Monday, July 4, 2011
Arcadia Bay Beach
Nathan
The sun had just set, the last vestiges of its light fading into shadows. It had been quite a sight, rather beautiful indeed, and if any of the unsupervised minors currently gathered on the dark sands of Arcadia Bay's beach had been sober, they may have noticed. Perhaps even a photo would have been taken.
As it stood, however, it seemed there was not a sober member amongst the party-goers. The major distinction during tonight's revelries was the preferred substance used for, as opposed to the level of, intoxication. Weed was popular, accessible and without stigma. Alcohol ranked a close second, however, because the gas station just off the main highway north of town was staffed by a certain Jack Kirkman on Saturday nights, and Jack did not check for identification.
So it was that the majority of rebellious teenagers drank and smoked themselves into forgetting their worries (and some poor soul's pants, lost to the tide, later in the night). But there was a particular subsection that desired a little more edge to their Independence Day celebration. These adventurous souls gathered around a sixteen year old boy who had a streak of providing these more potent party favors.
Nathan liked the control he had over this clique. He was their supplier, their provider, their savior. I have the power here, he thought, and I haven't even broken any of them yet.
Money could not buy happiness, but it did help the unstable young man to acquire some coke for tonight's festivities, and isn't that kinda the same thing? The Others might have disagreed with this assessment, because at some point the voices in the young Prescott's head had become more grounded than Nathan, but the 'pre-game' line of powder currently swimming in their collective bloodstream was dulling the senses enough to silence them.
In fact, this silencing effect was the most important (and most addictive) part of the drug scene to Nathan. Discovered by accident, really, over two years ago now. As long as Nathan was high, he could count on the Others to fuck right the fuck off, and leave him alone. But tolerance was a bitch, and slowly the marijuana lost effectiveness.
There were stronger drugs.
Like cocaine. Frank came through, like he always did. He's a damn good dealer, and he's got good shit. Glad we met last month. Krista and James had already taken their lines of powder, noses tingling and burning, so Nathan prepped another two, quickly taken by Vance and Cathy. Finally, another line for himself.
They lay on beach blankets spread on the sand, and waited for the coming light show. It was never a lot, Arcadia City Council didn't quite rake in the taxes for extravagant firework projects, but nevertheless practically every Bay resident would turn their gaze skyward, over the waters, tonight.
Sharp blue eyes, almost turquoise, began to lose focus as they travelled over the group of stoners assembled. His little clove of jittery coke users found it hard to sit still. Frank said we might get excited. The more mellow druggies were frolicking just beyond them, smoke trails drifting to the heavens. Enough to get the birds tipsy.
Nathan felt his thoughts start to speed up to match the furious rhythm of his heart. Whoah this is cool so weird I took more than I did earlier should I have done two lines the air is so good I need to move! He shot to his feet. A brief thought about the purity of the coke he scored skittered past his mind. He didn't stop, couldn't stop, to entertain the idea further. He heard a noise.
"Rach, hey, wait up!"
"Just stay back there, 'kay? You know Randy doesn't like you, and I want some herb tonight, after everything."
"I know, Rachel, but last time…"
"He still owes me for last time, Chloe."
Nathan found himself staring at the two girls. He wasn't sure when he walked over, or even if he had moved. Maybe they moved to him? But they want this Randy guy. I'm not Randy. Wait, am I Randy?
"Am I Randy?" His thoughts vocalized themselves; his lips had intentions separate from his brain.
The prettier girl (she could be a model! My model…) dragged her eyes up and down his frame. Nathan returned the gesture. She wore a long sleeve red flannel shirt, all buttoned up to ward off night's chill. Below, black jeans with strategic holes drawing the eye's attention, and black skate shoes covered her feet. She held a slim figure, attractive, and held an aura of confidence about her.
"Nope! You should go lie down, hun." Her voice washed over Nathan, smooth as the silken sheets he covered his bed with, I want her there with me tonight. A smile shone out from her beneath her blonde hair, its brilliant radiance like an explosion blinding her sudden admirer. The fireworks!
Nathan whipped his head around and to the sky, but found no bursts of light to hold his attention. A mixture of confusion and relief played on his face. An Angel laughed behind him, and he spared a wish she could be his. As he turned, however, he only bore witness to long strides taking his Angel away from him. Lust drew his attention to her backside, and he drank in the sight.
