’tbelieveshe’sdoingthis.Shecan’tbelievesheeverhastostopdoingthis.“Iguesscriminalbehaviorisn’tasmuchofaturn-onforme.”
“That’sinteresting,”Janesaysconversationally.“Becauseitseemslikedoingthingsyou’renotsupposedtodokindofgetsyouoff.”
“Idon’tknowifyouhaveenough—ah—evidencetosupportthattheory.”
Janeleansinandsays,“Trynottocome,then.”
AndAugustthinks,shehastofindawaytogetJaneoutofhere,justsoshecankillher.
Itgoesslowatfirst—fromthetensioninJane’sshoulder,it’sobviousshecan’tmovelikeshewantsto,soshesettlesforworkingshortandpreciseanddeadly—untilitdoesn’t,untilit’squickandshallowandAugustistalking,tryingtomakewordshappenfromhermouth,toswallowdownsighs,tryingnottolookatJanelookingather.It’sthestupidestthingshe’sdonesinceshejumpedbetweentraincars,butsomehowitfeelslikeherbodyfinallymakessense.Shebitesherlipthroughthebuild,thewhiteout,hereyesscrewedshutandherhipsburningfromtheeffortnottomove.Janekissesthesideofherneck,beneathherhair.
“Well,”Janesayscasually.August’scheeksareburningafuriouspink,andJanelookscoollyunfazed,exceptforherpupils,whichareblownwide.“Itsoundslikeyouhaveaprettygoodplan.”
Sothat’showthingswillbe,Augustdeducesasshewalkshome,goodbyekisslingeringonherlips.Sheworksthecase,andJanekissesher,andtheytalkaboutthefirstthingbutnotthesecond.
SometimesitfeelsliketherearethreeAugusts—onebornhopeful,onewholearnedhowtopicklocks,andonewhomovedtoNewYorkalone—allstickingoutknifebladesandtrippingoneanothertogettothefrontoftheline.ButeverytimethedoorsopenandshespotsJaneatthefarendofthecar,listeningtomusicthatshouldn’tevenbeplaying,sheknowsitdoesn’tmakeadifference.EverypossibleversionofAugustiscompletelystupidforthisgirl,nomatterthedeadline.She’lltakewhatshecangetandfigureouttherest.
Shegetstobeanadultwhohassex,sexwithJane,andJanegetstofeelsomethingthat’snotboredomorwaiting,andit’sfun.It’sgood,sogoodthatAugust’smouthwillstartwateringinthemiddleofagraveyardshiftatBilly’sjustthinkingaboutit.Janeseemshappier,whichwasthepoint,sheremindsherself.
They’refriends.Cross-timelinefriendswithsemi-publicbenefits,becausethey’reattractedtoeachotherandlonelyandthere,andAugusthaslearnedtolikefeelingalittlereckless.SheneverthoughtshewasmeantforanykindofdangeruntilshemetJane.
Notthatshe’smeantforJane.
Shetellsherselfveryseriouslythatifanyoneismeantforanything,it’sJanemeantforthe’70s.That’sthejob.That’sthecase.
That’sall.
Auguststartsasexnotebook.
It’snotthatthey’rehavingthatmuchsex.Whenonepersonlivesonthesubwayandtheotherisbustingtheirasstogetthemoffthesubway,thereareonlysomanyopportunities.
Butshe’susedtotakingnotesonJane,and,well,itneverhurtstohaveareferenceguide.So,shestartsanotebooktocatalogueeverythingshediscoversthatJanelikes.
Shestartswiththethingsshealreadyknew.Hairpulling(givingandreceiving),Augustwritesatthetopofthefirstpage.Belowit,lipbiting,followedbythighhighs,and,leavingmarks.Shepauses,sucksontheendofherpen,andadds,semi-publicsex*andnotesatthebottomofthepage,*unsureifalwaysintothisorsimplymakingbestofsituation.
Shekeepsitinherbagalongsidetheothernotebooksforgeographiclocations(thegreenone),biographicalanecdotes(blue),anddatesandfigures(red),andsheupdatesitmeticulously.Ifshedoesn’thaveitonher,she’llwriteonherhand,whichishowsheendsuphavingtoexplaintoWinfieldinthemiddleofashiftwhyshehasthewordsneckbitingscrawledfromherfirsttothirdknuckles.
Sometimessheaddsthingsthataren’tsexbutturnJaneonanyway.LonghairmakesthelistthethirdtimeshecatchesJanewatchinghertieherhairup.Oneafternoon,shegoesonafive-minutetangentaboutUVlightanddocumentfacsimilesonlytofindJanestaringatherwithhermouthhalfwayopenandhertonguerestingwetlybetweenherteeth,andshepullsoutthenotebookandwrites,nichetechnicalexpertise+competence.
Mostoftheitems,though,areprettystraightforward.SheboardstheQinthemiddleofthenightwearingapairoffishnetstotestatheory,andwhenshestumblesoffanhourlaterkiss-drunkwiththethinstringsofnylonrippedintwoplaces,sheadds,lingerie.
“We’dmeetatMax’s,”Jane’ssayingoverthephoneasAuguststuffsaloadofdarksinthecoin-operatedwasher.They’vebeenembroiledinaconversationforadayandahalfabouthowtheywouldhavemetifAugusthadlivedinJane’s1970sNewYork.Augustkeepsinsistingthey’dhavealongstandingfeudoverthelibrary’slastcopyofTheSecondSex.Janedisagrees.
“YouthinkI’dbeatoneofyoursatanicpunkshows?”Augustasks,closingthedoorandsittingonadryer.
“Yeah,you’dwanderinalllostandconfused.Shortskirt,longhair,huggingthewall,andI’dcomestumblingoutofthepitwithabloodynose,seeyou,andthat’dbeit.”
Augusthuffsalaugh,butshecanpictureit:Janeswaggeringoutofthecrushofbodieslikeashootingstar,snarlingandwipingbloodonthebackofherhand,eyesrimmedwithkohlandthecollarofhershirtsmearedwithsomeoneelse’slipstick.
“What’dbeyourline?”sheasks.
Janemakesaconsideringnoise.“Keepitsimple.Askyouforasmoke.”
“Butyoudon’tsmoke,”Augustpointsout.
“Andyoudon’thaveasmoke,”Janesays.“Ineverthoughtyouwould.ButIhadtogetrealcloseforyoutohearmeoverthemusic,andnowyou’relookingatme,andwhenIkissyou,ittastesalittlelikeblood.”
“Uh-huh,”Augustsays,heatflaringupthebackofherneck.Shecrossesherlegs,squeezingherthighstogether.“Keeptalking.”
Bythetimethebuzzerannouncestheendofthewashcycle,Jane’sdescribedinquietdetailjusthowshe’dgetAugustintothebathroomatMax’s,theblackleatherdogcollarsheusedtowearatshows,andthewayshe’dletAugustslipherfingersunderitwhenshegotonherknees.Augustpullsherskirtbackdown,takesthenotebookout,andwrites,blood&bruises.Thenlightbondage.Shegoesbackupseverallinesandunderlinessemi-publicsex.
JunemovesthroughNewYorklikeoneofMissIvy’shotflashes,steamingupwindowsandslowingtraffictoatempermentalcrawl.It’sadecidedlyunsexytime,andyet—
“Ican’tbelieveyoudon’tsweat,”Augustsays,neck-deepinaheatwaveatoneinthemorning,herhandsbracedagainstthewallofanemptytraincar.Janekissesherhair,slipsherthumbunderthehemofAugust’sBilly’sT-shirt.“I’moutheredying,andyoulooklikesomethingoutofamovie.”
JanelaughsandswipeshertongueagainstthesideofAugust’sneck.“Ittastesniceonyou,though.”
“Youknow,ifyou’regoingtogoaroundbeingawholemetaphysicalanomaly,youshouldhave,like,controloveryourmagicalpowers.”SheopenshereyesasJaneturnsheraroundandpullsherin.“Youshouldbeabletostopthetrainwheneveryouwant.Orconjurethings.Likeacouch.Thatwouldbenice.”
“Areyousayingsubwayseatsaren’tgoodenoughforyou?”Janeteases.“Thisismyhouse.”
“You’reright,I’msorry.Ireallylovewhatyou’vedonewiththeplace.Andtheview,well.”ShelooksatJane’skiss-swollenlips.Outsidethewindow:nothingbutbrowntunnelwalls.“Youcan’tbeatit.”
“Hmm,”Janesays.“Nicetry.”
Shestompshomeforty-fivesweaty,deliriousminuteslater,Janestilllaughinginherear,andshewhipshershortsacrossherbedroomandfuriouslyaddstothelist,orgasmdenial.
(Janemakesituptohereventually.)
Augustguessesit’spredictablethatthisishowapersonlikeherwouldhandleentryintothemythicalranksofsex-havers—itemizedlists,shorthand,theoccasionalunhelpfuldiagram.Butit’snotherusualcompulsiveneedtoorganize.It’sthewayJanekissesherlikeshe’stryingtoknoweverythingabouther,therevelationofwhatherownbodycando,thewayJane’swillingtoworkforitinfivestolenminutesbetweenstops.Augustwantstogivethatbacktoher,andtheAugustwayishavingaplanofexactlyhow.
So,shescrapestogethertipstobuyJaneanewphone,onethatcansendandreceivegrainyphotos,andsheplucksupthecouragetotakeoneinherbedroommirror.Shestaresatitonherphone,atthehairfallingdownhershoulders,thelipspaintedred,thelace,thefadingmarkonherneckturneduptothelightfromthewindow,andshealmostcan’tbelieveit’sher.Shedidn’tknowshehaditinherselftobethisuntilJanepulleditoutofher.Shelikesit.Shelikesitalot.
Shehitssend,andJanetextsbackastringofswears,andAugustbitesasmileintoherpillowandwrites,redlipstick.
Inbetween,shepicksthelockonthebackofficeofBilly’sanddiscoversithasn’tbeenusedsince2008.It’snomorethananancientfilingcabinetofyellowingpaystubsandanemptydesk,primerealestateforasecondarycaseworkingoutpost.Sothat’sexactlywhatsheturnsitinto,deepinthebackoftherestaurantwherenobodynoticesifshespendsherbreaksonsciencefictionstorytime.ShepinscopiesofhermapstothewallsandthumbsthroughthefilesuntilshefindsJane’sapplicationfrom1976.Shespendsalongminutewiththatone,runningherfingersovertheletters,butpinsituptoo.
SheusesJane’srealnametofinallyfindherbirthcertificate—May28,1953—andsinceJaneknowsshe’stwenty-four,theynarrowdownthetimeframeoftheeventthatgotherstucktobetweensummer1977andsummer1978.
Shemakestwocopiesofatimelineandpostsoneinherroomandtheotherintheoffice.Summer1971:JaneleavesSanFrancisco.January1972:JanemovestoNewOrleans.1974:JaneleavesNewOrleans.February1975:JanemovestoNewYork.Summer1976:JanestartsworkingatBilly’s.Everythingafter:questionmark,questionmark,questionmark.
ShescoresaboomboxfromMyla’sshop,asilver’80s-eraSayAnything–stylething.Shehidesitintheofficeandtunesittotheirstation.Whenshe’stoobusyfortheQ,Janesendshersongs.
Auguststartssendingsongsback.It’sagametheyplay,andAugustpretendsnottolookupeverylyricofeverysongandagonizeoverthemeanings.Janerequests“IWanttoBeYourBoyfriend,”andAugustanswerswith“TheObviousChild.”Augustcallsin“I’monFire,”andJanereplieswith“Gloria,”andAugustthumpsherheadbackagainstthebrickwalloftheofficeandtriesnottosinkthroughthefloor.
“What,exactly,”Wesasks,sittingatthecounterwithaplateofFrenchtoastandwatchingAugustdoodleacartoonsubwaytraininthemarginoftheSexNotebook,“areyoudoing?”
“Working,”Augustsays.SheducksautomaticallyasLuciepasseswithatrayoverherhead.
“ImeantwithJane,”hesays.
“Justhavingfun,”Augustsays.
“You’veneverjusthadfuninyourlife,”Wespointsout.
Augustputsherpendown.“WhatareyoudoingwithIsaiah?”
Wesshovelsanenormousbiteintohismouthinsteadofanswering.
SomethingkeepsbotheringheraboutJane’sname.Herfirstone,Biyu.BiyuSu.SuBiyu.
She’srepeateditoverandoverinherhead,runitthrougheverydatabase,staredatthecracksinherceilingtryingtopryitoutofthefilingcabinetsofherbrain.Wherethehellhassheheardthatnamebefore?
Sheflipsthroughhernotes,returningtothetimelineshe’ssketchedout.
WhydoesBiyuSusoundsofamiliar?
Ifthisweren’tsoinsane,andifshethoughthermomwouldn’tdragherbackintotheblackholeoftheUncleAugieinvestigation,she’daskherforhelp.SuzetteLandrymaynothavefoundwhatshe’slookingfor,butshe’sgood.She’ssolvedtwounrelatedcoldcasesinthecourseofherwork.Sheplaysdirty,sheknowshershit,andsheneverletsthingsgo.It’sthebestandworstthingabouther.
Sowhensheanswershermom’snightlyphonecall—theoneshe’sbeensendingtovoicemailforacoupleofhazyweeks—shedoesn’tplanonbringingJaneup.Atall.
Buthermomknows.
“WhydoIgetthefeelingthereissomethingyou’renottellingme?”Augustcanheartheshredderinthebackground.Shemusthavegottenherhandsonsomefilesshe’snotsupposedtohave.“Orsomeone?”
“I—”
“Oh,it’sasomeone.”
“Iliterallysaidonesyllable.”
“Iknowmykid.YousoundlikeyoudidwhenDylanChowdhuryaccidentallyputhispromposalnoteinyourlockerjunioryearandthenaskedforitbacksohecouldgiveittothegirltwolockersdown.”
“OhmyGod,Mom—”
“Sowhoishe?”
“The—”
“Orshe!Itcouldbeashe!Ora?…they?”
Augustdoesn’tevenhaveitinhertobemovedathowhardshe’stryingtobeinclusive.“It’snobody.”
“Cuttheshit,kid.”
“Okay,fine,”Augustsays.Oncehermotherwantsananswer,shewon’tstopuntilshegetsit.“There’sagirlImet,um,onthesubway.ThatI’vekindofbeenseeing.ButIdon’tthinkshewantsanythingserious.She’snotexactly?…available.”
“Isee,”hermomsays.“Well,youknowwhatmypolicyis.”
“Nevergotoasecondlocationwithsomeoneunlessyou’vecheckedtheirtrunkforweaponsfirst,”Augustmonotones
“Youcanmockitallyouwant,butI’veneverbeenmurdered.”
AugustcouldexplainthatJanecan’tevenleavethesubway,butinstead,sheshiftsandasks,“WhataboutDetectivePrimeaux?Ishestillashit?”
“Oh,letmetellyouwhatthatsmarmyfucksaidtomelasttimeIcalled,”shesays,andshe’soff.
Augustswitchesherphonetospeaker,lettinghermom’svoiceblurintowhitenoise.Shegoesoverthetimelineashermomtalksaboutaleadshe’strackeddown,thatAugiecouldhavepassedthroughLittleRockin1974,andshethinksaboutJane’sname.SuBiyu.BiyuSu
“Anyway,”hermomsays,“there’sananswerouttheresomewhere.I’vebeenthinkingabouthimsomuchlately,youknow?”
Augustlooksatherbedroomwall,atthephotospinnedupwiththeexactbrandofpushpinhermomonceusedtopokeholesintheirlivingroom.Shethinksabouthermom,consumedbythispersonwhocan’tevercomeback,livinganddyingbythismysterythatdoesn’thaveasolution.Orientingherentirelifearoundaghost.
“Yeah,”Augustsays.
ThankGodshe’snothinglikethat.
“Doesmylipsticklookokay?”Mylasays,turningsidewaystoblinkatAugust.HerelbowknocksWes’sphoneoutofhishands,andhegrumblesasheretrievesitfromthesubwayfloor.
“Hangon,”Janesays,leaningacrosstofixasmudgeofbrightbluelipstickwiththeedgeofherthumb.“There.Nowyou’reperfect.”
“She’salwaysperfect,”Nikosays.
“Gross,”Wesgroans.“You’reluckyit’syourbirthday.”
“It’smybirthdaaaay,”Nikosingsongshappily.
“Theripeoldageoftwenty-five,”Mylasays.Shekisseshimonthecheek,effectivelysmudgingherlipstickagain.
Nikostraightenstheredbandanaaroundhisnecklikeacowboysaunteringoutofasaloon.He’swearingdenimondenim,athriftedjeanjacketfromwhichherippedanAmericanflagpatchtostitchonaPuertoRicanflaginitsplace.ABoricuaSpringsteenontheFourthofJuly.Itis,infact,theFourthofJuly.
“SowhatexactlyisChristmasinJuly?”Augustasks,tuggingatthehideousValentine’sDayT-shirtshepickedupfromGoodwill.IthasapictureofGarfieldsurroundedbycartoonheartsandsaysI’LLBEYOURLASAGNA.IttooktwotriestoexplainittoJane.“AndwhyisitNiko’sbirthdaytradition?”
“ChristmasinJuly,”Mylasaysgrandly,withabroadgesturethatknocksWes’sphonebacktothefloor,“isanannualFourthofJulytraditionatDelilah’sinwhichwecelebratethebirthdayofthisgreatnation”—shedoesajerk-offgestureandNikoboos—“withthemedbeveragesandanall-starlineupofdragroyaltydoingholiday-themedperformances.”
“It’snotjustChristmas,though,”Nikonotes.
“Right,”Mylaadds.“TheystillcallitChristmasinJuly,butit’sevolvedtoincludeallholidays.Lastyear,IsaiahdidaThanksgivingdessertburlesquenumberto‘MyGoodies’andworesweetpotatotittytasselsandanapplepieg-string.Itwasamazing.Wesjust,like,walkedoutofthebuildingandsprintedtenblocks.”
“Thatisnotwhathappened,”Wessays.“Iwentoutforasmoke.”
“Sure.”
“It’salsohowMylaandImet,”Nikoadds.
“Really?”Janeasks.
“Younevermentionedthat,”Augustsays.
“Yeah,IusedgotoDelilah’sallthetimewhenIwasstilllivingwithmyparents,”Nikosays.“Everyonetherehasalwaysbeenreallycoolaboutwhateveryouareorwanttobeorthinkyoumightbe.Goodenergy.”
“AndIwasdatingoneofthebartenders,”Mylafinishes.
“Whoa,wait.”AugustturnstoMyla.“Youwerewithsomeoneelsewheny’allmet?”
“Yep,”Mylasays,cheerfullyadjustinghersweater,ahideousHanukkahrelicfromWes’schildhood.“Idon’twanttosayIdumpedtheguyonthespotwhenIsawNiko,but?…Imean,wedidhavetowaitforhimtoquitbartendingbeforewecouldshowourfacesthereagain.”
“Thepathoftheuniverse,”Nikosayssagely.
“Thepathofmyboner,”Mylaechoes.
“Yeah,I’mgonnatuckandroll,”Wessays,maneuveringfortheemergencyexit.
“That’ssonuts,”Janesays,deftlycatchinghimbythecollarofhisshirt.“Ican’tpictureeitherofyouwithanyoneelse.”
“Idon’tthinkweeverreallywerewithanyoneelse,”Nikosays.“Notalltheway.Idon’tthinkwecouldhavebeen.”
“Letgoofme.Ideservetobefree,”WessaystoJane,whoboopshimonthenose.
“Anyway,”Mylasays.“WemetonNiko’sbirthday,atChristmasinJuly.AndwemetIsaiahacoupleofChristmasinJulyslater,andhehelpedusgettheapartment.Andso,it’sthebirthdaytradition.”
“Andwhatatraditionitis,”Nikosays.
“God,”Janesays,hersmilegoingsoftaroundtheedges.“IwishIcouldgo.”
Augusttouchesthebackofherhand.“Metoo.”
Theypulluptotheirstopandelbowtheirwaytowardthedoors,andwhenAugustissteppingoff,shehearsJanesay,“Hey,Landry.Forgotsomething.”
Augustturns,andJane’sstandingthereunderthefluorescentswithherjacketfallingoffoneshoulderandhereyesbright,lookinglikesomethingAugustmadeup,likealongnightandsorelegsinthemorning.Sheleansoutofthecar,justbarely,justenoughtopissofftheuniverse,andshehaulsAugustinbythefrontofheridiotT-shirtandkisseshersohardthat,forasecond,shefeelssparksdownherspine.
“Havefun,”shesays.
Thedoorsshut,andMylaletsoutalowwhistle.“Goddamn,August.”
“Shutup,”Augustsays,cheeksburning,butshefloatsupthestairslikeshe’sonthemoon.
LikeSlinky’s,Delilah’sisunderground,butwhereSlinky’shasonlyagrease-stainedCfromthehealthdepartmentmarkingtheentrance,Delilah’sisallneon,radiantcursive.Aflashingpinkarrowpointsdown,andthebouncerlookslikeJasonMomoawithEasterbunnyears.Hewavesthemtowardthebeadedcurtain,andtheworldexplodesintoTechnicolor.
Floortoceiling,walltowall,Delilah’sisdeckedoutinrainbowsofChristmaslights,shiningValentine’shearts,shimmeringstreamersinred,white,andblue,rowsofenormousjack-o’-lanternsstuffedwithgreenandpurplestringlights,blazingEidlanternsalongtherafters.There’sanoversizedmenorahonthebar,star-shapedpinatasdanglingoverthetables,and—startlingaloudlaughoutofAugust—MardiGrasbeadsflungonnearlyeveryavailablesurface.Andnotthedollar-storeplasticones,thegoodones,theonesyou’dshouldercheckachildonCanalStreetfor.
Butit’snotthedecorthathastheroomlitupwithlife.It’sthepeople.AugustcanseewhatNikomeant:ithasgoodenergy.
Youcouldthrowaneggnog—oneofthefestiveshotsbeingpassedaroundontrays—inanydirectionandhitadifferentkindofperson.Butches,femmes,six-footbeefcakes,Prattstudentswithterriblehaircuts,thetypeofpetitetattooedtwenty-somethingsWesreferstoas“Bushwicktwinks,”womenwithAdam’sapples,menwithoutthem.Peoplewhodon’tfitintoanycategorybutlookashappyandwantedhereasanyoneelse,bobbingtheirheadstothehousemusicandgrippingdrinkswithpaintednails.Itsmellslikesweat,likespilledwhiskey,likeamillionsweetperfumesappliedintightthree-bedroomapartmentslikeAugust’singiddyanticipationofbeinghere,somewherepeopleloveyou.
Janewouldlovethis,Augustthinks.
ThebarstaffapparentlyhasnogrudgeagainstMyla,becauseoneofthemnearlyvaultsthebarwhentheyseeher,reindeeronesieandall.Withinseconds,therearefourglassesofasuspiciouslypiss-coloredconcoctiononthebar.
“Applecidermargaritas,”thebartendersayscheerfully.Theyspinaroundandproducefourshotslikesomekindofliquormagician.“AndaroundofourworldfamousOhShitshot,onthehouse,formyfavoritebabes.”
“Thanks,Luz,”Mylacoos.“Thisisournewkid.August.WeadoptedherinJanuary.”
“Welcometothefamily,”Luztellsher,andadrinkandashotareinherhands,andshe’swhiskedawaytowardaboothjustvacatedbyaherdofsurlygothsinperfunctoryHalloweenheadwear.
“ToNiko,”Mylasays,raisinghershot.“BornontheFourthofJulywithbothfingersintheair,pissingmiddleAmericaoffbylivingtheirdream:looksgreatinjeansandhasahotgirlfriend.”
“Tofamily,”Nikosays.“AndvivaPuertoRicolibre.”
“Toalcohol,”Wesadds.
“ToHanukkahsweaters,”Augustfinishes,andtheyallthrowitback.
Theshotisawful,butthedrink,itturnsout,isn’thalfbad,andthecompanyisgreat.Nikoisinrareform,longlimbsstretchedoutandheadcocked,exudinghoney-smoothblue-collarboyishness.Moltenmoonshine.Helookslikehecouldjumpstartajetenginewithhisheart.
Besidehim,Mylaisglowing,thepiercinginhernosesparkling.Niko’susuallyclean-shaven,buttonightthere’sstubbleonhischin,andMylascrapeshernailsacrossit,lookingwicked.Augustmakesamentalnotetofindherheadphonesbeforebed.
“They’relike,”Wessaystoherinalowvoice,“gonnagetmarried,probably.”
“Theybasicallyalreadyare.”
“Yeah,excepttheylivewithus,”hesays.
Augustglancesover.Wesissittingcross-leggedinhisusualskinnyjeansandbaggyT-shirt,toppedoffwithanangelhaloMylashovedontohisheadonthewayoutthedoor.Helookslikeapissed-offcherub.
“They’renotgonnaleaveusiftheygetmarried,Wes,”Augusttellshim.
“Maybe,”hesays.“Maybenot.”
“Whatareyoumakingthatfaceabout?”Mylahalf-shoutsacrossthetable.
“Westhinkswe’regonnagetmarriedandmoveout,andhe’llneverseeusagain,”Nikosays.Wesglowers.Augustcan’thelplaughing.
“Wes.Wes,ohmyGod,”Mylasays,laughingtoo.“Imean,yes,we’llprobablygetmarriedoneday.Butwewouldneverleaveyou.Likewecouldevenaffordto.Likewe’devenwantto.Maybeonedaywe’llallmoveoutandgetourownplaceswithourownpeoplebut,like,eventhen.We’llbeweirdlycodependentneighbors.We’llallmoveintoacompound.Nikowasborntobeacultleader.”
“Yousaythatnow,”Wessays.
“Yeah,andI’llsayitthen,youpunk-assbitch,”Mylasays.
“I’mjustsaying,”Wessays.“I’veseen,like,tendifferentengagementannouncementsonInstagramthismonth,okay?Iknowhowitgoes!Weallageoutofourparents’insurance,andallofasuddenyourfriendsstophavingtimetohangoutbecausetheyhaveapersonandthat’stheirbestfriendnow,andtheyhaveakid,andtheymovetothesuburbsandyouneverseethemagainbecauseyou’realonelyoldspinster—”
“Wes!Firstofall,wealreadyhavetwokids.”ShegesturessignificantlyacrossthetableathimandAugust.
“Rude,butfair,”Augustsays.
“Secondofall,wewouldnevermovetothesuburbs.Maybe,like?…Queens.Butneverthesuburbs.”
“Idon’tthinkI’mallowedbackonLongIslandafterIdroppedthatjarofspidersontheLIRR,”Nikosays.
“Whydidyou—”Auguststarts.
“Thirdofall,”Mylaplowson,“there’snothingwrongwithbeingalone.Alotofpeoplearehappierthatway.Alotofpeoplearesupposedtobethatway.ButIdon’tthinkyouwillbe.”
“Youdon’tknowthat.”
“Actually,despiteyourbesteffortsatthiswholeone-manproductionofCaskofAmontilladoinwhichyou’rebothMontresorandFortunato,I’mprettysureyou’regonnafindlove.Like,goodlove.”
“Whatmakesyousosure?”
“Twomainreasons.One,becauseyou’reafuckingprize.”
Herollshiseyes.“Andthesecond?”
“He’swalkingupbehindyou.”
Weswhipsaround,andthereisIsaiah,makeupdone,wearingavibrantfuschiascarfaroundhisheadandlaughingwithacoupleinmatchingPilgrimcostumes.Heglancesover,andAugustknowsthesecondhiseyeslockonWes’s,becauseit’sthesecondWesstartstryingtoclimbunderthetable.
“Absolutelynot,bruh,”Mylasays,throwingakick.“Standandfacelove.”
“Idon’tunderstandwhyyou’redoingthiswhenheliterallylivesacrossthehallfromus,”Augustsays.“Youseehimallthetime.”
“SaysAugustofthesix-month-longgaypanic.”
“Howdidthisbecomearoastofme?Wesistheoneunderthetable!”
“Oh,”Nikosayssimply,“he’sfreakingoutbecausetheyslepttogetheraftertheEasterparty.”
ThetopofWes’sheadpopsupfromunderthetable,alongwithoneaccusatoryfinger.
“NobodyaskedthefuckingLongIslandMedium.”
Nikosmiles.“Luckyguess.Mythirdeyeisclosedtonight,baby.Butthanksforconfirming.”
Wesgapesathim.“Ihateyou.”
“Apartment6F!”saysasilkyvoice,andthereIsaiahis,onefootintoAnnie,paintedforthegods,alldevastatingcheekbonesanddark,glitteringeyes.“Whatchadoin’,Wes?”
Wesblinksforafullthreesecondsbeforeloudlyexclaiming,“Oh,hereitis!”Hewaveshisphoneinfrontofhisface.“Droppedmyphone.”
MylasnortsasWesclambersoutfromunderthetable,butIsaiahjustsmiles.Augustdoesn’tknowhowhedoesit.
“Well,glady’allcameout.It’sgonnabeagoodone!”Isaiahsays.Headdsominously:“Hopeyoubroughtaponcho.”
He’sgonewithaflourishofhisrobe,flashinganice,longviewofleatherleggingsandanassproducedbydancinginheelsanddoingsquatstofilloutcatsuits.Wesmakesasoundofprofoundsuffering.
“Hatetoseehimgo,hatetowatchhimleave,”hemumbles.“It’sallterrible.”
Augustleansback,lookingsidewaysatWesashededicateshimselftopickingatthelabelonhisbeerandemanatinganairofabjectmisery.
“Wes,”Augustsays.“Haveyoueverheardofahairyfrog?”
Weseyesherwithsuspicion.“Isthat,like?…asexact?”
“It’sakindoffrog,”shetellshim.Heshrugs.Sheswirlsacrumpledlimearoundherdrinkandcontinues.“AlsoknownasaWolverinefrog,orahorrorfrog.They’rethisweird-lookingsubtropicalspeciesthataresuperdefensiveofthemselves.Whentheyfeelattackedorthreatened,they’llbreakthebonesintheirowntoesandforcethefragmentsthroughtheirskintouseasclaws.”
“Metal,”Wessaysflatly.“Isthereareasonyou’retellingmethis?”
Augustwavesherhandsinacome-on,it’s-right-theresortofgesture.Hepurseshislipsandcarriesonfingeringthelabelofhisbeer.Helooksfaintlygreeninthebarlights.Augustcouldstranglehim.
“You’rethehorrorfrog.”
“I—”Weshuffs.“Youdon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”
“What,beingabrasiveandemotionallyshutoffbecauseyou’reafraidofwantingsomething?Yeah,Ihavenoideawhatthat’slike.”
Thenightgoeson,ablurofcheekkisses,abathroomwithSharpieandlipstickgraffitithatsaysGENDERISFAKEandJDMONTEROREARRANGEDMYGUTS,peoplewithhairylegsjuttingoutofpleatedskirts,alipstick-stainedjointmakingtherounds.Augustdriftsintothecrowdandletsitbuoyherback:thiswayisthestage,someoneflittingaroundtheedgessettingupdryiceandconfetticannons,andthiswayisLucie,raresmileacrossherface,andthatwayisthebar,stickywithspilledshots,and—
Wait.
Sheblinksthroughtheflashinglights.There’sLucie,hairdownandsmudgyeyelinershotthroughwithglitterthatmakeshereyeslookcrazyblue.Augustdoesn’tevenrealizehowclosesheisuntilacrylicnailsarediggingintohershoulders.
“Lucie!”Augustshouts.
“Areyoulost?”sheshoutsback.“Areyoualone?”
“What?”Lucie’sfaceisslidinginandoutoffocus,butAugustthinksshelooksnice.Pretty.She’swearingashimmerybluedresswithafurshrugandshinyankleboots.Augustissohappyshe’shere.“No,myfriendsareoverthere.Somewhere.Ihavefriends,andthey’rehere.ButohmyGod,youlookamazing!It’ssocoolyoucametoIsaiah’sshow!”
“I’matmyboyfriend’sshow,”shesays.She’sreleasedAugusttoreturnherattentiontotheplasticcupinherhand.Eventwofeetaway,Augustsmellspurevodka.
“Ohshit,Winfield’sperformingtonight?”
“Yes,”shesays.Someonebrushestooclose,threateningtospillherdrink,andshethrowsanelbowouthardwithoutmissingabeat.
“When’sheup?”
Thesongswitchesto“BigOleFreak,”andthecheerthatgoesupissoloud,Luciehastoleaninwhensheyells,“Secondtolast!Showstartssoon!”
“Yeah,Igottago!Seeyoulater,though!Havefun!Youlookreallypretty!”
Shepinchesdownasmile.“Iknow!”
August’sfriendshaveelbowedtheirwayrightuptotheedgeofthestage,andthewaveofbodieseddieshertothemasthelightsgodownandthecheersgoup.
Thecurtainslookancientandalittlemoth-eaten,buttheyshimmerwhenthefirstqueenthrowsthemopenandstridesoutintothespotlight.She’stinybuttoweringoneight-inchplatformboots,wrappedinskintightgreenleatherandsportingapastelgreenwiglacedwithivy.
“Hello,hello,goodevening,Delilah’s!”sheshoutsintothemic,wavingattheroaringaudience.“MynameisMaryPoppers,andIamheretonightrepresentingArborDay,makesomenoiseforthetrees!”Thecrowdcheerslouder.“Yes,that’sright,thankyou,ourplanetisdying!Butwearelivingtonight,darlings,becauseitisChristmasinJulyandthesequeensarereadytostuffyourstockings,lightyourmenorahs,hideyoureggs,trickyourtreats,anddowhateverthefuckitisthatpeopledoforLaborDay.Areyouready,Brooklyn?”
Itstartsofffastandkeepsgoing—a“PartyintheU.S.A.,”aqueennamedMarieAntwatnettedoingaBastilleDay–themedvoguingroutineto“LadyMarmalade”thatendsinfrisbeeingFrenchmacaronsintothecrowd.Anotherqueencomesoutfull-onNewYear’sBabyinarhinestoneddiaperandsashandbringsthehousedownwith“AlwaysBeMyBaby”andsomewell-timedsparklers.
SecondtolastinthelineupisaqueenintroducedasBombBumboclaat,andshestompsoutinthigh-highboots,asaxophonethrownaroundherneck,andaredfur-trimmeddresswithamatchingcape.Herbeardshimmerswithsilverglitter.
It’snotuntilthememoryofWinfield’sone-man-bandbusinesscardsswimsintofocusthatAugustrealizeswhoitis,andshescreamsonimpulseasthenumberstartsup—thatridiculousliveSpringsteenversionof“SantaClausisComingtoTown.”
“Hey,band!”BombBumboclaatlip-syncsinBruceSpringsteen’svoice.
MaryPopperssticksherheadbackoutfromthecurtain.“Yeah!Hey,babe!”
“Youguysknowwhattimeofyearitis?”
“Yeah!”
“Whattime,huh?What?”
Thistime,thecrowdshouts:“Christmastime!”
Sheputsherhanduptohereardramatically.“What?”
“Christmastime!”
“Oh,Christmastime!”
BombBumboclaatispurecomedy,allsubtlehandgesturesthathaveeveryonescreamingwithlaughterandthrowingbillsonstageandmovementsofherfacethatlookimpossible.She’sthefirstonetodoaChristmasnumberatChristmasinJuly,andthecrowdhasbeenwaiting.Whensheabsolutelyshredsthesaxophonesolo,theraftersshake.
Bythetimeshe’sdone,thestageislitteredinones,fives,tens,twenties.MaryPopperscomesoutwithapushbroomtogetitalloffthestagebeforethenextnumber.
“Delilah’s!You’vebeenamazing.Wegotonemoreforya.Y’allreadytowitnessalegend?”Everyonescreams.Mylasnapsherfingersintheair.“Ladiesandgentlemen,pleasewelcometothestage,justwhatthedoctorordered—AnnieDepressant!”
Thecurtainsflyapart,andthere’sAnnieinhersignaturepink—pinkLuciteplatformheels,pinkthighhighstoppedwithredbows,pastelpinkhaircascadingdownthefrontofherpinkchiffonrobeandpinnedupononesidewithaglittering,heart-shapedfascinator.She’sabsolutelystunning.
Shepreensinthespotlight,soakinginthescreamsandclapsandfingersnaps,flourishingherrose-coloredlatexglovesthroughtheair.She’sneverseemedanythingbutconfidentsinceAugustfirstwatchedhersipamilkshakeatBilly’s,butseeingheronstage,hearingthewaythecrowdshrieksitselfhoarseforher,AugustthinksaboutwhatAnniesaidaboutbeingtheprideofBrooklyn.Itwasn’tquitethejokesheplayeditoffas.
