PART 1
Chapter One
Before the dust can settle, the whole building has to come down. Alex realized this as he sat against the wall and looked across the room at Caroline in her blue windbreaker. Always that blue windbreaker. She was playing with a piece of metal that the construction crew had thought too small to remove while outside the wind threw itself against the seventh floor window in a desperate attempt to get through the cracks. Shiver, zip, snap. He watched as Caroline zipped her jacket up to her throat.
"Are you cold?" he asked.
She shook her head and kept toying with the scrap metal. Usually she was more talkative than this. Maybe it was nerves? The stripped concrete wall did all it could to support Alex's back as he sat against it and watched Caroline from across the room. Outside the window above her head an early morning mist had begun to envelop the building. There was nothing but the pewter sky, nothing but this building, nothing left to do. He looked through the dusty pane, and suddenly he was himself but at a different time.
He remembered being thirteen years old when he first saw the mist. Having woken up early to go pick up some dry cleaning for his mother he saw a side of the town he had almost never seen before—the morning side. On that day he stepped out under the colorless sky of an early summer day and felt the residue of the storm that had ripped through the neighborhood in the first hours of the morning. The air was still and wet, the leaves dark and spilling droplets, and the neighbors' houses unpeopled, at least from this angle, and Alex would have liked to keep it that way. He shut the gate quietly behind him before starting down the leaf-covered sidewalk.
As he reached the end of the block he turned right on Main Street instead of his usual left. Had he gone left on Main, he would have ended up in the town center where he walked or biked almost every day during his childhood summers when he tired of reading. It had everything, the town center left on Main. It had his friends, the ones he'd grown up with, it had the ice cream parlor, the one with the extra-large mint chocolate chip waffle cone, and it had dollar stores where you could buy plastic action figures in every color nature never intended. Those were the times, those left on Main times, the times before he knew what blood mixed with gunmetal tasted like, before he felt every effort he made go to waste, and before the cold slight of a girl's hand pulled a curtain over his life.
On this summer morning, however, the world had long begun to change, and Alex turned right and not left. Already he noticed the trees growing sparser and glimpsed the tops of the only high-rises in town that stood like stone monuments of their own inappropriateness. He continued his journey under the weight of the smoky clouds and became aware that he was now completely surrounded by industrial sprawl that told tales of the global crisis. The buildings here were taller with facades of brick in varying states of decay, and the alleys showed signs of neglect. The only grass in sight was the scrub kind that protruded indecorously from gaps in cracking concrete. Alex walked on with an increasing odd sense that something corrupting lurked in the air. He wished he had worn more than a t-shirt and shorts, anything, really, that he could zip up to keep out this sinister air. Having nothing of the sort, he strode on and resolved to ignore these feelings that were surely just products of the empty, early morning streets. Even so, he made a mental note to give himself a thorough examination in the mirror when he got home to be sure that the obsidian grime he felt seeping into the pores under his arm hair was really nothing. He dodged a puddle on his way and almost did not see the overflowing trash can right in front of him. He sidestepped the can and ended up bumping into something else, something solid but unmistakably human. He looked up into the jarring features of a dreadfully old man with hollow eyes and an old cigarette between his nonexistent lips.
"I, I'm sorry, sir! Excuse me!" Alex said quickly, trying to rein in stutter in his voice. The old man said nothing and merely looked at him, or rather through him, as if there were something more important on the other side. Alex corrected his path and hurried on, trying to disregard his pounding heart.
What else to think of? He steered his mind quickly to the task at hand—picking up dry-cleaning for his mother. He remembered he had to pick up four items: two skirts, a blouse, and a blazer. How much money had she given him? Thirty dollars. Would that be enough? He clutched the bills in his pocket. What street was he coming to? How much further till the cleaner's? Was the man still staring after him? Better not to look. A woman emerged from a closed restaurant with a folded-up grocery cart. She glanced in Alex's direction but then swiftly turned down her dark, bovine eyes and fixed the salmon-hued scarf on her head before crossing the street, cart in tow, to start her errand.
There it was: the mist—a swirling mass of thick, filmy gray vapor clustering around the tops of the high-rises, choking out of them whatever life they still contained. It shrouded the windows of an apartment complex with its hoary bulk while slowly, sluggishly making its way to the next one. It never released its grip on the buildings as it moved, but only stretched, sending thin projections of itself to latch on to the next available surface.
Alex's feet would not go further as he looked at the mist. His whole body lost its inertia and he stopped, unable to do anything but stare into the eastern sky at the pale mass coiling its way down the river. He wanted to run, but if he continued he would be going the same direction as the mist, the two of them traveling together like a shadow you cannot shake. So he paused for a time and waited for it to pass. If anyone ever asked, he would not be able to say exactly how long he stood like that, waiting as the fog dipped and drained onto the sidewalks below.
And now a decade later it found him. Outside the window above Caroline's head it leaned calmly, scarcely breathing, waiting for him to come out. He smiled slightly when he thought about how long it would have to wait there. The building rattled beneath him, and he heard a drill taking bites out of the concrete. He looked at Caroline whose eyes always gave her away. Fear. This was one of the only times he could remember seeing her look scared, and maybe he was imagining it even now. He watched as she got up and pressed her nose to the window.
"Look."
"At what?" Alex did not move.
"I want to mess with them for a little bit before they bring us down," she said gazing down at the ground. "Do you think we could?"
"What exactly do you want to do to them?" Alex asked from his seated position. He saw no point in calling any attention to their perch. Up here they were hidden. Up here they were safe.
"I don't know, but we should do something. Maybe we could drop something? Or write a sign and post it in this window?" She turned and looked at Alex who had not moved. "Just come look at them."