The other girl huffed through her nose, nose coke lines cut with something so fun! Through blue bangs poking haphazardly down from a non-descript beanie cap, irises like tropical waters offered a glare. A camouflage Army surplus jacket layered over a graphic black tee. A necklace, a small dreamcatcher, dreams floating whales' songs so soothing, dangled in the cleavage that suddenly grabbed Nathan's gaze. Also Angel more temptress still invited all three?
This was not a subtly done action on his part.
"No, you can't touch, perv!" Came the response to a question he hadn't asked, not with words. "Men are all pigs, fuck you, man." And then the Temptress was leaving too.
Boom!
Overhead, reverberations and thunder announced the arrival of the light display. The weather was clear, skies cloudless. Perfect for fireworks. The boy stumbled more than walked to the beach towels he abandoned earlier when he went, he left, searching for… uh, where was? Finding Randy? I'm not…
Boom! Boom!
Airbursts captured his attention again, transfixed this time.
Twenty minutes passed with Nathan simply standing there, not moving, staring fixedly at the sky. Even several minutes after the mortars had stopped their firing, he stared. Thoughts began to reacquaint themselves with his consciousness slowly, so as to not shock the mind.
Oh man, that was trippy! Holy fuck! Sounds and colors and just shit yeah! He resolved to ask Frank more of this particular mix, coke or not. He made to start walking toward the nearest group of partyers. Vision was still unreliable, and his limbs flopped in an uncoordinated mess. He fell, unceremoniously and unnoticed. Consciousness, only seconds back in the realm of lucidity, was lost.
The next day, in a text conversation with Vance, Nathan learned he had laid on the sand until around midnight, when James and Vance found him. Since he was still breathing, they drove him back to their dorm, explaining why Nathan had woken up at the academy he would only attend two years from now.
Through foggy memories, Nathan managed to recall a description of the girl he was so enamored with that night, and James text back with a name. Rachel Amber. Had a little reputation, she did. Nathan decided then he wanted to know this woman.
He thought she was to be his Angel, with gentle eyes and a calm smile.
And that was correct, but also a mistake, and lives were lost for this discrepancy.
Caulfield Residence, Seattle Suburb
Max
"Have fun at your party, dear!" Vanessa almost sang with excitement for her daughter. "Don't do anything I would do!" Ryan opened the passenger side door of the sedan for his wife, and she disappeared inside. The faux-lumberjack closed first the door for his wife, then closed the distance to where Max stood on the porch.
"Be home by midnight." Her normal curfew was eleven. Not that she was ever not home by ten anyway.
"Yes, Dad." The high schooler huffed. She didn't like lying to her parents.
"I know Kristen and Fernando are good kids. But as your father I get to worry." He was stern, but not scolding.
"I know, Dad." Another sigh.
"We'll try to be home by then as well. No promises, your mother is quite the handful." He turned his head toward the waiting vehicle. A smirk appeared below the beard. "I blame you."
"Oh, whatever!" She couldn't help but smile, too, even as she feigned outrage at the accusation. The sharp dressed man (his office required Black Tie Attire for the more official events, and Ryan filled a rental tux well) moved to join his wife (sporting an elegant full length cyan dress), but stopped once more.
"And Max, please have fun. I'm glad you're finally embracing the Seattle social scene, even a little." It was an honest request and sincere happiness. Max didn't really get out of her room much these days, after all.
A pang of guilt raced through the brunette's veins. Ugh, I am so bad at this. C'mon Max, just a few more minutes! Max stumbled out a few words: "Th-thanks Dad. I'm, well, I'm trying. You have fun too." She angled her gaze downward and grabbed her left arm with her right hand, a protective act. An awkward gesture for expressing such a simple sentiment, but then Max was a rather awkward child to begin with.
After mutual smiles and nods, the Caulfield pair pulled down the driveway and raced off into the setting sun. Max went back inside, breathed a sigh of relief, and went upstairs to gather things from her bedroom. Water bottle, check. Energy bar, check. Camera, Journal, Phone, check check check.
I am getting out of my room tonight, so I didn't really lie about that, anyway. The rationalization had zero of the soothing effect Max had wished for. Whatever Max, it's not like you're sneaking out to get high or drunk or whatever. She was a good kid. Almost prideful about it, but she knew she missed some experiences for it. Even Fernando and Kristen got drunk last time we went out and saw the Fremont Troll.
But intoxicants had never called out to Max, not since the Great Wine Spill at the Price residence all those years ago. The two young pirates had received verbal flak for that particular indiscretion for years. At least, until William died.
Max stopped her descent down the steps. Small hands gripped the railing a little too tightly; heartbeats started on an irregular pattern; lungs denied the body enough air; eyelids fluttered, then closed.