Themusicstartswellingupwithsoftstringsandtwinklysynthtriangle,afewdrumbeats,andthenAnniesnapshereyesforwardtothecrowdandmouths,“Giveittome.”
It’s“Candy”byMandyMoore,andthecrowdhasaboutonesecondtoreactbeforeshethrowsherrobeofftorevealabraandminiskirtmadeentirelyoutofcandyhearts.
“OhmyGod,”Wessays,lostinthewailofthecrowd.
Anniewinksandlaunchesintoherroutine,writhingdownthecatwalkthatsplitstheaudience,leaningintodragherglovedfingerdownthelengthofanawestruckguy’sjawonbeggingyoutocomeoutandplay.AugusthasalwaysseenAnnieandIsaiahastwosidesofthesameperson,butthewayshesoaksinthelight,thewayhereyesdriphoney—that’sadifferentpersonentirelyfromtheaccountantwhomovedAugust’sdeskupsixflightsofstairs.
Shespinsgracefullybackdownthecatwalk,beaming,glowing,burningatfivehundreddegrees—andthemusicdropsout.Annie’sowndubbedvoicecomesin.
“Actually,”shesays,“fuckthis.”
Inaninstant,thestagelightsswitchtopink,andwhenAnniethrowsoutherrighthand,afloodofrainstartspouringdownfromtheceilingabovethestage.
Themusiccomesbackfunkyandloudandballsy—ChakaKhanthistime,“LikeSugar”—andtwothingsbecomeclearveryquickly.Thefirst,aswatersplattersfromthestageandintotheirdrinks:thisiswhyIsaiahsuggestedtheymightneedponchos.Thesecond:Anniemadeheroutfitoutofsomethingthatdissolvesinwater.
Withinthefirstthirtyseconds,herminiskirtandbrahavemelted,andwithatwirl,shewhipsthelastsugarywispsacrossthestage,leavingbehindornateredlatexlingerie.Backupdancerscomesashayingoutfrombackstageandhoistherontotheirshoulders,spinningherunderthefallingwater,thecrowddampandtransportedandscreamingthemselveshoarse.AugustgrewupashortdrivefromBourbonStreet,butshehasnever,everseenanythingquitelikethis.
ShethinksofthelasttextJanesent:apictureoffireworksfromtheManhattanBridge,Givethequeensmylove.
It’shazy,butsheremembersJanetellingheraboutdragshowssheusedtogotointhe’70s,theballs,howqueenswouldgohungryforweekstobuygowns,theshimmeringnightclubsthatsometimesfeltliketheonlysafeplaces.SheletsJane’smemoriestransposeoverhere,now,likedouble-exposedfilm,twodifferentgenerationsofmessy,loud,braveandscaredandbraveagainpeoplestompingtheirfeetandwavinghandswithbittennails,allthethingstheyshareandallthethingstheydon’t,thethingsshehasthatpeoplelikeJanesmashedwindowsandspatbloodfor.
Annietwirlsacrossthestage,andAugustcan’tstopthinkinghowmuchJanewouldlovetobehere.Janedeservestobehere.Shedeservestoseeit,tofeelthebassinherchestandknowit’stheresultofherwork,tohaveabeerinherhandandatwentybetweenherteeth.She’dbefree,litupbystagelights,dugupfromundergroundanddancinguntilshecan’tbreathe,lovingit.Living.
Janewouldlovethis.
Janewouldlovethis.Itkeepscomingbackandbackandback,Janetossingherheadandlaughingupatthediscoball,pullingAugustintoadarkcornerandkissingherdizzy.She’dlovethis,specifically,slottedrightintoplaceinAugust’sfamilyofmoodymisfits,tuckedagainstAugust’sside.
ThesecondAugustletsherselfreallypictureitisthesecondshecan’tpretendanylonger—shewantsJanetostay.
ShewantstosolvethecaseandgetJaneoutfromundergroundbecauseshewantsJanetostayherewithher.
She’dpromisedherself—she’dpromisedJane—shewasdoingthistogetJanebackwhereshebelonged.Butit’sasblazingandunforgivingasthespotlightonthestage,nothingleftinAugust’ssloshydrunkbraintoholditback.ShewantstokeepJane.Shewantstotakeherhomeandbuyheranewrecordcollectionandwakeupnexttohereverystupidmorning.ShewantsJanehereinfull-on,split-the-pizza-bill-five-ways,new-toothbrush-holder,violate-the-terms-of-the-leasepermanence.
Andnotasinglepartofherispreparedtohandleanyotheroutcome.
Sheturnstoherright,andWesisstandingtherewatchingtheshow,mouthagape.Thegriponhiscuphasgoneslack,andhisdrinkisslowlydribblingdownthefrontofhisshirt.
Augustgetsit.He’sinlove.Augustisinlovetoo.
11
[arianavoice]yuh@chelssss_
UMMMMontheQthismorningthislittlekidwasgettingpickedonbytwoolderkidsandbeforeicoulddoanythingthishotbutchgirljumpedinandthebulliesSCATTEREDhello911howamisupposedtoworknowthati’veseenanangelirl????7:42AM·8Nov2018
Myla’shairsmellslikeCajunfries.
August’snoseisburiedinit,upsidedownbehindMyla’sear,suckingcurlsintohernostrils.
There’ssomethingwrappedaroundher,somethingtoowarmandslightlyitchyand,ifherstomachdoesn’tsubsidesoon,inimminentperilofbeingpukedon.
Shetriestopullherarmfree,butWeshasafreakydeathgriponherwristashewhite-knucklesthroughREMs.There’ssomethinglumpywithweirdcornerscrushedbetweenAugust’sarmandoneofNiko’sshoulderblades.Shecracksoneeyeopen—aPopeyesbox.Whichchurnsup:one,ahazymemoryofNikoputtingonhissoberestfaceatthePopeyesregisterdownstairs,andtwo,thetoo-manyapplecidermargaritasinherstomach.
AsfarasAugustcantell,thefourofthemcollapsedintoapileonthecouchassoonastheystumbledthroughthedoorlastnight.NikoandMylaareononeside,tangledupineachother,Myla’sjeanjacketthrownovertheirbodieslikeablanket.Weshasspilledhalfwayoffthecouch,hisshouldersdiggingintothefloorwhereoneoftherugsshouldbe.
Therugthat’s?…wrappedaroundher?
NoodlestrotsoverandstartscheerfullylickingMyla’sface.
“Wes,”Augustcroaks.ShenudgesoneofWes’skneeswithherfoot.Hemusthaveliberatedhimselfofhispantsatsomepointbeforetheypassedout.“Wes.”
“No,”Wesgrunts.Hedoesn’trelinquishherwrist.
“Wes,”shesays.“I’mgonnathrowuponyou.”
“No,you’renot.”
“Iliterallyam,”shesays.“Mymouthtasteslikehotass.”
“Soundslikeayouproblem,”hesays.Hecracksoneeyehalfwayopen,smackshisdrylips.“Wherearemypants?”
“Wes—”
“I’mwearingashirtandnopants,”hesays.“I’mWinniethePooh-ingit.”
“YourpantsareinthewindowbytheTV,”saysavoice,muchtooclearandmuchtooloudforthehangoverbog.Augustlooksup,andthere’sLucie,glitterlingeringaroundhereyes,gloweringintothecabinets.“Yousaid,‘Theyneedtogetsomeair.’”
“Why,”Augustsays.“Here.Whyareyou.Here?”
“Youreallydon’trememberinvitingmetoPopeyes,”Luciesaysflatly.“YouareluckyIsaiahknowsabouttheserviceelevator.Wouldhaveleftyouthere.”
“Yikes.”
“Anyway,”shesays.“Winfieldhelpedmegetyouhome.”
“Yes,but.”AugustfinallymanagestodislodgeherarmfromWes’sandgingerlybeginstode-crumpleherselfintoanuprightpositionsheimmediatelyregrets.“Whyareyouhere?Whydidn’tyouleavewithhim?”
“Because,”shesays,emergingtriumphantwithaskillet,“itwasfunny.Ilovetowatchpeoplewithhangovers.HalfthereasontostayatBilly’s.”ShepointsthepanatAugust.“Sleptinyourroom.”
Sheturnstothefridgeandwithdrawsacartonofeggs,andAugustremembersherfirstweekatBilly’s,whenLuciemadesureshe’deaten.There’sanotherpinchedsmileinthecornerofhermouth,liketheoneshesawlastnight.
“Makingbreakfast,”Luciesays.“Thanklessjob,beingyourboss,butsomeonehastodoit.”
Anothermemorycomesbackatthat:Wes,threedrinksdeep,lipstickmarksonhischeek,IsaiahinhisfullAnnieglory,wigandall,savinghimfromslippinginapuddleofvodkaonthebarfloor,andLucielaughing.ItwassupposedtobeNiko’sbirthdaythingbutendedupafive-drinks-and-where’s-my-pantsthing.ApparentlyonlyLuciemadeitthroughintact.
AtleastAugust’sstomachhasstoppedthreateninganExorcistliveshow.Sherollsontothefloor,andMylaandNikostarttostir.
Sherunsthrougheverythingshecanremember:Lucie’sfurshrug,eggnog,waterfallingfromtheceiling,beinginlovewithJane,Myla’slipstick,Niko’sbandana—
She’sinlovewithJane.
Shit,no,it’sworsethanthat.She’sinlovewithJane,andshewantsJanetostay,andwhatshethoughtwasheremergencyemotionalescapehatchforwhenJanegoesmerrilybacktothe1970sisjustatrickdoorintomorefeelings.
Niko’svoiceechoesinthebackofherheadfromthefirsttimeshekissedJane,Oh,youfuckedup.
Shefuckedup.Shefuckedupbad.
Shefeelsaroundinsideherchestlikeit’sthebottomofherjeanspocket,graspingforanythinglesslife-ruiningthanthis.Theharshlightofasobermorningshoulddullit,turnitbackintoacrush.
Itdoesn’t.
Itwasneveracrush,ifshe’sbeinghonest,notsinceshestartedplanninghermorningsaroundagirlshedidn’tevenknow.Herlastshredofself-preservationwaspretendingitwasenoughtohaveJanetemporarily,andsheshovedthatlikeatwenty-dollarbilldownAnnieDepressant’stitslastnight.
“IwishIwereneverborn,”Augustmoansintothefloor.
“Retweet,”Wessayssolemnly.
Ittakestwentyminutes,buteventuallytheyextricatethemselvesfromthecouch.Myla,whoslitheredacrossthefloortothebathroomandthrewuptwicebeforearmycrawlingbackout,lookshalf-deadandaltogetherunlikelytopartakeinthescrambledeggs.Nikohasalreadychuggedafullbottleofkombuchainanimpressiveshowoffaithinhisintestinestoworkthingsoutontheirown.AndWeshasdislodgedhispantsfromthewindow.
AugustmanagestosmileblearilyatLucieasshedumpseggsoutofthefryingpanandontoaplatebeforethrowingahandfulofforksdown.
“Familystyle,”shesays,andman.Everythingisadisaster,butAugustdoesloveher.
“Thankyou,”Augustsays.“Don’tyouhaveamorningshift?”
Luciepullsaface.She’swearingoneofAugust’sT-shirts.“Billyisreducingmyhours.Toldmeyesterday.”
“What?Hecan’tdothat;you’rebasicallytheonlypersonkeepingthatplacetogether.”
“Yes,”shesayswithagrimnod.“Mostexpensivepersononthepayroll.”
“Wait,”saysMyla’svoice,muffledbythefloor.Shedragsherheadupandsquints.“What’sgoingonwithBilly’s?”
Augustsighs.“Thelandlordisdoublingtherentattheendoftheyear,soit’sprobablygonnashutdownandbecomeaCheesecakeFactoryorsomething.”
WithwhatlookslikeaHerculeaneffort,Mylapullsherselfupontoherkneesandsays,“Thatisunacceptable.”
“Billyneedsanotherhundredgrandtobuytheunit,andhecan’tgettheloan.”
“Okay,so.”Shedoesanalarmingclosed-mouthburp,shakesitoff,andpresseson.“Let’sgetthemoney.”
“We’reallbroke,”Luciesays.“Whyyouthinkweworkinfoodservice?”
“Right,”Mylacounters.“Butwecanfindit.”
Augusttriestothink,butit’shardwhenherbrainfeelslikeagarbagebagfullofwetsocksandthesocksarewetbecausethey’resoakedingrainalcohol.MylaandNikowererightaboutChristmasinJuly—it’sthetypeofnightyou’llneverforget,ifyoucanrememberit.Theremusthavebeenwaymorethanthefirecodemaxcapacityinthere—
Oh.
“Wait,”Augustsays.“Whatifwedid?…acharitydragshow.”
Mylaperksupslightly.“Like,donatethetips?”
“No,whatifwechargedacover?Solddrinktickets?WecoulduseyourpullatDelilah’sandgetthemtoletususethespace,andwedonateeverythingwemakethatnighttosavingBilly’s.”
“Winfieldwouldperform,”Lucieoffers.
“Isaiahtoo,”Weschimesin.
“Oh,wecoulddoawholebreakfastfoodtheme!”Mylasays.“WinfieldandIsaiahcangettheirfriendsonthelineup.”
“IcouldprobablygetSlinky’stodonatesomeliquor,”Nikoadds.
Thefiveofthemexchangeunsteadyeyecontact,buzzingwithpossibility.
Luciedeignstogivethemasmile.“Ilikethisidea.”
ThefirstweekofJulybringsthetransformationofapartment6FintotheSaveBilly’scampaignheadquarters.
NikobringsawhiteboardhomefromthepawnshopbyMissIvy’s,andMylastartsmakingdoubleportionsofstir-fry,andtheyspendlatenightscircledupinthelivingroom:LucieandWinfield,MylaandNiko,Wes,Isaiah,theoddhandfulofservers,andAugust.Lucie’sthedefactoleader,burdenedwiththecombinationofhatingextracurricularactivitiesandlargegroupsoffriendlypeoplewhilealsolovingBilly’sandknowingBilly’s-relatedlogistics.She’stakentowearingasilverwhistlearoundhernecklikeasullencampcounselorjusttokeeptheminlinewhileshe’sreadingspreadsheetsaloud.
“Howsoonarewedoingthis?”Nikoasks,shovelinganenormouspieceoftofuintohismouth.“Nottobeabuzzkill,butMercuryisinretrogradeforanotherweek,whichis?…notoptimal.”
“That’sokay,”Augusttellshim.SheglancesatLucie,whoisporingoverpermitrequirementsonthekitchenfloor.“We’regonnaneedmoretimetosetthisupanyway.Plus,wehavetoadvertiseit,drumuppublicity—that’satleastamonth,right?”
Lucienods.“Probably.”
Augustturnstothewhiteboardandmakesanote.They’llplanonmid-August.TwoweeksbeforetheQshutsdown.
“So,whatyou’retellingmeis,you’regonnarallyabunchofqueerstosaveBilly’swithpancakesandadragshow?”JanesayswhenAugustcatchesherup.She’ssun-warmedinthewindowofthetrain.Augustistryingnottothink,Inlove,inlove,I’minterribledumbasslove.
“Yeah,”Augustsays,“basically.”
“That’ssofuckinghot,”Janesays,andshegrabsAugustbythechinandkissesherhardandbrilliant,anopenmouthedexhale,shotgunningsummersunshine.
Terribledumbasslove,Augustthinks.
Itcomestogetherpiecebypiece.IsaiahandWinfieldaredowntoheadline,andafteraskingaround,theygetthreemoreBrooklynqueensonboard.Mylasweet-talksthemanagerofDelilah’sintodonatingthespace,Isaiahcalculatesthecosts,andWesevenconvincessomeoftheartistsathisshoptosetupaboothforflashtattoosinexchangefordonations.IthelpsthatsomanyofthemhaveaninwithsomanytinyBrooklynbusinesses—noonewantstoseeBilly’sturnedintoanoverpricedgourmetjuicebarwhentheycouldbenext.
IttakesthirtyminutesonthephoneforWinfieldtostrong-armBillyintoacceptingcharity,andwhenhecaves,hepassesitofftoAugustandtellshershe’sinchargeoffiguringoutfood.Cutto:JerryandAugustswearingupastorm,tryingtoaverageoutthenumberofpancakestheyneedperpersonandhowmuchit’llcost.Theygetthere,though.
Allalong,ithumsunderthesurface—thatfeelingAugustfeltwhenshesteppedinsideDelilah’s,whenMissIvycallsherbyname,whentheyparadeddowntotheQbehindIsaiahinhistophat,whentheguyatthebodegadoesn’tcardher,whenJanelooksatherlikeshecouldbepartofhermentalphotoalbumofthecity.Thatfeelingthatsheliveshere,like,reallyliveshere.Hershadow’spassedthroughathousandbusted-upcrosswalksandunderamillioncreakingrowsofscaffolding.She’sbeenhere,andhere,andhere.
NewYorktakesfromher,sometimes.Butshetakestoo.Shetakesitsmuggyairinfistfuls,andshepacksitintothecracksinherheart.
Andnow,she’sgonnagiveitsomethingThey’regonnagiveitsomething.
It’stheendofthefirstweek,alatenightsittingaroundapizzatalkingaboutflyers,whenAugust’sphonerings
Sheslidesitoutfromunderthebox:hermom.
“Helloooo,”sheanswers.
Ashortpause—Augustsitsupstraight.Something’sup.Hermotherneverallowsevenhalfasecondofsilence.
“Hey,August,honey,”shesays.“Areyoualone?”
Augustclimbstoherfeet,shruggingatMyla’sconcernedlook.“Um,notrightnow.Hangon.”Shecrossestoherroomandshutsthedoorbehindher.“Whathappened?Areyouokay?”
“I’mfine,I’mfine,”shesays.“It’syourgrandmother.”
Augusthissesoutalongbreath.Hergrandmother?Theoldbroadprobablycalledheratest-tubescienceprojectbabyagainordecidedtobankrollanotherRepublicancongressionalcampaign.That,shecandealwith.
“Oh.What’sgoingon?”
“Well,shehadastrokelastnight,andshe?…shedidn’tmakeit.”
Augustsitsdownheavilyontheedgeofherbed.
“Shit.Areyouokay?”
“I’mallright,”hermomsaysinthetoneshegetswhenshe’sleafingthroughevidence,half-distractedandclipped.“She’dalreadymadearrangementsafteryourgrandfatherdied,soit’sallhandled.”
“Imeant,like.”Augusttriestospeakslowly,deliberately.Hermotherhasalwaysbeenaboutasemotiveasamossyboulder,butAugustfeelslikethisshouldprobablybeanexception.“Areyouokay?”
“Oh,yeah,I’m—I’mokay.Imean,sheandIhadsaideverythingwewereevergoingtosaytoeachother.Igotclosurealongtimeago.Itiswhatitis,youknow?”
“Yeah.Yeah,I’mreallysorry,Mom.IsthereanythingIcando?Doyouneedmetocomedownforthefuneral?”
“Oh,no,honey,don’tworryaboutthat.I’llbefine.ButIdidneedtotalktoyouaboutsomething.”
“What’sup?”
“Well,Igotacallfromthefamilylawyerlastnight.Yourgrandmotherleftyousomemoney.”
“What?”Augustblinksatthewall.“Whatdoyoumean?Whywouldsheleavemesomething?I’mtheshamefulfamilysecret.”
“No.No,that’sme.You’rehergranddaughter.”
“Sincewhen?She’sbarelyspokentome.She’sneverevensentmeabirthdaypresent.”
Anotherpause.“August,that’snottrue.”
“Whatdoyoumeanit’snottrue?Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“August,I?…Ineedtotellyousomething.ButIneedyounottohateme.”
“What?”
“Look,yourgrandparents?…theyweredifficultpeople.It’salwaysbeencomplicatedbetweenus.AndIdothinkthey’reashamedofmebecauseIdecidedtohaveyouonmyown.Ineverwantedtobecomethetrophywifewitharichhusbandtheyraisedmetobe.Buttheywereneverashamedofyou.”
Augustgrindsherteeth.“Theydidn’tevenknowme.”
“Well?…theydid,kindof.I’d—I’dkeepthemupdated,sometimes.Andthey’dhearfromSt.Margaret’showyouweredoing.”
“WhywouldSt.Margaret’stalktothemaboutme?”
Anotherpause.Alongone.
“Becausetheykeepthepeoplepayingastudent’stuitionupdatedontheirstudent.”
What?
“What?They—theypaidmytuition?Thiswholetime?”
“Yes.”
“Butyoutoldme—youalwayssaidwewerebrokebecauseyouhadtopayforSt.Margaret’s.”
“Idid!Ipaidforyourlunches,Ipaidforyourfieldtrips,youruniforms,yourextracurriculars,your—yourlibraryfines.Buttheyweretheoneswhowrotethebigchecks.They’dsendoneeverybirthday.”
August’schildhoodandteenageyearsflutterintofocus—thewaykidsusedtolookatherinherWalmarttennisshoes,thethingshermomsaidtheycouldn’taffordtoreplaceafterthestorm.“Sothen,whywerewebroke,Mom?Whywerewebroke?”
“Well,August,Imean?…it’snotcheap,topayforaninvestigation.SometimestherewerepeopleIhadtopayforinformation,therewasequipmenttobuy—”
“Howlong?”Augustasks.“Howlongdidtheysendmoney?”
“Onlyuntilyougraduatedhighschool,honey.I—Itoldthemtostoponceyouturnedeighteen,sotheydid.Ididn’twantthemtokeephelpingusforever.”
“AndwhatifIhadwantedhelp?”
She’squietforafewseconds.“Idon’tknow.”
“Imean,basedonthewill,theywouldhave,right?”
“Maybeso.”
“You’retellingme,I’msittinghereonamountainofstudentloansthatIdidn’thavetotakeout,becauseyoudidn’twanttotellmethis?”
“August,they—they’renotlikeyouandme,okay?Theyalwaysjudgedme,andtheywouldhavejudgedthewaywelived,thewayIraisedyou,andIdidn’twantthatforyou.Ididn’twanttogivethemachancetotreatyouthewaytheytreatedme,orAugie.”
“Buttheywanted—theywantedtoseeme?”
“August,youdon’tunderstand—”
“So,youjustdecidedformethatIwouldn’thaveafamily?Thatit’dbejustyouandme?Thisisn’tsomeGilmoreGirlsfantasy,okay?Thisismylife,andI’vespentmostofitalone,becauseyoutoldmeIwas,thatIshouldbe,thatIshouldbehappyaboutit,butitwasonlybecauseyoudidn’twantanyonetocomebetweenus,wasn’tit?”
Hermom’svoicecomesbacksharp,withabitter,defensiveangerthatAugustknowslivesinhertoo.“Youcan’tevenimagineit,August.Youcan’timaginethewaytheytreatedAugie.Heleftbecausetheymadehimmiserable,andIcouldn’tloseyoulikethat—”
“CanyoushutupaboutAugieforonce?It’sbeenalmostfiftyyears!He’sgone!Peopleleave!”
There’saterriblemomentofsilence,longenoughforAugusttoplaybackwhatshesaid,butnotlongenoughtoregretit.
“August,”hermomsaysonce,likeanailgoingin.
“Youknowwhat?”Augustsays.“Youneverlistentome.YounevercareaboutwhatIwantunlessit’swhatyouwant.ItoldyoufiveyearsagothatIdidn’twanttoworkthecasewithyouanymore,andyoudidn’tcare.Sometimesit’slikeyouhadmejustsoyoucouldhavea—afuckingassistant.”
“August—”
“No,I’mdone.Don’tcallmetomorrow.Infact,don’tcallmeatall.I’llletyouknowwhenI’mreadytotalk,butI—Iamgonnaneedyoutoleavemealoneforawhile,Mom.”Shesqueezeshereyesshut.“I’msorryaboutyourmom.AndI’msorrytheytreatedyoulikeshit.Butthatdidn’tgiveyoutheright.”
Augusthangsupandthrowsherphoneontothefloorboards,floppingbackonherbed.Sheandhermomhavefoughtbefore—Godknowstwohardheadedpeoplewithatendencytogoicywhenthreatenedinonlysevenhundredsquarefeetoflivingspacewillgoatit.Butneverlikethis.
Shecanheareveryoneinthelivingroomlaughing.Shefeelsasseparatefromitasshedidthedayshemovedin.
Herwholelife,thegnawofanxietyhasmadepeopleopaquetoher.Nomatterhowwellsheknowssomeone,nomatterthelogicalpatterns,nomatterhowmanyallowancessheknowssomeonemightmakeforher—thatbone-deepfearofrejectionhasalwaysmadeitimpossibleforhertoseeanyofit.Itfrostsovertheglass.Sheneverhadanyonetobeginwith,sosheletitbeunsurprisingthatnobodywouldwanttohaveheraround.
Sheslidesherhandoverthebedspreadandherknucklesbrushsomethingcoolandhard:herpocketknife.Itmusthaveslidoutwhenshethrewherbagdownearlier.
Shescoopsitup,turnsitoverinherpalm.Thefishscales,thestickeronthehandle.Ifshewantedto,shecouldtwirlitbetweenherfingers,flipthebladeout,andjimmyawindowopen.Hermomtaughther.Sheremembersitall.Sheshouldn’thavehadtolearnanyofit,butshedid.
Andnowshe’susingeverythingshelearnedtohelpJane.
Shit.
Youcantry,sheguesses.Youcantearyourselfapartandrebuildfromscratch,bringyourselftoeverycornerofthemap,sewanewselffromthescrapsofathousandotherpeopleandplaces.Youcantrytoexpandtofilladifferentshape.Butattheendoftheday,there’saplaceatthefootofthebedwhereyourshoeshitthefloor,andit’sthesame.
It’salwaysthesame.
Thenextday,Augusttakesthefilehermothermailedherdownfromthetopofthefridge.
Shedidn’topenitafterthefirsttime,didn’tthinkaboutit,butshedidn’tdumpitinthegarbageeither.Shewantsitgone,soshecramsitintoherbagandclimbsontotheQheadingtowardthepostoffice.Itfeelsheavyinherbag,likearelicofthefamilyreligion.
It’sincredible,really,howthesightofJanesittingtherelikeshealwaysis,pickingattheedgeoftheseatwithherSwissArmyknife,unspoolsthetensioninhershoulders.
“Hey,Landry,”Janesays.ShesmileswhenAugustleansdowntokissherhello.“SaveBilly’syet?”
“Workingonit,”Augustsays,sittingbesideher.“Haveanyepiphaniesyet?”
“Workingonit,”Janesays.ShegivesAugustaonce-over.“What’sgoingon?You’re,like?…allstaticky.”
“Isthatathingyoucando?”Augustasks.“Becauseoftheelectricitything?Like,canyoufeelotherpeople’semotionalfrequencies?”
“Notreally,”Janesays,leaningherfaceonherhand.“Butsometimes,lately,yourshavestartedcomingthrough.Nottotallyclear,butlikemusicfromthenextroom,youknow?”
Uh-oh.CanshefeelterribledumbassloveradiatingoffofAugust?
“Iwonderifthatmeansyou’rebecomingmorepresent,”Augustsays,“likehowthewineworkedonyoueventhoughyoucouldn’tgetdrunkbefore.Maybethat’sprogress.”
“Sureashellhopeso,”Janesays.Sheleansback,hookingonearmoverthehandrailbesideher.“Butyoudidn’tanswermyquestion.What’sgoingon?”
Augusthissesoutabreathandshrugs.“Igotinafightwithmymom.It’sstupid.Idon’treallywanttotalkaboutit.”
Janeletsoutalowwhistle.“Igotyou.”AshortlullabsorbsthetensionbeforeJanespeaksagain.“Oh,it’sprobablynotthathelpful,butIdidremembersomething.”
SheliftsthehemofherT-shirt,baringthetattoosthatspanhersidefromribstothigh.Augusthasseenthemall,mostlyinhurriedglimpsesorinsemidarkness.
“Irememberedwhattheseguysmean,”Janesays.
Augustpeersattheinkyanimals.“Yeah?”
“It’sthezodiacsignsformyfamily.”Shetouchesthetailfeathersoftheroostersprawlingdownherribcage.“Mydad,’33.”Thesnoutofthedogonherside.“Mom,’34.”Thehornsofagoatonherhip.“Betty,’55.”Disappearingpastherwaistbandanddownherthigh,amonkey.“Barbara,’56.”
“Wow,”Augustsays.“What’syours?”
Shepointstoheroppositehip,attheserpentwindingupfromherthigh,separatefromtheothers.“YearoftheSnake.”
Theartisbeautiful,andshecan’timagineJanegotanyofthembeforesheranaway.Whichmeansshesatthroughhoursofneedlesforherfamilyaftersheleftthem.
“Hey,”Augustsays.“Areyousureyoudon’twantmeto…?”
She’saskedbefore,ifsheshouldtrytofindJane’sfamily.Janesaidno,andAugusthasn’tpushedit.
“Yeah,no,I—Ican’t,”Janesays,tuckinghershirtbackin.“Idon’tknowwhat’sworse—theideathatthey’vebeenlookingformeandmissingmeandprobablythinkingI’mdead,ortheideathattheyjustgaveupandmovedonwiththeirlives.Idon’twanttoknow.Ican’t—Ican’tfacethat.”
Augustthinksofhermomandthefileinherbag.“Igetit.”
“WhenIlefthome,”Janesaysafterafewseconds.She’sreturnedtoherSwissArmyknife,carvingathinlineintotheshinyblueoftheseat.“IcalledfromLAonce,andGod,myparentswerefurious.Mydadtoldmenottocomeback.AndIcouldn’tevenblamehim.ThatwasthelasttimeIcalled,andI?…IreallybelievedthatwasthebestthingIcoulddoforthem.Forus.Todrift.ButIthoughtaboutthemeverysingleday.Everyminuteoftheday,liketheywerewithme.Igotthetattoossotheywouldbe.”
“They’rebeautiful.”
“Ilikepermanentmarks,youknow?Tattoos,scars.”ShecrossestheletterAshe’sbeencarvingandmovesontoNwithasoftchuckle.“Vandalism.It’slike,whenyouspendyourliferunning,sometimesthat’stheonlythingyouhavetoshowforit.”
ShecarvesasmallplussignunderneathhernameandlooksupatAugust,extendingtheknife.“Yourturn.”
Augustglancesbetweenher,theknife,andtheblankspacebelowtheplussignforafulltensecondsbeforeshegetsit.JanewantsAugust’snamenexttohersinthepermanentmarkshe’sleavingontheQ.
Reachingintoherbackpocket,Augustclearsthefeelingsoutofherthroatandsays,“Ihavemyown.”
Sheflicksthebladeofherknifeoutandgetstowork,scratchingaclumsyAUGUST.Whenit’sdone,shesitsback,holdingtheknifelooselyinherpalm,admiringtheirwork.JANE+AUGUST.Shelikesthewaytheylooktogether.
WhensheturnstolookatJane,she’sstaringdownatAugust’shand.
“What’sthat?”Janeasks.
Augustfollowshergaze.“Myknife?”
“Your—wheredidyougetthat?”
“Itwasagift?”Augustsays.“Mymomgaveittome;itbelongedtoherbrother.”
“August.”
“Yeah?”
“No.August,”Janesays.Augustfrownsather,andshegoeson:“Thatwashisname.Theguywhoownedthatknife.Augie.”
Auguststares.“Howdidyou—”
“Howoldishe?”Janecutsin.Hereyesarewide.“Yourmom’sbrother—howoldishe?”
“Hewasbornin’48,buthe’s—he’sbeenmissingsince—”
“1973,”Janefinishesflatly.
AugustnevertoldJaneanyofthespecifics.Itwasnicetohaveonethinginherlifethatwasn’ttouchedbyit.ButJaneknows.Sheknowshisname,theyear,andshe—
“Fuck,”Augustswears.
BiyuSu.Sherememberswhereshesawthatname.
Shefumblesthefasteningonherbagthreetimes,beforeshefinallypullsoutthefile.
“Openit,”Augustsays.
Jane’sfingersaretentativeontheedgeofthemanilafolder,andwhenitfallsopen,there’sanewspaperphotographpaperclippedtothefirstpage,yellowingblackandwhite.Jane,missingacoupleoftattoos,inthebackgroundofarestaurantthathadjustopenedintheQuarter.Inthecutline,she’slistedasBiyuSu.
“Mymomsentmethis,”Augustsays.“Shesaidshe’dfoundsomeonewhomighthaveknownherbrotherandtracedthemtoNewYork.”
Ittakesasecond,butitcomes:thefluorescentabovetheirheadssurgesbrighterandblinksout.
“Herbrother—”Janestartsandstops,handshakingwhenshetouchestheedgeoftheclipping.“Landry.Thatwas?…thatwasherbrother.Iknew—Iknewtherewassomethingfamiliaraboutyou.”
August’svoiceismostlybreathwhensheasks,“Howdidyouknowhim?”
“Welivedtogether,”Janesays.Hervoicesoundsmuffledthroughdecades.“Theroommate—theoneIcouldn’tremember.Itwashim.”
Augustknowsfromthelookonherfacewhattheanswerisgoingtobe,butshehastoask.
“Whathappenedtohim?”
Jane’shandcurlsintoafist.
“August,he’sdead.”
JanetellsAugustabouttheUpStairsLounge.
ItwasabaronthesecondfloorofabuildingatthecornerofChartresandIberville,ajukeboxandatinystage,barsonthewindowslikeallthespotsinthecityusedtohave.Oneofthebestplacesforblue-collarboysonthelow.Augiewasshort-hairedandsquare-jawed,shouldersfillingoutawhiteT-shirt,atoweloverhisshoulderbehindthebar.
Itwasthesummerof’73,Janetellsher,butAugustalreadyknows.Shecouldneverforgetit.She’sspentyearstryingtopicturethatsummer.Hermomwassurehe’dleftthecity,butAugustusedtowonderifhewashiddenawayafewneighborhoodsover,ifivyclimbedthewroughtirononhisbalcony,orpowerlinesheavywithMardiGrasbeadsdippedintotheoaktreesoutsidehiswindow.
Hermomhadtheories—hegotagirlpregnantandranaway,madeenemieswiththeguyswhobribedtheNOPDtoguardtheircrapsgamesandskippedtown,gotlost,gotmarried,gotoutoftownanddisappearedbeyondthecypresstrees.
Instead,instead,JanetellsAugusthewasloved.Sheremembershimatthestoveoftheirtinykitchen,teachingherhowtomakepancakes.ShetellsAugusthowheusedtofrownatthebathroommirrorandrunawetcombthroughhishairtryingtotameit.Hewashappy,shesays,eventhoughhenevertalkedabouthisfamily,eventhoughsheheardhimthroughthewallssometimes,onthephoneusingavoicesogentlethathemusthavebeentalkingtotheround-faced,green-eyedlittlegirlwhosepicturehekeptinhiswallet.HewashappybecausehehadJane,hehadfriends,hehadthejobattheUpStairsandguyswithsweeteyesandbroadshoulderswhowantedtokisshiminthestreetlamplight.Hehadhope.Helikedtomarch,likedtohelpJanemakesigns.Hehaddreamsforafutureandfriendsalloverthecity,tight-knitcircles,handsthatslappedhisbackwhenhewalkedintoaroom.
Hewastheguyyoucalledifyouneededtomoveacouchorsomeonetotelltheguyacrossthehallthatifheeversaysthatwordtoyouagain,he’llgethisassbeat.Hemadepeoplelaugh.Hehadapairofredshortsthathelovedespeciallywell,andshehasthisstarkmemoryofhimwearingthem,smokingacigaretteontheporch,perchedonthetopstep,handsspreadwideacrossthefloorboardsasthefirstdropsofasummerstormstartedfalling.
Theytalkedabouttheirdreamsalot,Janesays.TheywantedtotravelandwouldpassabottleofMuscadinewinebackandforthandtalkaboutParis,HongKong,Milan,NewYork.Shetoldhimaboutherhometown,SanFrancisco,andthesprawlingwoodsandwindingroadstothenorth,andhetoldherhe’dalways,alwayswantedtodrivethePanoramicHighway,eversincehereadaboutitinalibrarybook.Helovedbooks,broughthomestacksandstacksfromthriftstoresandsecondhandshops.