Slowly Alex pulled himself off the cement floor that had gotten so comfortable underneath him and joined Caroline at the window. He looked down where her eyes had been fixed and saw the bright colors of the construction crew's clothing cut through the pre-dawn air. Though Alex could not tell what the workers were doing, he imagined them sipping gas station coffee as they looked over old building plans. They might be mixing words about utility lines with inquiries about each other's families and other banalities. It occurred to him that he should have put more effort into small talk during life. There had to be something more to it that he never understood, otherwise why would people do it so often? He felt Caroline looking impatiently at him.
"So, what do you think?"
"I don't know, I guess a sign would be ok." He turned his head and locked his eyes on hers. They were so large and eager, even here in a dying library in a torn-up city in a lackluster state in a has-been country. He bent slightly to bring her against him, feeling the familiar melt of her excited body. This was the only way he had ever discovered to get her onto his level.
"Alex…" she trailed off and buried her head in his chest. Pressing her close to him he lost track of demolition crews, riots, and everything else that had ever existed until the only things left were the steadiness of her breathing and the clean scent of her hair. What was that scent in her hair? Even the cold stopped biting at his cheeks now, and he thought it would be ok if this was what the world was forever.
A few seconds later she pulled away slightly and stood looking up at him. Her eyes always said things that her mouth never could, and Alex needed to infer the best, especially now. He guessed that she wanted to tell him she was happy she had finally made the decision to come up here with him and stay till the end, and that the mistakes of the past couple years meant nothing because they were finally here together. But instead of saying anything she moved her hands up and placed them on either side of his neck before kissing him again, firmly but sweetly. There was no romance in the gesture; only reassurance. Was it meant more for him or for her? Finally Caroline separated her body from his and sat back down against the wall, and Alex slid down next to her because he did not want to look out the window and see the workers again. Their silent small talk exhausted him. As they sat there side by side he felt like he should say something imperative or sentimental. Maybe he could recite that line of Whitman's he liked so much…no, it was gone. So instead:
"I can't believe it's been three years."
Chapter Two
"I know." Her answer seemed to come from very far away.
Caroline looked around the bare, dusty space and felt very far from where she had been, but as she glanced around the room, the fluorescent lights slowly came on and the floor tiles brushed themselves off. Bookshelves rose out of the floorboards, chairs sprouted out of the walls, and carpets rolled out across the ground. Joyce, Keats, Byron, and their critics, all cloth-covered and bound, took their places on the shelves. Caroline was no longer sitting on a cold floor, but on a wooden chair at a table in the corner with a book about Hegel upside down in front of her. She looked up and saw Alex heading down an aisle toward her. He was wearing a sweater over a collared shirt that he had buttoned up as far as it could go and shoes that almost but not quite matched what he was wearing. She recognized the sweater in the way that someone who has worn a pair of jeans a hundred times does, but for some reason this evening it looked new. He looked new. Then he set his shoulder bag down on her table and offered his hand.
"Hi, I'm Alex. I think we're partners for this project."
"Caroline." She reached out her hand and shook his. "I just got here, so I haven't looked at much yet," she said to fill the space while he unpacked his books and sat down. As he took his time arranging them carefully on the table she stole a glance at her watch. If she could get out of here by 9:30 she would have time to go to her friend's dorm room for a drink or two before starting her French assignment. She noticed she was tapping her foot up and down so she crossed her legs the other way to stop it.
"Yeah," Alex said casually, "I actually read all of this, but didn't understand most of it." Then he looked at her for the first time, and she saw him: bold-featured and fair-haired like the soldiers in photographs on her grandmother's dresser. The Second World War destroyed families, separated lovers, and ripped apart whole nations, but it made for some nice photographs. Crisp uniforms, brass buttons, and bold smiles gleaming with the thrill of duty, of purpose—Caroline wondered what her father and uncle had done with those pictures after her grandmother passed.
"Neither did I," she replied, smoothing her hair and looking intently at the work in front of her to avoid looking at Alex. His nose was a little too big and his eyes a touch too gray, but his jaw was strong and he looked clean. She glanced around but no one she knew was sitting nearby. Too bad. She would have liked her friends to see her with him. "That's why I'm going to rely on my notes from class."
"You have notes from class?" he asked. "I thought you spent all your time doing the Sudoku from the newspaper."
She looked up and caught a glimmer in his eye.
"Oh, so that's how it's going to be," she said. "You don't think I'm going to be a good partner. I see."
"No, no. I mean—" Alex smiled, and it caught her off guard. During class he always looked so sullen that she never noticed how symmetrical and dimpled it was.
"Oh, no, I get it," she continued. "You're all 'Oh, man, I got the girl who doesn't pay attention in class as my partner. Now I'm going to have to do all the work just to pass. God, this sucks.'"
"Ok, you caught me," he said. He was laughing now. "So go on and prove me wrong."
"I'll do my best." Caroline flipped over her book to an open page. "Alright, Hegel. Let's see what you've got." She paused with the end of her pen in her mouth and looked hard at the words without reading them. "Where do we even start?"
"I don't really know," Alex said, and nothing more. A few long seconds of silence passed while Caroline tried to think of anything she remembered from class. To keep her hands busy she dug in her backpack for her Chap Stick, in the process pulling out several business cards, a pen, and other junk. Alex looked over at the pile of things amassing in front of her.
"You sure have a lot of stuff," he remarked.
Caroline detected no tone in his voice that could clue her in to the intention of his words, but she felt like he was accusing her of something.
"Well, dear old Hegel does say that property is necessary for mutual social recognition." She applied the Chap Stick efficiently and then stuck it in her bag, pleased with her comment. If there were a time to sound smart, this was it.