After a minute, the attack passed. Max retraced her path upstairs and went to the bathroom. Some cold water on my face helps, I really need to learn to anticipate these. Feeling refreshed, or at least less ragged, Max again descended the stairs. She double checked the locks on exterior doors, then left out the back.
As she walked to her destination, she though back to her 'meltdown,' as she called them. Introspection was one of her skills, for plenty of practice if no other reason. She had meltdowns every so often, for various things, though she would be lying to herself if she thought that Chloe didn't figure prominently in the causes. Social faux pas, tense situations, arguments, all these could also trigger meltdowns. She thought maybe it was a sort of panic attack. She hadn't told anyone, though, not even her parents.
They'd just send me to a shrink anyway, right? They couldn't help. They don't know. Bitter thoughts crept up, growing from the pit of her stomach. Dog, they wouldn't even know I wanted to study photography if I hadn't hounded them for this instant camera! She let a breath out through her nose, and that seemed to calm her unbidden anger from burning hotter. Maybe I'm too hard on them. They work hard for me, for us. That's important too, Max.
The nature park was deserted by now, most of Seattle was partying or readying themselves for the city firework display. Max didn't mind this. She enjoyed the solitude. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Text message from Kristen. 'Sorry you're missing this party Max! Cute boys everywhere!'
The grey hoodie clad girl chuckled at this. Kristen, you know I'm not on the market. Not like you are, at least. She typed a quick reply, 'Sry. Can't date now, pics to take! ;P'
Either Max had overestimated her walking speed or underestimated the distance to the lighthouse in the park, because she found herself worrying she might not make it there in time. The sun was dangerously close to the horizon and threatening to sink even further. Her sneaker clad feet carried her as quickly as they could muster through the wooded area to her goal.
As gold drained from the canvas of the world, a sorrowful teen approached the lighthouse. I'm too late, damn. All she had wanted was a sunset over the water, Elliot Bay instead of Arcadia Bay, to remind her of happier times. If only I could rewind a little, just to glimpse the sun. She had spent many hours in her childhood (as if I'm not still a child) at the lighthouse back home.
This structure was not as impressive as Arcadia's. It was a story or two shorter, built out more than up. Even the cliff it was perched upon sat lower to the sea; a crouching hermit to her true home's proud giant. Still, the nostalgia was there, and her foul mood subsided slightly as she rested on a bench facing the water.
She was not supposed to go out alone. She was not supposed to be in the park after dark. And she was not supposed to lie to her parents, but she had done all these things, and for such a petty thing as to steal a gold washed picture of a daily event. Sure, she could ask her father to bring her here any day of the week (assuming he didn't work late that day…). But a sunset over the ocean, on this day years ago, was a memory she shared with only one person, and even then they had snuck out to see it.
We were just tweens, then. Off on an adventure together, past our curfew. We wanted to see the fireworks from the cliff. And we did. Well, most of it. She didn't even care when William found us. She just laughed at him, so I did too, and then the three of us left for the Diner. Together. Now, we're all in different places. Might as well be in different Times. I'm so sorry, William. I'm so sorry, Chloe.
The single occupant of the park was silent, then, save for the occasional sniffle. She had promised herself she wouldn't cry, not this time, not this memory, Max, just be happy for once. But she and Promises had a strained relationship these days, more scorned lover than distant friend, and so the oceans in her irises began to leak, salt water flowing through freckled plains on her cheeks.
Boom!
The salt water rivers flowed until darkness had properly replaced light, and miles away the city fireworks had started their show. The explosions weren't directly visible, but refractions of their light found their way to the Max's blurred vision. It was one more detail to list that made this lighthouse inferior to her lighthouse. Dejected, but with sobs finally ceased, Max decided to make her way home. Earlier than she intended, but with no Photo and no Fireworks and no Chloe and no Happiness, there was nothing left for her here.
She had set out alone, to reach for ghosts of the past to comfort her in the present. Perhaps it was a foolish notion, but she once she had thought those connections were timeless. That some loves could never be dissolved by time or distance.
Maybe I'm only fooling myself. Maybe I'm the only one who's stuck in the past.
She hoped, without conviction, that Time might one day smile upon her, and allow her to undo her mistakes.
And that hope was granted, but also a terrible burden, and lives were lost for choices made.
Arcadia Bay Beach
Chloe
Sometimes, even though she knew it wasn't quite right, Chloe would steal longing glances at her secret crush. Well, kinda-secret crush. Rachel definitely suspected something. Just, no one had called a spade a spade yet, content to leave things as they stood.