ThedayithappenedwasthelastdayofPride.Thebeerwasfreethatnight,butitwasthebestnightofthesummerfortips.Forthefirsttime,hementionedhislittlesistertoJaneashewasshruggingonhisjacketonhiswayoutforhisshift.Hewasgoingtobuyheranencyclopediasetforherbirthday,hesaid.Hewasworriedtheirparentsweren’tlettingherreadenough.Thenight’stipswouldbejustenoughforit.
Andthen,thatnightattheUpStairs,gasolineandsmoke.Andthen,theceilingfallingin.Andthen,fire,andbarsonwindows,andadoorthatwouldn’topen.Arson.Thirty-twomengone.
Augiedidn’tcomehome.
Thereareacoupleofunmarkedgraves,Janeexplainsinalow,hoarsevoice.Itwasn’tuncommonfortheretobepeoplelikeherorAugie,queerpeoplewhoranawayanddidn’twanttobefound,whodidn’thavefamilieswhocouldorwouldclaimthem,peoplewhokeptsecretssowellnobodywouldevenhaveknowntheywerethere.
Andthatwasbadenough.Theemptybedroom,therollsofsocks,themilkleftinthefridge,theaftershaveinthebathroom,itwasallbadenough.Butthentherewerethemonthsthatcameafter.
Thecitybarelytriedtoinvestigate.Thenewsmentionedthefirebutleftoutthatitwasagaybar.Theradiohostsmadejokes.Notasinglepoliticiansaidagoddamnword.Churchafterchurchrefusedtoholdthefunerals.Theonepriestwhodidgatherahandfulofpeopleforprayerswasnearlyexcommunicatedbyhiscongregation.
Ithurt,andithurtagain,thishorriblethingthathadhappened,thisripping,unfathomable,terriblething,anditonlyhurtmore,spreadinglikethebruisesonJane’sribswhenthecopswoulddecidetomakeanexampleoutofher.
NewOrleans,Janetellsher,wasthefirstplacethatconvincedhertostay.Itwasthefirstplaceshewasherself.She’dspentayearontheroadbeforesheendedupthere,butshefellinlovewiththecityanditsSoutherngirls,andshebegantothinkshemightputdownroots.
Afterthefire,shemadeitsixmonthsbeforeshepackedupherrecordsandleft.ShemovedoutinJanuaryof’74,nothingofherleftinNewOrleansbutanamescratchedintoacouplebartopsandakissonastonewithnoname.Shelosttouchwitheveryone.Shewantedtobecomeaghost,likeAugie.
AndthenshefoundNewYork.Anditfinishedthejob.
12
PhotofromthearchivesofTheTulaneHullabaloo,TulaneUniversity’sweeklystudent-runnewspaper,datedJune23,1973
[PhotodepictsagroupofyoungwomenmarchingdownIbervilleStreet,carryingsignsandbannersaspartofthethirdannualNewOrleansGayPride.Intheforeground,adark-hairedwomaninjeansandabutton-downshirtholdsaposterthatreadsDYKESFIGHTBACK.Thefollowingday,theNewOrleansgaycommunitywouldbestruckbytheUpStairsLoungearsonattack.]
AttheentrancetotheParksideAve.Station,August’sfingerhoversoverthecallbuttonforthetenthtimeinasmanyhours.
TherewasatimewhenUncleAugieloomedlikeClarkKentinherchildhood,thismysteriousherotobechasedthroughsquaresofpublicrecordformslikecomicbookpanels.Hermothertoldherstories—hewastwelveyearsolder,theheir-gone-wrongtoanoldNewOrleansfamily,thelittlesisterborninhisrockyadolescenceanattemptatado-over.HehadhairlikeAugust’s,likehermother’s,wildandthickandunkempt.Heintimidatedschoolyardbullies,snuckdessertwhentheirmothersaidlittlegirlsshouldn’teatsomuch,hidwhiskeyandaboxofphotographsbeneathafloorboardinhisroom.
ShetoldAugustaboutthebigfightsheoverheardonenight,howAugiekissedherforeheadfiercelyandleftwithasuitcase,howhewrotehereveryweekandsometimesarrangedlate-nightcallsuntilthelettersandcallsstoppedcoming.ShetoldAugustaboutastreetcarridetothepolicestation,anofficersayingtheycouldn’twastetimeonrunaways,herparentsinvitingthechieffordinnerwhenhedroveherhomeandthentakingherbooksawayaspunishment.
ItmakessensenowthatAugieleftandnevercameback,morethanitdidwhenitwasonlypettyfamilyarguments.Augustunderstandswhyhenevertoldhissisterhewasstillinthecity,whyhergrandparentspreferredtoactasifhe’dneverexisted.HewaslikeJane,justgeographicallycloser.
Shedoesn’tknowhowtotellhermom.Shedoesn’tevenknowhowtospeaktohermomrightnow.
It’stoomuchtothinkabout,toomuchtoputintoatextoraphonecall,soshepushesherphoneintoherpocketanddecidesshe’llfigureoutasmuchasshecanbeforeshetellsanyoneelse.
It’snotuntiltheQpullsupandsheseesJanethatitoccurstoherthismighthavefinallybeentoomuchforJanetoo.
Jane’ssittingthere,staringstraightahead.There’saripinhershirtcollarandafreshcutonherlip.She’sflexingherrighthandoverandoverinherlap.
“Whathappened?”Augustsays,rushingontothecaranddroppingherbagtokneelinfrontofher.ShetakesJane’sfaceinherhands.“Hey,talktome.”
Janeshrugs,impassive.
“SomeguycalledmesomeshitI’drathernotrepeat,”shefinallysays.“Thatoldracist-homophobiccombo.Alwaysawinner.”
“OhmyGod,didhehityou?I’llkillhim.”
Shelaughsdarkly,eyesflat.“No,Ihithim.Thelipisfromwhensomeoneelsepulledmeoffhim.”
AugusttriestobrushherthumbbyJane’smouth,butshejerksaway.
“Jesus,”Augusthisses.“Didtheycallthecops?”
“Nah.Meandsomeguyshovedhimoffatthenextstop,andIdoubthisegocouldhandlecallingthecopsonaskinnyChinesegirl.”
“Imeantforyou.You’rehurt.”
JaneknocksAugust’shandsoffofher,finallymakingeyecontact.Augustflinchesattherazor’sedgethere.
“Idon’tfuckwithpigs.YouknowIdon’tfuckwithpigs.”
Augustsitsbackonherheels.There’ssomethingoffaboutJane,intheairaroundher.Usually,it’slikeAugustcanfeelthefrequencyshevibratesat,likeshe’saspaceheateroralivewire,butit’sstill.Eerilystill.
“No,ofcourse,thatwasstupid,”Augustsaysslowly.“Hey,areyou?…okay?”
“Whatdoyoufuckingthink,August?”shesnaps.
“Iknow—it’s,it’sfuckedup,”Augusttellsher.She’sthinkingaboutthefire,thethingsthatdroveJanefromcitytocity.“ButIpromise,mostpeoplearen’tlikethatanymore.Ifyoucouldgoout,you’dsee.”
Janegrabsapoleandheavesherselftoherfeet.Hereyesareslate,flint,stone.Thetraintakesacurve.Shedoesn’tfalter.
“That’snotwhatit’sabout.”
“Thenwhat,Jane?”
“God,youdon’t—youdon’tgetit.Youcan’t.”
Forasecond,Augustfeelslikeshedidthatnightaftertheséance,whensheputherhandonJane’swristandfeltthepulsebuzzingimpossiblyfastunderherfingers,whenshetalkedtoJanelikeshewasonaledge.Janemightaswellbehangingouttheemergencyexit.
“Tryme.”
“Okay,fine,it’slike—IwokeuponedayandhalfthepeopleIeverlovedweredead,andtheotherhalfhadlivedawholelifewithoutme,andInevergotachancetoseeit,”Janesays.“Inevergotachancetobeattheirweddingsortheirartshows.Inevergottoseemysistersgrowup.InevergottotellmyparentswhyIleft.Inevergottomakeitright.Imean,fuck,myfriendFrankiehadjustgottenanewboyfriendwhowassoannoying,andIwasgonnatellhimtodumphim,andIneverevengottodothat.DoyouseewhatImean?Haveyoueverthoughtaboutwhatthisislikeforme?”
“OfcourseI—”
“It’slikeIdied,”shecutsin.Hervoicecracksinthemiddle.“Idied,exceptIhavetofeelit.Andontopofthat,IhavetofeeleverythingelseI’veeverfeltalloveragain.Ihavetogetthebadnewsagaineveryday,IhavetodealwiththechoicesImade,andIcan’tfixit.Ican’tevenrunfromit.It’smiserable,August.”
Okay.Thisisit.Jane’sbeenshockinglycasualaboutherentireexistentialpredicament.Augustwonderedwhensomethinglikethiswascoming.
“Iknow,”Augustsays.Theseatcreaksfaintlyasshepushesherselftoherfeet,andJanewatchesherswaycloserwithwideeyes,likeshecouldboltatanysecond.Augustmovesuntilshe’scloseenoughtotouchher.Shedoesn’t.Butshecould.“I’msorry.Butit’s—it’snottoolatetofixsomeofit.We’regonnafigureitout,andwe’llgetyoubacktowhereyou’resupposedtobe,and—”
“IsweartofuckingGod,August,canyouforoncenotactlikeyouknoweverything?”
“Okay,”Augustsays,feelingsomethingdefensiveprickupherspine.Jane’snottheonlyonewho’sspentthelastdayinafightingmood.“Jesus.”
Jane’steethworkhersplitlipforasecond,likeshe’sthinking.Shebacksupanotherthreesteps,outofreach.
“God,it’s—you’resosurethere’sananswer,butthere’snoreasontobelievethereisone.Noneofthismakesanyfuckingsense.”
“Isthatwhyyou’vebeenactinglikeyoudon’tcareaboutthecase?Becauseyoudon’tthinkIcansolveit?”
“I’mnotafuckingcasetobesolved,August.”
“Iknowthat—”
“WhatifI’monthelineforever,huh?”Janeasksher.“It’sallinterestingandexcitingrightnow,butonedayyou’regonnabethirty,andI’llbetwenty-fourandhere,andyou’regonnagetbored,andI’mjustgonnastay.Alone.”
“I’mnotgonnaleaveyou,”Augustsays.
AugustseestheriotgirlinthewayJanerollshereyesandsays,“Youshould.Iwould.”
“Yeah,well,I’mnotyou,”Augustsnaps.
Thatstopsthemboth.Augustdidn’tmeantosayit.
“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”
“Nothing.Forgetit.”Augusttwistsherhandsintofistsinherpockets.“Look,I’mnottheoneyou’remadat.Ididn’tgetyoustuckhere.”
“No,youdidn’t,”Janeagrees.Sheturnsherfaceaway,hairfallinginhereyes.“Butyoumademerealizeit.Youmademeremember.Andmaybethat’sworse.”
Augustswallows.“Youdon’tmeanthat.”
“Youdon’tknowwhatImean,”shesayshoarsely.“August,I’mtired.Iwanttosleepinabed.Iwantmylifeback,Iwant—IwantyouandIwanttogobackandIcan’twantthosethingsatthesametime,andeverything’stoomuch,andI—Idon’twanttofeellikethisanymore.”
“I’mtrying,”Augustsayshelplessly
“Whatifyoudidn’t?”Janesays.“Whatifyoustopped?”
Inthesilencethatfollows,Augustremembershowitfeelstohitanicepatchonafrigidmorning,thosefewsecondsofterriblesuspensionbeforeyouscrapealltheskinoffyourknees,whenyourstomachdropsoutandtheonlythoughtis,Thisisabouttokickmyass.
“Stoppedwhat?”
“Stoppedtrying,”Janesays.“Just—justletitgo.Getanewtrain.Don’tseemeanymore.”
“No.No.Ican’t—Ican’tleave,Jane—ifIleave,you’regone.That’sthewholereasonSeptembermatters.It’sme,it’sus,it’swhateverthehellishappeningbetweenus,that’swhat’skeepingyouhere.”Shestaggerscloser,graspingatJane’sjacket.“Comeon,Iknowyoufeelit.Thefirsttimeyousawme,yourecognizedme—myname,myface,thewayIsmelled,itmadeyouremember.”HerhandmovesgracelesslytoJane’schest,overherheart.“Thisiswhat’skeepingyouhere.It’snotjustfuckingdumplingsandPattiSmithsongs,Jane,it’sus.”
“Iknow,”Janesaysquietly,likeithurtstosayit.“Ialwaysknewitwasyou.That’swhyIdidn’t—it’swhyIshouldn’thaveeverkissedyou.Ilookatyou,anditfeelslikeI’mrealerthanI’veeverbeen,fromrighthere.”ShecoversAugust’shandwithhers.“Sobigitburns.God,August,it’sbeautiful,butithurtssobad.”And,damningly,“You’rethereasonIfeellikethis.”
Itconnectslikeapunch.
She’sright.Augustknowsshe’sright.She’sbeendiggingJane’slifebackup,butJaneistheonewhohastositonthetrainaloneandliveitalloveragain.
Somethinginherrecoilsviolently,andherfingersdigintothefabricofJane’sjacket,bunchingitupinherfist
“Justbecauseyoucan’trundoesn’tmeanyoucanmakemedoitforyou.”
AmuscleclenchesinJane’sjaw,andAugustwantstokissit.Shewantstokissherandfightherandholdherdownandsetthisstormlooseontheworld,butthedoorsopenatthenextstop,andforjustasecond,Janeglancesthroughthem.Herfoottwitchestowardtheplatform,likeshe’dhaveachanceifshetried,andthat’swhatmakesAugust’sthroatgotight.
“Youwantmetostay,”Janesays.It’saquietaccusation,apushshedoesn’thavethestrengthtodophysically.“That’swhatthisis,isn’tit?Mylasaidthere’sachanceIcouldstay.That’swhyyou’redoingthis.”
AuguststillhasafistfulofJane’sjacket.“Youwouldn’tbesoangryifpartofyoudidn’twantthattoo.”
“Idon’t—”Janesays.Shesqueezeshereyesshut.“Ican’twantthat.Ican’t.”
“We’vedoneallthiswork,”Augustsays.
“No,you’vedoneallthiswork,”Janepointsout.Hereyesopen,andAugustcan’ttellifshe’simaginingthewetnessthere.“Ineveraskedyouto.”
“Thenwhat?”Thepartofherthat’sallbladeissquaringup.“Whatdoyouwantmetodo?”
“Ialreadytoldyou,”Janesays.Hereyesareflashing.Afluorescentabovetheirheadsgoesoutwithaloudpop.
IfAugustweredifferent,thisisthepartwhereshe’dstayandfight.Instead,shethinksviciouslythatJane’sideawon’twork.Itcan’tpossiblybethateasytosplitthisapart,notinjustafewdays.She’llbebackbeforeit’stoolate.She’llleavejusttoproveit.
They’repullingintothenextstopsoon,abigManhattanonethatwillbringarushofpeoplewithit.
“Fine.Butthis?”Augusthearshervoicecomeoutcausticandharsh,andshehatesit.“Allthis?Ididitforyou,notme.”
Thedoorsslideopen,andthelastthingAugustseesofJaneisthestiffsetofherjaw.Hersplitlip.Thefuriousdeterminationnottocry.Andthenpeoplepushon,andAugustislostinthecurrentofbodies,dumpedoutontotheplatform.
Thedoorsshut.Thetrainpullsaway.
Augustreachesintoherheartforthesourthingthatlivesthereandsqueezes
AugustslamsherbagdownonthebarwithinfivesecondsofsteppingintoBilly’sforherdinnershift.
“Hey,hey,hey,watchit!”Winfieldwarns,snatchingapieoutofrange.“Thisisblackberry.She’saspeciallady.”
“Sorry,”shegrumbles,ploppingdownontoastool.“Roughweek.”
“Yeah,well,”Winfieldsays,“mysuperhasbeensayinghe’sgonnafixmytoiletsincelastThursday.We’reallhavingatime.”
“You’reright,you’reright.”Augustsighs.“Lucieworkingthisshift?”
“Nope,”hesays.“She’stakingthedaytoyellatcityofficialsaboutpermits.”
“Yeah,aboutthat,”Augustsays.“MylaandIarestartingtothinkwe’regonnaneedabiggervenue.”
Winfieldturnsandraiseshiseyebrowsather.“ThecapacityofDelilah’siseighthundred.Youthinkwe’regettingmorethanthat?”
“Ithinkwe’regonnaget,like,doublethat,”Augusttellshim.“We’vealreadysoldeighthundred-somethingtickets,andit’snotforanothermonth.”
“Holyshit,”hesays.“Howthehelldidy’allmanagethat?”
Augustshrugs.“PeopleloveBilly’s.AnditturnsoutBombBumboclaatandAnnieDepressantarebigsellers.”
Hegrinswide,preeninginthegrimyglowofthekitchenwindowheatlamps.“Well,Icouldatoldyouthat.”
Augustsmileshalf-heartedlybackathim.Shewishesshecouldmatchhisexcitement,butthefactis,she’sbeenthrowingherselfintothefundraisertostopthinkingabouthowshehasn’theardfromJaneintwodays.Shewantedtobeleftalone,soAugustisleavingheralone.Shehasn’tsetfootontheQsinceJanetoldhertoforgetabouther.
“Who’sonthescheduletoday?”
“You’relookingatit,baby,”Winfieldsays.“ItfeelslikeSatan’staintoutside.Nobody’scomingtogetafternoonpancakestoday.It’sjustusandJerry.”
“OhGod.Okay.”Augustpeelsherselfoffherstoolandroundsthecountertoclockin.“IneedtotalktoJerryanyway.”
Inthekitchen,Jerry’sheftingabucketofhashbrownshavingsoutofthefridgeandtowardtheprepstation.Hegivesheraquicknod.
“Hey,Jerry,yougotaminute?”
Hegrunts.“What’sup,buttercup?”
“So,it’slookinglikewemightendupwithdoublethepeopleweplannedforthefundraiser,”shesays.“Weshouldprobablytalkpancakelogisticsagain.”
“Shit,”heswears,“that’sgonnabeatleastthirtygallonsofbatter.”
“Iknow.Butwedon’thavetomakeapancakeforeveryguest—Imean,therehavegottabepeoplewhoaregluten-free,orlowcarb,orwhatever—”
“So,let’ssaytwentygallonsofbatter,then.That’sstillalot,andIdon’tevenknowhowwe’dtransportthatmanypancakes.”
“Billysaidhehasasparegrillinstorage.Hewasgonnasellit,butifhecouldbringittothevenue,youandsomeofthelinecookscouldcookthemthere.”
Hethinksonit.“Soundslikeapainintheass.”
“Butitcouldwork.Wecanusethecateringvantogetthebatterthere.”
“Yeah,okay,itcouldwork.”
Winfield’sheadpopsupinthewindow.“Hey,canIgetsomebacon?”
Jerryglancesathim.“Foryouorforatable?”
“Notables,I’mjusthun—”
Atthatexactmoment,thecreakypipealongthewallbythedishwasherfinallydoeswhatit’sbeenthreateningsincelongbeforeAuguststartedworkingthere:itbursts.
Waterexplodesalloverthefloorofthekitchen,soakingthroughthecanvasofAugust’ssneakersanddowntohersocks,gushingintothetubsofbiscuitsunderthepreptable.Shelungesforwardandtriestowrapherhandsaroundthesplitofthepipe,butallitdoesisredirectmostofthewaterontoher—hershirt,herface,herhair—
“Uh,”Augustsays,kickingatubofbiscuitsoutofharm’swaywithonesoggyfoot.Ittipsandbiscuitsspillalloverthetiles,floatingawaylikelittlebiscuitboats.“CanIgetsomehelphere?”
“ItoldBillyitwasjustamatteroftimeonthatpieceofshit,”Jerrygrumbles,sloshingthroughthewater.“Igottaturnoffthefuckin’mainand—fuck!”
Withacolossalcrash,Jerry’sfeetflyoutfromunderhim,anddownhegoes,bringingaten-gallontubofpancakebatterwithhim.
“Jesustitty-fuckingChrist,”Winfieldsayswhenhethrowsthedooropenonthescene—Jerryonhisbackinagrowinglakeofpancakebatter,Augustsoakedheadtotoe,handsaroundthespewingpipeandsoggybiscuitsswimmingaroundherankles.Hetakesonestepintothekitchenandslips,tumblingintoastackofdishes,whichshatterspectacularly.
“Wherethehellisthewatermain,Jerry?”Augustasks.
“It’snotinhere,”Jerrysays,strugglingtohisfeet.“Stupidoldfuckingbuilding.It’sinthebackoffice.”
Thebackoffice—
“Wait,”Augustsays,rushingtofollowJerry.He’salreadyhalfwaydownthehall.“Jerry,don’t,Ican—”
JerrywrenchesthedooropenanddisappearsintotheofficebeforeAugustcanskidintothedoorway.
Hestraightensupinthecorner,themainswitchedoffatlast,andAugustwatcheshimfinallyseethemapsandphotosandnotespinnedonthewalls.Heturnsslowly,takingitallin.
“Thefuckisthis?Wegotasquatter?”
“It’s—”Augustdoesn’tknowhowthehelltoexplain.“Iwas—”
“Youdidthis?”Jerryasks.HeleanstowardtheclippingAugustpulledoutofhermom’sfileandaddedtothewall.“HowcomeyougotapictureofJane?”
August’sstomachflips.
“Yousaidyoudidn’trememberher,”shesaysfaintly.
Jerrylooksatherforasecond,beforetheunmistakablejingleofthefrontdoorsounds.
“Well,”Jerrysays.Heturnsaway,headedforthekitchen.“Somebody’sgottafeedthepoorbastard.”
Winfieldcrunchesoffthroughshardsofcoffeemugstotakethecustomer,andJerrysalvagesthekitchenenoughtomakeaplateoffood.HecallsBillytolethimknowthey’regoingtohavetocloseuntilaplumbercancome,andevenfromacrosstheroomAugustcanhearBillyswearingaboutthecostsoflostbusinessandnewpipes.AnotherfewweeksoffthePancakeBilly’sprognosis.
Winfieldservestheironecustomerashortstackwithorangejuiceandsendsthemontheirmerryway,andJerrytellsWinfieldtogohome.
Auguststays.
“Yousaid,”shesays,corneringJerrybythewalk-in,“youdidn’trememberJane.”
Jerrygroans,rollinghiseyesandthrowingatubofbutterontheshelf.“HowwasIsupposedtoknowtherewasawaitressoperatingaJaneSushrineoutthebackofmyrestaurant?”
“It’snot—”Augusttakesasquishystepback.“Look,I’mtryingtofigureoutwhathappenedtoher.”
“Whatdoyoumeanwhathappenedtoher?”Jerryasks.“Sheleft.It’sNewYork,peopleleave.Theend.”
“Shedidn’t,”Augustsays.ShethinksaboutJane,aloneonthetrain.Nomatterhowangrysheis,shecan’tstopimaginingJanefadinginandoutoftheline,untetheringherself.Butshedoesn’treallythinkJanewillforget,notafterallthistime.Maybe,ifshecanfindproofthatthere’shope,shecanchangeJane’smind.“SheneverleftNewYork.”
“What?”Jerryasks.
“She’sbeenmissingsince1977,”Augustsays.
Jerrytakesthatin,slumpingheavilyagainstthedoor.“Noshit?”
“Noshit.”Augustlevelshergazeathim.“Whydidyoutellmeyoudidn’trememberher?”
Jerryhuffsoutanothersigh.Hismustachereallyhasalifeofitsown.
“I’mnotproudofwhoIwasbackthen,”Jerrysays.“I’mnotproudofthefriendIwastoher.ButI’dneverforgether.Thatgirlsavedmylife.”
“What?Like,figuratively?”
“Literally.”
August’seyeswiden.“How?”
“Well,y’know,wewerefriends,”hesays.“Imean,shewasfriendswitheveryone,butmeandherlivedonthesameblock.We’dgiveeachothershitalldayinthekitchen,andthenwe’dgotoabarafterworkanddrinkaPabstandtalkaboutgirls.Butonedayshecomesintoworkandsaysshe’smoving.”
“Shewas?”Augustblurtsout,andhenods.That’snew.That’snotonthetimeline.
“Yeah,”hegoeson.“Saidshe’dheardfromanoldfriendsheneverexpectedtohearfromagain,andheconvincedhertogo.LasttimeIsawher,itwasherlastdayintown.Julyof’77.WewenttoConeyIsland,saidgoodbyetotheAtlantic,rodetheWonderWheel,hadwaytoomanybeers.AndthenshedraggedmydrunkasstotheQ,andletmetellyouwhatadumbassIusedtobe—thereIwas,drunkasmyaunt
Augustpressesahandtoherlips.“Ontothetracks?”
“Rightontothetracks.Biggestdumbassmoveofmylife.”
“Whathappened?”
Helaughs.“Jane.Shejumpeddownandgotmeout.”
“Holyshit,”Augustexhales.TypicalJane,throwingherselfontothetrackstosavesomeoneelselikeitwasnothing.“Andthenwhat?”
Jerrygivesheralook.“Kid,doyouknowwhathappenedinNewYorkinJulyof’77?”
Sherunsthroughhermentalfiles.SonofSam.Thebirthofhip-hop.Theblackout.
Wait.
Myla’svoicejumpsintoherhead:Butlet’ssaytherewasabigevent—
“Theblackout,”Augustsays.Itcomesouthighandtight.
“Theblackout,”Jerryconfirms.“Ipassedoutonabench,andwhenIwokeup,itwasfuckin’chaos.Imean,Ibarelymadeithome.IguessIlostherinthechaos,andherbuswasfirstthinginthemorning.Sothatwasit.Ineversawheragain.”
“Youdidn’ttrytocallher?Tomakesureshemadeitout?”
“Youdoknowwhatblackoutmeans,right?Icouldn’tevengetdownthestreettoseeifshewasatherapartment.Anyway,shelostmynumberafterthat.Can’tsaythatIblameher,afterIalmostgotusbothkilled.WholereasonIstoppeddrinkingthatyear.”
Augustgulpsdownamouthfulofair.
“Andyouneverheardfromheragain?”
“Nope.”
“CanIaskyouonemorequestion?”
Jerrygrumblesbutsays,“Sure.”
“Theplaceshewasmoving?…itwasCalifornia,wasn’tit?”
“Youknowwhat?…yeah,Ithinkitwas.How’dyouknow?”
Augustthrowsherapronoverhershoulder,alreadyhalfwayoutthedoor.
“Luckyguess,”shesays.Onherwayout,shestopsinthebackofficeandplucksthepostcardoffthewall.
Atatinyelectronicsshopafewblocksover,shebuysahandheldblacklightandducksintoanalley.Sheshinesthelightoverthepostmark,thewayhermomusedtowitholddocumentswheretheinkhadrubbedoff,anditrevealstheshadowofwherethenumbersusedtobe.Shedidn’tthinktheexactdatewouldmatter,untilnow.
AnOaklandareacodeatthebottom.MuscadineDreams.ThehometownJanetoldhimabout,passingwinebackandforthontheporch.Augustcanpicturehimandhisredshortsandmessyhair,cruisingdownthePanoramicHighwayingoldensunshine.
It’spostmarkedApril1976.
Augiedidn’tdiethatnightin1973.HewenttoCalifornia.
“ThisislikeanepisodeofCSI,”Wessaysthroughamouthfulofpopcorn.
“I’mtakingthatasacompliment,”Augustsays.
Shefinishestapingupthelastphoto,andshehastoadmit,itisalittleprimetimetelevisiondetective.There’snoyarnyet,though.Augustisproudofthat.Yarnistheonethingseparatingherfromafull-scaleconspiracytheorist—alsoknownastheFullSuzette.
(Shehasn’tintegratedwhatshefiguredoutaboutAugieintothetimelineyet.There’snotenoughdry-erasemarkerintheworldtoworkthatoneout,andcertainlynotenoughspaceinherhead.Onethingatatime.)
MylaandNikoareoutfordinner,butAugustcouldn’twait,soit’sjustWesandhishugebowlofpopcornwatchingherpacebackandforthinfrontofthewhiteboardinthekitchen.Helooksdeeplybored,whichmeanshe’shavingagreattimeandfindingthisallveryentertaining.
“Okay,so,”shesays.Shenudgesherglassesuphernosewiththeendofherdry-erasemarker.“Here’swhatweknow.”
“Telluswhatweknow,August.”
“Thankyouforyoursupport,Wesley.”
“MynameisWeston.”
“It’s—Jesus,areyouafuckingVanderbiltorsomething?”
“Focus,August.”
“Right.Okay.WeknowJanewasonthetracksduringthecitywidepowersurgethatcausedthe1977blackout.So,mytheory:theburstofpoweronthealreadysuper-powerfulelectrifiedrailcreatedsomekindof?…crackintimethatsheslippedthrough,andnowshe’stetheredtotheelectricityoftherails.”
“C’mon,DoctorWho,”Wessays.
“Mylathinksthatifwecanre-createtheevent,wecanbreakheroutofthetimeslip.Allwehavetodois?…figureoutawaytore-createtheconditionsofthe’77blackout.”
“Don’tyouthinkthat’skindofadickmove?”Wesasks.“Imean,evenifwecouldsomehowfindawaytodoit,whichwecan’t,theblackoutwaslike?…universallyconsideredabadthing.You’dbethrowingthewholecityintoPurgeterritory.”
“You’reright.We’dhavetofindawaytotargetonlyJane’sline.Whichiswherethiscomesin.”
Augustjabshermarkeratthephotostuckinthetoprightcorner.
“TheNewYorkCityTransitPowerControlCenter.LocatedinManhattan,onWestFifty-thirdStreet.ThesetwoblocksofbuildingsmanagethepowertotheentireMTA,withseveralsubstations.Ifwecangetaccess,wecanfigureoutwhichsubstationcontrolstheQ,andwecanfindawaytocreateapowersurge?…thatmightwork.”
“LovingthisTEDTalk,”Wessays.“Unsurehowexactlyyouplantohandletheif.”
Asifoncue,there’sthefamiliarjingleofMyla’sfivemillionkeychainsassheunlocksthedoor.
“Hey,webroughtleftoversifyou—ohmyGod.”Mylastopshalfwayintothedoor,Nikocollidingwithherback.“Youstartedwithoutme?”
“I—”
“Youtextmethatyou,andIquote,‘scoredtheclueofalifetime’andare‘abouttobustthisshitwideopen,’”Mylasays,throwingherskateboarddowninarighteousfury,“andyoudon’tevenwaitformetohaveafreeafternoontobreakoutthewhiteboard.Wow.IthoughtIcouldtrustyou.”
“Look,Ican’ttalktoJaneaboutit,”Augusttellsher.“Ineededtodosomething.”
“You’restillinafight?”Nikoasks
“I’mgivingherspace.”Augustextendsadry-erasemarkertoMyla,whoglaresasshesnatchesitup.“Shesaidthatwaswhatshewanted.”
“Uh-huh,andthiswouldn’thaveanythingtodowiththewayyoureflexivelyiceoutanyonewhoevenappearstohaverejectedorwrongedyou?”
“Don’tanswerthat,it’satrap,”Wescallsfromthecouch.“He’susinghispowersforevil.”
“Thatwasn’tareading,”Nikosays.“Itwasjustaread.”
“Anyway,”Augustpresseson,“she’sgonnacomearound.Andshemaynotbespeakingtome,butthatdoesn’tchangethefactthatshe’sstuckinthenebulousin-between—”
“Aren’tweall?”Wesadds,andAugustthrowsastackofPost-itsathisface.
“Andwe’retheonlyoneswhocanfixit.SoI’mgonnakeeptrying.”
NikogivesheracrypticlookbeforecurlinguponthecouchwithhisheadinWes’slap.AugustgivesMylaaquickrundownofwhatshe’sfiguredoutsofar.
“You’remissingsomething,”Mylapointsout.“JustbeingneartheQwhentheblackouthappenedisn’tenoughforhertogetstuck.Theremusthavebeenthousandsofpeopleontrainsandinstationsduringthatsurge,andnoneofthemgotstuck.There’sanothervariableyou’renotaccountingfor.”
Augustleansagainstthefridge.“Yeah?…shit,yeah,you’reright.”
“Youhaven’ttalkedtoJane?Toldherwhatyoulearned?”
“Shetoldmetoleaveheralone.ButI.…IfeellikeifIcouldtalktoheraboutit,shemightremembertherest.”
Mylapatsherontheshoulderandspinsbacktotheboard.
“So,basically,whenyouhaveaneventliketheblackout,andanoutageiscausedbyapowersurge—alightningstrike,inthiscase—thereareactuallytwosurges.Thefirstonethatoverloadsthelineandmakesthelightsgoout.Andthesecond.”ShepointsatAugustwiththemarker.“Youknowwhenyouwereakidandtheelectricitywouldgooutduringastorm,andthenwhenitcomesback,there’shalfasecondwhenthelightscomeontoobright?That’sthesecondsurge.So,ifwewere?…somehowabletodothis,we’dhavetwochances.”
Augustnods.Theycanworkwiththat,shethinks.
“Andhowarewegonnaaccessthesubstation?”
Mylafrowns.“That,Idon’tknow.Icanaskaroundandseeifanyonewhowasintheengineeringprogramwithmehasconnections,but?…Idon’tknow.”
“Yeah,”Augustsays.She’salreadythinkingthroughcontingencyplans.Dotheyknowanyoneskilledinespionage?Orwho’dbewillingtosleepwithasecurityguardforthecause?
“Youhaveabiggerproblem,though,”Mylasays.
Augustsnapsbackintofocus.“What?”
“Ifallthisisright,andit’sanelectricalevent?…whentheycutthepowerinSeptember,it’snotonlythatyouwon’tbeabletoseeher.Shemightjust?…blinkout.”
“What?”Augustsays.“No,thatcan’t—thetrainbrokedownbefore,whenshewasonit.Shewasfine.”
“Yeah,thetrainbrokedown,”Mylasays.“Buttherewasstillpowerintheline.Andmaybeitwasokaybeforeyou,whensheneverstayedinonetimeorplaceforlongenoughtobetherewhentheycutthepowertothetracksformaintenance,butifwe’rerightabouthowstrongyourconnectionis,you’vegotherpinned,hereandnow.Shewon’tbeabletoavoidit.”
Therealityofthatspinsout:Janewouldhavebeenfineifshewasn’tstuckhereandnow.TheQhasprobablylostpowerorhaditspowercutahundredtimesbefore,butJanealwaysmissedit,untilAugust.UntilAugustfellinlovewithherandgotgreedywithkissesandturnedherselfintoaweightholdingJaneinonespot.
Andnow,ifshedoesn’tpullthisoff,Janemightbegoneforever.Notnow.Notthen.Nowhere.
MaybeJanewasright.Thisisherfault.
“August,”MylayellsthroughAugust’sbedroomdoor.“August!”
Sheburiesherfaceinherpillowandgroans.It’sseveninthemorning,andshedidn’tgethomefromworkuntilfourhoursago.Mylaisreallybettingonnotgettingstabbed.
Thedoorfliesopen,andthere’sMyla,wild-eyed,asolderingguninonehandandastringoflightsintheother.“August,it’sanerve.”
Augustsquintsthroughawallofherhair.“What?”
“Mysculpture,”shesays.“TheoneI’vebeenworkingonfor,like,ever.I’ve—I’vebeenlookingatitallwrong.IthoughtIwassupposedtobemakingsomethingbig,butitwasrightinfrontofmewithallthisJanestuff—thebranches,thelights,themovingparts—it’sanerve.It’swhatIdo!Electricityoftheheart!That’swhatthepointofviewis!”
Augustrollsovertostareattheceiling.“Damn.That’s?…genius.”
“Right?Ican’tbelieveIdidn’tthinkofitbefore!IhavetothankJanethenexttimeIseeher,she—”
August’sfacemustfoldintosomethingtragic,becauseMylastops.
“Oh,shit,”Mylasays.“Youstillaren’ttalkingtoher?”
Augustshakesherhead.“Fivedaysnow.”
“Ithoughtyouweregonnagobackafterthree?”
Augustrollsbackoverandcurlsaroundherpillow.“Yeah,thatwasbeforeIknewtryingtosaveherlifemightgetherkilled.NowIfeellikemaybeshewasrighttowantmetoleaveheralone.”
Mylasighs,leaningagainstthedoorframe.“Look,rememberwhatwesaidwhenyoufirstmovedinandImadeyoulistentoJoyDivision?We’llfigureitout.Wehavemostofaplannow.”
“IthinkIknoweverything,butIdon’t,”Augustmumbles.“MaybeIstartedwitharelationshipdifficultyleveltoofarabovemyskillset.”