"That's what gets me about him," Alex said looking at some bookshelves off to the side. "If we don't own anything then we can't see each other as people? It doesn't make sense to me. I'd like to think we have more than we own." Alex stopped talking but was still staring over at the bookcases.
Caroline tried to digest his words but all she could focus on was his lips as they moved. "I see what you're saying," she managed to say, but she could feel her brain taking off in seventy different directions. She watched Alex's eyes move from the bookshelves down to the open notebook in front of him. His handwriting on the page was tiny. Miniscule, actually, and he wrote in columns down the page, not across the lines like everyone else. Why does he do that? Is it to save space or to organize his notes better? Does he have some weird sort of obsessive compulsion? She stopped and told herself to think about that later. Or maybe even ask him about it. After rerouting her brain she asked: "Like what? What do we have?"
"I'm not sure yet. I don't know if anyone's figured it out, except for maybe monks and other ascetics," Alex replied. "They still live so simply and hardly need anything."
"That's an entirely different matter," Caroline said. "You're bringing religion into the equation, and that's math I can't do."
Alex was quiet. He looked like he might be getting ready to say something so Caroline waited.
"Not big on math, huh?" he finally asked, but he looked like he was thinking of something else now. That lost look that Caroline usually saw him wear had come back into his eyes.
"Not really," she said shaking her head.
"What are you into then? You know, as far as subjects go."
"I'm studying communications and international affairs with a specialization in France and Francophone countries," Caroline answered. She eyed him as she spoke because he seemed wholly uninterested even though he had asked the question. What is his motive? Usually boys who asked questions like this were trying to get something from her, but Alex seemed different, like he didn't care either way, like she could have said "I'm studying the art of contortion with a minor in the Kama Sutra," and he would have nodded and said "That's nice."
"Eventually I want to be a journalist for a transnational media outlet so I can bring attention to the struggles in developing countries, especially efforts for women's rights and sustainability." she finished. As she uttered the words her mind began to pack a suitcase and get on a plane headed for a conference in Holland, Egypt, or Tunisia. She suddenly wanted to be anywhere that wasn't this library, way up on the seventh floor of one of the university's most ancient buildings surrounded by dead authors and dust and a boy that would barely look at her. She saw herself striding down a foreign avenue, a leather bag in one hand and a book in the other, heading to sit in on a discussion on global affairs by the world's luminaries. Maybe there would be Turkish coffee or Russian tea cakes or—
"Nice," Alex said, dragging her out of her daydream. "Ambitious."
"Yeah, I suppose," she said, but she knew she could make a change in the world somehow, even if was only by raising awareness. How can anyone respond to problems if they don't know they exist? If she could cross the globe to find faint sparks of hope maybe people wouldn't be so despairing. Maybe they would actually make an effort if they thought the situation wasn't so bleak. "What are you studying?" she asked, silently guessing sociology or music or some other relatively useless degree.
"Literature," he said.
Obviously.
"Very cool!" she said a little more loudly than necessary, aware of a smile that showed too many teeth spreading across her face.
"I don't know what I'm doing with it yet," Alex mumbled as if responding to her mental criticism.
Caroline felt the urge to help him. "Well I'm sure all that reading has made you a pretty good writer. You can do lots of things if you can write well." Alex did not look convinced. Actually, Alex did not look much of anything. He just sat there in his grown-up schoolboy outfit looking not at her but near her. Caroline waited, hoping he would say something to reassure her that there were actual thoughts running through his brain. She began to wonder what an aneurism looked like.
"I write fiction sometimes, but that's not much these days," he said coming halfway back to life. "And I do it badly." He offered a small smile that did not match the fog of discomfort clouding his eyes.
"I'm sure that's not true," she said sincerely. "I'd like to read something of yours sometime, if you'd let me."
"Perhaps, but only if you tell me exactly how much you hate it when you're finished."
"Done. I hate pretty much every piece of fiction I read, so why should yours be any different?"
"Excellent." He grinned over at her, and she had to look down at her books. That perfect smile was because of her, because of something she said.
"Well, after all this hard work I really could use a cigarette," Alex said. "Want to come with and get some air for a bit?"
"Sure," she said reflexively. She closed the book in front of her and put on her coat while Alex waited. Then she grabbed her bag, and the two of them strode to the exit while Updike, Twain, and Murakami looked on in silence
Chapter Three
Alex exited through the glass doors of the library with Caroline at his heels. He remembered to hold the door for her just in time before fixing his eyes on a spot on a low brick wall where they could sit for a few minutes and he could smoke. He could not tell if the burning in his brain and the feverish tingling of his skin was from a routine nicotine craving or from some strange reaction to his new project partner. The only way to find out was to light up, so he led the way over to the wall where a few others sat taking smoke breaks despite the freezing November air. Martyrs for their art. A skinny guy in a plaid shirt and no coat smoked his cigarette with a saturnine gaze while two girls in matching yoga pants giggled and tried to shield themselves from the wind while they lit theirs. Alex settled himself on the cold stone wall far enough away from both parties so he would not have to think about them. The stone was pleasantly cold beneath him as he settled in.
"Do you smoke?"
"Not really," she said joining him on the wall. He lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply. The wall looked out over the quad where a few solitary trees and their leaning shadows kept watch over the dark, lonely grass. So far the season had not seen as much snow as it usually did, but the grass was frozen just the same. He exhaled. The nicotine swam through his bloodstream like guppies on a mad race to his brain, but the agitated sensation did not go away.
"What does that mean 'not really'?" he asked finally.