This, laying on the twin beach towels, blue for Chloe and purple for Rachel, was one of those times. Rachel leaned back on her elbows, looking off to the horizon. The burning orange orb in the sky was just about to dive below the horizon. The amber light washed over Rachel, bringing an ethereal quality to her image. Chloe was transfixed.
You need to stop staring, perv. She's not into you. Why would she be into you? She's a damn goddess, she deserves better than your punk ass.
She looked out to sea. The self-described punk had a nasty habit of internal self-abuse like this. She thought it an equal trade for her ban on external self-harm. The 'Blade Incident,' as she referred to it, back in '08 was enough for her.
In her introspection, and isn't that some mushy bullshit, a scowl had found its way to her face. This change in countenance was noticed by her companion, and prompted a light query of "Penny for your thoughts?" from the crimson flannel clad girl. Rachel held out her hand, index finger and thumb pressed together, as if to offer an invisible coin.
Chloe reached up with both hands, removing her beanie and running a hand through newly aqua colored hair. She tried to think of something witty; a deflection away from her loathing. "Gonna cost you hella more than a penny to get inside this supercomputer, Rach." It wasn't her best work, but it got the job done.
Rachel giggled, and retracted her hand. She turned her gaze back to the horizon. "The period just before the sunset, photographers call it the 'Golden Hour.' Cuz everything is bathed in that orange light, and it's so pretty, y'know?" She looked into her punk friend's blue eyes with her hazel. A thought of why do you have to look at me like that, Rach, flowed through the mind behind the blue spheres.
"Yeah, that's pretty cool, I guess." Chloe was never really one for photography. Not since childhood. Not since her. And she wasn't graced with a name in Chloe's mind, because that would be admitting Chloe remembered her at all, and that was just too painful. No, better to forget. Speaking of forgetting… "Hey, you want a drink? I even brought your gross wine coolers. Because you're more of a lightweight than the feather in your ear."
Rachel nodded at her friend for the drink, quite used to the light verbal barbs, absent mindedly twiddling with the mentioned blue feather dangling from her ear. "How do you always manage to score alcohol for us, though?" Her voice wasn't concerned, just curious.
"Station just north of town. Jack Jacks-off-a-lot Kirkman up there works Saturday nights and never cards," explained the bluenette as she reached into her small cooler for their refreshments.
"Oh," came the small reply. "Kinda takes all the magic out of it, don'cha think?" It was a tease, because she smirked as she raised her chilled bottle to her lips.
And Chloe had a fun retort for this, something about bitch please, I'm a level 84 sorceress, but was interrupted by Dennis. He had the worst sense of timing, the worst body odor in recent memory, and the worst sense of entitlement. He stumbled a bit as he approached, and swayed to and fro as he stood before Rachel. And he's drunk. He didn't spare Chloe a glance. And he's a prick.
"Yo, Rachey-Rach!" Sooo drunk. I'm almost impressed. "I jus wunt, wann-ed to say heeey. Ran"- a hiccup – "Randy is 'ere too. Overrr, eh, there." A floppy hand gestured wildly in a direction down the beach. Chloe noticed there were a lot more people here now that the sun was down. She must've been too focused on Rachel. She let a grunt of irritation escape her throat.
Her crush ignored her. Addressing Dennis, the blonde said "that's sweet of you, Dennis, maybe I'll see you guys later!" Chloe sighed. On one hand, she admired her beautiful companion's diplomacy; she always knew the right thing to say, never on anyone's bad side. On the other, she hated seeing her Rach with those losers.
Randy was a dealer, and Dennis one of his associates. The girls' herb habit had been sustained almost entirely by Randy since the two had met. But Rachel was the one who did the buying, and she didn't always pay with money. But Chloe had heard of a new dealer in town, and thought perhaps she could replace Randy with Fred, or Hank, or whatever his name was.
The Imperial Stout in the punk's hand, 9% alcohol by volume, because I can actually handle my booze, poured down her throat in one large swig. She needed to forget, lose herself for a bit. That's what tonight was for, anyway.
Dennis left them to join the other stoners around Randy farther down the beach. Hazel eyes caught the attention of the tropical blue irises opposite her, as the body attached to them opened a second Stout.
"Why do you have to do that?" The hazel eyes narrowed.
"Do what?" Another large swig of intoxicant passed soft lips.
"The whole, 'I Hate Everybody That Isn't Rachel,' thing? Like, I'm flattered, but come on, Chlo." Concern, or annoyance, or something similar flicked across the future-model's face, but Chloe wasn't up to the task of decoding those signals, even if she could have.