“Oh,we’reinself-pitymode,”Mylasays.“Ican’thelpyouwiththat.Goodluck,though!TalktoJane!”
MylaleavesAugustinherunwashedsheets,feelingsorryforherself,tastingstrawberrymilkshakeonthebackofhertongue.
Herphonebuzzessomewhereinthetangleofherbed.
It’sprobablyanotherpassive-aggressivetextfromhermom,orNikointhegroupchatcheckingthehouseholdriceinventoryfromthegrocerystore.Shegrumblesandfishesitoutfrombeneathherass.
Herbreathhitches.It’sJane.
Puttheradioon.
ShecatchestheoutroofaBeachBoyssong,fadingintowarmquiet,beforetheearlymorningDJ’svoicepicksupoverthewaves.
“Thatwas‘IKnowThere’sanAnswer’fromthealbumPetSounds,andyou’relisteningtoWTKF90.9,yourone-stopshopforthenew,theold,thewhatever,aslongasit’sgood,”hesays.“Thisnextone’sarequestfromafrequentcaller,onewithatastefortheoldies.Andthisone’sagoodie.ItgoesouttoAugust—Janesaysshe’ssorry.”
Theintrocomesup,drumsandstrings,andAugustknowsitrightaway.Thefirstsongtheychasedamemoryto,theonetheyplayedonherclumsyattemptatafirstdate.
Oh,girl,I’dbeintroubleifyouleftmenow.…
Herphonethumpsdownontoherchest.
Thesongbuzzesoverherlittlespeakersandthemusicwellsupwistfulandheartsick,andshepicturesthatseven-inchsingleJanetoldherabout.Forthefirsttime,shereallyseesit:Jane,1977,onherownandalive.
It’shardtobelievecolorslookedthesamebackthen,crispandbrightandpresent,notwashed-out,grainysepia,butthereitis.StringsandfarawayvocalsandJane.There’sherskinglowinggoldenundercrosswalklightsasshecarriesabundleofnewrecordshome.There’sthestackofbooksonhernightstand.There’stheIndianplacesheusedtolike,thecigarettessheusedtobumwhenshewasstressed,thewomandownthehallwhomakestheterriblepierogies,atubeoftoothpasterolledupattheendwithCRESTinthebigblocklettersofadiscontinuedfont.
There’sthebrightredofhersneakers,freshoutthebox,andthesunthatusedtofallacrossherbedroomfloor,andthemirrorwhereshecheckedtheswoopofherhair,andtheblueskyoverherhead.She’sthere.Onlyleavingwhatshemeanstoleave.Exactlywhereshe’ssupposedtobe.
Jane’sbeenonthetrainthinkingofhome,andAugusthasbeenathomethinkingofJanemovingin,cookingbreakfast,buildingalifewithher.ItfeelslikeamillionyearsagothatshesatoveraplateoffriesatBilly’sandtoldMylathattheyhadtohelphernomatterwhat.Evenifshelosther.Shereallydidbelieveit.
Anothertext.Jane.
Comeback.
Maybethat’stheworstthingAugustcando.Maybeit’stheonlything.
Sherollsoutofbedandreachesforherkeys.
13
RadiotranscriptfromWTKF90.9FMBroadcastNovember14,1976
STEVENSTRONG,HOST:Thatwas“UnchainedMelody”bytheRighteousBrothers,andyou’relisteningto90.9TheMix,yourhomeforeverythingyouwanttolistentoatthepushofabutton.Hopeyou’restayingwarmoutthere,NewYork—it’sacoldonetonight.Upnext,IhavearequestfromaJaneinBrooklyn,whowantedtohearfromsomeofourfavoriteBritishboys.Thisis“LoveofMyLife”byQueen.
Jane’snotonthetrain.
Augusttriestopickherwaythroughthepeoplecloggingtheaisle,butit’spackedtightandshe’stooshorttoseeovertheirheads.Sheendsupjostledtotheendofthecar,andsheclambersupontotheoneemptyseattoseeiftheboosthelps.
Itdoesn’t.
Somethinglodgesinherthroat.Jane’snotthere.She’snevernotbeentherebefore.
No,no,no,notpossible.It’sonlybeenafewdayssinceAugustsawher,lessthananhoursincesheheardfromher.Thatsongwasjustontheradio.Shedoesn’tcompletelyunderstandthistetherbetweenthem,butitcan’tbethatfragile.Janecan’tbegone.Shecan’tbe.
Shedropsdownontothefloor,panicpricklingalongthebonesofherfingersandwrists.
Augustdidn’thaveenoughtime.They’vespentmonthsdiggingJaneup,onescoopatatime,andshe’ssupposedtolive.Janeissupposedtohavealife,evenifit’snotwithher.
Thetrackbends,andAuguststumbles.Hershouldershitthemetalwallofthecar.
Maybeshemissedher.Maybeshecangetoffatthenextstopandtryanothercar.MaybeshecangrabatrainintheoppositedirectionandJanewillbethere,likealways,bookinhandandamischievoussmile.Maybethere’sstilltime.Maybe—
Sheturnsherhead,glancingthroughthewindowattheendofthecar.
There’ssomeonesittinginthelastseatofthenextcarover,absentlylookingbackather.Thecollarofherjacket’sflippeduparoundherjaw,andherdarkhairisfallinginhereyes.Shelooksmiserable.
“Jane!”Augustshouts,eventhoughJanecan’thearher.AllshemustseeisthecartoonishshapeofAugust’smouthmiminghername,butit’senough.It’senoughforhertojumpoutofherseat,andAugustcanseeJanecallhernameback.Itmightbethebestthingshe’severseen.
ShewatchesJanelungesideways—theemergencyexit—andshereachesforhers.Itcomesopeneasily,andthere’sthetinyplatformsherememberssowell,andJane’sonthenextone,closeenoughtotouch,beamingoutthebackofaspeedingtrain,andAugustwaswrong—thisisthebestthingshe’severseen.
Therearen’tperfectmomentsinlife,notreally,notwhenshithasgottenasweirdasitcangetandyou’rebrokeinameancityandthethingsthathurtfeelsobig.Butthere’sthewindflyingandtheweightofmonthsandagirlhangingoutanemergencyexit,trainroaringallaround,tunnellightsflashing,anditfeelsperfect.Itfeelsinsaneandimpossibleandperfect.Janereelsherinbythesideofherneck,righttherebetweenthesubwaycars,andkissesherlikeit’stheendoftheworld.
SheletsAugustgoastheyexitthetunnelintoblazingsunlight.
“I’msorry!”Janeshouts.
“I’msorry!”Augustshoutsback.
“It’sokay!”
“Doyoufuckin’mind?”aguyyellsfrombehindher.
Ohfuck.Right.Otherpeopleexist,somehow.
“Youbettergetoverherebeforesomeonepushesmeoff!”
Janelaughsandjumpsover,grabbingAugust’sshouldersontheway,themomentumcarryingthemthroughthedoor.AugustcatchesJanerightbeforeshestaggersintothepissed-offguyinaYankeeshat.
“Youdone?”hesays.“It’sthefuckin’subway,notthefuckin’Notebook.Wannagetusallfuckin’stuckhereforanhourwhiletheyscrapeacoupleoflesbiansoffthefuckin’tracks—”
“You’reright!”Janesaysthroughaslightlyhystericallaugh,snatchingAugust’shandupandtuggingheraway.“Don’tknowwhatwewerethinking!”
“I’mactuallybisexual!”Augustaddsfaintlyoverhershoulder.
Theymaketheirwaytotheothersideofthecar,paststrollersandumbrellas,pastkhaki-coveredkneesandbagsofgroceries,toapocketofspacenearthelastpole,andJanewhipsaroundtofaceher.
“Iwas—”
“Youwere—”
“Ididn’tmeanto—”
“Ishouldhave—”
Janestops,holdinginamouthfuloflaughter.Augusthasneverbeensohappytoseeher,noteventhoseearlydayswhenshewasafeverofanidea.She’snotanideaanymore—she’sJane,hardheadedJane,runawayJane,smart-mouthedJane,bruise-knuckled,soft-heartedagitatorJane.ThegirlstuckonthelinewithAugust’sheartinthepocketofherrattyjeans.
“Yougofirst,”shesays.
Augustleanshershoulderagainstthepole,edgingcloser.“Youwere—nottotallywrong.Iwasdoingthisforyou,oratleastIthinkIwas,butyou’reright.Ididn’twantyoutogoback.”HerinstinctssaytoshifthereyesanywherebuttoJane,butshedoesn’t.ShelooksJanestraightintheeyesandsays,“Iwanted—Iwantyoutostayhere,withme.Andthat’sfuckedup,andI’msorry.”
There’sasecondofquiet,Janelookingather,andthensheshrugsherbackpackoffandhandsAugustsomethingfromthesidepocket.
“You’renottheonlyonewhohasnotebooks,”Janesaysquietly.
It’satiny,batteredMoleskinefoldedopentoapagecoveredinJane’smessyhandwriting:Overwatch.FrankOcean.EasyMac.Applevs.PC.Postmates.BarackObama.TheGoldenGirls.Instagram.JurassicPark.Gogurt.JollyRanchers.StarWars.Whatisaprequel?
“Whatisthis?”
“It’salist,”Janesays.“Ofthingsandpeopleyou’vementioned,orNikoorMylaorWes,orpeopleI’veoverheardonthetrain.There’salotIhavetocatchupon.”
AugustpullshereyesuptosearchJane’sface.Shelooks?…nervous.
“Howlonghaveyoubeenmakingthis?”Augustasks.
Sherubsahandovertheshorthairsatthebackofherneck.“Afewmonths.”
“You—youwanttoknowallthisstuff?Youneverasked.Ithoughtyoudidn’twanttoknow.”
“Ididn’t,atfirst,”Janeadmits.“Iwantedtogoback,andIwassodeterminedtogettherethatIdidn’tcareaboutanythingelse.Ididn’twanttoknowanythingthatmightmakeitharder.Butthentherewasyou,andIwantedtoknowwhatmadeyouyou,andI—Idon’tknow.”Shekicksthetoeofhersneakeragainstthefloor.“AtsomepointIguessIdecided?…itwouldn’tbetheworstthingifIhadtostay.Itcouldbeokay.”
AugustclutchestheMoleskinetoherchest.“I—IknowIsaid—butIdidn’tthinkyou’dactuallywanttostay.Youreallymeanthat?”
“Partofme,yeah.Youwereright.There’salotmoretoitthangoingbacktowhereIstarted.Imean,Iridethistraineveryday,andIseegaypeoplejustholdinghandsinpublic,infrontofeveryone,andmostofthetime,nobodyfuckswiththem,andthat’s?…Idon’tknowifyourealizehowcrazythatistome.Iknowthingsaren’tperfect,butatleastifIstayed,it’dbedifferent.”She’sbeenstudyinghercuticles,butshelooksup.“AndIcouldbewithyou.”
August’smouthfallsopen.
“Withme.”
“Yeah,I—Iknowwhatitwouldcostme,but?…Idon’tknow.Allthis—thiswholemess—itscarestheshitoutofme.”Sheswallows,setsherjaw.“Butthethoughtofstayingwithyoudoesn’tscaremeatall.”
“Ididn’t—Ithoughtthiswasjustagoodtimetoyou.”
Thatearnsherashort,quietlaugh.
“Iwantedittobe,butit’snot.Ithasn’teverbeen.”Hereyeshavethiswayofswallowingupthegrimyfluorescentlightofthetrainandtransformingitintosomethingnew.Rightnow,whenshelooksatAugust:stars.ThegoddamnMilkyWay.“Whatisittoyou?”
“It’s—you’re—God,Jane,it’s?…Iwantyou,”Augustsays.It’snoteloquentorcool,butit’strue,finally.“Whateveritmeans,howeveryouwantme,aslongasyou’rehere,that’swhatitistome,andmaybethatsoundsdesperate,butI—”
Shenevergetstofinish,becauseJane’syankingherinandkissingher,drinkingdowntherestofhersentence.
Augusttouchesherfaceandopenshereyes,breakingofftodemand,“Whatdoesthatmean?”
“ItmeansI—you—”Janeattempts.Sheleansdownforanotherkiss,butAugustholdsherstubbornlyinplace.“Okay—yeah,Iwantthat.Iwantwhatyouwant.”
“Okay,”Augustsays.Shelicksherlips.Theytastelikeacleanroomandafullhouseanda4.5GPA.Likeherownspecificheaven.“So,we’re—we’retogetheruntilwe’renot,ifthat’swhatitcomesdownto.”
“Yeah,”Janesays.
It’sassimpleasthat,onesyllabledroppingoffJane’stongue,twopairsofsneakerstuckedbetweeneachother,thislongcareerofwantingbutnothavingandhavingbutnotknowingfoldedupintoaword.
“Okay,”Augustsays.“Icanlivewiththat.”
“EvenifIendupleaving?”
“Itdoesn’tmatter,”Augustsays,eventhoughitdoes.Itmatters,butitdoesn’tmakeadifference.“Whateverhappens,Iwantyou.”
SherisesuponhertoesandkissesJane,short,soft,aflashbulbburst,andJanesays,“ButincaseIdoendupstaying?…youhavetoteachmeaboutmylist.”
Augustopenshereyes.“Really?”
“Imean,Ican’tjustjumpintothetwenty-firstcenturywithoutknowinghowthewifeyworks—”
“Wi-Fi.”
“See!”ShepointsatAugust.“Tipoftheiceberg,Landry.You’vegotsomuchtoteachme.”
AugustgrinsasthetrainstopsatUnionSquareandcommutersstartpilingoff,freeingupafewspacesonthebench.“Allright.Sitdown.I’lltellyouabouttheFastandFuriousfranchise.That’llbeagoodhour.”
Janedoes,kickingonefootupandfoldingherhandsbehindherhead.
“Man,”shesays,smilingupatAugust.“I’mhavingonehellofayear.”
Augustwaitsuntilthenextdaytobringitup.
Sometimes,theprocessofbringingbackJane’smemoriesfeelsmysticalandprofound,likethey’rediggingaroundininvisiblemagic,pullingupwispyroots.Butalotofthetime,it’sthis:AugustshovingaPBRtallboyintoabrownpaperbagandcarryingitdowntothesubwayatoneintheafternoonlikealush,hopingthesmellofshittybeerwilljogsomethinginJane’sbrain.
“Okay,so,”Augustsayswhenshesits.“Ifoundsomethingout,andI—Ididn’ttellyoubecauseweweren’ttalking,butIneedtotellyounow,becauseyouneedtoremembertherest.Thismightbereallybig.”
Janeeyesherwarily.“Okay…”
“Allright,so,um,firstletmegiveyouthis.”Augusthandsherthebeer,shootingaglareatatouristwholooksupfromhisguidebooktogoggleatthem.“Youdon’thavetodrinkit,butJerrymentionedthatthetwoofyouusedtodrinkthemtogether,soIthoughtthesmellmighthelp.”
“Okay,”Janesays.Shecracksthecanopen.Thetouristmakesadisapprovingnoise,andJanerollshereyesathim.“You’regonnaseeworsethingsthanthisonthesubway,man.”SheturnsbacktoAugust.“I’mready.”
Augustclearsherthroat.“So?…haveyoueverheardoftheNewYorkblackoutof1977?Hugepoweroutageacrossmostofthecity?”
“Um?…no.No,IguessthatwasafterIgotdownhere.Soundslikehell,though.”
“Yeah,so?…yourememberJerry?ThecookatBilly’s?”
Janenods,hermouthquirkinginafondsmile.“Yeah.”
“Italkedtohimaboutyou,andhe?…um,Ithinkhetoldmehowyougotstuck.”
Jane’sbeenholdingthePBRuptohernosetosniffit,butshelowersitatthat.“What?”
“Yeah,he—thelasttimehesawyouwasyourlastdayinNewYork.ThetwoofyouwenttoConeyIslandandgotdrunktogether,andy’allwerewaitingfortheQwhentheblackouthappened.Hesaidheneversaworheardfromyouagain.Andifthatwassupposedtobeyourlastday,itwouldexplainwhynoneofyourfriendslookedforyouwhenyoudisappeared.Theybasicallythoughtyoughostedthem.”
“IthoughtyousaidIwasn’taghost.”
“No,”Augustsays,bitingbackasmile,“it’s,like,anexpressionforwhenyoucutcontactwithsomeonewithoutexplanation.”
“Oh,sothey?…theythoughtIjustleftwithoutsayinggoodbye?”
ThatbringsAugustupshort.
Sheleansin,touchesJane’sknee.“Doyouwanttotakeabreak?”
“No,”Janesays,shruggingitoff.“I’mfine.What’syourquestion?”
“Myquestionisifyoucanrememberanythingelsethathappenedthatnight.”
Janesqueezeshereyesshut.“I’m—I’mtrying.”
“Hesaidhefellonthetracks,andyoujumpeddowntohelphimbackup.”
Hereyesareclosed,handstillcurledaroundthebeer.Somethingfaintslidesoverherface.
“Ijumpeddown…”sherepeats.
Thedoorsopenatanewstop,andatouristpushespastthem,hissuitcaseslammingintoJane’sknee.Herbeersloshesoutofthecanandalloverthesleeveofherjacket,drippingontoherjeans.
“Hey,asshole,watchwhereyou’regoing!”Augustyells.Shereachesouttobrushthebeeroff,butJane’seyeshavesnappedopen.“Jane?”
“Hespilledabeer,”Janesays.“Jerry.Wewere?…weweredrinkingPabstfrommybackpackonthebeach.Itwasthemiddleofaheatwave,andhekeptgivingmeshitforcarryingmyleatherjacketaround,butItoldhimhejustdidn’tunderstandmydevotiontothepunklifestyle,andwelaughed.Andhe…”Hereyesslideshut,likeshe’slostinthememory.“Ohman,thenawaveknockedhimoff-balanceandhespilledhiswholebeer,andItoldhimitwastimetogethimhomebeforeIhadtofishhisstupiddrunkassoutoftheAtlantic.WewenttocatchtheQ,andhestartedthrowingup,thenhefellonthetracks.I—IrememberhewaswearingafuckingCCRT-shirt.AndIhelpedhimout,butthenI—oh.Oh.”
Sheopenshereyes,lookingrightbackatAugust.
“What?”
“Itripped.Idroppedmybackpack,andevery—everythingIcareaboutisinhere,soIwastryingtogetit,andItripped.AndIfell.Onthethirdrail.Irememberseeingthethirdrailrightinfrontofmyface,andIthought,‘Fuck,thisisit.ThisishowIdie.That’ssofuckingstupid.’Andthen?…there’snothing.”
Shelooksscared,likeshejustliveditalloveragain.
“Youdidn’tdie.”
“ButIshouldhave,right?”
Augustpushesherglassesupintoherhair,rubbingathereyes,tryingtothink.“I’mnotMyla,but?…Ithinkyoutouchedthethirdrailattheexactmomentofthepowersurgethatcausedtheblackout.Itmusthavebeenenoughofaburstofenergythatitdidmorethankillyou.Itthrewyououtoftime.”
Janeconsidersthis.“That’skindofcool,actually.”
Augustpushesherglassesbackdown,blinkingJaneintofocusandcheckingherfaceforthewarningsignsshedidn’tpayenoughattentiontothelasttimetheybroughtbacksomethingbig.Shedoesn’tseeany.
Sheholdsabreath.There’sonemorething.
Fromherpocket,shepullsoutthepostcardfromCalifornia.ShehandsittoJane,pointingatthesignature.
“There’ssomethingelse,”Augustsays.“Thismightsoundcrazy,butI?…IthinkAugiesentyouthis.Ijustdon’tunderstandhow.Doyourememberitatall?”
Sheturnsitoverinherhands,touchingthepaperlikeshe’stryingtoabsorbitthroughherskin.
“He’salive,”shesaysslowly.It’snotarecitationofafactshealreadyknew.Itsoundsfresh.Augusthasshownthispostcardtoheradozentimes,butthisisthefirsttimeshe’slookedatitwithrecognition.
“Itcameoutofnowhere,”Janesays.“Idon’t?…Idon’tevenknowhowhefoundme.IwasfuckingterrifiedwhenIgotit,becauseIwassurehewasdeadandIwasgettingmailfromaghost.Ialmostdidn’tcallthenumber,butIdid.”
“Anditwashim?”
“Yeah,”Janesayswithagradualnod.“Somethinghappened,onhiswaytoworkthatnight.Idon’tevenremember—someneighborneededhelp,someonehadaflattireorsomething.Hemissedhisshift.Hewassupposedtobetherewhenthefirehappened,buthemissedhisshift.Hewasn’tthere.Hesurvived.”
Augustreleasesabreath.
Hetoldher,Janesays,thathecouldn’tbearthathelivedwhenhisfriendsdidn’t,soheleft,sickandblindwithgrief.HeborrowedacaranddroveoutoftownandwokeupthreedayslaterstrungoutinBeaumontanddecidednottocomeback.Starteddrinkingtoomuch,startedhitchhiking,losthimselfforayearortwo,untilatruckdriverdroppedhimoffinCastro,andsomeonepulledhimoffthesidewalkandtoldhimthey’dgethimsomehelp.
“Hewasdoingwell,”Janeremembers,smilingalittle.“Hewassober,he’dgottenhislifetogether.Hehadasteadyboyfriend.Theywerelivingtogether.Hesoundedhappy.AndhetoldmehethoughtIshouldcomehome,thatSanFranciscowasreadyforpeoplelikeusnow.We’lltakecareofeachother,Jane.”
“Jerrysaid,”Augustsays,“well,hesaidyouweresupposedtobemovingbacktoCalifornia.”
“Yeah,itwas?…thewayAugietalkedabouthisfamily?…that’swhatdiditforme,”shesays.“Hefeltlikehemissedhischancewiththem,andI—Isawthroughtheguiltforasecond.IrealizedIdidn’thavetomissmine.”
Sheswallows,palmingherside,thedoginkedthereforhermother.Augustwaitsforhertogoon.
“NewYorkwas—itwasgood.Itwasreallygood.ItgavemealotofstuffIhadn’thadsinceNewOrleans.ItwaslikeIfinallyfiguredoutwhoIwas.HowtobewhoIwas,”Janesays.“AndIwantedmyfamilytoknowthatperson.So,ImailedAugiemyrecordcollection,andIwasgonnacallhimwhenIgotintotown.”
“Didtheyknow?”Augustasks.“Yourfamily,didtheyknowyouwerecomingback?”
“No,”Janesays.“Ihaven’ttalkedtothemsince’71.Iwastoonervoustocall.”
Augustnods.
“CanIaskyousomethingelse?”
Jane,stillexaminingthehandwriting,nodswithoutlookingup.
“Didhesay?…didAugietellyouwhyhestoppedwritinghome?”
“Hmm?”
“Heusedtowritemymomeveryweek,untilsummer1973.Sheneverheardfromhimagainafterthat.”
“No,he—hetoldmehewasstillwritingtoher.Hesaidshehadn’twrittenbackinyears,andhedidn’tthinkshewantedtohearfromhimanymore,buthewasstillwriting.”HereyesmovefromthecardtoAugust’sface,studyingher.“Shenevergotthem,didshe?”
“No,”Augustsays.“Shedidn’t.”
“Shit.”Ithangsunsaidintheair:someoneelsemusthavegottentothoselettersfirst.Augusthasaprettygoodideawho.“Whatafuckingmess.”
“Yeah,”Augustagrees.SheslidesherhandoverJane’sathersideandsqueezes.
Theyrideinquietforafewstops,watchingthesunsetbehindapartmentblocks,untilJanestandsandstartspacingtheaisleinthatwayshedoes,likeatigerincaptivity.
“So,ifyou’rerightabouthowIgotstuck,”shesays,turningtoAugust,“whatdoesthatmeanforgettingmeout?”
“Itmeans,ifwecan?…somehowre-createtheevent,andhaveyoutouchthethirdrailthesamewayyoudidlasttime,maybeit’dresetyou.”
Janenods.“Couldyoudothat?”
She’srallying,throwingmemoriesoverherbacklikeluggage,crackingtheknucklesofonehandagainstthepalmoftheotherlikeshe’sgettingreadyforafight.Augustwouldkillforher.Spaceandtimearenothing.
“Ithinkso,”Augustsays.“We’dhavetocauseasurge,andwe’dneedaccesstothepowercontrolsforthesubstationthatmanagesthisline,butI’mclose.I’mwaitingtogetsomepublicrecordsaboutexactlywhichonethatis.”
“Thenit’sonlyamatterof?…breakingintocitypropertyandnotelectrocutingyourself.”
“Yeah,basically.”
“Soundssimpleenough,”Janesayswithawink.“HaveyoutriedaMolotovcocktail?”
Augustgroans.“Man,howdidyouavoidtheFBIwatchlist?Thatwouldhavemadethiswholemysterysomucheasiertosolve.”
MylaagreeswithAugust’stheory.Sonow,theyhaveaplan.Butwhenthey’renottryingtofigureouthowtotakedownpartofNewYorkCity’spowergrid,they’resellingoutdoubleDelilah’scapacityfortheSaveBilly’sPancakepalooza,whichmeanstherearetwoweekstofindanewvenue.They’vebeenthroughbars,concertvenues,artgalleries,bingohalls—allbookedoraskingforafeetheycan’tbegintoafford.
ForAugust,it’snightswaitingtablesanddayssplitbetweenresearchonsubstationsandeverylogisticalsnagofplanningamassivefundraiser.Withwhatevershehasleftover,she’sontheQ,threadingherfingersthroughJane’sandtryingtomemorizeeverythingaboutherwhileshestillcan.
Hermomhasgivenupontextingher,andAugustreallydoesn’tknowwhattosay.Shecan’ttellherwhatshe’sfoundoutoverthephone.Butshealsoisn’treadytoseeher.
ItoccurstoAugustthatit’sjustasfuckeduptokeepthisinformationtoherselfasitwasforhermomtohidethings.Atleast,shetellsherself,she’sdoingittoprotecther.Butmaybethatreallyiswhathermomthoughttoo
It’satrainofthoughtthatalwaysbringsherbacktoJane.ShethinksaboutJane’sfamily,herparentsandsisters,noneofthemeverknowingwhathappenedtoher.AugusthascheckedtherecordsenoughtimestoknowthattherewasneveramissingpersonsreportfiledforBiyuSu.AsfarasJane’sfamilyknew,Janeleftanddidn’twanttobefound
Augustwondersifanyofthemhaveboxesoffileslikehermom.Whenthisisover,onewayortheother,she’llfindthem.IfJanegoesbacktohertime,she’llprobablyfindthemonherown.Butifshestays,orif—well,ifshe’sgone,theydeservetoknow.
That’swhatshe’sthinkingaboutwhensheclocksoutofherlateshiftandtakesherSuSpecialfromthewindow.Peoplewholeave,peoplewhogetleftbehind.TheQclosesinamonth,Billy’sinfour,andit’salloverunlesstheyfindawaytostopit.
“So,”MylasayswhenAugustslidesintothebooth.She’sbeengivingAugustsignificanteyesacrossthediningroomsincesheandNikosatdown,soshemusthavesomenews.“YouknowhowI’vebeen,like,shakingdownallmyoldColumbiaclassmatestofindoutifanyonehasanyMTAconnections?”
Augustswallowsabiteofsandwich.“Yeah.”
“Well?…Ifoundalead.”
“Really?Who?Whatdotheydo?”
“Um,”Mylasays,watchingherpancakeslowlyabsorbsyrup,“heactuallyworksattheTransitPowerControlCenter.”
“What?”Augustsays,nearlyupsettingaketchupbottle.“Areyoukiddingme?That’sperfect!Haveyoutalkedtohimaboutit?”
“Yeah,so,uh…”She’sbeingsomethingsheneveris:cagey.“That’sthething.It’skindof?…myex.”
Auguststaresather.Besideher,Nikocontinuesserenelyeatinghiscinnamonroll.
“Yourex,”Augustsaysflatly.“Asintheoneyoudroppedthenightyoumethim.”ShepointsatNikowithafork,buthelooksunbothered,chewinglikeacontentedcow.
“Yeah,so,”Mylasays,wincing.“Inretrospect,maybenotmyfinestmoment.TheLibrajumpedout.Inmydefense,though,he,like,high-keysucked.Waytoointohimself.”
“Ishestillmad?”
“Imean,uh.Hehasmeblockedonsocial.Ifoundoutfromafriendofafriendwhotalkstohim.So…”
Augustwantstoscream.“So,wehaveaperfectinattheexactplaceweneedaccessto,butwecan’tuseitbecauseofyourinabilitytokeepitinyourpants.”
“Saysthewomangettingsubwayheadfromarevenant,”Mylacounters.
“Theheartwantswhatitwants,August,”Nikosayssincerely.
“I’mgonnamurderbothofyou,”Augustsays.“Whatarewegonnado?”
“Okay,anyway,”Mylasays.“Ihaveanidea.TheBilly’sfundraiser,right?Obviouslyweneedanewvenue.I’vebeenlookingintoalotofunconventionalplaces,likepublicspaces,condemnedwarehouses—”
“IthoughtyoumeantanideafortheJanething.”
“I’mgettingthere!”Mylachides.“Haveyoueverseenwhatthesubstationslooklike?”
She’sprettysureshe’sreadandlookedateveryshredofinformationonsubstationsinexistenceoverthepastcoupleofweeks,so,“Yeah.”
“They’vegotakindofold-schooltechno-punkindustrialvibe,right?”Mylacontinues.“AndIwasthinking,whatifwecouldconvincethecitytoletususetheControlCenterasavenue?Peopleusedecommissionedsubwaystopsforartinstallationsallthetime.Wecouldsaywe’reintotheaestheticandwantsomewherewithagreatercapacitytobringinmorepeople.IcanreachouttoGabeandseeifhe’llhelp—heusedtoworkatDelilah’s,maybehe’llbesympathetictothecause.Thenoncewegetin,wejusthavetokeeppeopledistractedwhileIfuckwiththeline,whichshouldbeeasywithapartythatsize.It’llonlytakeacoupleofminutes,Ithink.”
Auguststaresatheracrossthetable.
“So?…yourideais?…aheist.Youwantustopulloffaheist.”AugustgestureshelplesslyatNiko,whohasgivenuponhismealwithaquarterlefttogo.“Nikocan’tevenpulloffthatcinnamonroll.”
Nikopatshisstomach.“Itwasreallyfilling.”
“It’snotaheist,”Mylahisses.“It’s?…anelaborate,plannedcrime.”
“That’saheist.”
“Look,doyouhaveanyotherideas?Becauseifnot,Ithinkweshouldgivethisatry.Andifwedoitright,wecanraiseashitloadofmoneyforBilly’satthesametime.”
Augustlistenstothemurmuroftablesandthescrapeofforksandmaybe,ifshestrains,Luciecursingoutthecashregister.Shedoeslovethisplace.AndJanelovesittoo.
“Okay,”Augustsays.“Wecantry.”
It’sJane’sidea,actually,thatputsoneofthelastcrucialpiecesinplace.
“I’mprettysure,”Augustsays,“thatifyoucanwalkbetweencars,youcanwalkonthetracks.So,onthenightoftheparty,whenMyladoesthesurge,youshouldbeabletotouchthethirdrail.ButIdon’tknowhowtoproveitbeforethen.TheQ’salwaysrunning,sothere’snotreallyatimetotestit.Wecouldjumpout,butthere’snowaytomakesurewe’dbeoffthetrackssafelybeforethenexttrain.”
Janethinksandsays,“WhatabouttheR/W?”
Augustfrowns.“Whataboutit?”
“Look,”Janesays,jabbingherfingeratthesubwaymappostedbythedoors.“Righthere,atCanalStreet,theysplitofffromtheQ.”ShetracestheyellowlinedowntothebottomtipofManhattanandacrosstheriver,towhereitmeetsupwiththeblueandorangelinesatJayStreet.“Thosearetheonlytwotrainsthatrunonthistrack.”
“You’reright,”Augustsays.
“I’veonlymetWesthreetimes,”Janesays,“buteverysingletime,he’sbitchedabouthowtheRwasn’trunningthatday.SoiftheRisn’trunning,wecouldhavetimetosneakoutthebackofthetrainatCanalandfollowtheRtrackstowardcityhall,andmaybe,maybeit’dbecloseenoughtotheQthatIcouldwalkonthem.MaybewecouldevenseehowfarIcango.”
Augustthinks—she’snotsure,exactly,thatit’llwork,butJane’salsobecomealotmoresolidlyherelately.Tangiblyrootedinreality.Maybeshecouldn’thavedoneitmonthsago,butit’spossiblethelinewillaffordheralittlemoreslacknow.
“Okay,”Augustsays.“WejusthavetohopetheMTAfucksupsoon.”
TheMTA,reliably,fucksupsoon.Threedayslater,Westextsherbitterlyfromhiseveningcommute:Asrequested,hereisyournotificationthattheRisoutofservice.
Hellyes!!!Augusttextsback.
Mynightisfucked,Wesresponds,butgooffIguess.
ShemeetsJaneontheQ’sverylastcar,andwhenitstopsatCanal,theyslidethedooropenasquietlyastheycan
“Okay,”Augustsays,“just,youknow,ageneralreminderthatthethirdrailcarries625voltsthatwillabsolutelykillapersonandshouldhavekilledyoubefore.So,youknow.Uh.”SheglancesdownattherailsandwondershowJaneSucangethertoflirtwithdeathsooften.“Becareful.”
“Sure,”Janesays,andshejumpsoffthebackofthetrain,and—
Likethatfirstdaywhentheytriedeverystop,she’sgone.
Augustfindshersixcarsup,andtheyweavetheirwaytothebackandtryagain.
“Thisisannoying,”JanesayswhenshereappearsbehindAugustlikeanexasperatedBloodyMary.
“Wehavetokeeptrying,”Augusttellsher.“It’s—”
BeforeAugustcanfinishhersentence,Janebrushespastherandjumpsofftheplatform—aimingstraightforthethirdrail.
“Jane,don’t—!”
Shelandsfirmlyonherfeet,bothsneakersplantedonthethirdrail,andshegrins.Noshock.Notasinglesingedhair.Augustgapes.
“Iknewit!”Janecrows.“I’mpartoftheelectricity!Itcan’thurtme!”
“You—”Thetrain’sbrakesdisengage,andAugusthastoholdherbreathandjump,throwingherselfhardintheoppositedirectionofJane.Shelandsinthepackeddirttothesideofthetracks,rippingonekneeofherjeans,androllstolookatJane’ssmugexpression.“Youcouldhavedied!”
“I’mprettyconfidentIcan’t,”Janesays,likeit’snothing.“Atleast,notthatway.”Shepacesdowntherail,onefootinfrontoftheother,headedtowardtheforkinthetracks.“Comeon!Nexttrain’scomingsoon!”
“Un-fucking-believable,”Augustmumbles,butshedustsherselfoffandfollows.
WhentheyreachtherelativesafetyofthetunneltowardCityHall,thelightfromthestationstartstoshrink,andthey’relitonlybyblueandyellowlightsliningthetunnel.It’sstrangetowalkalongsideJanewithoutstopping,butwhenJaneshoutshappilyintotheechoingdark,it’sinfectious.Shestartstorun,andAugustrunsafterher,hairflyingandthehardfloorofthetracksunderhershoes.Itfeelslikeshecouldrunforeverifit’swithJane
ButJane’sfootstepsstutterabruptlytoahalt.
“Oh,”shesays.
Augustturnsbacktoher,outofbreath.“What?”
“Ican’t—Idon’tthinkIcangoanyfarther.It’s—itfeelsweird.Wrong.”Shetouchesahandtothecenterofherchest,likeshe’shavingexistentialheartburn.“Oh,yikes.Yeah,thisisit.ThisisasfarasIcango.”
Shesitsonthethirdrail.
“Stillcoolthough,right?”
Augustnods.“Yeah,and,thisisonly,like,ataste.Anappetizer.Anamuse-boucheoffreedom.We’regonnagetyoutherealdeal.”
“Iknow.Ibelieveyou,”Janesays,lookingatAugustlikeshemeansit.
Augustsinksdownacrossfromher,sittinggingerlyonatrack.She’sreadthattheothertworailsareverylightlyelectrified,onlyenoughtocarrysignals,soshefiguresshe’sokay.“Wecansithereforawhile,ifyouwant.”
“Yeah,”Janesays,pullingherkneesup.Shestretchesherarmsoutlikeshe’stryingtotouchasmuchopenairasshecan,eveninthestuffyconfinesofthetunnel.“Yeah,thisisnice.”
“Ihave—”Augustfeelsaroundthebottomofherbag.“Um,oneorange,ifyouwanttosplitit.”