"Sometimes when I'm drinking or around friends, I get caught up in the moment and forget what I'm doing. You know." She smiled at him quickly then looked away. Alex watched as the light from the three-quarters moon settled at the top of Caroline's hair and wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through it. She might let me sometime, he thought. Just keep talking. Keep chatting like you don't care. What was the last thing she said?
"There was one summer when I smoked a decent amount because I was hanging out with a group that did almost nothing else," Caroline continued, staring off across the quad and kicking her feet lightly against the wall. "At first I really liked doing it. I guess I felt cool, and it was fun, but as soon as I bought a pack because I felt stressed, I quit. I realized that it had stopped being something social and had become a habit. I really don't like it anymore." She turned and looked at Alex with her large eyes. "Why do you smoke?"
Alex took another drag and then blew the smoke out through his mouth. "I guess it's just something I do. Some people talk a lot, some people like the color orange. I smoke." No one had ever asked him that question, and he had no better answer prepared. Caroline was looking at him with slightly furrowed eyebrows.
"Ok, I suppose that makes sense," she replied. "Even though it doesn't." She smiled again, and Alex noticed something unbalanced about her smile that he liked. He decided right then that he wanted to see it more often. "As long as we're talking about habits," Caroline continued, "why is your handwriting so small in your notebook?" Before Alex could answer he saw his friend Victor approaching.
"Alex!" Victor exclaimed reaching to shake Alex's hand. With the other one he threw a newspaper down in front of Alex and gestured forcefully to the headline. "Would you look at that?"
Alex looked. Greece exits Eurozone. He looked back at Victor, who always wore coats and sweatshirts several sizes bigger than he needed to. He wore them with the hoods up, too, so he looked like a mouse peering out from a hole in the wall every time he looked at you.
"Is that really a surprise?" Alex asked. "It's coming on the heels of all these riots about the austerity measures, so I figured this might happen."
"You figured? How come you didn't say anything about it? I've never heard this opinion from you before," Victor said as he began furiously lighting a cigar. Alex had always thought Victor's cigars a quirky habit, but now in the sharpened awareness of Caroline's presence he found it downright weird and was embarrassed.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Didn't know it was such a huge deal to you."
"You could have at least written something about it," Victor said, visibly flustered.
Alex did not understand what Victor was so worked up about. He took another drag on his cigarette.
"That's true!" Caroline jumped in. "The newspaper is always looking for people to write relevant editorials or opinion columns on real issues and not fluff stuff. You should send something in sometime."
She looked so excited about this new idea that Alex nodded, but he knew he would not ever do that.
"Yes! I like the way she thinks. I'm Victor."
"Caroline." They shook hands.
"Enchanted."
Only now did Alex realize he had forgotten to introduce them. He looked at the dry grass planted near the wall as it swayed gently in the wind coming off the lake and felt content breathing in the smoke wafting from his friend's cigar. He liked cigar smoke because unlike cigarette smoke, it had layers that he could pull apart—dried fruit, chicory, tree bark, leather, earth. Each puff became a puzzle for him to sort out and put back together like the thousand-piece jigsaws he liked working on as a kid. Cigars told stories of where they had been, stories of wars and hunts that made Alex want to turn his ear and listen. Cigarettes never said anything. They just helped him stay where he was without feeling like his insides were bursting into a thousand pieces. He took another draw of the one he was holding and thought that he might pick up a box of cigars this weekend to try them out.
When he focused back in on the conversation he heard Caroline telling Victor about a political editorial she had written for the school newspaper where apparently she was a part-time columnist. Her words passed straight through Alex's brain like they had somewhere more important to be, but the tones stuck. While far from girlish, her voice could not be called low either. Rather it had the smooth quality of a freshly paved road with little hills, dips, and curves every now and then. Alex wanted to climb in the backseat and close his eyes while someone drove him along these endless, winding paths.
Suddenly he felt a dark layer fall over the night. He looked around to see what had happened and caught sight of Victor eyeing Caroline contemptuously.
"What are you trying to say?" Victor asked from inside his cave. "Are you talking about the Global People's Collective?"
Caroline shrugged, and Alex wondered what she had said. It could have been next to nothing because Victor's fierce views seemed to be constantly getting bruised from some innocuous comment or another.
"Watch it," Victor cautioned before taking a long sip—it could only be called a sip—from his steadily smoking cigar. "The Chinese live better than most British."
"Tell it to the kids in Beijiing who can't access Wikipedia to look up 'human rights violation,'" Caroline snapped.
Victor snatched his paper from the stone wall.
"You're just in denial because your precious ideals are failing," he spat.
"They're not failing, only faltering," Caroline returned. "What we need is reform."
Alex's nerves tingled, and he thought it must be that "fight or flight instinct" that people were always talking about, but he could not decide if he should stand up for Caroline or get out of the way of Victor's admirable fury, so he just sat still while the stub of his cigarette burned.
"What we need is revolt," Victor went on. "Look at the poverty in Ireland. In Portugal! Distinguished, educated men and women are begging for scraps and digging through dumpsters because the system chewed them up. This system is a fad, kids, and all this is clear if you look at any newspaper. Greek citizens are pelting Chobani through the air at their "leaders" for Chrissakes." He turned toward Alex. "Sorry, but I can't argue this anymore with people who refuse to see the truth. Plus I've got a paper to write before tomorrow morning." Then he faced Caroline again. "You seem pretty smart, and I can tell you've got the energy to do great things, but just don't do them for the wrong side. Ciao, friends." He adjusted his hood and stomped off on his short legs toward the library entrance, flinging open the door when he got to it.
Caroline looked at Alex with an expression he couldn't decipher. "Well," she said. "Interesting fellow."
"He's a character," Alex agreed as he stomped out his cigarette. He wanted to get out of the charged air and go back to the sanctuary of rotting intellectuals and dead revolutionaries. They were much more palatable than the live ones. "Ready to go back inside?"