Uninvited anger swirled in her head. "Maybe because I do, Rach. What has anybody ever done for me, huh? Besides shit on my life." Inwardly, she groaned. Damn drink hasn't kicked in yet. Need more. She wanted the world dulled, it was the only surefire way to escape the hate for a while. Another swig of stout.
"Chloe – "
"No," a beanie was tossed into the sand in frustration. "No, I don't want to hear 'it's not that bad' or 'it'll be ok' or any of that shit, Rach. Least of all from you. Because it is that bad, ever since my dad up and died on me, and it can't be ok because he's not coming back." And even she isn't coming back, wherever she is, but that thought isn't voiced. A single salt water drop left the corner of her eye. She looked up to the sky, now darker, to hide it.
"Chloe, listen to me, please." The tone was soft, soothing, and almost pleading. A tender hand reached from one beach towel to another, joining with a rougher counterpart. A beat of silence passed. The seething anger stopped building in the blue haired girl's veins, calmness emanating from the blonde's touch. A long exhale escaped Chloe's lips.
Rachel continued, "Chlo, I know you've had it tough. I won't cheapen that, not ever. I just don't like to see you so angry, or in pain, Chloe. I just, I'm your friend, and I'm here for you. Always."
And despite herself, a smile graced Chloe's lips, softening the previously steeled features of her face. The way she says 'always'. I like that. It feels like, warmth, in my chest. Oh fuck, that was mushy! And she knew Rachel meant her words. They didn't lie, not to each other. Perhaps, the amber glow she noticed earlier in the setting sun wasn't just celestial rays, but rather light from Rachel herself. An Angel, given flesh.
Quietly, almost a sob but more a whisper, the Angel's keeper said, "Thank you, Rachel."
A simple sentiment, without explanation, but it conveyed meaning enough.
Their hands remained clasped for several minutes. No more words were exchanged, not yet, but this is nice. Peaceful. Don't get that, much. Rachel pulled away first, stood and made down the sand. From the booze and the endorphins, Chloe didn't register immediately that the Angel had left.
She had to run to catch up, harder to do with two beers in her bloodstream. "Rach, hey, wait up!" She called out.
"Just stay back there, 'kay? You know Randy doesn't like you, and I want some herb tonight, after everything." Scoring buds is cool, but she doesn't have the cash today…
Beside the two young women, a preppy kid stalked up. Uncoordinated, high or drunk or both. Chloe noticed, vaguely, but paid him no mind.
"I know, Rachel, but last time…" Don't make me say it, Rach.
"He still owes me for last time, Chloe."
They stared at each other for a moment, and the bluenette knew she wasn't going to win this one. Before she could continue, however, the weird intruder spoke up.
"Am I Randy?"
So, you're high as fuck, dude. Go home. Adopting a more defensive stance now, Chloe sized up the druggie. She noticed him doing the same, in a more hungry way, to Rachel, and that stoked the anger in her to low flames once again.
"Nope! You should go lie down, hun." The feather-eared girl chirped in, and flashed a grin so bright Chloe thought the fireworks might pale in comparison. Goddamn Rachel, you're so fucking kind to everyone. Maybe he had the same thought about the lights, because he suddenly turned his focus straight up to the black sky. Rachel laughed, and resumed her march to Randy.
Chloe waited, as the high-as-kite man darted his eyes around, watching the Angel leave. She huffed a little, involuntarily. Let it go, fucktard. He acted as though he heard this, as his attention turned to her. Well, to a degree. If he actually saw Chloe, it was only because she was attached to the breasts he was staring at.
She was done with this rich prick, high off some club drug paid for with daddy's money. "No, you can't touch, perv!" This got very little reaction, so she made to leave, determined to not make a scene for Rachel's sake. As she stormed off, jamming hands into the camo pockets of her jacket, she muttered "Men are all pigs, fuck you, man." She had her 'bad boy' phase last year. That was sufficient, she thought.
Boom!
The firework show started on her way back to the towels. She opened her third stout. Waited.
Boom! Boom!
Rachel found her own way back not too long afterward, no worse for wear and sporting some premium hash for their mutual enjoyment.
Much later, through a marijuana haze, Chloe vaguely recalled another memory of watching fireworks with some other girl she might have loved, but the alcohol blocked the recall of details. She decided it didn't matter, that tonight was a better night anyway.
She also decided that Rachel was indeed her Guardian, and devoted herself to preserving and protecting this celestial being.
And that decision was noble, but also foolhardy, and lives were lost in the struggle.