“Oh,yeah,please.”
Augusttossesitover,andshecatchesitsmoothly.
Moreandmorelately,AugusthasstoppedstudyingJane.She’sstoppedlookingforcluesineveryexpressionoroffhandcomment,anditfeelsgoodtojustseeher.Tolistentothesoundofherlowvoicetalkingaboutnothing,towatchherfingerseffortlesslyworktheorangerind,tosoakinhercompany.AugustfeelslikeoneofthelittlepacketsofcreamshealwaysdumpsintoJane’scoffee,steepinginsugarandwarmth.
Janepilesbitsoforangepeelonherkneeandsplitsthesegmentsintohalves.WhenAugustreachesouttotakeone,herfingertipsbrushthebackofJane’shand,andsheyelpsandjumpsbackwardfromashort,sharpshock.
“Whoa,”Janesays.“Areyouokay?”
“Yeah,”Augustsays,shakingoutherhand.“You’re,like,conductive.”
Janeholdsherfingersupinfrontofherface,goingslightlycross-eyedtoexaminethem.“Cool.”SheglancesuptoseeAugustwatchingher.“What?”
“You’re…”Augustattempts.“Ijustlikeeverythingaboutyou.”ShewavesherhandsatthesmilethatappearsonJane’sface.“Stop!It’sgross!WhatIsaidisgross!”
“Everythingaboutme?”Janeteases.
“No,definitelynotthatshit-eatinggrin.Categoricallyhatethat.”
“Oh,Ithinkyoulikethatthebest.”
“Shutup,”Augustsays.Thedarkness,shehopes,hidestheblushing.
Janelaughs,poppingabitoforangeintohermouth.“Itiscrazy,though,whenyouthinkaboutit.”Shelicksadropofjuiceoffherbottomlip.“Youkindofknoweverythingthereistoknowaboutme.”
Augustscoffs.“There’snowaythat’strue.”
“Itis!AndIusedtobesomysteriousandsexy.”
“Imean,you’reliterallysittingonthethirdrailconductingelectricityrightnow,so,stillmysterious.Now,sexy?…hmm.Idon’tknowaboutthat.”
Janerollshereyes.“Oh,fuckoff.”
AugustlaughsanddodgestheorangepeelJanethrowsather.“TellmesomethingIdon’tknowaboutyou,then,”shesays.“Surpriseme.”
“Okay,”Janesays,“butyouhavetodoonetoo.”
“Youalreadyknowmoreaboutmethanmostpeople.”
“That’satestamenttoyoulivinglikeyou’reunderdeepcoverandcan’tcompromiseyourcivilianidentity,nothowmuchyou’vetoldme.”
“Fine,”Augustrelents.Janetapshernose,andAugustscowls—she’sapushoverforJane.Theybothknowit.“Yougofirst.”
“Okay?…hmm?…oh,I’vemadefriendswithasubwayrat.”
“You’vewhat?”
“Look,itgetsreallyboringdownhere!”Janesaysdefensively.“Butthere’sthisonewhiteratthathangsoutontheQsometimes.She’ssobigandsofatandsoround,likeagiganticsteamedbun.InamedherBao.”
“That’sdisgusting.”
“Iloveher.SometimesIgivehersnacks.”
“You’reanightmare.”
“Judgeallyouwant,butI’mtheonlyonewho’llbesparedintheinevitableGreatRatUprising.Yourturn.”
Augustthinks,andsays,“I’vecheatedononetestmyentirelife.Junioryearofhighschool.I’dbeenupallnightgoingthroughpublicrecordswithmymom,andIranoutoftimetostudy,soIpickedthelockonmyteacher’sroombeforeschool,foundoutwhattheessayquestionwas,andmemorizedanentirepagefromthebookbyfifthperiodsoIcouldanswerit.”
“God,youfuckingnerd.”Janesnorts.“That’snotevencheating.That’s?…beingunfairlyprepared.”
“Excuseme,Ithoughtitwasveryedgyatthetime.Yourturn.”
“Mymomstartedgoinggrayat,like,twenty-five,”shesays,“andI’mprettysureit’sgonnahappentometoo.OratleastitwouldhaveifIweren’t,youknow.”Shedoesavaguehandgesturetoexpressthewholeineffabilityofbeing.Augustshootsafingergunback.
“Infourthgrade,Imemorizedtheentireperiodictableandallofthepresidentsandvicepresidentsinchronologicalorder,andIstillrememberitall.”
“IsawTheExorcistopeningweekendanddidn’tsleepforfourdays.”
“Ihatepickles.”
“Isnore.”
“Ican’tsleepifit’stooquiet.”
Janepauses,andsays,“SometimesIwonderifIfelloutoftimebecauseIneverreallybelongedwhereIstartedandtheuniverseistryingtotellmesomething.”
It’soffhand,casual,andAugustwatchesherpulloffanotherorangesegmentandeatitunceremoniously,butsheknowsJane.It’snoteasyforhertosaythingslikethat.
Shefiguresshecangivesomethingback
“WhenIwasakid,afterKatrina—yourememberhowItoldyouaboutthehurricane?”Janenods.Augustgoeson,“TherewasthisyearIgotmovedaroundtodifferentschoolsuntilmyoldschoolreopenedandwecouldgohome.Andmyanxietygot?…bad.Like,reallybad.So,Iconvincedmyselfthat,becausethestatisticallikelihoodofsomethinghappeninginreallifeexactlythewayIimagineditwassolow,ifIimaginedtheworstpossiblethingsinvividdetail,Icouldmathematicallyreducetheoddsofthemhappening.Iconvincedmyselfthatmybrainhadpowerovertheprobabilityprojectionsoftheuniverse.I’dlieawakeatnightthinkingaboutalltheworststuffthatcouldhappenlikeitwasmyjob,andIdon’tknowifIeverreallybrokethehabit.”
Janelistenssilently,nodding.OneofthethingsAugustlovesmostaboutheristhatshedoesn’tgochasingafterunspokenwordswhenAugustisdonetalking.Shecanletasilencesettle,letatruthbreathe.
Thensheopenshermouthandsays,“SometimesIliketohavemyassslappedduringsex.”
Augustsquawksoutalaugh,caughtoffguard.“What?You’veneveraskedmetodothat.”
“Angel,therearealotofthingsI’dliketodowithyouthatcan’tbedoneonatrain.”
Augustswallows.“Point.”
Janeraiseshereyebrows.“Well?”
“Wellwhat?”
“Aren’tyougonnawritethatdowninyourlittlesexnotebook?”
“My—”August’sfaceisinstantlyhot.“Youweren’tsupposedtoknowaboutthat!”
“You’renotthatdiscreet,August.OnetimeIswearyouwhippeditoutbeforeIevengotmypantsbuttoned.”
Augustmoansindismay.SheknowsexactlywhatentryJaneistalkingabout.Pagethree,sectionM,subheadingfour:overstimulation.
“Ihavetodienow,”Augustsaysintoherhands.
“No,it’scute!You’resuchanerd.It’sendearing!”Janelaughs,alwayssoamusedaboutmakingAugustsuffer.It’sdespicable.“Yourturn.”
“Noway,youalreadyexposedathingIdidn’tthinkyouknewaboutme,”Augustsays.“I’mfeelingveryvulnerable.”
“OhmyGod,you’reimpossible.”
“I’mnotgoing.”
“Thenwe’reatanimpasse.Unlessyouwannacomeoverhereandkissme.”
Augustliftsherfaceoutofherhands.“Andgetelectrocuted?I’mprettysureifIkissedyourightnow,itwouldliterallykillme.”
“That’showitalwaysfeels,isn’tit?”
“OhmyGod,”Augustgroans,eventhoughherheartdoessomethinghumiliatingatthewords.“Shutupandeatyourorange.”
Janestickshertongueoutbutdoesasshe’stold,finishingoffherhalfandlickingherfingertipswhenshe’sdone.
“Imissedoranges,”shesays.“Reallygoodones,though.YougottastartgroceryshoppinginChinatown.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,backhome,mymomwouldtakemetoallthemarketseverySundaymorningandletmepickoutthefruitbecauseIalwayshadthissixthsensewithsweetstuff.Bestorangesyoucouldfind.Weusedtogetsomany,I’dhavetocarrysomehomeinmypockets.”
AugustsmilestoherselfasshepicturesatinyJane,chubbycheeksanduntiedshoes,toddlingthroughafruitstandwithherpocketsfullofproduce.SheimaginesJane’smomasayoungwomanwithherhairtiedupandshotthroughwithprematuregray,hagglingwithabutcherinCantonese.SanFrancisco,Chinatown,theplacethatmadeJane.
“What’sthefirstthingyou’lldo,”Augustasks,“whenyougetbackto’77?”
“Idon’tknow,”Janesays.“TrytocatchthatbustoCalifornia,Iguess.”
“Youshould.IbetCaliforniamissesyou.”
Janenods.“Yeah.”
“Youknow,”Augustsays,“ifthisworks,bynowyou’llbealmostseventy.”
Janepullsaface.“OhmyGod,that’ssoweird.”
“Ohyeah.”Augustgazesupatthetunnelceiling.“Ibetyouhaveahouse,andit’sfilledwithsouvenirsfromallovertheworldbecauseyouspentyourthirtiesbackpackingthroughEuropeandAsia.Windchimeseverywhere.Nothingmatches.”
“Thefurnitureisniceandsturdy,butInevertakecareoftheyard,”Janeputsin.“It’sajungle.Youcan’tevenseethefrontdoor.”
“Thehomeowners’associationhatesyou.”
Janechuckles.“Good.”
Augustletsaquietmomentgobybeforeadding,carefully,“Ibetyou’remarried.”
Inthelowlight,shecanseeJane’ssmiledipdownward,acornerofhermouthtugging.“Idon’tknow.”
“Ihopeyouare,”Augustsays.“Maybesomegirlfinallycamealongattherighttime,andyoumarriedher.”
Janeshrugs,pursingherlips.Thedimplepopsoutononeside.
“She’sgonnahavetolivewiththefactthatI’llalwayswishsheweresomeoneelse.”
“Comeon,”Augustsays.“That’snotfair.She’sanicelady.”
Janelooksupandrollshereyes,buthermouthrelaxes.Sherestsherhandsontherailandcranesherheadback.
“WhatifIstay?”shesays.“What’sthefirstthingyou’lldo?”
ThereareathousandthingsAugustcouldsay,athousandthingsshewantstodo.Sleepnexttoher.Buyherlunchatthejerkchickenjointacrossthestreet.BrightonBeach.ProspectPark.Kissherwiththedoorshut.
Butshesayssimply,“Takeyouhomewithme.”
BeforeJanecanrespond,aflashlightbeamcutsthroughthedarknessatthecityhallendofthetunnel.Jane’sheadwhipsaround.
“Hey!Who’sinthere?”agruffvoiceshouts.“Getthefuckoutofthetunnel!”
“Fuckin’pigs,”Janesays,jumpingupandscatteringorangepeeleverywhere.“Run!”
TheyrunbackthroughthetunneltowardCanalStreet,Janestumblingintherushbutneverlosingherbalanceonthethirdrail,andatsomepointnearthefork,theystartlaughing.Loud,breathless,incredulous,hystericallaughter,fillingupthetracksandpullingatAugust’slungsasshestrugglestowardtheirline.WhentheyreachtheQ,there’satrainjustpullingoutofthestation,andJanetakesarunningjumpandgrabsthehandleonthebackofthelastcar.
“Comeon!”sheyells,turningbackforAugust’shand.AugustgrabsonandletsJane’sstronggrippullherup.
“Isthisourthing?”JaneshoutsovertherattleofthetrainasitcarriesthemtowardBrooklyn.“Kissingbetweensubwaycars?”
“Youhaven’tkissedmeyet!”Augustpointsout.
“Oh,right,”Janesays.ShebrushesAugust’swindswepthairoutofherface,andwhentheirlipsmeet,shetasteslikeorangesandlightning.
Auguststaysonthetrainlateintothenight,untilthecarsstarttoclearoutandthetimetablestretcheslongerandlonger.Shewaitsforthemagichour,andfromthewayJanedragsherhandalongherwaist,she’swaitingtoo.
There’snoconvenientdarknessthistime,noperfectlytimedstall,butthere’sanemptycarandtheManhattanBridgeandJanepressingintoher,hipsmovingandshortbreathsandkiss-slicklips.Itshouldfeeldirty,tobewithJanelikethis,here,butwhat’scrazyis,shefinallyunderstandsitall.Love.Thewholeshapeofit.Whatitmeanstotouchsomeonelikethisandwanttohavealifewiththematthesametime.
Deliriously,theimageofJanewithherhouseandherplantsandherwindchimesswimsintoview,andAugustistheretoo,wearingtheshapeofherbodyintoanoldbed.Janeslotsbetweenherlegsandshethinks,fiftyyears.Janebitesdownonherthroatandshethinksofframedphotosandstainedrecipecards.Janetightensagainstherfingertipsandshethinks,home.HereyesshutforJane’smouthandagoodnight’ssleepjustthesame.
Iloveyou,shethinks.Iloveyou.Pleasestay.Idon’tknowwhatI’lldoifyouleave.
Shethinksit,butshedoesn’tsayit.Thatwouldn’tbefairtoeitherofthem.
14
newyork>brooklyn>community>missedconnections
PostedOctober12,2004
WomanwithredConverseontheQ(Brooklyn)
Apologiesifthisisn’ttherightplaceforthis,butI’mnotsurewhereelsetopost.Notlookingforaromanticconnection.IwasridingtheQwithmysononWednesdayeveningwhenashort-hairedmid-twentieswomanapproachedusandofferedmysonapinfromherjacket.Itwasa70s-eragaypridepin,clearlyawell-lovedantique.Mysonis15andhasn’thadtheeasiesttimeatschoolsincecomingoutearlierthisyear.Heractofkindnessmadehiswholeweek.Ifyou’reher,oryouthinkyoumightknowher,pleaseletmeknow.I’dlovetothankher.
Intheend,ittakesexactlyonephonecallforGabetoagreetomeetMylaforcoffee.
“WhatcanIsay?”Mylasays,pullingonanextremelyflimsytop.“I’mtheonewhogotaway.”
“I’mgoingwithyou,”Augusttellsher.Sheslingsherbagoverhershoulder,double-checkingthepocketknifeandmace.“Thiscouldbeaploytogetyoualonesohecanexactabloodyrevenge.”
“Okay,Dateline,reelitin,”Mylasays,shakingherhairout.“Lovetheinstinctivemistrustofcisstraightwhitemen,butGabeisharmless.He’sjustboring.Like,reallyboring,butthinkshe’sreallyinteresting.”
“HowdidhegetajobatDelilah’s?”
“He’sfromoneofthoseNewYorkfamilies,sohisdad’sthelandlord.He’sverystraight.”
“Andyoudatedhimbecause…?”
“Look,”Mylasays,“weallmakemistakeswhenwe’reyoung.Minejusthappenstobesix-foot-threeandlookexactlylikeLeonardoDiCaprio.”
“RevenantorInception?”
“YoureallygotmefuckedupifyouthinkI’dsettleforanythinglessthanRomeo+Juliet.”
“Damn,okay,IguessIgetit.”Augustshrugs.“ButI’mstillgoingwithyou.”
GabelivesinManhattan,sotheytaketheQovertheriver,Janewedgedbetweenthemastheycatchherupthelateststatusoftheplan.
“Ihavetosay,I’mimpressed,”shesays,throwingherarmoverAugust’sshoulders.“ThisisdefinitelythemostorganizedcrimeI’veeverbeeninvolvedin.”
“Whenareyougoingtotellmeaboutalltheothercrimes?”Augustsays.
“Ihavetoldyou.Theyweremostlyvandalism.Squatting.Disruptingthepeace.Theoccasionalbreakingandentering.Maybesomelightpettytheft.Oneincidentofarson,butIwaswearingamask,sonobodycouldproveitwasme.”
“Thosearesomeofthesexiestcrimes,”Augustpointsout.“Forpeoplewhoareintocrimes.VeryBenderfromTheBreakfastClub.”
“That’s—”Mylastarts.
“Iknow,”Janesays.“AugusttoldmeaboutTheBreakfastClub.”
Mylanods,mollified.
AugustforcesMylatolethergointothecoffeeshopaminuteaheadtomaintaincover,soshe’sperchedatthebarwithanicedcoffeewhenMylaenters.Shetriestocaseoutwhichofthetwenty-somethingguyswithblackcoffeesanddogearedmoleskinescouldbeGabe,untilonewithfloppyhairandapointychinwavesMylaover.He’sgotaflannel
Augustsitsbackandsipshercoffeeandswipesthroughthesubstationhomeworkshegaveherselfthisweek.She’snarroweddownwhichsubstationtheyneedaccessto,sonowit’sjustaboutmakingsuretheycangetintothecontrolroom.Mylawilltakecareoftherest.
MylaandGabewrapupafteranhour,andshehugshimgoodbyeandthrowshimacallme!gesturebeforeeasingoutthedoor.Augusthangsbackforaminute,watchinghimstareafterher.Helookslikehemightcry.
“Yikes,”Augustsaysunderherbreathassheheadsforthedoor.
ShemeetsMyladowntheblock,whereshe’sthumbingthroughherphone.
“Thatlookedlikeitwentunexpectedlywell.”
Mylasmiles.“Turnsoutheblockedmeonsocialmediabecausehe‘couldn’tstandtoseehowI’mdoing’withouthim.Which,Imean,fair.Abitchisdoingspectacularly.”Sheholdsupherphone.“Healreadytextedme.”
“Whatdidhesayabouttheevent?”
“Oh,thisisthebestpart.Getthis:hegotthejobbecausehisuncleisoneofthemanagers,sohedoesn’tthinkhe’llhaveanytroublegettingthemtoagreetoletususethespace.Goodold-fashionednepotismtotherescue.”
“Holyshit,”Augustsays.ShethinksaboutNikopullingtheaceofswordsfromhistarotdeck,aboutallthejadehe’sbeenhidingaroundtheapartmentlately.Maybeit’sluck,butAugustcan’thelpbutfeellikesomeonehashisthumbonthescale.“Sonowwhat?”
“He’sgonnatalktohisuncleandcallmetomorrow.I’mgonnaheadtoBilly’sandtalktoLucieaboutmovingthingstothenewvenue.”
“Cool,I’llcomewithyou.”
Mylaputsahandout.“Nope.Youhavesomethingelseyouneedtotakecareof.”
“What?”
“YouneedtofigureouthowtotalktoJane,”shesays,pointingtowardtheQstopdownthestreet.“Becauseifwepullthisoffanditworks,youmightneverseeheragain,andNikosaysyouhavealotofthingslefttosaytoeachother.”
Augustlooksather,thesummersunsetgleamingoffhersunglassesandsparklingagainsttheManhattansidewalk.Thecitymovesaroundthemlikethey’repebblesinacreekbed.
“It’s—we’regonnabefine,”Augustsays.“SheknowshowIfeelabouther.And—andifit’sgonnaendlikethis,there’snothingeitherofuscando.There’snopointruiningwhatevertimewehaveleftbybeingsadaboutit.”
Mylasighs.“Sometimesthepointistobesad,August.Sometimesyoujusthavetofeelitbecauseitdeservestobefelt.”
Sheleavesheronthecorner,staringatthesharptopsofbuildingsheavywithpinkandorangelight.
HowdoesshetalktoJane?Wheredoessheevenstart?Howdoessheexplainthatsheusedtobeafraidtoloveanyonebecausethere’sawellatthecenterofherchestandshedoesn’tknowwherethebottomis?HowdoesshetellJanethatsheboardeditupyearsago,andthatthisthing—notevenlove,butthehopeforit—haspriedupnailsthathavenothingtodowithloveatall?
She’sstandingonaNewYorksidewalk,nearlytwenty-fouryearsold,andshe’sfoundherselfbackatthefirstversionofAugust,theonewhohopedforthings.Whowantedthings.WhocriedtoPeterGabrielandbelievedinpsychics.AnditallstartedwhenshemetJane.
ShemetJane,andnowshewantsahome,oneshe’smadeforherself,onenobodycantakeawaybecauseitlivesinherlikeafunnylittleglassterrariumfilledwithgrowingplantsandshinyrocksandtinylopsidedstatues,warmwithpenthouseviewsofMyla’spaint-stainedhandsandNiko’sslysmileandWes’sfrecklynose.Shewantssomewheretobelong,thingsthatholdtheshapeofherbodyevenwhenshe’snottouchingthem,aplaceandapurposeandahappy,familiarroutine.Shewantstobehappy.Tobewell.
Shewantstofeelitallwithoutbeingafraidit’llfuckherup.
ShewantsJane.ShelovesJane.
Andshedoesn’tknowhowtotellJaneanyofthat.
It’saweeklaterwhenGabecomesthrough—theysecuretheControlCenterasavenue,andLuciepassesoutpersonalizedto-dolistslikejuiceboxesatalittleleaguesoccergame.
“Thesearelegit,”Augustsays,lookinghersover.“Weshouldhangoutmore.”
“No,thankyou,”Luciesays.
SheandNikoareassignedtomeetwiththemanagerofSlinky’stoarrangetheliquor,andafteraback-roomconversationthatinvolvesNikopromisingthemanafreepsychicreadingandhismom’sempanadillas,theyreturntotheapartmentwithboozedonationscheckedoffthelist.
“HaveyoutalkedtoJaneyet?”Nikoasksastheyascendthestairs.Hedoesn’tspecifywhattheyneedtotalkabout.Theybothknow.
“Whyareyouevenaskingmeifyoualreadyknow?”Augustcounters.
Nikoeyeshermildly.“Sometimesthingsthataresupposedtohappenstillneedtobenudgedalong.”
“NikoRivera,fate’senforcersince1995,”Augustsayswithaneyeroll.
“Ilikethat,”Nikosays.“MakesitsoundlikeIcarryanailbat.”
Astheyreachthefrontdoor,itfliesopen,andWescomesmarchingoutwithbotharmsfullofbrightyellowflyers.
“Whoa,whereareyougoing?”Nikoasks.
“Lucieputflyersonmyto-dolist,”Wessays.“Winfieldjustdroppedthemoff.”
“SAVEPANCAKEBILLY’SHOUSEOFPANCAKESPANCAKEPALOOZADRAG&ARTEXTRAGANZA,”Augustreadsoutloud.“Goodlord,didweletBillynameit?Nobodyinhisfamilyknowshowtoedit.”
Wesshrugs,headingforthestairs.“AllIknowisI’msupposedtopostthemaroundtheneighborhood.”
“Runningawayisn’tgoingtohelp!”Nikocallsafterhim.
Augustraisesaneyebrow.“Runningawayfromwhat?”
Asifoncue,Isaiahroundsthelastcornerofthestairs.HeandWesfreeze,separatedbytensteps.
Nikoidlypullsatoothpickfromhisvestpocketandputsitinhismouth.“Fromthat.”
ThereareafewsecondsoftensesilencebeforeWestakeshisflyersandhisshell-shockedexpressionanddartsdownthestairs.Augustcanhearhissneakersechoingatdouble-timeallthewaydown.
Isaiahrollshiseyes.NikoandAugustexchangealook.
“I’llgo,”Augustsays.
ShefindsWesonthestreetoutsideofthebuilding,cussingoutastaplerashetriestoaffixaflyertoatelephonepole.
“Uh-oh,”Augustsays,drawinguptohim.“Didthatstaplertrytogetemotionallyintimatewithyou?”
Wesglares.“You’rehilarious.”
AugustreachesoverandprieshalftheflyersoutofWes’shands.“Willyouatleastletmehelpyou?”
“Fine,”hegrumbles.
Theysetoffdowntheblock,WesattackingelectricalpolesandsignpostswhileAugustwedgesflyersintomailslotsandbetweenthebarsofwindows.Winfieldmusthavedroppedoffsomethingclosetofivehundred,becauseastheyworktheirwaythroughFlatbush,theybarelymakeadentinthestacks.
Afteranhour,Westurnstoherandsays,“Ineedasmoke.”
Augustshrugs.“Goahead.”
“No,”hesays,rollinguphisleftoverflyersandshovingthemintothebackpocketofhisjeans.“Ineedasmoke.”
Backintheirapartment,Wesleadshertothedoortohisbedroomandsays,“IfyoutellNikoorMylaIletyouinhere,Iwilldenyit,andIwillwaitmonthsuntilyou’renolongerexpectingmyretributionandgiveallyourstufftothatguyonthesecondfloorwhoseapartmentsmellslikeonions.”
AugustnudgesNoodlesawayfromwherehe’snippingatherheels.“Noted.”
Wesswingsthedooropen,andthere’shisbedroom,exactlyhowIsaiahdescribedit:niceandneatandstylish,lightwoods,stonegraylinens,hisownartworkmattedandframedonthewalls.He’sgotthetasteofsomeonewhogrewupwiththefinestthings,andAugustthinksaboutthetrustfundMylamentioned.Hepopsopenanornatewoodencigarboxonhisnightstandandretrievesaheavysilverlighterandajoint.
AugustcanseethebenefitstoWes’sslightbuildwhenheeasilyhopsthroughtheopenwindowandontothefireescape.She’swiderinthehipsandnothalfasgraceful;bythetimeshemeetshim,she’soutofbreathandhe’sperchedmid-roofagainstoneoftheair-conditioningunits,lightingupwithoutbreakingasweat.
Augustnudgesnexttohimandturnstofacethestreet,lookingoutoverthelightsofBrooklyn.It’snotquiet,butit’sthatsmooth,constantflowofnoiseshe’sgrownusedto.Shelikestoimagineifshelistenedcloselyenough,shecouldheartheQrattlingdowntheblock,carryingJaneintothenight.
ShehastotalktoJane.Sheknowsshehasto.
Wespassesthejointover,andshetakesit,thankfulforanyreasontostopthinking.
“WhatpartofNewYorkwereyoubornin?”sheaskshim.
Wesexhalesastreamofsmoke.“I’mfromRhodeIsland.”
Augustpauseswiththejointhalfwaytohermouth.“Oh,Ijustassumedbecauseyou’resucha—”
“Dick?”
Sheturnsherhead,squintingathim.It’sgrayanddimuphere,shotthroughwithorangeandyellowandredfromthestreetbelow.Thefrecklesonhisnoseblurtogether.
“IwasgonnasayaNewYorkpurist.”
Thefirsthitburnsonthewaydown,catchinghighinherchest.She’sonlydonethisoncebefore—passedtoherataparty,desperatelytryingtoactlikesheknewwhattodo—butsherepeatswhatWesdidandholdsthesmokeforafewlongsecondsbeforelettingitoutthroughhernose.Itallseemssmoothuntilshespendsthenexttwentysecondscoughingintoherelbow.
“ImovedherewhenIwaseighteen,”WessaysonceAugustisdone,mercifullynotcommentingonherinabilitytohandlehersmoke.“AndmyparentsbasicallyprunedmeoffthefamilytreeayearlateroncetheyrealizedIwasn’tgoingbacktoarchitectureschool.ButatleastIstillhadthisshitty,smelly,overpriced,nightmarecity.”
Hesaysthelastpartwithasmile.
“Yeah,”Augustsays.“MylaandNikokindof?…alluded.”
Wessucksonthejoint,thecherryflaring.“Yeah.”
“My,um?…mymom.Herparentsweresuperrich.Lotsofexpectations.Andthey,uh,basicallyactedlikeshedidn’texisteither.Butmymomisprettyfuckeduptoo.”
“Howso?”Wesasks,flickingashbeforepassingthejointback.
Augustmanagestoholdthesecondhitlonger.Shefeelsitinherface,spreadingacrossherskin,startingtosoftenheredges.“Shetoldmemywholelifethatherfamilydidn’twantanythingtodowithme,soIneverreallyhadafamily.Andacoupleofweeksago,Ifoundoutthatwasallalie,andnowthey’realldead,so.”
Shedoesn’tmentionthesontheyforgotortheletterstheyintercepted.Bynow,sheknowsshewouldn’thavewantedanythingtodowithhermom’sfamily,evenifshehadknowntheycaredabouther.Butshe’sSuzetteLandry’sdaughter,whichmeansshe’sbadatlettingshitgo.
“Isthatwhyyouhaven’tbeentalkingtoher?”Wesasks.
Augustdropshereyesbacktohim.“HowdoyouknowIhaven’tbeentalkingtoher?”
“It’sprettyeasytonoticewhenthepersonontheothersideofyourwallstopshavingloudphoneconversationswiththeirmomeverymorningattheass-crackofdawn.”
Augustwinces.“Sorry.”
Wesacceptsthejointfromherandholdsitbetweenhisthumbandforefinger.Helooksdistant,astraybreezerufflingtheendsofhishair.
“Look,nobody’sparentsareperfect,”hesaysfinally.“Imean,Niko’sparentslethimtransitionwhenhewaslikenine,andthey’vealwaysbeensupercoolaboutit,buthismomstillwon’tlethimtellhisgrandpa.Andshe’sconstantlybugginghimtomovebacktoLongIslandbecauseshewantshimtobeclosertothefamily,buthelikesitinthecity,andtheyfightaboutitallthetime.”
“Ididn’tknowthat.”
“Yeah,butatleastshe’strying,youknow?Peoplelikemyparents,though,likeyourmom’sparents—that’sanotherlevel.Imean,Iwantedtogotoartschool,andmyparentswerelike,great,youcansketchbuildings,andthenyoucantakeoverthefirmoneday,andno,we’renotpayingfortherapy.AndwhenIcouldn’tdowhattheywanted,thatwasjustit.Theycutoffthemoneyandtoldmenottocomehome.Theycareabouthowitlooks.TheycareaboutwhattheycancirclejerkaboutwiththeiridiotfuckingIvyLeaguefriends.Buttheminuteyouneedsomething—like,actuallyneedsomething—they’llletyouknowjusthowmuchofadisappointmentyouareforasking.”
Augusthasneverthoughtofitquitethatway.
Everyday,shewatchesWesturncoldandfuckhisownlifeup,andsheneversaysaword,becausesheknowsthere’ssomethingbigandheavypinninghimdown.She’snevergivenhermomthesameunderstanding.She’sneverthoughttotransposehishurtontohermother’stomakebettersenseofit.
Oneofhislastwordssticksinherhead,adragatthebottomofthepool,herbrainsloshingaroundit.Disappointment,hesaid.AugustrememberswhathesaidafterIsaiahhelpedthemmoveamattress.
Hedoesn’tdeservetobedisappointed.
“Forwhatit’sworth,you’veneverdisappointedmeoncesinceI’vemetyou.”Augustscruncheshernoseathim.“Infact,Iwouldsayyouhaveexceededmyexpectations.”
Westakesahitandlaughsitbackout.“Thankyou.”
Hestubsoutthejointandpullshimselftohisfeet.
“And?…youknow.Fortherecord.”Carefully,Augustrises.“I,uh,Iknowhowitfeelstospendalongtimealoneonpurpose,justtoavoidtheriskofwhatmighthappenifIwasn’t.AndwithJane?…Idon’tthinkIcouldpossiblyhavefoundamoredoomedfirstlove,butit’sworthit.It’sprobablygoingtobreakmyheart,andit’sstillworthit.”
Wesavoidshereyes.“Ijust?…he’sso?…hedeservesthebest.Andthat’snotme.”
“Youdon’tgettodecidethatforhim,”Augustpointsout.
Weslookslikehe’sworkingonsomethingtosaytothatwhenthere’sasoundbelow.Someone’sopenedatop-floorwindow.Theywaititout,andthereitis:DonnaSummeratatrulyinconsideratevolume,pouringoutofIsaiah’sapartment.
Theyholdeachother’sgazeforafullsecondbeforetheydissolveintolaughter,staggeringintoeachother’ssides.Donnawailsonaboutsomeoneleavingacakeoutintherain,andWesreachesintohisbackpocketandwalksovertotheedgeoftheroofandthrowsahundredflyersintothenight,rainingdownpastthefireescape,thewindows,thesalty-warmsmellofPopeyes,tumblingdownthesidewalkandfloatingawayonthebreeze,wrappingaroundtrafficlights,carriedofftowardtheopentracksoftheQ.
It’stheafternoonbeforethefundraiser,thelastdaybeforetheytrytosendJanehome,whenAugustfinallyfulfillsNiko’sprophecyandclimbsontotheQ.
Shechoosesastopfartherdownthanherusualone,KingsHighwaynearGravesend,becausethere’llbefewerpeopleonthetrainclosertotheendoftheline.Thisfardown,thetrackismostlyelevated,runningthroughresidentialneighborhoodsateyelevelwiththird-storywindows.Thesunisbrighttoday,butthetrainiscoolwhenshestepson.
Jane’ssittingreliablyattheendofthecar,headphoneson,eyesclosed.
Auguststaysnearthedoor,watchingher.ThismightbethelasttimeshegetstoseeJaneinthesunset.
There’sakickinherheart—onesheknowsJanefeelssometimestoo—thatsayssheshouldrun.Spareherselftheheartbreakandstepoffthistrainandswitchcities,switchschools,switchlivesuntilshefindssomewhereelseshecouldmaybebehappyagain.
Butit’stoolate.Shecouldliveanotherfiftyyears,loveandleaveahundredcities,pressherfingerprintsintoathousandturnstilesandplanetickets,andJanewouldstillbethereatthebottomofherheart.ThisgirlinBrooklynshejustcan’tshake.
Thetrainpullsoutofthestation,andAugustpushesagainstitsmomentumtowalktowardJane’sseat.
SheopenshereyeswhenAugustsitsnexttoher.
“Hey,”shesays,slidingherheadphonesofftorestaroundherneck.
Augusttakesabreathtolookather,committingtomemorytheangleatwhichthesunhitstheroundtipofhernoseandthelinesofherjawandherfullbottomlip.
ThenshereachesintoherbagandpullsoutasilverpacketofPop-Tarts.
“Ibroughtyouthese,”Augustsays,handingthemover.“Sincetheywon’thavethestrawberrymilkshakeonesbackwhereyoucamefrom.”
Janetakesthemandslidesthemcarefullyintothefrontpocketofherbackpack.ShelooksatAugustwithherheadtiltedslightly,trackingtheexpressiononherface.
“Tomorrow’sthebigday,huh?”
Augusttriestosmile.“Yeah.”
“Everythingready?”
“Ithinkso,”shesays.She’sdoneeverythingshortofmakingherroommatesrunactualdrills.They’reaspreparedasthey’reevergoingtobe.“Whataboutyou?Areyouready?”
“Imean,thewayIseeit,therearethreepossibleoutcomesoftomorrow.Igoback,Istay,Idie.”Sheshrugs,likeit’snothing.“Ihavetobeokaywithanyofthose.”
“Areyou?”
“Idon’tknow,”Janetellsher.“Idon’twanttodie.Ididn’twanttodiewhenIwassupposedto.So,I’mchoosingtobelieveit’llbeoneofthefirsttwo.”
Augustnods.“Ilikethatattitude.”
There’sagoodbyehere,somewhere.There’saconclusionunderneaththetoo-casualsprawlofJane’slegsandtheirtoo-quietvoices.ButAugustdoesn’tknowhowtoworkuptowhatshehastosay.Ifthiswasaneasycasetosolve,she’dfindananswerandcircleitinredinkandpinittothewall:thereitis,thethingshe’ssupposedtosaytothegirlsheloves.Shefigureditout.
Instead,shesays,“Isthereanythingelseyouwant,beforetomorrow?”
Janeshifts,droppingonefootontothefloor.Thesunset’smakingherglow,anditspreadswhenshesmilessoftlyatAugust,onecrookedtoothupfront.Augustlovesthattooth.ItfeelssostupidandsmalltoloveJane’scrookedtoothwhenshemightbeabouttoloseherforever.
“Ijustwanttosay…”Janestarts,andsheholdsitlikewaterinhermouthuntilsheswallowsandgoeson:“Thankyou,Iguess.Youdidn’thavetohelpme,butyoudid.”
Augusthuffsoutalaugh.“IjustdiditbecauseIthoughtyouwerehot.”
Janetouchesherchinwiththebackofherknuckles.“Thereareworsereasonstobreakthelawsofspaceandtime.”
Nextstop:ConeyIsland.ThestationwhereJane’slongrideontheQstartedyearsago,wherethey’regoingtotrytosaveher.Slowly,theWonderWheelslidesintoviewinthedistance.They’veseenitathousandtimesfromthistrain,lituponsummernights,cuttingyellowandgreenlinesthroughthemiddaysky.AugusttoldJaneonceabouthowitstayedwhenhalftheparkwassweptaway.SheknowshowJanelikesstoriesaboutsurviving.