"Yeah, let's go," Caroline said hopping off the wall. Alex trained his eyes on the ground as they started walking toward the doors, and then Caroline spoke again. "You didn't defend me," she said matter-of-factly.
"I know," he said as he held open the door. "Maybe I didn't think you were right."
Caroline passed through the open door and then paused in the brilliant fluorescence of the library lighting through which Alex could only see the outline of her shape. "Did you or did you not?"
Alex shrugged. "Come on, Hegel is getting lonely up there."
"Yeah, the last thing we want on our hands is an angry, German philosopher," she agreed laughing.
That laugh.
"I don't know. I think I'd take one of those over Victor any day."
A smile spread over Caroline's face as she leaned her head against the stone wall in the now-empty building.
"I knew I liked you that first day," she said looking again at Alex. "You were so weird!"
"I beg your pardon, but I believe it is you who is the weird one."
"Me? Name anything I do that is so out of the ordinary you have to call it weird." She looked at him challengingly.
"Out of the ordinary? Nope. You do some things that are just plain unusual."
"Like what?"
"Well, for one, you name inanimate objects. Electronics, plants—"
"Plants are animate!"
"Fine. But you get it."
"Well, you wanted a Power Rangers tattoo. I win."
"Hey! I still think that's a good idea," he said patting his shoulder. "Right here, yeah, that would have been sweet." Then they got quiet. Caroline pressed her lips together and Alex turned his gaze toward the wall. He knew they would never get tattoos or dodge pigeons on the sidewalk as they walked downtown or stay outside and watch summer afternoons waste into dusky purple. All that was left was this barren room seven stories in the air and the sound of the wind curling and whining outside.
Chapter Four
Alex remembered the same wind throwing itself against the window of his apartment on a February evening a few years earlier. It was a Friday during the second semester of the year, and so far he had spent the evening writing cover letters for internships and jobs he did not want. On the other hand, none of the options were completely distasteful to him. His brain was split, that's all, and the half that was not focused on his computer screen was wandering the setting of the book he was in the middle of: over a Siberian tundra it trekked, not feeling the cold because of the heavy fur lined boots on its feet. It looked at the scrub grass that was not quite green and at the limitless sky that was not quite blue, and it did not hate them, nor did it love them or fear them. They were unremarkable in every way and yet captivating. Alex's brain kept walking and waiting to feel something, to see something that would rouse it to sentiment. It wished for a flower, tiny and yellow and practically hidden behind a rock, so it could believe in small things. It wished for an insect, bobbing and weaving in the stems, so it could remember life. It scanned the rangeland for flowers or fruit or water but met only the endless horizon that sat regally upon the wasted plain.
Suddenly Alex's brain noticed motion rising over the top of a hill a hundred yards ahead and upon closer inspection realized it was a herd of horses headed steadfastly in its direction. Movement! But, no, the horses were not alone. Atop them were bulky figures dressed in bits of fur, leather, and rustic cloth. They had strange faces with small, deep-set black eyes and wide, unsmiling mouths. Each one of them carried a variation of the same spear-like weapon in their gigantic hands, some with endings of balls covered in iron spikes, others more akin to blades. Alex's brain froze on the empty prairie and looked quickly in each direction for something to hide behind. Useless. There was nothing but open land between it and the impending riders. An alarm began to go off from somewhere, and Alex's brain recognized it and knew it was prompting some sort of action. But what? It could not register the sound in its panic. Seconds passed, and the horses drew nearer with their riders never losing grip on the terrible battle toys they clutched in their palms. Finally his brain recognized the sound. It was not an alarm, but a phone ringing, and not from anywhere on the tundra but from over on the windowsill in his real-life bedroom where it had been charging for hours.
"Shit," Alex mumbled as he pushed his chair out of the way and hurried to other end of the room. The wandering part of his brain scurried back and leaped into his head to fuse with its other half. "Hello?"
"Yo!" cried a familiar voice. "What are you doing this instant?"
It was Jack.
"Ummm cover letters." He snubbed out the cigarette burning in his coffee-mug-turned-ashtray.
"Well, bro, stop it. I've got something better to do that will get you to stop moping around," Jack said, and Alex pictured him teetering with excitement. Ever since freshman year when they had met in their college orientation and bonded over a mutual hatred of motorized vehicles and a love of bad zombie movies, Jack had been Alex's equivalent of a Prozac taken with a vodka-Red Bull .
"Why do you think I'm moping around?"
"Dude, I know you. You mope when there's no moping to be done. But never mind that. Are you in?"
Alex knew there would be no point in inquiring about details before answering.
"Yeah, I'm in. As if I have any choice," he added.
"Good. Ok, we're going to my friend's friend's loft over in East Town so bring your I.D., your subway card, and a gram if you have one. I'm getting a bottle. The rest should be provided."
Alex nodded from his end of the phone.
"Oh, and don't dress like an idiot. Do you still wear those big glasses? They might be a nice touch."
"Yeah, they're here somewhere." Alex scanned the room. "But I'm not wearing them. Only posers wear those now."
"Fine. Whatever. Alright, it's 9:30 now, so I'll meet you in an hour at the train?"
"I'll be there."
"Cool, later," Jack said before clicking off. Alex ended his side of the call and set his phone back on the windowsill. Outside the thick curtain of night had long fallen, but the streetlights glittered with promise. Alex wanted to breathe it in and fill his room with it so he opened the window just a crack. Outside he heard the noises that signaled the start of Friday night: shrieks of delight from girls who were stepping out in new shoes, laughter from students who had pushed exams and papers far from their minds, and electronic music that readied thrill-seekers for late nights. He was glad to shake off the inertia of the evening and trade it for restlessness. He hungered to be among those who were already parading down the sidewalks heading towards ancient brick buildings that promised dizzy distractions from all the bourgeois ailments that plagued them. He opened his desk to search for leftover weed while silently giving thanks for Jack's existence.