“Don’t,uh…”Janesays,clearingherthroat.“IfIgoback,aftertomorrow.Don’twastetoomuchmoretimeonme.Imean,don’tgetmewrong—waitarespectfulamountoftimeandall.But,youknow.”ShetucksAugust’shairbehindherear,rubbingthesideofherthumbonceagainsthercheek.“Justmakesureyoumakethemnervous.Theyshouldn’tunderestimateyou.”
“Okay,”Augustsaysthickly.“I’llwritethatdown.”
Jane’slookingather,andshe’slookingatJane,andthesun’sgoingdown,andthegoddamnthingisthatit’srightthereinbothoftheirthroats,buttheycan’tsayit.They’vealwaysbeenhopelessatsayingit.
Instead,AugustleansforwardandkissesJaneonthelips.It’ssoft,shakyliketherattleofthetrainbutsomuchquieter.Theirkneesbumptogether,andJane’sfingertipstangleintheendsofherhair.Shefeelssomethingwarmandwetonhercheek.Shedoesn’tknowifshe’scrying,orifJaneis.
Sometimes,whentheykiss,it’slikeAugustcanseeit.Justforasecond,shecanseealifethat’snothereonthistrain.Notadistantfuture,notahouse.Animmediatepresentunspoolinglikefilm:shoesinapilebythedoor,abarkoflaughterunderbarlights,passingaboxofcerealoveronaSaturdaymorning.Ahandinherbackpocket.Jane,walkingupthesubwaystepsandintothelight.
Whentheybreakapart,AugusttipsherheadagainstJane’sshoulder,pressinghercheektotheleather.Itsmellslikeyears,likealightningstorm,likeenginegreaseandsmoke,likeJane.
There’ssomuchtosay,butallshehasis:“IwasreallylonelybeforeImetyou.”
Jane’ssilentforafewseconds.Augustdoesn’tlookather,butsheknowshowtheshadowsoftelephonepolesandrooftopsslideoverthehighpointsofhercheekbonesandthesoftdipsofhermouth.She’smemorizedit.Shecloseshereyesandtriestopicturethemagain,anywhereelse.
Jane’shandwrapsaroundhers.
“SowasI.”
15
peopleofcity
[Photoshowsayoungwhitemanwithredhairsittingonasubwaytrainholdingabagofgroceries.Inthebackground,justoutoffocus,adark-hairedwomanreadsabookwithheadphoneson,aleatherjacketbundledunderonearm.]
peopleofcityMyparentssplitupwhenIwasakid,andIlosttouchwithmydad,butIknewhewasinNewYork.Imoveduphereayearagoaftermymotherdied.Icouldn’tstandthethoughtofhavingaparentwhowasstillaliveandnoteventryingtohavearelationshipwithhim,youknow?I’vebeenlookingforhimsinceIgothere.Dad,ifyouseethis,Iforgiveyou.Let’shaveaburger.May14,2015
“IsweartoGod,ifIhavetoinflateonemoreballoon…”Wessaysashetiesoffaredballoonwithhisteeth.
“Getusedtoit,”Mylasays.She’styingabundleofthemtogetherwitharainbowofribbons.“Weneedabouttwohundredmoreofthesetopullthisoff.”
Weshalfheartedlygivesherthefinger.Mylablowshimakiss.
Augustchecksherphone.Threehoursuntildoorsopenonthemostambitious—andonly—partyshe’severattemptedtothrowinherlife.Sixhoursuntiltheyputtheirplanintomotion.SevenhoursuntilMylaoverloadsthecircuitandblacksouttheline.
SevenhoursuntilJanemightbegoneforgood.
AndhereAugustis,blowingupaten-footinflatablecatwithsunglassesandanelectricguitar.
ThepartystorebyMyla’sworkdonatedtheirleastpopulardecorations,andtheyhadtotakewhatgiantinflatablestheycouldget—anythingtallenoughtoblockasecuritycamera.Theballoonswilltakecareoftherest.
“Doyouneedanything?”Gabeasks,hoveringaroundMylalikeanenormousgnatwithaShawnHunterhaircut.PartoftheagreementwiththecitywasthatGabe’sunclewouldsupervisetheevent,andGabe’suncleapparentlydoesnotgiveashit,becausehesentGabeinstead.Theykeephavingtoswitchtopicswhenhedriftstooclose,sohedoesn’tfigureoutthewholethingispartiallyacoverforatimecrime.
“Actually,”Mylasays,“IwouldloveaFilet-O-Fish.Ooh,andabubbletea.”
“Oh,uh—sure,okay.”AndGabewandersoff,gloweringatNikowhenhethinksnobody’slooking.
“Thatshouldbuyusanhour,”Mylasayswhenhe’sgone.“DoyouthinkIshouldfeelbadaboutthis?”
“IoverheardhimexplainingwagedisparitytoLucieearlier,”Wessays.“Hesaidhebelieveshe’s‘underminingcapitalism’by‘choosing’nottopayhisownrent.”
“Ew,”Mylagroans.“Nope,okay,stickingtotheplan.”
ThePlan,asoutlinedonthewhiteboard,andthenthoroughlyerasedtodestroyallevidence:One.Waitforthepartytohitmaximumcapacity.Two.MylaseducesGabe’ssecurityclearancebadgeawayfromhim.Three.AugustsneaksouttomeetJaneontheQ.Four.Wesstagesadiversiontopullsecurityguardsawayfromthecontrolroomdoor.Five.MylaoverloadsthelinewhileJanestandsonthethirdrail.
AugusttiesoffherlastballoonandtextsJaneaselfie—tongueout,peacesign,hairstaticfromallthehelium-filledlatex.
sup,ugly,Janetextsback,andAugustalmostspitsouthergum.SheshouldneverhavegivenJaneandMylaeachother’snumbers.Jane’sgoingtobebringingmillennialhumorbacktothe’70s.
God,she’llmissher.
WhileLucieandJerrysetupthepancakestation,Myla’snetworkofBrooklynartistsstartwheelinginsculpturesandpaintingsandwoodreliefsofuglydogsforthesilentauction.Therearewristbandstowrangle,drinkticketstocount,lightsandastageandasoundsystemtosetup,genderedbathroomsignstocoverwithpicturesofbreakfastfoods.
“Putiton,Wes.”Augustsighs,throwingthelastremainingPancakeBilly’sHouseofPancakesT-shirtathim.
“Thisisasmall,”heargues.“YouknowIwearXL.”
“Please,thatisayouthmedium-assman,”saysaloudvoice,andit’sIsaiah,browsalreadyglueddown,swanninginwithaclothingrackfullofdragandatrailofhalf-donedragdaughters.Winfield’sbringinguptherear,andoncetheydisappearintothebacktopaint,WespoutsandputshissizesmallT-shirtonandtrudgestothecornerwherehisfriendsfromthetattooshophavesetuptheirbooth.
Sixkegsandtencratesfullofliquorgetunloadedfromsomeone’sborrowedminivan,courtesyofSlinky’sandafewotherneighborhoodbars,andLuciedirectsacoupleofBilly’sbusboyshanginglightsfromtheraftersoverthemakeshiftdancefloorandthestagethey’vesetupfortheshow.WhenMylakillstheoverheads,Augusthastoadmittheplacelooksincredible,allbrutalistlinesandgiantantiqueleversanddingytubesofwirestransformedintheglow.
Eighto’clockdrawscloserandcloser,andAugustcan’tbelieveit,buttheyactuallymadethishappen.
“Youreadyforthis,oldman?”Augustasks,tyingherhairupasshetakesherspotatJerry’sside,nexttothegriddle.Heandasmallarmyoflinecookswillbeslingingpancakesallnight,andAugustandLuciewillbepassingthemouttothedrunkandhungry.
“Bornready,buttercup,”Jerrysayswithawink.
Sheknew,mathematically,thattheysoldmorethantwothousandticketsfortonight.Butit’sonethingtoseethenumber,andanotherentirelytoseethismanypeopleintheflesh,dancingandbellyinguptothemakeshiftbar.Jerryandthelinecooksstartpouringbatteronthegriddle,andAugustrealizestheymightsaveBilly’sandJaneinone
Thefirsthourpassesinariotofcolorandnoiseandmaplesyrup.ArtschoolkidsinFilaspicktheirwaydownthesilentauctionline,oohingandahhingatMyla’senormous,glittering,twitchingsculpture,whichshe’sentitledITDOTAKENERVE.PeoplelineuptohaveWesorsomeoneelsefromhisshopinksomethingimpulsiveontotheirarms.Thefirstqueenstakethestage,spinningunderthelightsandcrowingcrassjokesintothemicrophone.
Itgetslouder,andlouder,andlouder.
Lucieleansover,scramblingtofillaplatewithpancakesbeforeashitfacedNYUstudentwithcorduroyoverallsandhalf-pinkhaircanchuganymoreofthecomplimentarysyrup.“Didwegiveouttoomanydrinktickets?”
Augustwatchestwogirlsnearbygofrommakingouttoviciouslyarguingandbacktomakingoutinthespanoffourseconds.“Weweretryingtogetthemtodonatemore.”
“HaveyouseenMyla?”saysavoicetoherright.It’sGabe,outofbreathandsweaty,arapidlyseparatingmilkteainonehandandacrumpledMcDonald’sbagintheother.
Augustlookshimover.“Man,Idon’tthinkshewantsthatFilet-O-Fishanymore.It’sbeen,like,fourhours.”
“Shit,”hesays.HelooksaroundatthepandemoniumintimetoseeVeraHarrythrowherselfoffthestageandstartcrowdsurfing.“Thingsgot,uh,kindacrazywhileIwasgone.”
“Yeah,”Augustsays.ThetiresonGabe’sTeslamayormaynothavebeenslashedbyafish-shapedknifebeforehiserrandtokeephimbusyforafewhours.Augustisn’ttakingquestions.“Youwantadrink?”
Thenightblareson—theguysfromthepostofficenexttoBilly’shavingadisjointeddance-off,apersonwithalipringshotgunningtwoWhiteClawsatonce,bodiesjumpingandswayingasthequeenwhoissometimesWinfieldtakesthestageinamagentabeardandperformsanelaboratesocialism-themednumbersettoamixof“SheWorksHardfortheMoney”andclipsfromAOCspeeches.
Isaiah’sEasterbrunchwasmadness.ChristmasinJulywaschaos.Butthisisafull-tilt,balls-to-the-wall,someone-getting-a-tattoo-of-Chuckie-Finster,drag-king-named-Knob-Dylan-doing-a-full-gymnastics-routineshitshow.Thetipjarbythepancakegriddleisoverflowingwithcash.AugustfeelsliketheentirebellyofNewYork’sweirdestandqueeresthasemptiedoutonthedancefloor,smellinglikesyrupandweedandhairspray.Ifsheweren’tdoubleoccupiedbyherpancakejobandtheJaneplan,MylaandNikowouldhaveheroutthereinacloudofglitter.
ThefeelingshehadatDelilah’scomesback,tuggingatherhair,pushingherheartagainstherribs.Janeshouldbehere.Notonatrainwaitingforthispartytosmuggleheroutofpurgatory.Here,init,defiantbyexisting,inaroomfullofpeoplewhowouldloveher.
“Andwhatareweherefortonight?”BombBumboclaatshoutsintothemic.
“Billy’s!”thecrowdshouts.
“WhohashelddownthecornerofChurchandBedfordforforty-fiveyears?”
“Billy’s!”
“Who’sgon’doitforforty-fivemore?”
“Billy’s!”
“Andwhatdowesaytolandlords?”
Thecrowdinhalesasone,throughsmokeanddryiceandpaintfumes,andtheybellowoutinoneresoundingvoice,middlefingersraiseduptothelights,“Fuckyou!”
BombBumboclaatleavesthestage,andthealarmgoesoffonAugust’sphone.
It’stime.
August’sfingersaresweatyonherphone.
Shecandothis.Shecan.
Sheregisteredwithoneofthoseconferencecallserviceslastweeksotheycouldkeepagroupcallgoingwhiletheytrytopullthisoff—thebootlegversionofMissionImpossiblecomms.Sheducksbehindabundleofballoonsandstartsthecall.
Myladialsinfirst,thenWes,Niko,andfinallyJane.Sheknowsexactlywhereeachofthemis,becausetheyagreedonitbeforehand:Wesistakingabreakfromthetattooboothtosmokeacigarettedangerouslyclosetoatrashcanfullofalcohol-soakedpapercups.Mylaismillingaroundtheedgeofthedancefloor,keepinganeyeonGabeasherefillshisdrink.Nikoisonefloorup,lookingovertherailingofthecatwalktokeeptabsoneveryone.
“AndI’monthesubway,”Janesays.“Youknow,incaseanyonewaswondering.”
AugustswitchesherphonetospeakerandslidesitupsidedownintothefrontpocketofherT-shirt,likeshedidthenightofIsaiah’sparty.Onlyit’snotjustJaneinherpocketthistime.It’sawholefamily.
“Y’allready?”
“Yep,”Mylasays.
“AsI’lleverbe,”Wessays.
“Ilikewhenyou’reincrimebossmode,”Janeadds.
“Thesepancakesarefantastic,”Nikosays,muffledthroughamouthful.“TellJerryIsaidhe’sdoinggreat.”
“Dothespiritguideshaveanythingtosayaboutwhetherornotthisisgonnawork?”Janeasks.
AugustlooksuptoseeNikolickafingerandstickitintheair.“Hmm.I’mfeelingprettygoodaboutit.”
“Dope,”Mylasays.“Let’sgo.”
Augustcan’tseeherthroughtheenormouscrowd,butshecanhearthenoiseshiftingthroughthespeakerasshemoves.
“Hey,Gabe?”shesays.“CanItalktoyouforasecond?”
Gabe’svoicecomesfaintlyacrosstheline.“Sure,what’sup?”
“No,Imeant?…alone.”Mylaleansheavilyonthelastword.She’sheardMylausethatvoiceonNikomorethanshe’dcaretothinkaboutaroundtheapartment,usuallyfollowedbyalotofloudmusicfromtheirroomandAugusttakingatripdownstairsforanextra-longPopeyesdinner.
“Oh.Okay,yeah.”
Shedragshimofftowardastorageclosettheyscoutedearlier,andAugustfinallycatchesaglimpseofthem,Myla’shandwrappedaroundhiselbow.Thebadgeiswhereit’sbeenallday—onthelanyardhangingaroundhisneck.AugustwatchesMylaleanawayfromhimandintothephonetuckedunderherbrastrap,duckingherheaddownsohecan’tseehermouthmove.
“Niko,everythingI’mabouttosaytothisguyisacompleteandtotallie,andIloveyouandwillmarryyouandadoptahundredthree-eyedravensorwhateveritisyourweirdasswantsinsteadofkids,”shemutters.
“Iknow,”Nikosaysback.“Didyoujustproposetome?”
“Ohshit,IguessIdid?”MylaopensthedoorandshovesGabethroughit.
“I’msomadatyou,”Nikosays.“Ialreadyhavearingathome.”
“OhmyGod,seriously?”saysJane.
“Mazel,”Weschimesin.
“Y’all,”Augustsays.
“Right,”Mylasays.“HereIgo.Mutingyouguysnow.”
Augustseesherslideahandunderhershirttoturnthevolumeonherphonedown,butsheleavesthemicon.“Hey,Gabe.Sorrytobugyou.ButI?…Ijustreallywantedtothankyouforhelpingus.”
Augustcanpracticallyhearhimblushing.“Oh,it’snobigdeal.Anythingforyou,Myles.”
“Myles?”WesandAugustmutterindisgustedunison.
“Iwantedtoletyouknow?…I’msosorryaboutwhathappenedbetweenus.Iwasadick.Idon’tknowwhatIwasthinking.Youdeservedbetter.”
“Iappreciateyousayingthat.”
“And,I?…Iknowyouhaveeveryrighttohateme.ButfuckifIdon’tstillthinkaboutyouallthetime.”
“Youdo?”
“Yeah?…whenNiko’sasleep,sometimes,Ithinkaboutyou.Thatonetime,intheelevatorofmydorm,youremember?Icouldn’twalkstraightfortwodays.”
“Yikes,”Wessays.
“Amateur,”Nikonotes.
“AndespeciallywhenIhearthatsongyouusedtolike—youremember?Sometimesitcomeson,andI’llthink,wow,IwonderwhatGabe’sdoing.Ireallyletagoodonegetaway.”Shesighsfordramaticeffect.“Imissedyou.Ididn’tevenknowwhatyou’dbeendoingforthepasttwoyears.You’vebeenkeepingyourselffromme,huh?”
“Imean,honestly,it’smostlythisjob.Um,yeah,andIgotreallyintointermittentfasting.Andvaping.Thoseare,like,mytwomainhobbies.”
“Thosearehobbies?”Wesdeadpans.
“DoIevenwanttoknowwhatthatmeans?”Janeasks.
“Shh,”Nikohisses,“it’sgettinggood.”
“Wow,”Mylacontinues.“I’dlovetohearallaboutthatsometime—”
“It’sactuallyreallyinteresting.IreadabouthowSiliconValleyprogrammerscangofortwenty,twenty-twohoursstraightwithouteatingoronlysupplementingwithamealreplacementshake.Apparentlyskippingmealsandrestrictingnutrientsmakestimegobymoreslowly,soyoucangetmoredoneinyourday.That’showIhavetimetodothisjobandstartmakingabusinessplanformylineofJUULpods.”
“OhmyGod,”Augustsays.
“Yeah,um,”Mylastammers.“Wow.Youalwayswereso?…creative.I—”
“Yeah!”Gabesays,suddenlyexcited.Thiswasnottheplan.“I’mclosetohavingmyfirstproductlinedeveloped,thenI’llgointomarkettesting.Myconceptis,like,savorypods.Youknowhowyouonlyeverseesweetones?Butwhatabout,like,abuffalochickenvape?Or—”
“Thisistranscendent,”Nikosays.Itsoundslikehe’sgotamouthfulofpancake.
“Shehastokillhim,”Wessays.“It’stheonlyway.”
“—pepperonipizzavape,baconcheeseburgervape,youknow?Andforthevegetarians,there’sawholelinewithbeanburritoandnachocheeseandpaneertikkamasalaflavors—”
“I’mgonnabarf,”Augustsays.
“Anyway,I’mstilllookingforinvestors.I’msogladyou’reintotheidea.It’sbeenhardtopitch.”
“Yeah,Iguesssomepeoplehavepreconceivednotionsabout,uh,whatvapesshouldtastelike?Butanyway—”
“Youknowwhat?Ihavesomesamplesinmycar—didItellyouIgotaTeslalastyear?Imeantechnically,mydadgotit,butanyway,letmegograbsomeandyoucantasteforyourself.”
“Oh,youreallydon’thavetodothat—”
“Noproblematall,Myles.”
“No,Gabe—fuck.”There’sarustlingoverthelineasMylapullsherphoneoutandunmutesthegroupcall.“Ididn’tgetthebadge.”
Augustspinsonthespot.OntheothersideofthecrowdisGabe,headedforthedoor.
“Fuckit,I’llgetit,”Augustsaysintoherphone,andshesnatchesupthenearestbowlofbatterandplowsstraighttowardhim.
Inthecrushofbodies,it’seasytoplaythelastfewstepsintoastumble—rightintoGabe’schest,pancakebattersplatteringeverywhere,uphisneckandintohishair,soakinghisMembersOnlyjacket.
“Oh,fuck,I’msosorry!”Augustshoutsoverthecrowd.Gabeholdshishandsoutinshock,andshepullsatowelfromherapronandstartsoppingupthebatter.“I’madisaster,ohmyGod.”
“Thisjacketisvintage,”hehisses.
Andthat’sallittakes—concernoverhisstupidjacket—forhimnottonoticewhensheslidesherhandunderthetowelandunclipsthebadgefromhislanyard.
“I’msosorry,”Augustrepeats.Sheslidesthecardintoherbackpocket.“I—IcangiveyoumyVenmoandyoucanchargemeforthedrycleaning.”
Hesighsheavily.“Don’tworryaboutit.”
HestormsawayandAugustwavesapologeticallyafterhim,thenleansbackintothephoneinherfrontpocket.“Gotit.”
“That’smygirl,”Janereplies.
“Oh,thankGod,”comesMyla’svoice.“IthoughtIwasgonnahavetovapesomelambvindaloo.”
“Nocrimesagainstnaturetonight,”Augustsays.“Exceptforthebigone,Iguess.Meetmeinthebathroom,Niko?”
“Betherewithbellson.”
“Okay,Jane,”Augustsays.“I’mgonnaendthecall,butIshouldbethereinten.Just—juststaywhereyouare.”
“IthinkIcanmanage,”Janesays,andAugustdisconnects.
ShepassestheIDtoNiko,andhegivesheravaguesaluteandheadsoff.He’llmeetMylanearthecontrolroomonceeveryoneisinplace.Justonemorestep—settingupthediversion.
“Youready?”AugustasksWes,sidlingupbesidehimatthetrashcan.
Hesmirksandraisesaneyebrow.“Readytocommitarsonataloudparty?ThisiswhatIwasborntodo.”
“Okay,”Augustsays,untyingherapron.“I’llgiveyouthesignalwhenwegetoverthebridge.I’mgonna—”
“Wherehaveyoubeen?”saysLucie’svoicefrombehindher.Fuck.Shesoundslikeshe’sabouttostartspittingcursesinCzech.Augustspinsaroundtofindherglaring,abottleofmaplesyrupclutchedinherhandlikeagrenade.“Thesepeople.Nightmare.Ineedhelp.”
“I—”Howthefuckisshegoingtogetoutofthis?“I’msorry,I—”
“Shehadthemostgeniusidea,”saysanotherfamiliarvoice,andthere’sAnnieDepressantherself,bewiggedandcostumed,astackofstuffedpancakesbalancedatopherhead.“I’mgonnatakeoverforher.”Shepointstothetipjar.“Icandoublethatinfifteenminutes.”
LucielooksbetweenAnnieandAugust,eyesnarrowed.Augusttriestolooklikeshe’sinonit.
“Fine,”Luciesays.“Wetryforhalfanhour.”ShejabsAugust’sshoulderwithoneofherpointyacrylics.“Thenyouarebackonshift.”
“Sure,noproblem,”Augustsays.Luciestalksoff,andAugustwhipsbacktoAnnie,who’scasuallybuffinghernailsonherfaketits.“Howdidyou—”
“YouthinkI’mstupid?”shesays.“Likeit’snotobvioustoanyonewhoknowsy’allthatsomething’sgoingon.LookatWes.He’ssweatinglikeafuckinghardcheeseontheAtrain.Idon’tneedtoknowwhatyou’redoing,but,youknow,Icanhelp.”
WesstaresatAnnieforafullfiveseconds,andsays,“OhJesusChrist,I’minlovewithyou.”
Annieblinks.“Canyousaythatwithoutlookinglikeyou’regonnathrowup?”
“I’m—uh—”Hevisiblygulpsdownwhateverelsehewasgoingtosay.“Actually,yeah,Iam.Yeah.Inlovewithyou.”
“Look,Iamveryhappyforbothofyou,”Augustsays,“butweareonaclockhere—”
“Right,”Anniesays.Shesmiles.She’sasupernova.
“Right,”Wessays.NeitherofthemisevenpretendingtolookatAugust.
“I’mgonnakissyou,”AnniesaystoWes.“AndthenI’mgonnagoservesomepancakestosomedrunks,andyoucantellmewhylater.”
“Okay,”Wessays.
Theykiss.AndAugustruns.
TimesSquareisstreaking,blazing,burningthroughAugust’sglasses.
LikemostpeoplewholiveinBrooklyn,shenevercomeshere,butit’sthenearestQstoptotheControlCenter.Thestreetsarenearlyemptyatoneinthemorning,butAuguststillhastovaultoversomeoneslumpedonthesidewalkinaHelloKittycostumeandbankhardtoavoidashutteredhalalcart.
Shethrowsherselfdownthesubwaystairs,racestotheplatform,andthere,somehowinperfectalignmentwiththeuniverse,istheQwaitingforherwithdoorsopen.Shelungesontothetrainastheyslideshut.
Momentumcarriesheracrosstheaisle,andshesmacksintotheoppositesideofthecar,startlingadrunkcouplesomuch,theynearlydroptheirtakeout.
Toherright,avoicesays,“Hellofanentrance,CoffeeGirl.”
Andthere’sJane.Sameasalways:tallandsmirkingandthegirlofAugust’sdreams.She’sgotherjacketsettledcarefullyontohershoulders,herthingsneatlytuckedawayinsideherbackpacklikeit’sthefirstdayofschool.ThewayshemighthavelookedsteppingontothatbustoCaliforniaifshe’devermadeit.AugustchokesoutalaughandletsthemovementofthetraincarryherintoJane’sside.
“Incredible,”JanesaysasshegathersAugustupinherarms.“Ranallthatway,andyoustillsmelllikepancakes.”
TheyridethroughManhattan,acrosstheManhattanBridge,andintoBrooklyn,whereAugusttextsWeshiscueandWestextsbackfireintheholeandaphotoofsecurityguardsrushingtoputoutablazeinthedesignatedtrashcan.
“Okay,”Augustsays,turningtoJane.Sheholdsoutahand.“Oncemoreforoldtime’ssake?”
Janelacestheirfingerstogether,andtheywalkfromonecartothenext,platformafterplatform,liketheydidallthosemonthsagowhenJanedraggedherthroughtheemergencyexitforthefirsttime.Augustcan’tevenremembertobeafraid.
Witheverycar,therearefewerandfewerpassengers,untiltheyhittheverylastone.It’sempty.
They’reeasingpastParksideAve.,whereitallstarted.It’stoodarktoseethepaintedtilesorclimbingivy,butAugustcanpicturetheapartmentbuildingsandnailsalonsandpawnshopsstandingoverthetracks,turneddownforthenight.SheimaginesNewYorkghostsunfurlingfromunderstairsandbetweenshelvestostandatthewindowsandwatchJaneskateaway.
“IguessIshouldgiveyouthis,”Janesays,pullingherphoneoutofherbackpocket.“Idon’twanttoaccidentallycauseaparadoxorsomethingbybringingthatbacktothe’70s.”
“ButwhatifIneedto—”Augustsaysautomatically.“Oh.Right.Yeah,ofcourse.Obviouslynot.”
Shetakesthephoneandtucksitintoherpocket.
“Ialso,uh,”Janesays.
Shehesitatesbeforetuggingherbackpackoffandshruggingoutofherjacket.Shehandsthatovertoo.
“Iwantyoutohavethis.”
Auguststaresather.She’slookingbacksoftly,somethingpullingatthedimpleonthesideofhermouth,exactlyandnothingatalllikeshedidthatmorningtheymetandsheheldoutascarf.
“Ican’t—Ican’ttakeyourjacket.”
“I’mnotaskingyouto,”Janesays,“I’mtellingyou.Iwantyoutohaveit.Andwhoknows?MaybeI’llstay,andyoucangiveitrightback.”
“Fine,”Augustsays,reachingintoherbag.“Butyouhavetotakethiswithyou.”
It’saPolaroid,theoneNikotookofthemthenightofEasterbrunch,beforeAugustaccidentallysolvedpartofthemysterywithakiss.Insidethelittlesquareoffilm,Jane’sscreamingwithlaughter,awadofcashpinnedtoherchestandacrownonherhead,theconstantbackdropoftheQbehindher.Shehasaredlipstickprintonthesideof
It’snottheonlypictureshehasofherandJanetogether,butitisherfavorite.IfJanecanonlyhaveonethingtorememberherby,itshouldbethis.
Janespendsalongsecondlookingatitbeforetuckingitintoherbackpackandshoulderingitagain.
“Deal,”shesays,andAugusttakesthejacket.
SheputsitonoverherPancakeBilly’sHouseofPancakesT-shirt,turningunderthefluorescentstoshowitoff.It’ssurprisinglylightonhershoulders.Thesleevesareslightlytoolong.
“Well?Howdoesitlook?”
“Ridiculous,”Janesayswithagrin.“Awful.Perfect.”
They’vemovedthroughBrooklynswiftly,barelyanyoneatthefinalfewstops.
Augustglancesupattheboard.Onelaststop.
“Hey,”shesays.“Ifyougoback.”
Janenods.“IfIdo.”
“Willyoutellpeopleaboutme?”
Janehuffsoutalaugh.“Areyoukiddingme?OfcourseIwill.”
AugustcurlsherhandsupinsidethesleevesofJane’sjacket.“What’llyoutellthem?”
WhenJanespeaksagain,hervoicehasshifted,andAugustimaginesheronafatottomaninasmokyapartmentinJuly1977,afewsweatygirlscircledaroundthefloortolistentoherstory.
“Therewasthisgirl,”shesays.“Therewasthisgirl.Imetheronatrain.ThefirsttimeIsawher,shewascoveredincoffeeandsmelledlikepancakes,andshewasbeautifullikeacityyoualwayswantedtogoto,likehowyouwaityearsandyearsfortherighttime,andthenassoonasyougetthere,youhavetotasteeverythingandtoucheverythingandlearneverystreetbyname.IfeltlikeIknewher.SheremindedmewhoIwas.Shehadsoftlipsandgreeneyesandabodythatwouldn’tquit.”Augustelbowsher,Janesmiles.“Hairlikeyouwouldn’tbelieve.Stubborn,sharpasaknife.AndInever,everwantedapersontosavemeuntilshedid.”
Handsshaking,Augustpullsherphoneout.“Ididn’tsaveyou.You’resavingyourself.”
Janenods.“I’vefiguredoutyoucan’tdothatalone.”
Andthat,Augustthinks,asshedialsupMyla’snumber,hastobetrue.
“Y’allgoodtogo?”AugustasksasMylaswearsintotheline.“We’realmostthere.”
“Yeah,”Mylagrunts.Itsoundslikeshe’smanhandlingsomemachinery.“Itwasabitch,butthere’sonemoreleverandit’llputthelineover.GetherinplaceandI’lltellyouwhen.”
AugustturnstoJaneasthebrakesscreamintothestation.Thisisit.
“Ready?”
Shecourageouslywrestlesasmileontoherface.“Yeah.”
WithonehandontheemergencyexithandleandtheotherwoundupinAugust’shair,shekissesAugustlonganddeep,pullingatitlikemusic,awholecreationofakiss.Hermouthissoftandwarm,andAugustkissesherbackandtouchesherfacetobranditsshapeintoherpalmwithpermanence.Abovetheirheads,thelettersannouncingthestopflickerontheboard.
Augustcan’thelpgrinning—she’llmisskissesthatbreakthings.
Thedoorsopen,andAuguststepsontotheplatformalone.
It’spasttwointhemorning,theamusementparkshutdownforthenight,trainscomingonlyonceortwiceanhour,sotheyhaveabriefwindowduringwhichthere’snobodytostopthem.Sheplanneditexactly,timeditperfectly.
Whenshelooksdown,Jane’sswingingherselfouttheemergencyexitanddroppingdownontothethirdrail.Shelookssosmallfromuphere.
Shepicksherwaydownthetrackscarefully,hiddenbehindtheparkedtrain,andAugustsitsontheledgeoftheplatform,rightontheyellowline,hookingherkneesover.
“Okay,”Janesaysfrombelow.
Shetakesadeepbreath,holdingithighinhershoulders,shakingherhandsout.Fromhere,shecouldbeanyone.Shecouldpullherselfbackupontotheplatformandtakethestairstwoatatimeupintothemuggynight.Shegazesoffdownthetrack,peeringintofreedom,andAugustwondersifthisisthelasttimeshe’llevergettoseethesetofJane’ssmirk,herlonglegs,hersoftblackhairsweptupoffherbrow.
Whatifit’sthelasttime?
WhatifthisisAugust’slastchance?
WestoldIsaiah.WinfieldprobablytellsLucieeveryday.NikoandMylaaregoingtogetmarried.AndAugust?Augustisgoingtoletthegirlwhochangedherentirelifedisappearwithoutevertellingher,becauseshe’safraidofhowit’llhurt.
Shefeelstheknifeinherpocket,heavyandlightallatonce.
Fuckcaution.
“Hey,SubwayGirl,”Augustcallsout.
Janeturnstoher,eyebrowsraised,andAugustreachesforherphoneandmutesthemic.
“Iloveyou.”
Hervoiceechoesofftheglassceiling,offthesilverofthetrainsstoredonthesideofthetracks,outtowardthestreetandthemoonlitbeachbeyond.
“I’minabsolutefuck-off,life-ruininglovewithyou,andIcan’t—Ican’tdothisandnottellyou,”shegoeson.Jane’sstaringatherwithhermouthpoppedopeninsoftsurprise.“Maybeyoualreadyknow,maybeit’sobviousandsayingitisjustgonnamakethisharder,but—God,Iloveyou.”
August’smouthkeepsmoving,half-shoutingintotheemptytracks,andshebarelyknowswhatshe’ssayinganymore,butshecan’tstop.
“IfellinlovewithyouthedayImetyou,andthenIfellinlovewiththepersonyourememberedyouare.Igottofallinlovewithyoutwice.That’s—that’smagic.You’rethefirstthingI’vebelievedinsince—sinceIdon’tevenremember,okay,you’re—you’removiesanddestinyandeverystupid,impossiblething,andit’snotbecauseofthefuckingtrain,it’sbecauseofyou.It’sbecauseyoufightandyoucareandyou’realwayskindbutnevereasy,andyouwon’tletanythingtakethatawayfromyou.You’remyfuckinghero,Jane.Idon’tcareifyouthinkyou’renotone.Youare.”
Thelasttwowordsflutterdownbetweentheslatsoftheelevatedtracks,pastJane’sfeetandontothestreetbelow.Jane’sstilllookingupather,eyesbright,feetplanted.Secondstogoandunforgettable.
“Ofcourse,”Janesays.Hervoicecomesfromdeepinthesolidcenterofherchest—herprotestvoice,projecteduptotheplatform.Itcouldwakethedead.“OfcourseIloveyou.Icouldgobackandhaveawholelifeandgetoldandneverseeyouagain,andyouwouldstillbeit.Youwere—youaretheloveofmylife.”
Myla’svoicecracklesoutofAugust’spocket.“Ready?”
August’seyesdon’tleaveJane’sasshepullsherphoneoutandunmutesthemic.
“I’mready,”Janesays.
Augustbreathesin,knuckleswhite.
“She’sready.”
“Now.”
Andeverythinggoesblack.
Silence,nothingbuttheshockofdarkness.Thestreetoutsidethestationgoesdarktoo,eerilyquietandstill.August’slungsrefusetorelease.SherememberswhatJanesaid,thedaytheydancedwithstrangersonastalledtrain.Theemergencylights.
Theyflickeron,andAugusthalfexpectsthemtoflooddownontoadesertedtrack,butthere’sJane,feetonthethirdrail.Thatkindofshockwouldhavekilledanyoneelse.Shedoesn’tevenlookstartled.
“OhmyGod,”Augustsays.“Didit—areyou—?”
“I—”Jane’svoiceishoarse,almoststaticky.“Idon’tknow.”
Shemakesaweird,jerkymotionwithonefoot,tryingtotakeastepoutsideofthetracks.
Shecan’t.
“Itdidn’t—”Augusthastoswallowtwicetogetherthroattocooperate.Sheholdsherphoneclosertohermouth.“Itdidn’twork,Myla.She’sstillstuck.”
“Fuck,”sheswears.“Wasanythingoff?Wasthetimingright?Areyousureshewastouchingthethirdrail?”
“Yeah,shewastouchingit.She’sstilltouchingit.”
“She’s—okay.So,it’snothurtingher?”
“No.Istheresomethingwrongwithit?”Augustleanspasttheedgeoftheplatform,tryingtoseebetter.“ShouldI—”
“Don’ttouchit,August,Jesus!There’snothingwrongwiththethirdrail.She’sjust—she’sstillinbetween.”
“Okay,”Augustsays.Janelooksupather,palersomehow.Drawn.“WhatdoIdo?”
“Makesureshekeepstouchingit,”Mylasays.“IfIblackedoutthelineandshe’sstillthere,itmeansresidualelectrificationontherailiswhat’skeepingherherefornow.”
“Fornow?What—whydidn’titwork?”
“Idon’tknow,”Mylasays.She’sgruntingandoutofbreath,likeshe’sworkingonsomething.“Wewerenevergoingtobeabletoproduceasurgeaspowerfulastheonethatgotherstuck—Imean,fuck,thisstation’spartsolar-powerednow,whichisawholeotherfactor.Thehopewasthatsomethingclosewouldbeenough.”