Not long later, sweater on and the plastic bag of herb in his pocket, he shut the door behind him and bounded down the old wooden stairs of his apartment. The chill of the night air was just what he needed to wake up his somnolent spirit, and he walked briskly down the street, pulling up the zipper of his gray jacket as he went. At the end of the block he checked for oncoming headlights and then jogged across the wide street to where Jack was waiting for him on the other side.
"What up?" Jack hollered. In way of reply, Alex patted his pocket where the little bag sat snugly and raised his eyebrows. Jack chuckled and brandished his own weapon, a fifth of vodka encased in a paper bag. The cap was already off, and he handed it to Alex who took a hearty swig.
He sighed as the stringent liquid made its way from his throat into his stomach. Normally he did not drink vodka, but tonight it would do. He passed the bottle back to Jack. "Here you go."
"Much obliged!" Jack took an equally large gulp before screwing on the cap. Then he looked at what he had done, unscrewed it once more and tossed the cap in a nearby bush. "I have a good feeling about tonight."
"I have that same feeling." Alex liked the clearness of the sky and even thought he spied a star. "I've been working on some bullshit all night and need a break. My head is just done."
"Oh, I feel you. My physics advisor is on my ass about this capstone project I'm working on, but I don't even want to think about it right now," Jack said before taking another gulp from the bottle. "Now, we live! We breathe!" he proclaimed, sending his fist in the air.
"Here, here!" Alex exclaimed at a volume he hoped rivaled Jack's. They continued in that manner for a block or two until they came upon the train station. Like professionals they swiped their passes and trotted up the stairs to the open-air platform where they stood joking and passing the bag-covered bottle between them while they waited for the train. Alex relished in the warmth that began pleasantly coating his nerves and could not find it in him to care for the law that forbade drinking in public. While they stood, a breeze that would have been cold to anyone else swept through from the west, and Alex briefly thought about the window he had left open in his room. An announcement for their arriving train banished this thought permanently from his head, and he turned his focus to Jack's monologue about the influence of the Cure relative to that of the Smiths. As the train rushed in, its headlights blinded him for a moment causing his other senses to sharpen. His skin pulsed with an acute awareness of the air being pushed at him in strong waves, and the thundering clatter of the arriving train overwhelmed his ears. Finally it stopped, the doors opened, and they walked on.
Within a half hour they were walking the last leg of their journey after having gotten off the train in a neighborhood primarily filled with warehouses in varying states of usefulness and streets overseen by three or four different gang factions. Alex put his head down and walked quickly down the sidewalk beside his friend as they headed in the direction of the address Jack had been given. Streetlights shed ghostly pale light upon the empty streets and the rusting, flatbed trucks that lined them. There were no restaurants or shops of any kind that could serve as a refuge for the weary, the lonely, or the scared. Only looming, featureless buildings covered in cheap siding or ancient brick could thrive in this environment, and Alex and Jack passed one after another on their way. Alex began wondering if they were going the right direction.
Half a block later an unmarked white van pulled onto the street they were on. It was the first vehicle Alex had seen in motion since exiting the train, and his hackles rose in defiance. The van rolled slowly down the road past them, then stopped at the corner and idled for a few seconds before turning around to go down the road again, even more slowly this time. Alex might have been scared had it not been for the liquor numbing his instincts. Still, his skin formed a protective layer of goose bumps and his muscles tensed. Even Jack was not speaking now, and seemed wholly focused on a forward trajectory. At the end of the road the van turned onto another street with no signs of returning, and Alex let a wave of relief wash through him. He hoped this desolate pilgrimage would be over soon.
As if answering his thoughts, a new color broke into the pale, silent wasteland. About a block in front of them outside one of the unremarkable warehouses Alex saw a pink light bulb illuminating a doorway where a small line had formed.
"That's it!" Jack exclaimed. "It has to be."
As they got closer Alex saw a tall guy with glasses and a substantial beard standing in the doorway with his arms folded listening to a shorter guy also wearing glasses. The short one kept talking quickly while glancing around. Neither of them seemed concerned with the line growing in front of them. Seconds after verifying the address Alex and Jack approached the unassuming warehouse and became part of a shifting and shivering line. It showed no signs of diminishing so Alex took the opportunity to light a cigarette and relax into waiting. Jack was anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot and kept touching his hair to make sure it was still doing what he wanted. He was complaining about the cold, or the wind, or the hole in his shoe, but Alex didn't hear exactly what it was because ears were turned toward the muffled sounds of music coming from inside the building. He tried to discern one song from another, but could only hear the thudding of a strong bass.
"Fucking finally," Jack said as the bearded guy began to look at the I.D's of the first few people in line and nod them through the entrance. He unzipped his jacket, and Alex saw the sweatshirt his friend had thrown over a collared shirt and slim jeans in an attempt to look like he had put no thought into his appearance. "These guys think they can just let us freeze out here while acting important just because they're doing a favor for the DJ's," Jack said in Alex's ear as they advanced a few steps. Alex nodded and threw out his cigarette.
After flashing their I.D's and receiving the disinterested nod of the bearded guy, they were inside. They followed the sound of pulsating dance music up a flight of creaking stairs and through a heavy metal door where they were greeted with an earsplitting swell of electronic beats and neon lights that cut through an otherwise dark and airy loft. The walls were all exposed brick except for one that was covered from top to bottom with television screens flashing abstract art images and photos of bony fashion models. All around them people in leather jackets, tight dresses, and asymmetrical haircuts were talking, swaying, and dancing while holding an array of beverages in their hands. Even on his first scan of the room Alex noticed several girls he would like to dance with before the night was over. He turned to Jack who caught his eye and flashed an approving smile.
"Crazy, dude," Jack said, still smiling. "Good crowd tonight. I think we should use up the bud you have in your pocket and then find some females and do some dancing. All in favor?"
"Aye," Alex said grinning stupidly. "I'm sure we don't need to be discreet in a place like this, but where's the bathroom?"
"Probably up that big staircase there," Jack said pointing. A few girls in heels were already stumbling down it, and more were headed up.
"Yeah, you're right." As they made their way through the pulsing crowd Alex noticed the short guy from outside was now at the DJ table bending with concentration over an expensive-looking computer. His hands worked with incredible speed as the music dipped and dived to cater to the changing needs of the ecstatic dancers.
At the top of the oak staircase Alex and Jack entered a whole other floor of partygoers mingling amidst beige, drywall hallways that could double as gallery space during the daytime. Conversations buzzed passed Alex's ears without actually entering them as he and Jack searched for an appropriate area to blaze. Jack finally stopped in a corner and shrugged.
"This is as good a place as any."
Alex reached in his pocket and pulled out a white, hand-rolled cigarette packed thick with pungent green herb. He lit it, inhaled deeply, blew out smoke, and repeated the process before handing it off to Jack who did the same.
"Good stuff," Jack commented. Alex nodded agreement and took back the joint. He caught sight of two girls standing against the wall not fifteen feet from the spot he and Jack had chosen. The girls were both thin with brown hair, but one of them had hers cut into an asymmetric bob while the other wore hers long, almost touching her waist. There were any number of other characteristics that made them different from each other, but from this distance Alex did not prefer one over the other. As he watched, the long-haired one turned to look over at them and then continued chatting with her friend. Soon both girls were looking. Alex's hazy confidence allowed his eyes to match their gaze, and before long the girls were on their way over.
"Hey," said the short-haired one. She flashed an agreeable smile that just barely made it to her heavily made-up eyes. Alex got the impression that it was a practiced gesture, but it was Hollywood pretty just the same. The long-haired one was smiling, too, although hers was too wide and revealed a smudge of red lipstick freeloading on a crooked front tooth. Alex steered his eyes to look at her ample chest instead. He would have felt bad about it, but figured that any girl who wears a black leather tank top knows what she is getting herself into.
"Hey," Jack responded with a cool smile. "I'm Jack, and this is Alex."
Alex nodded acknowledgement.
"What are your names?"
The girls each responded with similar sounding "K" names that Alex instantaneously forgot. He decided it was the music wafting up from downstairs that distorted his hearing, but did not care enough to ask them to repeat what they had said. Jack seemed to have listened, though, and was now engaging them in some banter about the spelling of one or the other's name.
"I never would have thought to write it that way," he was saying. "How unique!" Long-haired K was smiling while Short-haired K eyed the joint smoking feebly in Alex's hand.
"You want a hit?" he asked her.
"What exactly is in it?"
"Some good bud."
"Yeah," Jack said jumping in. "It's this kind called 'Trujilo's Revenge' that my cousin got from a guy who was here from the Dominican Republic. It won some competition in San Francisco."
The girls both looked impressed, but Alex knew the basement where the ordinary, garden variety weed had been grown, and he knew that Jack knew too. He awarded Jack two points for smoothness.
"Alright, yeah, I'll take a hit," said Short-haired K. She reached with long delicate fingers to take the joint from Alex. He noticed she was looking at him from under her thick, onyx-hued eyelashes the whole time she did this. After inhaling and coughing slightly she passed it to her friend who did the same before giving it back to Alex. The process repeated itself until everyone's brains were on the same plane and there was nothing left but a withered paper shell.
"So, I'm thinking I'd really like to dance right now," Jack said to Alex while bobbing his head in time to the music. Then he turned to face the girls again. "Do you two happen to like dancing?" he asked with exaggerated curiosity.
"Of course!" they cried in reply.
"How about that!" Jack said with a grin. "Shall we?" he offered his hand to Long-haired K. She smiled back and accepted it. "Andiamo!" Jack and his partner headed down the hall toward the stairs. Alex looked at Short-haired K and made some sort of 'ladies first' motion. He walked slightly behind her as they followed the others to the lower-level dance floor that already reeked of smoke and sweat. They weaved through the throbbing crowd, while Alex hunted for a small opening where he could dance without having to grind against dirty strangers. Once he found a spot he didn't completely hate he grabbed Short-haired K's hand and spun her around to face him. She started to move, doing what Alex decided was the best she could do considering the combination of substances coursing through her body. As she twisted and writhed along with the music she dead-bolted her Cleopatra eyes on him, then reached out and touched his arm to bring him closer to her. She was undeniably pretty, and Alex wished he knew at least one thing about her. He pulled her closer.
"So, do you go to school?" he asked. He had to lean in and speak directly into her ear to be heard over the frantic music. She replied in the affirmative and then gave the name of one of the art schools in the downtown district. She continued dancing and did not ask him the question in return. Now her hands were around his neck, and her head lowered, her features blank with the shadows of drugs and rhythms. Alex tried again.
"Where are you from?" he said into her ear.
"I grew up in..."
The music drowned out the rest.
"What?" Alex practically shouted in her ear.
"Kansas City!" she shouted back before her face melted back into the music.
"Oh, I have a friend from there! He said the art scene is getting pretty big."