“So—sothat’sit?”Augustsays,flat.“It’snotgoingtowork?”
“There’sonemorechance.Thesecondsurge,remember?WhenIundowhatIdidandrestorepower,there’llbeanothersurge.Wecan—wecanhopethisonewillputitover.Shemighthavesomechargeleftoverfromthefirstone.Thatcouldhelp.”
“Okay,”Augustsays.“Okay,when’sthenextsurge?”
“Givemeacoupleofminutes.I’mpassingthephonetoNiko.Just—justtalktoher.”
AugustshovesherphonebackintoherfrontpocketandlooksdownatJane.Withoutpowercoursingthroughtheline,she—well,shedoesn’tlookgood.Allthecolorhasdrainedfromherface.Nomoresummerglow.Evenhereyesseemflat.It’sthefirsttimeAugusthaslookedatherandactuallyseenaghost.
“Hey,”Augustcallsdowntoher.“You’reokay.”
Janeholdsahandinfrontofherface,examiningherownfingers.“Idon’tknowaboutthat.”
“YouheardMyla,right?”Augustdemands.“Wehaveanotherchance.”
“Yeah,”Janesaysvaguely.“It?…itdoesn’tfeelgood.Ifeelweird.”
“Hey.Hey,lookatme.You’regettingoutofheretonight,onewayoranother.Idon’tcarewhatittakes,okay?”
“August—”shesays.AndAugustcanseeitinhereyes,adullnessthathasnothingtodowithelectricity.She’slosinghope.
“Jane,”Augustshouts,pullingherselftoherfeet.“Don’tyoudarefuckinggiveup,doyouhearme?Youknowhowyouremotionsaffecttheline,right?Whatyoufeel,rightnow,it’sholdingontothatcharge.It’swhat’skeepingyoualive.Don’tletthatgo.Yourememberwhenwegotinthatfight,andyoublewoutalight?Yourememberwhenyoustoppedthewholetrainjustbecause—becauseyouwantedtogetlaid—”Despiteherself,Jane’sfacesplitsintoasmile,shelaughsweakly.“Comeon.Jane,thatwasallyou.Youhavepowerheretoo.”
“Okay,”shesays.Shecloseshereyes,andwhenshespeaksagain,it’stoherself.“Okay.I’mgonnalive.Iwanttolive.”
“Almostready,”saysNiko’svoicefromAugust’spocket.
AndAugust—Augustthinksaboutwhatshejustsaid.
ThenervesinJane’sbody,electricalimpulses,feedbackloops,ascarf,anorange,handsbrushingintosparks.WhatJanefeels.WhatAugustmakesherfeel.Theloveofmylife.
Shepushesherselfofftheplatform.
Jane’seyessnapopenatthesoundofAugust’sfeetlandingonthetracks.
“Whoa,whoa,whatareyoudoing?”
“What’stheonethingthat’sworked?”Augustsays.Shecrossesthefirsttworails,balancingonthetracks.Onewrongstep,andshe’llbecrashingdowntothestreet.“Thiswholetime,Jane.What’stheonethingthatmadethisallhappen?”
SheseesthemomentwhenJanerealizeswhatshemeans—hereyesgowide,frightened,furious.
“No,”shesays.
“Tenseconds,”Nikosays.
“Comeon,”Augustsays.She’sinchesaway.“I’mright.YouknowI’mright.”
“August,don’t—”
“Jane—”
“Please—”
“Whatisit,Jane?What’stheonethingthatcouldputitover?”
Andheretheyare.AugustandJaneandthethirdrailandthethingshe’spreparedtodo,andJaneislookingatAugustlikeshe’sbreakingherheart.
“It’syou,”Janesays.
“Now,”saysNiko’svoice,andAugustdoesn’tthink,doesn’tbreathe,doesn’thesitate.SheslamsherfootdownonJane’stoholdittotherail,andshegrabsJane’sfaceinbothhands,andshekissesherashardasshecan.
16
LetterfromAugieLandrytoSuzetteLandryPostmarkedfromaP.O.BoxinMetairie,LA
4/28/73
HiSuzie,
Howhaveyoubeen?I’msosorryIhaven’thadachancetostopbythehouse.Igotthebirthdaycardyousent—thankyousomuch!!!Ilovedthepictureyoudrewme.Whatkindofbirdisthat?
I’mdoingreallywell!Ihaveagoodjobandmycoworkersarelikefamily.Notasmuchasyouaremyfamily,butit’snice.Sometimeswhenmycustomerstalkabouttheirkids,Itellthemaboutyou.Theyallagreeyou’rethesmartestkidthey’veeverheardof.Don’tforgetwhatItoldyou:don’tlistentoMomandDad,gotothelibraryandreadwhateverbooksyouwant.
Ithinkyou’dreallylikemyroommate.She’ssmartandfunny,justlikeyou,andshedoesn’ttakeanycrapfromanyone.MaybeonedayI’llintroducey’all.
I’msoproudofyou,Suzie.I’msorryIcan’tbehome.Ithinkaboutyoueveryday,andImissyousomuch.Whenyou’reolder,I’lltellyoueverything,andIhopeyou’llunderstand.Knowingyou,Ithinkyouwill.
Allmylove,
Augie
There’samoment,inbetween.
Augustwakesuponthetrashcouchinthelivingroom,surroundedbyaswampyfogofburningsageandlavender,earsringing,wholebodysore.Jane’sjacketisdrapedoverherlikeablanket.
Shecanrememberthetracks,thelookonJane’sface,somethingwhite-hotflashingthroughher.Andthenshewakesup.
Butthere’samomentinbetween.
MylatouchesherhairgentlyandsaysthatWesandIsaiahgottothestationfirstandfoundherontheplatform.Attheendofthecouch,Weshugshiskneestohischest.He’sgotablackeye—apparentlyAugustdidn’twanttogowithoutJane.Apparently,shefought.
Theybroughtherbackhere,andassoonasNikoandMylacouldleavetheparty,theycaughttheQhome.Itwasrunningagain.Theydidn’tseeJane.
She’sgone.ShewasgonebythetimeWesandIsaiahgottothestation.
Buttherewasamoment.RightafterAugustkissedher.
Itdidn’thurt,somehow.Itwasaheatthatblazedthroughher,wrappingaround,likestandingonwet,hotasphaltonahundred-degreedayandfeelingabreezewhipthewarmthfromthegroundaroundherlegs.Hereyesweresqueezedshut,butforamoment,beforeeverythingwentblack,shesawsomething.
Shesawastreetcorner.Boxybrowncarsparkedalongtheroad.Graffitionbuildingsthataren’tthereanymore.Shesaw,forasecond,likelookingthroughtheslatsintheblindsbeforetheyfluttershut,Jane’stime.TheplacewhereJanebelongs.
AndnowAugustishere.
“Itworked,”Augustsays,half-hysterical,beforesherollsoverandthrowsupontherug.
ThethingaboutlifewithoutJaneis,itdoesgoon.
There’srenttopay,shiftstopickup.Thedogneedstogooutside.TheMetroCardneedstoberefilled.Schoolstarts,andAugusthastoregisterforgraduationandgetfittedforacapandgown.TheQshutsdownformaintenance.Theycountthemoneytheymanagedtoraise—sixtygrand.FortyawayfromsavingBilly’s,butthey’reworkingonit.
Thecitymoves,trudgeson,lightsupandshoutsandspitssteamupthroughthegratesthesameasalways.Augustliveshere.Thatfinallyfeelsrealallthetime,evenwhennothingelsedoes.Thisisthecitywhereshegotherheartbroken.Nothinganchorsapersontoaplacequitelikethat.
Thefirstweek,shekeepstheradioon.SheconvincesLucietoletherputitonatBilly’s,playsitinherheadphonesonhercommute,takestheboomboxhomewhenshepacksuptheofficeandplaysitinherroom.Jane’snotgoingtocallin,butsometimesAugustswearsshecanfeelherontheotherside,hummingatthesamefrequency.Thestationhasaddedenoughoftheirsongstotherotationoverthepastyearthatsometimesshe’llhearone,MichaelBoltonorNatalieCole,andit’sacomforttoknowJanewasthere.Itallreallyhappened.Herearethethingssheleftbehind:songsandanamescratchedintoatrainandajacketthatAugustkeepsoverthechairatherdeskbutneverwears.
OnSaturdaymorning,theDJ’svoicecomesoverthespeakersasshe’sfoldinglaundryinherroom.
“Allright,listeners,”hesays,“I’vegotsomethingspecialforyouthismorning.Normallywedon’ttakerequestsinadvance,butthisparticularcallerhasbeensoloyaltousthatwhenshecalledlastweekandaskedifwe’dplayasongtoday,wedecidedtomakeanexception.”
Oh.Oh,no.
“Thisone’sforyou,August.Janesays,‘Justincase.’”
“LoveofMyLife”startstoplay,andAugustdropshersocksonthefloorandclimbsintobed.
Thenextday,shetakesadifferenttraintoConeyIsland,thelastplaceshesawher.Thearchedceilings,metalandglasssprawlingoverherhead.Shegetsoffatthesameplatformbutwalksdownthestepsinstead,outtothestreetandtheshadowoftheWonderWheel.
Attheedgeofthebeach,shetakeshershoesoff,tiesthelacestogether,andthrowsthemoverhershouldersoshecanwalkoutintothewaterwithbarefeet.It’salmostfall,buttherearestillhundredsoffamiliesandteenagersandsun-starvedtwenty-somethingssittingonbeachblanketsdrinkingnutcrackers.Shewalkspastthemallandsinksontothewetseatofthetideinherjeans.
Waterrushesoverherfeet,andshecontemplatesthehorizonoftheAtlanticOcean,thinkingofJanestandingtherewithabackpackfullofcontrabandbeeralifetimeago.
ShethinksoftheGulfCoastbackhome,generationsofherfamilysoakingitintotheirpores,stormsinthestreetsandinthetinytwo-bedroomapartmentshegrewupin,whatittookfromher,whatitgaveher.
ShethinksoftheBay,ofJane’sfamily.TheSus.ShewondersifJane’smadeithomeyet,ifshe’strippedthroughthedoorwayoftheapartmentabovetherestaurantinChinatownandfoundthecandyinthetinatopthefridge,ifsheandhersistershavetuggedeachotherdowntotheedgeofthewaterundertheGoldenGate.MaybewhenJanewasakid,she’dlookoutatthePacificandwonderwhatgotleftbehindwhenhergreat-great-grandparentsleftHongKong,whatcamewiththem.
Augusthasn’tbeenabletobringherselftochecktherecordsyettofindoutwhathappenedtoJaneafter1977.She’snotreadytoknow.Whatevershedid,wherevershe’sbeen,Augusthopesshewashappy.
She’slearnedgriefthroughhermother,andthroughJane.Shelookedintheireyesandlearnedthatwhatshe’sfeelingrightnowisworthspendingtimewith:adistance,butafreshone,whensomeonewho’sfarfromyoucanstillfeelclose.
Itwon’ttakelong,shethinks,forthefarnesstofeellikewrongness.Itwasonlyeightmonths.Theyonlykneweachotherforeightmonths.Ayearandahalf,andshe’llhavelostJaneforlongerthanshehadher.That’stheworstpart.Eightmonthsshrinkingawayintonothing.NeverbeingtheexactpersonshewaswithJaneagain.Jane,somewhereelse,buttheexactpersonshewaswithAugustgone.Thosetwoexactpeopleceasingtoexist,andnobodyelseintheworldevenfeelingtheloss.
Whenshegetshomethatnight,sandinherhair,Niko’swaitingforher.
Hepoursheracupoftealikehedidthedaytheymet,butheaddsasplashofrum.Heputsarecordon,andtheysitcross-leggedonthelivingroomfloor,lettingtheincensehelitburnuntilitsmoldersout.
Nikousuallylivesalongay-axis,gettingtallerandtallerthemorehetalks,butwhenheturnstoher,there’snothingbigorexpansiveabouthim.Onlyasoftsighandthedownturnofhismouthashetakesherhand.
“YourememberwhenyoucametomeetmeandMylabeforeyoumovedin?WhenItouchedyourhand?”
“Yeah.”
“Isawthis,”hesays.“Not—notthatthiswouldhappen.ButIsawthatyouhadsomethinginyouthatcouldreachacross.Thatcouldmakeimpossiblethingshappen.AndIsaw?…Isawalotofpain.Behindyou.Infrontofyou.I’msorryIdidn’ttellyousooner.”
“It’sokay,”Augusttellshim.“Iwouldn’thavechangedanything.”
Hehums,rotatinghisteacupslowly.
Therecordswitchestoanewsong,somethingold,stringsandbrassyvocalsinaslow,heavymelody,likeitwasrecordedinasmokyroom.
She’snotreallylistening,butshecatchesafewlines.Ilikethesightandthesoundandeventhestinkofit,IhappentolikeNewYork?…
“Ilikethissong,”shesays,leaningherheadbackagainstthewall.Hereyesarerubbedpinkandraw.She’sbeenmakingalotofexceptionstoher“nocrying”rulelately.“Who’sitby?”
“Hmm,this?”Nikoleanshisheadontopofhersandpointstothesculptureinthecorner.“ThisisJudyGarland.”
HermomcomestovisitinOctober.
It’stense,atfirst.Whenshetalks,it’sclipped,audiblystrugglingtostayeven,butthatmakesAugustappreciatehermore.Shecanheartheoldrazor-sharpSuzettedefensestryingtocutthrough,butshe’sfightingthem.Augustcanappreciatethat.She’slearnedalotinthepastyearabouthowmuchofthatisinhertoo.
Hermomhasneverreallytraveled,andshe’sdefinitelyneverbeentoNewYork,soAugusttakeshertoseethesights—theEmpireStateBuilding,theStatueofLiberty.ShetakeshertoBilly’ssoshecanseewhereAugustworks,andsheimmediatelytakesashinetoLucie.SheordersFrenchtoastandpaystheticket.LuciebringsAugustaSuSpecialwithoutherevenasking.
“I’vemissedyou,”hermomsays,draggingapieceoftoastthroughapoolofsyrup.“Somuch.Just,like,thepicturesofuglydogsyouusedtotextme.Thewayyoutalktoofastwhenyouhaveanidea.I’mreallysorryifImadeyoufeellikeIdidn’tloveallofyou.You’remybaby.”
It’smoresentimentthanshe’shandedAugustsinceshewasakid.AndAugustlovesher,endlessly,unconditionally,evenifshelikestoplayatbeingAugust’sfriendmorethanhermom,evenifshe’sdifficultandstubbornandunabletoletanythinggo.Augustisallthreeofthosetoo.Hermomgaveherthat,justlikeshegavehereverythingelse.
“Imissedyoutoo,”Augustsays.“Thepastfewmonths?…well.Itwasalot.TherewerealotoftimesIthoughtaboutcallingyou,butI—Ijustwasn’tready.”
“It’sokay,”shesays.“Anythingyouwanttotalkabout?”
That’snewtoo:theasking.Augustimagineshergoingtoworkatthelibraryanddiggingthroughtheshelves,pullingoutbooksonhowtobeamoreemotionallysupportiveparent,takingnotes.Shebitesdownonasmallsmile.
“Iwasseeingsomeoneforafewmonths,”Augusttellsher.“It,uh.It’sovernow.Butitwasn’tbecausewewantedittobe.She?…shehadtoleavethecity.”
Hermomchewsthoughtfullyandswallowsbeforesheasks,“Didyouloveher?”
Maybehermomwillthinkit’sawasteoftimeandenergy,tolovesomebodyashardasAugustdoes.Butthensheremembersthefileburningaholeinherbag,thethingsshe’sgoingtohavetotellherlater.Maybeshe’llgetitafterall.
“Yeah,”Augustsays.Hermouthtasteslikehotsauceandsyrup.“Yeah,Idid.Ido.”
Thatafternoon,theywalkthroughProspectPark,undertheautumnsundappledthroughthechangingleaves.
“Yourememberthatfileyousentmeearlierthisyear?TheoneaboutAugie’sfriendwhomovedtoNewYork?”
Hermomstiffensslightly.Herlipstwitchinthecorners,butshe’sphysicallyholdingherselfback,tryingnottolooktooeageroranxious.Augustlovesherforit.Italmostmakesherchangehermindaboutwhatshe’sabouttodo
“Iremember,”shesays,voicecarefullyneutral.
“Well,Ilookedintoit,”Augustsays.“AndI,um?…Ifoundher.”
“Youfoundher?”shesays,abandoningpretensetostopinthemiddleofthepath.“How?Icouldn’tfindanythingbeyond,like,twoutilitybills.”
“ShewasstillgoingbyherbirthnamesometimeswhensheknewAugie,”Augustexplains,“butbythetimeshegothere,she’dstartedusingadifferentnamefull-time.”
“Wow,”shesays.“So,haveyoutalkedtoheryet?”
Augustalmostwantstolaugh.HasshetalkedtoJane?“Yeah,Ihave.”
“What’dshesay?”
They’vedrawnuptoanisolatedbenchperchednearthewater’sedge,quietandseparatefromtherunnersandthegeeseandthesoundsofthestreet.
Augustgesturestowardit.“Wannasit?”
Thereonthebench,shepullsoutherownfile,anewone.
IntheweekssinceJaneleft,Augusthasn’tlookedforher,butshehaslookedforAugie.Everythingshe’sfoundisinthemanilafoldershehandstohermom.ApostcardinAugie’shandwriting,fromCaliforniatoNewYork.Aphonenumber,whichshefinallymanagedtomatchtoanoldclassifiedadthatledtoastoragefacilitywithblessedlystringentrecordkeeping.ThenameofthemanwhosharedAugie’snumberandapartmentinOakland,nowhappilymarriedtoanothermanbutstruckmomentarilyspeechlesswhenAugusttoldhimoverthephonethatshewasAugie’sniece.
Acopyofafakedriver’slicensewithAugie’sphoto,afewyearsolderthanthelasttimehermomsawhim,adifferentname.He’dgotteninsometroubleonhiswaytoCalifornia,andhe’dstoppedusinghislegalname.Itwasallbehindhimby1976whenhewrotetoJane,butitmeanttheynevercouldfindhimafter’73.
Thelastitemisanewspaperclippingaboutacaraccident.Atwenty-nine-year-oldbachelorwithanOaklandaddresswreckedhisconvertibleinAugustof’77.HewasdrivingthePanoramicHighway
Hedied,butnotthewayJanethought.Hediedhappy.Hediedchasingadream,lovedandsoberandsun-drenchedinCalifornia.Themanheleftbehindstillhasaboxinhisatticfilledwithphotos—AugiesmilinginfrontofthePaintedLadies,Augiehuggingaredwood,Augiegettingkissedunderthemistletoe.Therearecopiesofthoseinthefoldertoo,alongwithacarboncopyofaletterAugiewrotetohiskidsisterin1975,proofthatheneverstoppedtryingtoreachher.
Hermomcries.Ofcourseshedoes.
“Sometimes?…sometimesyoujusthavetofeelit,”Augusttellsher.Shelooksoutoverthewaterashermomhugsthefiletoherchest.It’sover.It’sfinallyover.“Becauseitdeservestobefelt.”
Hermomsleepsontheoldairmattressthatnight,tuckedinonAugust’sbedroomfloor,andinthedark,shetalksaboutwhatshemightdowithhertimenowthatthecaseissolved.Augustsmilesfaintlyatthecrackedceiling,listeningtohertossaroundideas.
“Maybecooking,”shesays.“MaybeI’llfinallylearnhowtobake.MaybeI’llgetintoceramics.Ooh,doyouthinkI’dlikekickboxing?”
“Basedonthenumberofself-defenseclassesyoumademetakewhenIwasthirteen,yeah,Ithinkyouwould.”
ShereachesforAugust’shandwhereit’sdanglingovertheedgeofhermattress,andAugustpicturesherdoingthesamewhenshewasakidandshakingthroughanightmare.ShehasalwayslovedAugust.That’snevernotbeentrue.
“Onething,though,”hermomsays.“This?…Biyuperson.TheonewholivedwithAugie.CouldImeether?”
AndsuddenlyAugust’sthroatisalmosttoothicktoanswer.
“Ireallywishyoucould,”shemanages.“Butshedoesn’tlivehereanymore.”
“Oh,”hermomsays.ShegivesAugust’shandasqueeze.“That’sokay.”
And,somehow,itactuallysoundslikeshe’sdoneaskingquestions.
Augustliesawakeforanotherhourafterhermomfallsasleep,staringatthemoonlightonthewall.If,afteralltheseyears,SuzetteLandrycanletthecasego,maybeoneday,AugustcanletJanegotoo.
TherearealotofimpossibilitiesinAugust’slife.Alotofthingsthattranspiredespitetheodds,despiteeverylawofthisworldandthenextsayingitshouldn’tworkout.
It’sNovember,andPancakeBilly’sHouseofPancakesisstill$14,327dollarsawayfromshutteringforgood,whenhermomcallstotellherthathergrandmother’sestatehasbeensettledandsheshouldgetacheckinthemailnextweek.Shedoesn’tthinkmuchofit—afterall,hermomsaidtherehadn’tbeenthatmuchleft.
Shehastosignfortheenvelopewhenitarrives,andshegetssodistractedarguingwithWesoverwhattoorderontonight’spizzathatshealmostforgetstoopenitaltogether.
It’slight,thin.Itfeelsinconsequential,likeataxreturnwhenyouworkminimumwageandyouknowtheIRSissendingyouabullshitcheckforthirty-sixbucks.Sheslidesherfingerdowntheseamanyway.
It’swrittenouttoAugust.Signedatthebottom.Rightthere,inthetotalbox:$15,000.
“Oh,”shesays.“Oh.”
ThreemonthsafterJanevanishes,August’sgrandmother’smoney—themoneyfromawomanAugustmettwice,whopaidhertuitionforthirteenyearsinadherencetotraditionbutwhocouldn’tbefuckedtolookforherownson—silentlymakesupthedifference.
Sheholdsthecheckinherhands,andshethinksoftheboxhermomfoundinhergrandparents’attic,alloftheunopenedlettersfromAugie,anditfeelsdirty.Shedidn’tearnit.Shedoesn’twantit.Itshouldgowhereitcanbetransformedintosomethinggood.
So,shedigstheaccountnumbersupfromtheofficeintheback,andshewiresthemoneytoBillyanonymously,andsheclocksintoworkjustlikeshedoeseveryday.Shetakeshertableassignments,fixesherselfacoffee.SlapspalmswithWinfieldwhenheclocksin.Putsinanorderofpancakesfortableseven.Staresatthespotonthewallbythemen’sroomwhereshe’sreturnedtheopeningdayphotoshestole.
Thefrontdoorfliesopen,andthere’sallsix-feet-somethingofBillyfillingthedoorway,eyeswide,asheenofsweatacrosshisexpansive,baldforehead
Luciefreezeshalfwayoutthekitchendoorwhensheseeshim,platesofpancakesbalancedupanddowneacharm.
“What?”sheasksflatly.“Whathappened?”
“Godhappened,”hesays.“Wegotthemoney.We’rebuyingtheunit.”
And,forthefirsttimeinhercareer,Luciespillsanorderonthefloor.
It’saSaturdayafternoon,buttheyfinishuptheirtablesandclosetherestaurant,Lucienudgingthelastcustomeroutthedoorwithafreetakeawaydesserttogetthemmovingfaster.Theminutethey’reout,sheshutsthedoorandflipstheOPENsignaround.
“Closedforprivateparty,”shesays,andshecrossestothebarandyanksWinfieldintoafuriouskiss.
“I’lldrinktothat,”Jerrywhoopsthroughthekitchenwindow.
Augustgrins,joyswarminginherstomach.“Cheers.”
Thewholerestaurantexplodesintochaos—serversscreamingoverthephonetopeoplewhoaren’tonshift,JerryscreamingatWinfieldaboutwhyhenevertoldanyoneaboutLucie,LuciescreamingatBillyaboutwherethemoneycouldhavecomefrom.BillyputsEarth,Wind&Fireonthesoundsystemandcranksitup,andabusboyrunstotheliquorstoredowntheblockandreturnswithabustubfullofchampagnebottles.
Peoplestartfloodingin.Notcustomers,butlongtimewaiterswhoheardthenewsandwantedtocelebrate,acoupleofregularscloseenoughtoBillytogetapersonalcall,linecooksstillsmellingliketheirsecondjobsatotherrestaurantsintheneighborhood.Augustdidn’ttellanyoneaboutthemoney—notevenMylaorNikoorWes—sowhenshesendsamessagetothegroupchat,they’retherewithintwentyminutes,outofbreathandinmismatchedshoes.Isaiahshowsuparoundthetimethefifthbottleispopped,beamingandpullingWesintohisside,acceptingajuiceglassofchampagnewhenit’spassedtohim.
AugustcametoNewYorkalmostayearago,alone.Shedidn’tknowasoul.Shewassupposedtomuddlethroughlikeshealwaysdid,buryherselfinthegray.Tonight,undertheneonlightsofthebar,underNiko’sarm,Myla’sfingersloopedthroughherbeltloop,shebarelyknowsthatfeeling’sname.
“Youdidgood,”Nikotellsher.Whenshelooksathim,there’sthatdistant,funnysmileplayingaroundhismouth,theonehegiveswhenheknowssomethingheshouldn’t.Sheducksherhead.
“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”
Jerrydragsacrateofpotatoesoutofthekitchen,andBillystepsupontoit,raisingupanentirebottleofAndré.
“AllI’veeverwanted,”Billysays,“wastokeepthefamilybusinessalive.Andithasn’tbeeneasy,notwiththewaythingshavebeenchangingaroundhere.Myparentsputeverythingtheyhadintothisplace.Ididmyhomeworkonthatbar.”Hepointstothebar,andeveryonelaughs.“Imetmywifeinthatbooth.”Hepointstooneinthebackcorner,wherethevinyl’ssplitacrosstheseatandonesidesinkstoofardown.Augustalwayswonderedwhyithadn’tbeenreplaced.“Ihadmydaughter’sfirstbirthdaypartyhere—Jerry,youbakedafuckin’cake,remember?Anditwasawful.”Jerrylaughsandgiveshimthefinger,andBillybellowsoutalaughsoloud,theroomshakes.
“But,anyway,”hesays,sobering.“I’mjust?…Ifeelsoblessedtogettokeepit.AndtohavepeopleItrust.”HeinclineshisheadtowardLucieandJerryandWinfield,huddledbyatable.“PeopleIlove.So,Iwannamakeatoast.”Heliftshisbottle,andallovertherestaurant,peopleraisecoffeemugsandjuiceglassesandstyrofoamto-gocups.“ToPancakeBilly’sHouseofPancakes,servingthegoodpeopleofBrooklynfornearlyforty-fiveyearsnow.Whenmymommaopenedthisplace,shetoldme,‘Son,yougottamakeyourownplacetobelong.’So,toaplacetobelong.”
Everyonecheers,loudandhappyandalittlemisty,thesoundfillingtheplaceuptothebrim,rushingovertheFormicatabletopsandthestickykitchenfloorandthephototothesideofthemen’sroomdoorofthefirstdayBilly’sfedtheneighborhood.
JustasBillytakesaswig,thefrontdooropens.
Theroom’stoobusythrowingbackchampagnetonotice,butwhenAugustglancesacrossthediningroom,there’sayoungwomanstandinginthedoor.
Shelookslost,alittleshocked,unsteadyonherfeet.Herhair’sinkyblackandshort,sweptbackfromherface,andhercheeksareflushedfromtheNovemberchilloutside.
WhiteT-shirt,rippedjeans,sharpcheekbones,anarmfuloftattoos.Asingledimpleatonesideofhermouth.
Augustthinksshethrowsachairoutoftheway.It’spossibleabottleofhotsaucehitsthelinoleumandshatters.Thespecificsblurout.Allsheknowsis,sheclearstheroominseconds.
Jane.
Impossibly,here.Now.HerredChucksplantedontheblack-and-whitefloor.
“Hi,”Janesays,andhervoicesoundsthesame.
Hervoicesoundsthesame,andshelooksthesame,andwhenAugustreachesoutandgraspsdesperatelyforhershoulders,theyfeelexactlythesameastheyalwayshaveunderherhands.
Solid.Real.Alive.
“How—?”
“Idon’tknow,”shesays.“OnesecondIwas—Iwaswithyouonthetracks,andyouwerekissingme,andthenI,IopenedmyeyesandIwasjuststandingontheplatform,anditwascold,andIknew.Icouldtellwhenitwas.Ididn’tknowwhereelsetolookforyou,soIcamehere.Ihadtomakesureyouwere—youwereokay.”
“ThatIwasokay?”
“Ican’tbelieveyoudidthat,August,youcouldhavedied—”
“I—Ithoughtyouwentback—”
“Yougotmeout—”
“Wait.”AugustcanbarelyhearwhatJaneissaying.Herbrainisstillcatchingup.“It’sonlybeenasecondforyou?”
“Yeah,”Janesays,“yeah,howlonghasitbeenforyou?”
HerfingerssqueezeinJane’sshirt.“Threemonths.”
“Oh,”shesays.ShelooksatAugustlikeshedidthatnightonthetracks,likeit’sbreakingherheart.“Oh,youthoughtIwas—”
“Yeah.”
“I’m—”shesays,butshedoesn’tgettofinishthesentence,becauseAugusthasthrownherarmsaroundherwaistandcrashedintoherchest.HerarmsclosearoundAugust’sneck,tightandfierce,andAugustbreathesinthesmellofher,sweetandwarmandfaintly,underitall,somethingalittlestrangeandsinged.
Allthosemonths.Allthetripsupanddowntheline.Allthesongsontheradio.Allofit,allthework,allthetryingandscrapingandtearingattheseamsofwhatshecansee,allforthis.AllforherarmswrappedaroundJaneinadineronaSaturdayafternoon.
Hergirl.Shecameback.
17
PhotofromthearchivesofNewYorkMagazine,fromaphotoseriesonBrooklyndiners,datedAugust2,1976
[Photodepictsaplateofpancakeswithasideofbaconinthehandsofawaitress,illuminatedbytheblueandpinkglowoftheneonlightsthatwraptheundersideofthebaratPancakeBilly’sHouseofPancakes.Thoughthewaitress’sfaceisoutofframe,severaltattoosarevisibleonherleftarm:ananchor,Chinesecharacters,aredbird.]
Augusttakesherhome.
TheskysplitsopenthesecondtheystepoutofBilly’s,butJanejustturnstoherundertheonslaughtofrainandsmiles.Janeintherain.That’ssomethingnew.
“Whichwaywegoin’,angel?”sheasks,raindropsslidingintohermouth.
Augustblinkswateroutofhereyes.“Idon’tguessyouwannatakethesubway?”
“Fuckyou,”shesays,andshelaughs.
Augustgrabsherhand,andtheythrowthemselvesintothebackofacab.
Assoonasthedoorslamsshut,she’sinJane’slap,swingingalegovertostraddleherhips,andshecan’tstop,notwhenshethoughtshewasnevergoingtoseeJaneagain.Jane’sfingersdigintoherwaist,andherstwistintoJane’shair,andtheykisshardenoughthatthedaystheymissedallfoldtogetherlikeamap,likethepagesofanotebookshut,likeitwasnotimeatall.
Jane’smouthfallsopen,andAugustchasesafterit.Sheskimsthatsoftbottomlipwithherteethandfindshertongue,andJanemakesalow,hurtsoundandholdshertighter.
ThefirsttimeJanekissedherforreal,itfeltlikeawarning.Thistime,it’sapromise.It’sasighofreliefinthebackofherthroat.It’sastringoffateAugustneverthoughtshe’dbelievein,pullingtight.
“Youwannagivemeanaddressorwhat?”thedriversaysfromthefrontseat,soundingabsolutelybored.
Janelaughs,wideandbright,rightupagainstAugust’smouth,andAugustleansbacktosay,“ParksideandFlatbush.”
OnthecurboutsidethePopeyes,Augustdropsherkeys,andamovingtrucktrundlesthroughadeeppuddleofsludgeonthestreetanddrenchesthemboth.
“Fuck,”Augustsays,takingherdirtyglassesoffandpluckingherkeysoutofthegutter.“Ipicturedthisalotmorecinematic.”
SheturnstoJane,drippingandsoakedthroughandslightlyblurry,coveredinmudandgrinning,stillthere.Justcontinuingtobethere,somehow,despiteeverygoddamnlawoftheuniversesayingsheshouldn’tbe.
“Idon’tknow,”Janesays,reachingouttothumbatthemascararaccooningunderAugust’seyes.“Ithinkyoulookgreat.”
Augustbreathesoutadeliriouslaugh,andatthetopofthestairs,shepushesJanethroughthefrontdooroftheapartment.
“Shower,”Augustsays,“I’mcoveredinstreetjuice.”
“Sosexy,”Janeteases,butshedoesn’targue.
Theystumbletowardthebathroom,leavingatrailofshoesandwetclothes.Augustturnsonthefaucet—somehow,miraculously,forthefirsttimesinceshemovedin,thewaterishot.
Janepinshertothebathroomsinkandkissesher,andwhenAugustisfinallydowntoonlyherwetbraandunderwear,sheopenshereyes.
Shekeepshavingthesemoments,whereshehastostareatJane,likeifshelooksawayfortoolong,she’lldisappear.Butheresheis,standinginAugust’sbathroom,hairdampandstickingoutineverydirectionfromwhereAugusthasbeentuggingatit,inablackbraandbriefs.Thereareherhipbones,andherbarethighs,andtherestofhertattoos—theanimalsupanddownhersides.
Augustreachesdownandtrailsherfingersoverthesnake’stonguejustbelowJane’swaist.Janeshivers.
“You’rehere,”Augustsays.
“I’mhere,”Janeconfirms.
“Whatdoesitfeellike?”Augustasks
There’sapauseasJane’seyessweepopenandclosed,herfingertipsgrazingovertheporcelainofthesinkbehindAugust’sback.
“Permanent.”Shesaysitlikeacompletesentence.
August’shandslidesupherback,totheclaspofherbra.“Weneedtotalkaboutwhatthismeans.”
“Yeah,”Janesays.“Iknow.ButI…”Sheleansbackdown,kissingthetopofAugust’scheekbone.She’smovingagain,restless,finallyletofftheleash.“Icanthinklater.RightnowIjustwanttobehere,okay?”
AndAugust,whohasspenteveryminuteofthelastfewmonthswishingshecouldtouchJaneonemoretime,saysyes.
Theymanagetoworkwetunderthingsoffwetbodiesandthen,intheshower,theydissolveintoeachother,gracelessandmessy.Augustlosestrackofwhowasheswhosehairorwherethesudsarecomingfrom.Thewholelandscapeoftheworldbecomesgolden-brownskinandfluidblacklinesofinkandafeelinginherchestlikeflowers.Shekisses,andJanekissesback,again,forever.
It’ssupposedtobejustashower—Augustswears—buteverythingiswetandwarmandslickandit’stooeasyandnaturalforherhandtoslipdownbetweenJane’slegs,andJane’spushingbackintoherpalm,andit’sbeensolong.Whatelseisshesupposedtodo?
“Missedyousofuckingmuch,”Augustbreathesout.Shethinksit’slostintherushoftheshower,butJanehearsit.
“I’mhere,”Janesays,lickingwaterfromthehollowofAugust’sthroat.Augustreplacesherhandwithherthigh,bearingdownonJane’sinreturn,andtheymovetogether,oneofJane’shandsonthewallforbalance.Herbreathhitcheswhenshesaysitagain:“I’mhere.”
They’rekissing,andJane’sgrindingagainsther,andshefeelsherselfsinkingintoafogofwant,moltenskin,amouthonhers.It’stoomuch,andit’snotenough,andthenthey’restumblingoutofthetubandAugust’sbackisonthebathmat,onthebathroomfloor,andJaneiskissingherlikeshewantstodisappearintoher,handsroaming.
“Hangon,”Janesays,movingtopullback.Augustgrabsherwrist.
“Why—ah—”AugustgaspsatthechangeofanglebeforeJanetakesherfingersawaycompletely.“ForGod’ssake—whywouldyoueverstopdoingthat—”
“Because,”Janesays,pinchingAugustonthehip,“Idon’twanttofuckyouonthebathroomfloor.”
“We’vefuckedonthesubway,”Augustsays.Hervoicecomesoutpoutyandpetulant.Shedoesnotcare.“Thebathroomfloorisanupgrade.”
“I’mnotagainstthebathroomfloor,”Janesays.“Imean,therearealotofplacesinthisapartmentwhereIhaveeveryintentionoffuckingyou.Ijustwanttostartwiththebed.”