Short-haired K looked at him and nodded before lowering her head once more. Alex looked around for Jack and finally spotted him in the middle of the crowd with his tongue down Short-haired K's throat. He figured he and Jack would not be returning together that night, and looked back at Short-haired K who was working her lean, perspiring body and gazing up at him. He decided things could be much worse and put both his hands firmly on her hips to press her up against him. He kissed the side of her neck gingerly to gauge willingness, tasting the salt from her sweat, and she responded by lifting her chin to offer up her mouth. Alex needed no further invitation and took her lips in his own while his substance-filled brain rose out of his head and yielded control to his body.
Alex had no idea how many minutes went by in this fashion, but soon Short-haired K pulled back slightly and looked up at him.
"Want to get some air?" she asked. Alex realized with sudden disgust that his forehead was dripping with sweat and his shirt was sticking to his back.
"Yeah, uh-huh, let's go to the roof," he said while his eyes darted around looking for an opening in the throng of dancers. He found a space and started pushing through with drunken lack of discretion while Short-haired K clung to his hand tightly. Alex thought only of the cold fresh air that awaited him outside and wished she would let go for just a minute so he could fight his way out of the crowd more effectively. His head turned left and right, constantly reevaluating the path as he went, until finally he broke into the opening at the back of the room. Taking his first cool breath in what seemed like hours, Alex started walking more quickly and assuredly toward the stairs. He turned to back for a second to check on Short-haired K, but instead his eyes landed on another familiar figure. There on the fringe of the crowd was his former philosophy project partner Caroline. She was standing in a small group laughing at something, then did a little groove to the music before bursting into laughter once more. That smile. It was incredible. He wanted her to turn and look at him, to recognize him, to talk to him, but she was focused on her group. He stood frozen in place and considered yelling her name, but Short-haired K pulled his arm.
"Let's go." Her feet were pointed toward the stairs, and Alex let her pull him away. Up on the roof he went straight to the railing and pulled out a cigarette. The air was sharp and black, with no trace of the rank perfume and sweat odors from inside, and Alex stared out across the rooftops of other buildings toward the skyscrapers in the distance. Many of them still had their lights on, and Alex wondered what good that did. The people who worked in those offices were home hours before, and even the cleaning crews would have gone. Was it just so lovers standing on rooftops could watch them glitter in the night? Alex thought what a waste it was. He looked to his side and saw Short-haired K talking to some other guy who was wearing sunglasses and a t-shirt with an eagle on it. He did not even pretend to understand why this was happening and took another drag. Then some movement by the door caught his eye, and he watched Caroline come onto the roof with the short DJ who had been playing earlier. The two of them walked over to another corner and the DJ lit a cigarette, inhaled a couple of times, and then offered it to Caroline who accepted. Alex wondered if she were thinking of the conversation they had a couple months ago on the stones in front of the library. A gust of wind passed over the crowd on the roof causing all the girls to shiver and hug their shoulders. Alex looked at Short-haired K in her thin-strapped dress and wondered if she were cold. He took another puff and decided to wait for her to tell him on her own. He really did not want to give her his jacket.
He glanced again over at Caroline who was rubbing her arms vigorously and bouncing on her toes to keep warm. Her shoulders were bare under a modest blue tank top, and her legs, covered in black jeans, looked thinner than Alex remembered. The DJ did not seem to notice her hint and was still talking. Alex wondered if Caroline were actually interested in what he was saying and if she could possibly be attracted to a guy who wore glasses with white plastic frames. She still had not so much as glanced in his direction.
"Can we go back inside now? I'm cold." Short-haired K looked up at him.
"Yeah, fine."
He began walking towards the door without waiting for her. Before entering the building, Alex took one more look in Caroline's direction, and this time she saw him. Something like a flash went across her features, and Alex waved quickly before ducking inside. He did not give her a chance to wave back but was sure she recognized him. Back inside he checked his phone and realized there was a message from Jack saying that he had left with Long-haired K whose real name was apparently Kristen. He did not have any desire to stay at this party any longer and told this to Short-haired K.
"You know, I live only a few blocks from here."
"Really?"
"Yeah, so if you want you can crash at my place."
It was an attractive offer that would allow him to avoid the late-night journey home, until it dawned on him that Short-haired K had no idea that he lived so far away. For all she knew, he could have lived around the corner. The transparency of her invitation marred her beauty somewhat, but Alex accepted anyway. This was better than sitting on a train trying to dodge small talk with drunken homeless people and junkies. She went to get her coat, and then they headed toward the door. On their way down the stairs, Alex saw Caroline and two of her friends on their way up. This time, they both stopped.
"Hey, Alex, right?"
He nodded.
"Do you remember me?" she asked.
"Course, we were partners for that Hegel thing."
"Yeah," she said with a small smile. "That class was a trip."
"Got that right."
"Well, you guys have a good night," Caroline said after a pause and then continued up the stairs. Alex hoped she wasn't going back to find that DJ fuck. He probably lived nearby and would ask her to come over for an after party or something like that so he could get some more drinks in her system and seal the deal before she passed out in his bed at dawn. He wanted to go up and rescue her but knew he had no right. She was only his philosophy partner. Actually, she was his ex-philosophy partner. It's hard to have a less significant relationship than that.
Suddenly he remembered Short-haired K standing beside him in her high heels and skimpy dress.
"Alright, let's go." He put his hand on her elbow as they went down the rest of the stairs and out into the biting cold. She grabbed hold of his hand as they walked, and Alex waited in vain to take comfort in it. Instead he let her lead him back to her high-rise apartment building where she stumbled out of her dress and pulled him into her twin bed with her, kissing him sloppily and letting him do what he wanted to her until they fell into thick sleep.