Oh,right.Thebed.Theycanhavesexinabednow.
“Hurryup,then,”Augustsays,clamberingtoherfeetandpullingatowelwithher.It’satestamenttoallthey’vebeenthroughtogetherthatshedoesn’teventhinktocarewhatherbodylookslikeasshewrenchesthedooropenandcrossesintoherbedroom.
“You’resoannoying,”Janesays,butshe’sclosebehind,shuttingthedoorandpullingAugustintoher,throwingthetowelacrosstheroomascarelesslyasshethrewAugust’sglassesthatnightontheManhattanBridge.
ShebacksAugusttowardthebed,andAugustcanfeelwarm,shower-freshskineverywhere,andshe’sgoingcrazyoverit.Jane’swaistandhips,thetightswellsofherassandthighs,ribs,breasts,elbows,ankles.She’slosingit.She’salifelonghereticsuddenlyoverwhelmedwithblissfulgratitudeforwhatevermadethispossible.Hermouthiswatering,andittasteslikehoney,butmaybethat’sbecauseJanetastesassweetasshesmells.
Janegivesheralittlepush,andsheletsherselffallintothesheets.
Sheliesthere,watchingJanelookaroundtheroom—thetinywritingdeskstackedwithtextbooks,thebasketofcarefullyfoldedlaundrybythecloset,thepottedcactusonthewindowsillthatNikogaveherforherbirthdayinSeptember,themapsandtimelinesthatshehasn’tyetbroughtherselftounpinfromthewalls.Thejacketonthechair.August’sroomislikeher:quiet,unfancy,grayinthestormyafternoon,andfilledupwithJane.
“Yeah,this’lldo,”Janesays.“Ihavesomesuggestionsaboutdecor,butwecantalkaboutthatlater.”
She’sstillstandingafewfeetfromthebed,nakedandnevershy,andAugustdoesn’tbotherpretendingnottolookateveryinchofherforthefirsttime.Janeisobviously,always,inevitablystunning,alllonglegsandgentlecurvesandsharphipbonesandtattoos.ButAugustfindsthatshelovesthingsitneveroccurredtohertolove.Thedimplesofherknees.Theknotsofhershoulders.Thewayherbaretoestouchthescuffedfloor.
“What?”Janeasks.
“Nothing,”Augustsays,rollingovertolayhercheekagainstthepillow.Jane’seyestrackthewayherdamphairtumblesdownhershouldersandback.“It’scutehowyoujustinvitedyourselftomoveinwithus.”
“Four’sunluckyanyway,”Janesays,“mightaswellmakeitfive.”
Shethrowsherselfatthebed,andAugustbouncesandlaughsandletsJanepushherontoherback,alreadygasping.
“You’realwaysso,”shesays,kissingthepatchofskinbehindAugust’sear,herrighthandfindingitsway,“sensitive.”
“Don’t—don’tmakefunofme.”
“I’mnotmakingfunofyou.”ShemovesoneofherfingersinateasinglittlecircleandAugustgaspsagain,onehandfistinginthesheets.“Ilovethataboutyou.It’sfun.”
WhenAugustopenshereyes,Jane’shoveringoverher,facegentleandawed.AtAugust.She’slookingatAugustlikethat.Augustcanliterallysplittimeopen,apparently,butshestillcan’tbelievethewayJanelooksather.
“YouknowIstillloveyou,right?”Augusttellsher.Itfallsoutofhermouthreadily.Losinghermadeiteasytosay.“Eventhoughit’sbeenmonthsforme.Ineverevencameclosetostopping.”
JanepressesherlipstothecenterofAugust’schest.
“Tellmeonemoretime.”
Augustletsoutaquiet,eagersoundwhenshemovesagain.“Iloveyou.I—Iloveyou.”
AndJanepressesherintothemattressandsays,“I’mhere.I’mnotleaving.”
It’sluxury.Themostbasicparametersofprivacy—adoor,anemptyapartment,anafternoonstretchingoutbeforethem—andthat’sluxury.Notrainschedulesornosycommuters.Nofluorescentlights.Justtouchingfortheluxuryoftouch,greedybecausetheycanbe.Janekeepswatchingherface,andAugustcan’timaginewhatherexpressionisdoing,butJane’ssmiling,anditonlywindsherupmoretoknowthatJane’sgettingoffongettingheroff.Augustwantsmore,wantseverythingshecanpossiblyhave,wantstoburyherselfinitandnevercomeback.
Thefirstonegoesquickly—it’sbeentoolongandshe’smissedJanetoomuchforittotakemuchmorethanahandandafewminutes—andwhenshe’sfinishedshiveringthroughit,Janekissesherbacktohersenses.
“God,”Augustsays,breakingoff,“comeuphere.”
“Iamuphere,”Janesays.“I’mkissingyou.”
“No.”Augustlicksherlipsandreachesuptodragonefingertipacrossthebottomone.“Here.”
“Oh,”Janeexhales.“Oh,okay.”
Janekissesheroncemore,andthenshe’smovingupAugust’sbody,shiftingonherkneesuntilshe’sevenwithAugust’sshoulders,bracingherselfwithbothhandsagainstthewall.Augustcanfeeltheheatradiatingoffofherlikewetsunlight.
“Ready?”sheasks.
“Don’taskstupidquestions,”Augusttellsher.She’sthoughtaboutthismoretimesthanJanecanimagine.
“Ijustwanted—fuck,okay,stupidquestion,sorry—fuck,oh,fuck.”
AugustthinksaboutsummertimeinNewOrleans,cupsoficeandsugarysyrup,satsumaandstrawberryandhoneysuckledrippingdownherchinandstickingtoherfingers,thefamiliarsmotherofsteamandsweat.Janerollsherhips,chasingthefeeling,softlittlemoansfallingoutofhermouthfasterandfasteruntilshegivesherselfover.August’sfingernailsdigintothefleshofherthighsrightwheretheymeetherhips,andshelovesthis,lovesJane,lovesthevelvetyinsidesofJane’slegsagainstherface,lovesthewayJanefeelsonherlipsandhertongue,loveshowshemovesinwavesofdesperateinstinctwithoutahintofself-consciousness.Augustcouldlearnhowtolivewithoutbreathingjusttostaylikethisforever.
Whenit’sover—notover,noteverreallyoverwiththem,butwhenJanefallsovertheedgeandcan’ttakeanymore—Janekisseshersloppily,drunkandeuphoric.ShesmellslikeAugust,andthat’sawholedifferentrevelation—herbodyandJane’sandallthewaystheycanlingeroneachother.
Thereneverseemstobeabeginningoranendtothis.Before,itwaswhatevercircumstancesdemanded,butnowit’samessoftouching,onekissblendingintothenext,anendlessglide,acontinuoustide.Theybothgiveandtake,bothhaveturnsgaspingandswearingandgettingontheirknees.Itcouldbehoursordays,Augustthinks,whenshehasanythinginherbrainstillcapableofthought.JanepushesapillowunderAugust’shipsandhooksAugust’skneesoverherownshoulders,andAugustgoesunder.
Janedrawsheroutagain,deadlywithhermouthandfingers.Shemoveslikeart.ShefindseverypieceholdingAugusttogetherandworksitlooseuntilshefeelslikeshe’sspillingoutofherself.August’satsea,she’sclayinthehandsofsomeonewhoknowshowtomakealifeoutofnothing,she’sagirlunderneathagirlinabedtheybothalmostdiedtogetto.
“That’sit,”JanewhisperswhenAugustcanbarelystandtohearthedesperate,dizzysoundscomingoutofherownmouth.She’sgotonehandandherhipsbetweenAugust’sthighs,chasingblindlyandrelentlesslyafterwhateverAugust’sbodyrespondsto.Janefucksherlikethey’rethecenteroftheuniverse.Augustisinthestars.“Sogorgeouslikethis,angel,God,Iloveyou—”
AugustcomesagainwithherhandsinJane’shair,eyesshut,bodyshaking,andit’snotjustthetouch.Downtoherfingertips,singingthroughhersynapses,it’salovetoobigtobestopped,theunbearable,exquisitefullnessofit.Impossible.
Later,whenthesunissettingandthestreetlightsflickeringon,AugustfeelsJane’spulseagainstherandimaginesallthewiresrunningoverandunderthestreetsyncedupwithit.Thatisn’thowitworksanymore.Butitfeelstrueanyway.
“Youknowwhat’scrazy?”Janesays.Shelookslikeshemightfallasleepsoon.
“What?”
“You’rethemostimportantpersonI’veevermet,”shesays.“AndIshouldhavenevermetyouatall.”
Time,Mylaexplainstothemlater,isn’tperfect.
It’snotastraightline.It’snotneatandtidy.Thingsgetcrossed,overlap,splinter.Peoplegetlost.It’snotaprecisescience.
So,Janedidn’tgobackto1977.Theyopenedadoor,andAugustcaughtaglimpsethroughthecrack,butJanedidn’tstaythere.Shedidn’tmagicallysnapintotheexactmomentoftimesheleftAugustineither,though.Sheendedupinthegeneralareaofnow,thewayhersocksendupinthegeneralareaofthelaundrybasketwhenshethrowsthemacrossAugust’sbedroom.
Thefirstfewweeksarerocky.Jane’shappyinthewaythatJaneisoftenhappy—unflappable,gregarious,laughingloudintothenight—untilsuddenlysheisn’t.She’sthankfultobethere,buttherearemomentsthatstartleheroutofgratitude.Likewhenshethinksofsomeoneshewantstotellaboutahorriblepunshemakesoverdinnerandrealizesthatpersonisbackin1977,orwhenshelingersoverthepictureofAugiethatAugusthasaddedtothefridge.Almosteverynight,shelieshalf-nakedinbed,runningherfingersoverthetattoosonherside,againandagain.
“Ishouldhavediedthatnight,andIdidn’t,”Janesaysonemorning,leaningagainstAugust’swindowsill,lookingdownatthestreet.Shesaysthisalotatfirst,likeameditation.“Eitherway,Iwasnevergoingtoseethemagain.Atleastthisway,Igettolive.”
She’slucky,shesays.Shegottocomebackupfromunderground.Sheknewalotofpeoplewhonevergotthechance.
Daysgoby,andinchbyinch,shesettlesintohernewlife.Andeveryday,itgetseasier.
Thoughshelovesstealingclothesfromthemall,JaneconsentstoatriptoH&Mforawardrobeofherown.Inreturn,sheconvincesAugusttostopbeingsouptightabouthowmanythingssheownsandgetadamnbookshelf,whichtheystarttoslowlyfill:books,photos,Jane’scassettecollection,August’snotebooks.MylatakesJanetoherfavoriterecordstoreandstartshelpinghercatchuponcontemporarymusic.ShereallylikesMitskiandAndre3000.
Shededicatesherselftolearningeverythingaboutlifeinthetwenty-firstcenturyanddevelopsfixationsonthemostrandommoderninventions.Self-checkoutstationsatgrocerystoresfreakherout,asdovapepensandalmostanykindofsocialmedia,butshe’sfascinatedbytheChromecastandTacoBellbeefyfive-layerburritos.ShespendsawholeweekmainliningTheO.C.onNetflixwhileAugustisatworkandemergeswithasoftspotforRyanAtwoodandalotofquestionsaboutearly2000sfashion.ShebuysadozenflavorsofinstantnoodlesatH-MartandeatstheminfrontofAugust’slaptop,talkingbacktomukbangsonYouTube.
TheygotobrunchwithNikoandMyla,dinnerwithWesandIsaiah.TheyspendweekstryingallthefoodsAugustnevergotachancetobringheronthetrain—stickyporkribs,steamingbowlsofqueso,massiveboxesofpizza.Myla’sparentsfindoutherroommatehasaChinesegirlfriendandmailheraboxofhomemadealmondcookies,andsoonJane’sonthephonewithMyla’smomeverySundayafternoon,helpingherpracticeherCantonese.AugustbuysoutawholeshelfofstrawberrymilkshakePop-TartsatTarget,andtheyspendtherestofthedaydancingaroundtheirbedroomintheirunderwear,shovingpinkfrostingandsprinklesintotheirmouthsandspreadingsugarykisseseverywhere.
AssoonasJanegetsaMetroCard,shestartsspendinglongdaysjustwanderingaroundChinatown,occupyingatableatadumplingshoponMulberryorwaitinginlinetoorderbaoatFayDa,observingtheoldmenplayingcardsinColumbusPark.SometimesAugustgoeswithherandletsherselfbeleddownMott,butmostofthetimeJanegoesalone.Shealwayscomeshomelatewithherpocketsfullofspongecakewrappersandplasticgrocerybagsheavywithoranges.
Janebecomespartoftheapartmentseamlessly,asifshe’snevernotbeenthere.She’sthenewreigningchampofRollyBangs,afixtureatAnnieDepressant’sgigs.SheandNikospendhoursdiscussinggender(Mylawantsthemtostartapodcast,whichleadstoAugustexplainingpodcaststoJane,andJanebecomingaddictedtoCallYourGirlfriend)andsharejeansallthetime.Onenight,Augustoverhearsthemtalkingabouthowfarstrap-ontechnologyhascomesincethe’70sandtakesherselfrightbacktobed.Fivedaysofshippingandhandlinglater,shewakesupdeliciouslysoreandbuysNikoavegandonutasathank-you.
Wesbringshomeatattookitfromwork,andJaneletshiminkheronthelivingroomcouch,squeezingthebloodoutofAugust’shand.Hedoestwobridgesinfineblacklinesontheinsideofherarms,justabovethecreasesofherelbows:theManhattanBridgeonherleft,andonherright,belowtheanchor,theGoldenGate.
Ithelps,theydiscover,forJanetodothingsthatmakeherfeelconnectedtoheroldlife.Shecookscongeeforbreakfastlikeherdadusedto,hangsoutatMyla’santiqueshopofferingopinionson’60s-erafurniture,joinsupwithdemonstrations,bringsAugustwithhertovolunteeratHIVclinics.WhenshefindsoutthatmostpeopleAugust’sagehaveneverevenheardoftheUpStairsLounge,shegoesonafuriousweeklongtear,postinghandwrittenfliersaroundtheneighborhooduntilAugustshowsherhowtowriteaMediumpost.Itgoesviral.Shekeepswriting
Thebestnightsarewhentheygodancing.Janelikesmusic,everythingfromgigsforhalf-decentlocalbandstoloudclubswithflashinglights,andAugustgoesalongbutstringentlymaintainsthatshewon’tdance.Italwayslastsabouthalfanhour,andsuddenlyshe’sinthecrowdunderJane’shands,watchinghermoveherhipsandstompherfeetandsmileupintothehaze.Shecouldstayhoveringatthebar,butshe’dmissthis.
Mylapullssomestringssherefusestodiscloseandmatter-of-factlycomeshomeoneafternoonwithafakeIDforJane,completewithaphotoanda1995birthdate.JanebringsitwhenAugusttakeshertofilloutanapplicationatBilly’s,andshestartsasalinecookthenextweek,quicklyfallingintotherhythmofgood-naturedbarbsandbackhandedcommentswithLucieandWinfieldandtherestofthecrew.Jerrygivesheragood,longlookthefirsttimeshestepsuptothegrillnexttohim,shakeshishead,andgetsbacktohisbacon.
Sometimes,whenAugustwalkshomefromthesubway,shelooksupatherownbedroomwindowfromthestreetandthinksabouthundredsofthousandsofpeoplewalkingpastit.Onesquareinchofapicturetoobigtoseeallatonce.NewYorkisinfinite,butitismadeup,inverysmallpart,oftheroombehindthewindowwithherandJane’sbookscrowdingthesill.
Augustscrapestogethertheleftoversofherlaststudentloantobuyaqueen-sizedbed,mattressandboxspringandall,andJanelookslikeshe’sinheavenwhensheflopsontoitforthefirsttime,euphoricenoughtomakeAugustspringforthedowncomfortertoo.She’srealizingthatshe’dgiveJaneprettymuchanythingshewants.Shefindsshedoesn’treallymind.
(JanedoesfinallymakeAugust’sdreamcometrue:sheassemblesthebed.It’sexactlyasdevastatingasAugustalwaysimagined.)
Thefirstnighttheysleepinit,AugustwakesupwithJanespoonedupagainstherback,thebroken-infabricofoneofWes’soversizedT-shirtssoftagainstherskin.SherollsoverandburrowshernoseintothedipbetweenJane’sneckandshoulder,breathingherin.Shesmellssweet,always,somehow,likesugar’sinherveins.Lastweek,AugustwatchedhershoutdownaguywitharacistsigninTimesSquareandthensnapitinhalfoverherknee.Butit’sstilltrue.Janeisspunsugar.Aswitchbladegirlwithacotton-candyheart.
Shestirsalittle,stretchinginthesheets,squintingatAugustintheearlymorninglight.
“I’mnevergonnagetsickofthis,”shemumbles,reachingouttopalmacrossAugust’sshoulder,herchest.
Augustblushesandthenblinksinsurprise.
“OhmyGod.”
“What?”
Sheleansin,draggingherfingersthroughthehairfannedoutonthepillow.“Youhaveagrayhair.”
“What?”
“Yeah,youhaveagrayhair!Didn’tyousayyourmom’sstartedsuperearly?”
She’swideawakesuddenly,sittingupandthrowingoffthecovers.“Oh,Iwannasee!”
Augustfollowsherouttothebathroom,thetailofJane’sT-shirtswingingaroundherbarethighs.There’sabruiseontheinsideofone,rosepetalsoft.Augustleftitthere.
“It’sbehindyourrightear,”Augustsays,watchingJaneleanintothemirrortoexamineherreflection.“Yeah,look,rightthere.”
“OhmyGod,”shesays.“OhmyGod.Thereitis.Ididn’thavethisbefore.”
Andit’sthat,morethananything—morethanthenewbed,morethanthePop-Tarts,morethanallthetimesJanehasmadehersighintothepillow.It’sagrayhairthatmakesitfeelreal,finally.Jane’shere.She’sstaying.She’sgoingtolivebesideAugustaslongastheywant,gettinggrayhairsandlaughlines,adoptingadog,becomingboringoldmarriedpeoplewhogardenonweekends,ahousewithwindchimesandanuntamedyardandapissed-offHOA.Theygettohavethat.
Augustnudgesupbehindheratthesink,andJanereachesbackautomatically,tanglingtheirfingerstogether.
“Brushyourteeth,”Augustwhispersinherear.“Wehavetimeforaroundbeforebreakfast.”
Later,Augustwatchesher.
There’sthisthingJanelikestodowhenAugustkneelsoverher.Augustwillbeafewfeetdownthemattress,straddlingherwaistorsittingonherheelsbetweenJane’slegs,tryingtoworkoutwhereshewantstogofirst,andJanewilldothisthing.Shecloseshereyesandstretchesherarmsoutoneithersideofher,skimsthebackofherknucklesacrossthesheets,archesherbackalittle,movesherhipsfromsidetoside.Nakedasanyoneintheworldhaseverbeenwithasilent,broad,closed-lippedsmileonherface,wideopenandreveling.Soakingitinlikeit’stheultimateindulgencetobehereinAugust’sbedandunderAugust’sattention,unblushing,unafraid,content.
ItmakesAugustfeeltrustedandpowerfulandcapableandadmired—basicallythewholelistofthingsshe’sspenttwenty-fouryearstryingtofigureouthowtofeel.Andsoshehasathingshedoesinreturn,everysingletime:shespreadsherhandsoverJane’sskinandsays,“Iloveyou.”
“Mm-hmm,Iknow,”Janesays,eyeshalf-opentowatchAugust’shandsonher,andthat’safamiliarroutinetoo.Ahappy,familiarroutine.
Aweekaftershegraduatescollege,AugustgivesJaneafile.
Janefrownsatit,finishingherswigofcoffeeoverthekitchensink.
“IfiguredoutwhatIwanttodo,”Augustsays.
“Tocelebrateyourgraduation?”Janeasks.“Or,like,withyourlife?”
She’sbeenagonizingoverbothalotlately.It’safairquestion.
“Both,kindof.”Augusthopsuptositonthecounter.“So,rememberwhenIhadmyhugemeltdownovertryingtofigureoutmypurposeinlife,andyoutoldmetotrustmyself?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well,I’vebeenthinkingaboutthat.WhatItrustaboutmyself,whatI’mgoodat.WhatIliketodowhetherornotit’smarketableorwhatever.AndI’vebeenfightingitforalongtime,butthetruthis:solvingthings,findingpeople.That’smything.”
Janeraisesaneyebrow.She’slovelyunderneaththekitchenlighting,handsomeandmorning-rumpled.Augustdoesn’tthinkshe’lleverstopfeelingluckytoseeit.
“Findingpeople?”
“Ifoundyou,”Augustsays,brushingherfingertipsunderJane’schin.“IhelpedfindAugie.”
“So,youwanttobe?…aprivateinvestigator?”
“Kindof,”Augustsays.Shehopsdownandstartspacingthekitchen,talkingfast.“It’slike?…likewhenyouseeaviraltweetwhereonepersonislike,‘Here’sapictureofthisgirlIwasbestfriendswithforthreedaysonaCarnivalcruise,Ionlyrememberherfirstname,Twitter,doyourthing,’andthreedayslaterithas,like,ahundredthousandretweetsandsomeonemanagestofindthisrandompersonbasedoffalmostnoinformationandhelptwopeoplereunite.Peoplecouldhiremetodothat.”
Afteralongbeat,Janesays,“Iunderstoodalmostnothingyoujustsaid.”
Right.Thesedays,AugustoccasionallyforgetsJanegrewuponeight-tracksandlandlines.
“Basically,”Augustsays,“ifsomeonehasalong-lostrelativetheywanttoknowmoreabout,orahalfsiblingtheyneverknewexisteduntiltheirdadgotdrunkandtoldthematThanksgiving,ortheywanttofindthatfriendfromsecondgradewhotheyonlyhalfwayremember?…Icoulddothat.I’mgreatatthat.Itdoesn’thavetobemywholejob—IstillhaveBilly’s.ButIcoulddothistoo.AndIthink,maybe,itcanbeagoodthing.Icouldmakealotofpeoplehappy.Or?…atleastgivethemsomeclosure.”
JanesetshermugdowninthesinkandnudgesbetweenAugust’slegstokissheronthecheek.
“That’sanincredibleidea,baby,”shesays,drawingback.Shepointstothefileonthecounter.“So,what’sthis?”
“Okay,so.That.Iskindof?…myfirstattemptatthisfindingpeoplething.AndIwanttosay,beforeyouopenit,there’sabsolutelynopressure.Idon’twantyoutofeellikeyouhavetodoanything,especiallynotbeforeyou’reready.”Janepicksupthefolderandflipsitopen.“But…”
Augustwatchesherfaceshiftassheleafsthroughthepages.Sheslidesaphotooutfromitspapercliptoexamineitmoreclosely.
“Isthis—?”
“That’syoursister,”Augustsays,voiceonlyalittleshaky.“Betty.ShestilllivesintheBayarea.Shehasthreekids—twoboys,onegirl.That’sheratheroldestson’swedding.Andthat’s?…that’sherson’shusband.”
“OhmyGod.”ShepacesovertooneoftheEameschairs,sittinggingerlyontheedge.“August.”
“Ifoundyourothersistertoo,”Augustsays,hoppingdowntofollowher.ShekneelsbetweenJane’sbarefeet.“Andyourparents?…yourparentsarealive.”
Janestaresdownatthefile,mouthslack,eyesdistant.“They’realive.”
“Iknow.”Augustsqueezesherknee.“It’salot.AndI’msorryifit’stoomuch.Iknowyou’restillgettingusedtoallthis.But?…Iknowyou.Icanseehowmuchyoumissthem.AndIknowwhatitdidtomymomtoneverknow.So,ifyouthinkyoucoulddoit?…well,weweretalkingaboutapost-gradroadtrip.”
Janelooksupather,finally.Hereyesarewet,butshedoesn’tlookupset.Nervous,maybe.Overwhelmed.Butnotangry.
“WhatwouldIevensaytothem?HowcouldIexplainthis?”
“Idon’tknow.That’suptoyou.Youcould?…youcouldtellthemthatyou’reBiyu’sgranddaughter.Youcouldcomeupwithastoryforwhathappened.Oryou?…youcouldtellthemthetruthandseewherethatgetsyou.”
Shethinksaboutitforalong,quietbreath,tracingtheshapeofhersisterwithafinger.It’sbeenfiftyyearssincetheysaweachother.
“Andyou’llcomewithme?”
“Yes,”Augustsaysgently.Jane’shandslidesoverthebackofhers.“OfcourseIwill.”
Aweeklater,justintimeforChristmas,Isaiahdrivesthemtothebusstation,Wesinthefrontseatandtherestofthemcrammedfour-acrossintheback.
“You’regonnadogreat,”Mylasays,leaningacrossNikotopinchJane’scheek.Thesilverbandflashesonherthirdfinger;sheandNikowearmatchingplainengagementringsnow.“They’regonnaloveyou.”
“Ofcoursethey’regonnaloveher,”Nikosaysknowingly.“Didyouguyspacksnacks?”
“Yes,Dad,”JaneandAugustmonotoneinunison.
“Bringmeasouvenir,”Wescallsfromthefrontseat.
“Saltandpeppershakers,”Isaiahadds.“Weneedsaltandpeppershakers.ShapedliketheGoldenGateBridge.”
“Wedon’tneedthose,”Wessays.He’sbeenspendingmoreandmoretimeacrossthehallatIsaiah’s.Whenhedoescomehome,it’susuallytowordlesslyleaveadozenhomemadecupcakesonthekitchencounterandvanishbackintothenight.
“ButIwantthem,”Isaiahwhines.
Wespullsaface.“Okay.Saltandpeppershakers.”
Theyrollintothebusstationtenminutesbeforethebusissettodepart,Jane’shandclenchedaroundtheirtickets.Theotherfourkissthemsloppygoodbyesandwavethemoff,andtheyhaultheirbackpacksupandheadforthebusdoors.
Janehasn’twornherrippedjeansorjacketforweeks,settlinginsteadintoblackskinnies,billowybutton-downs,crewnecksweatshirts.Buttoday,herskinniesarepairedwiththeleatherjacketfrom’77,laidacrosshershoulderslikeasecondskin.Shehasn’tmentionedit,butAugustthinksshe’shopingit’llhelp.
“So,thisguy,”Janesays,“Augie’soldboyfriend—hereallyhasmyrecords?”
“Yeah,”Augustsays.ShecalledhimwhenJaneboughtthebustickets,andhe’sagreedtomeetupwithwhathe’sbeentoldisJaneSu’ssecondcousin.He’salsomeetingAugust’smom,who’sflyinguptospendtheholidayinCaliforniaandgetintroducedtoAugust’sgirlfriend.It’sabigweek.“HesaidtheycameinthedayAugieleft.Henevergotridofthem.”
“Ican’twaittoseethem,”Janesays,bouncingrestlesslyonherheels.“Andmeethim.Andmeetyourmom.”
“I’mpersonallylookingforwardtothislife-changingcrispychickenfamilyrecipeyoukeeptellingmeabout,”Augustreplies.Jane’sparents’restaurantinChinatownisstillopen,itturnsout.Jane’ssisterBarbararunsit.
Janebitesherlip,lookingdownatthetoesofherboots.They’renew—heavyblackleather.She’sstillbreakingthemin.
“Youknow,”Janesays.“Myfamily.Ifthey?…well,ifitgoesokay,they’regonnacallmeBiyu.”
Augustshrugs.“Imean,it’syourname.”
“I’vebeenthinkinglately,actually.”Janelooksather.“WhatwouldyouthinkaboutmegoingbyBiyuallthetime?”
Augustsmiles.“I’llcallyouanythingyouwant,SubwayGirl.”
Thelinekeepsshufflingforwarduntilthey’rethelastonesoutsidethebus,clutchingticketsinclammypalms.Maybeit’sinsanetotrythis.Maybethere’snowaytoknowexactlyhowanythingwillturnout.Maybethat’sokay.
Atthedoor,JaneturnstoAugust.Shelooksnervous,alittlequeasyeven,butherjawisset.Shelivedbecauseshewantedto.There’snothingshecan’tdo.
“There’saverybigchancethatthiscouldbeadisaster,”Janesays.
“Neverstoppedusbefore,”Augusttellsher,andshepullsherupthesteps.
LetterfromJaneSutoAugustLandry.HandwrittenonasheetoflinedpaperrippedfromAugust’ssexnotebook,whichJanewasdefinitelynotsupposedtoknowabout,secretlytuckedintoajacketpocketthenightoftheSavePancakeBilly’sHouseofPancakesPancakepaloozaDrag&ArtExtravaganza.DiscoveredmonthslateronabustoSanFrancisco.
August,
AugustAugustAugust.
Augustisatime,aplace,andaperson.
ThefirsttimeIremembertastinganectarine,mysistersweretoosmalltobeallowedinthekitchen.Itwasonlymydadandmeinthebackoftherestaurant,meproppeduponapreptable.Hewasslicingoneup,andIstoleapiece,andhealwaystoldmethatwasthemomentheknewI’dbetrouble.Hetaughtmethewordforit.Ilovedthewayitfeltinmymouth.Itwaslatesummer,warmbutnothot,andnectarineswereripe.So,youknow.Augustisatime.
ThefirsttimeIfeltathomeafterIlefthome,NewOrleanswasdrippingsummerdownmyback.Iwasleaningagainstthewroughtironrailingofourbalcony,anditwasalmosthotenoughtoburn,butitdidn’thurt.AfriendIhadn’tmeanttomakewasinthekitchencookingmeatandrice,andheleftthewindowopen.Thesteamkeptkissingthehumidair,andIthought,they’rethesame,liketheBayisthesameastheRiver.So,Augustisaplace.
ThefirsttimeIletmyselffall,itwasn’thotatall.Itwascold.January.Therewasiceonthesidewalks—atleast,that’swhatI’dheard.Butthisgirlfeltlikenectarinesandbalconiestome.Shefeltlikeeverything.Shefeltlikealongwinter,thenanervousspring,thenastickysummer,andthenthoselastdaysyouneverthoughtyou’dgetto,theonesthatspreadthemselvesout,out,outuntiltheyfeelliketheygoonforever.So,Augustisaperson.
Iloveyou.Summerneverends.
Jane
newyork>brooklyn>community>missedconnections
PostedDecember29,2020
Lookingforsomeone?(Brooklyn)
Weallhaveghosts.Peoplewhopassthroughourlives,thereonemomentandgonethenext—lostfriends,familyhistoriesfadedthroughtime.I’mafreelanceresearcherandinvestigator,andIcanfindpeoplewho’veslippedthroughthecracks.Emailme.MaybeIcanhelp.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Wheretobegin?
Likethisbook,theseacknowledgmentshavegonethroughmultipledrafts.Anearlierversionwasabouttheanxietyofthesophomoreslump,butIdecidedthatonewasabitofadowner.WhatdoIreallywanttosayaboutthisbook?Thatitwashardtowrite?Ofcourseitwashardtowrite.It’saromancenovelthattakesplaceonthesubway.Like,comeon.
Thetruthis,evenwhenthisbookwastryingtokickmyassinaWaffleHouseparkinglot,Ilovedeverysecond,becauseitistheweird,fun,hornyprojectofmyheart.Istillcan’tquitebelieveIgottodoit.
Ilovethisbook.IloveAugust,withhercactusspinesandherdreamsofahome,andJane,myfirecrackergirlwhorefusedtostayburied.Ilovethisstorybecauseit’saboutfindingfamilyandfindingyourselfagainstallodds,whentheworldhastoldyouthere’snoplaceforyou.Ilovethisstorybecauseit’sanUnburyYourGaysstory.I’msothankfulforthechancetotellit.I’msothankfulyou,reader,havechosentoreadit.
Somanymorethanksareduehere.Firstandforemost,Ihavetothankmytireless,thoughtfulagent,SaraMegibow,foralwaysbeingtheretosupportmepersonally,holdmyheart,andfightformybestinterests.There’snooneI’dtrustmoretoadvocateformywork.Amillionthankstomyeditor,VickiLame,whoseresponsewhenIpitchedheralesbiantimetravelsubwayrom-comwas,“Thisissoweird.Youshoulddoit.”TomyteamatSt.Martin’sGriffin,includingDJDeSmyter,MeghanHarrington,andJennieConway,aswellasmywonderfulproductioneditor,MelanieSanders;coverdesigner,KerriResnick;illustrator,MoniqueAimee;andAnnaGorovoy,whodidincredibleworkontheinteriorpages;andsalesandmarketingandbooksellersandbloggersandeveryonewhohadahandinsendingthisbookoutintotheworld.
Tomybestfriendandmostindispensableguidethroughplotting,SashaSmith,thankyousomuchforyourmom’spotatoes.Endlessthankstomyearlyreaders:Elizabeth,Lena,Leah,Season,Agnes,Shanicka,Sierra,Somaya,Isabel,Remy,Anna,Elisabeth,Rosalind,Grace,Leah,Liz(yes,threeseparateElizabethsreadthisbook,andyes,twooutofthreehavewives),Lauren(thirdElizabeth’swife),Courtney,Vee,Kieryn,Amy,andmore.Totheauthorswhosokindlyandgenerouslyreadandblurbed,includingJasmineGuillory,HelenHoang,SaraGailey,CameronEsposito,JuliaWhelan,andMerylWilsner:Ilookuptoeachofyousomuch,andI’mstillsostokedthatyoulikedmybook.Tomyperfect
Tomythoughtfulandthoroughsensitivityreaders,IvyFang,AdrianaM.MartínezFigueroa,GladysQin,andChristinaTucker,thankyouforyourtimeandyourcare.HugestthanksduetotheresourcesIusedforresearchonthisbook,includingbutcertainlynotlimitedtoStoneButchBlues,Tinderbox:TheUntoldStoryoftheUpStairsLoungeFireandtheRiseofGayLiberation,TheStonewallReader,theNewYorkPublicLibrary’sStonewall50installation,JarekPaulErvin’sarticleonqueerpunkin1970sNewYork,andtheGLBTHistoryMuseuminSanFrancisco.
MorethanksthanIcanexpresstoLeeandEssie,whowelcomedmeintotheirhomefordinnerwhileIwasrevisingthisbookandletmeinonareal-lifestoryoftwowomenwhofellinloveinthe1970sandhaveenduredtothepresent.Itmeanttheworldtome.IhopeImanagedtoinfuseevenalittleofwhatIsawinbothofyouintothis.
Tomyfamily,thankyouforbuildingmeintoapersonwhochasessomethingwhenIwantit.Thankyouforthevocabularytotalkaboutloveandthecapacitytofeelit.TomyFoCofamandmyNYCfam,thankyouforafternoonsinthegardenandsociallydistantpicnicsinthepark,forbeingaconstantfoundationofwarmthandcare.
ToK,thankyouforbelievinginme,foralwayshavingmyback,andforallthespongecakes.YouhavegivenmethingsIthoughtwouldonlyeverexistinfictionforme.Iloveyou.
Tothequeerreader,thankyouforexisting.Somuchofthisstoryisaboutbuildingacommunity.I’msohappytobeincommunitywithyou.Bedefiant.Loveyourselfhard.Taketheenergyinthesepagesandgetinvolvedinyourdirectphysicalcommunity.Takecareofoneanother.Knowthatyouarewantedandlovedandawaitedbymillionsofus.
Toeveryreader,I’moneofmany,manybutnotenoughqueervoicesinfiction.Eachofthemdeservestobeheard.Whenyouclosethisbook,seekoutaqueerauthoryou’veneverreadbeforeandbuytheirbook.Don’tbeginandendwithanyonework.Therearesomanytolove,andsupportingthemcreatesaspaceforevenmorequeerauthorstoprinttheirwords.Also,supportyourlocalBlack-owneddineroryourlocalChinatownoryourlocaldragbar.
Thankyousomuchforlettingthisbookexist.Forseeingme.Forseeingthisstory.I’llseeyouinthenextone.Untilthen,fightlikehellandbegoodtothoseyoulove.
ALSOBYCASEYMcQUISTON
RED,WHITE&ROYALBLUE
ABOUTTHEAUTHORCaseyMcQuistonisaNewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofromanticcomediesandapieenthusiast.Shewritesbooksaboutsmartpeoplewithbadmannersfallinginlove.BornandraisedinSouthLouisiana,shenowlivesinNewYorkCitywithherpoodlemix/personalassistant,Pepper.Youcansignupforemailupdateshere

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CONTENTS
TitlePage
CopyrightNotice
Dedication
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15