1999 Read online

  I decided to think about something else, so I tried to remember the dream I had while I was passed out. I was standing up on the top of a hill covered with dry yellow grass. Sometimes there were a bunch of people with me, like a party, and sometimes there weren't – you know how dreams can fluctuate that way. Mercurial is the word Rio had used to describe it before, and I liked that.

  Everyone was gathered on the hill to look up at the sky, as if we were waiting to see something or expecting something to happen. I wasn't sure what, though.

  At some point, a woman came over to talk to me. She looked about ten years older than me and dressed in a purple crushed-velvet jacket and black jeans. Her hair was cut in a chin-length bob and was a mousy brown color, like mine used to be before I started dying it. Also, she was wearing a black choker with a little silver spider hanging from it. It's funny the details that stay with you from dreams.

  “What is everyone waiting for?” I asked her.

  “The end of the world.”

  When she spoke to me, I felt dizzy and started to fall. But instead of falling down the hill, I was falling up – falling into the sky.

  “You should probably get that checked out,” the woman called to me as I disappeared among the stars.

  That's when I woke up.

  “Dreams are fucking stupid,” I mumbled to myself and squirmed around on the seat, trying to find a comfortable position to lay down. Finally, I gave up and just sat upright again and scratched my right leg through my jeans.

  Glancing at the dashboard clock, I noticed that Maggy had been gone for about 25 minutes. I wondered what was taking so long.

  A few minutes later Maggy came back to the car, her clothes disheveled and her lipstick rubbed off. She didn't say anything, just pulled out her glass pipe, shook a tiny pinch of the little white crystals into the bowl, and sparked her lighter. After she put the pipe away, she began punching angrily at the buttons on the radio, flipping quickly through the stations. Finally, while letting out a frustrated sigh, she jammed a tape into the deck. A couple seconds later, Erasure's “Oh L'amour” started playing.

  I just sat there stupidly, watching her eyes through the rearview mirror and not saying a thing.

  When I pulled Rio aside and explained what had happened, she just rolled her eyes dismissively. “Gawd, don't be so naïve. She never has any money, doesn't have a job, and yet somehow manages a crystal meth habit that would make Courtney Love blush. What did you think was going on?” She turned to walk back towards the crowd gathered around the bonfire.

  My mouth dropped open in righteous indignation. “How can you be so fucking cold about this?”

  Rio whipped around sharply and snapped, “What my sister does with her life is none of my concern, and it certainly isn't any of yours.”

  At that moment, I realized something fundamental about Rio that I was a little ashamed not to have figured out sooner. Callousness wasn't just some affectation, a way of playing up to the drag queen archetype that she had picked up on trips to the City. For Rio, being callous was a matter of survival. I pictured her as a thirteen year old barrio schoolboy in eyeliner getting slammed up against a locker, blood dripping out of his broken nose. I had heard those stories through Maggy before, but I guess my own solidly liberal middle class background never allowed their full weight to sink in. Not giving a fuck was the only way someone like Rio could exist.

  It just bothers me that she can be so fucking good at it, I thought as I watched her wrap her arms around Drummer's neck and suck on his earlobe.

  “Ten more minutes!” I heard a voice call out.

  I rejoined the group and accepted the can of PBR that Adam passed to me. “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “I'll live,” I nodded.

  Maggy was passing around her pipe to a few select members of the party, laughing and making casual small-talk, the drugs having loosened her up. She had re-applied her lipstick and straightened out her clothes, looking as cool and above-it-all as ever.

  I pounded the beer quickly, not caring if made me feel sicker or not. I tried carrying on a conversation with Adam, but I couldn't keep my mind focused on what he was saying. I kept drifting away.

  “Five minutes!” the unidentified voice called again.

  I needed some space, so I walked down to the edge of the water and kicked off my shoes, letting the tide wash up over my bare feet and enjoying the feeling of wet sand between my toes.

  “Hey,” I heard a voice call out. “Hey, Jessica.” My name was given a strange emphasis, a note of uncertainty as if it were a question, like the speaker thought she had it right but wasn't quite sure.

  I turned around to see a small group of people sitting in the sand about ten yards from me. One of them was waving for me to come over and join them. It was Amanda.

  I walked over and took a seat beside her. They were passing around a bong.

  “Do you smoke?” Amanda asked.

  “Sometimes,” I replied.

  “Have you ever shotgunned before?”

  I shook my head and gave her a questioning look. A mischievous grin spread across her face as she grabbed the bong and took a hit. While still holding the smoke in her lungs, she leaned over and sealed her lips over mine, then blew the smoke out into my mouth. I breathed it in deeply, letting my lips linger against hers, sucking gently on her lower lip before leaning back and exhaling.

  Oranges… she smelled like oranges.

  “One minute!”

  We got up and rejoined the main group around the bonfire. I snaked through the crowd and wedged myself in next to Adam. Then I happened to glance over my shoulder and realized that Amanda had followed behind me.

  Emboldened by beer, pot, and nausea, I asked, “Got anyone picked out for your midnight kiss?”

  She grinned and nodded her head.

  The crowd counted down in unison.

  Midnight came and went.

  Amanda and I kissed.

  The world did not end.

  Reluctantly, I pulled my lips away from Amanda's. I opened my mouth to speak but couldn't come up with anything, so I just smiled instead. She hugged me tighter and rested her head on my shoulder.

  I looked up to see Maggy staring at me from across the bonfire, shooting daggers at me with her eyes.

  I woke up just as dawn broke to find myself laying on my back in the sand. Sitting up, I saw that the bonfire was dead and most of the revelers had cleared out, though I wasn't the only straggler.

  After finally managing to clamber to my feet, I spotted Maggy's Camry and started staggering over. Maggy herself was sitting on the hood, alone, with her knees bent and drawn in tightly against her chest.

  “Where's everyone else?”

  She said, “Rio left a couple hours ago with Dennis—”

  That's right – Dennis!

  “—and I have no idea what happened to Adam.”

  “We should maybe be concerned about that,” I replied, bending forward to scratch my right leg through my jeans. “But I'm too fucking exhausted right now. I'll worry better after some sleep.”

  Maggy nodded absently, her eyes downcast, looking at my hand.

  “What's wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she said, shaking her head as she started the engine. I glanced down and saw Amanda's phone number written on my palm in Sharpie.

  We made the drive back into town without saying more than a few stray words to each other. Mostly, I was just listening to Maggy's mix tape on the stereo and remembering bits and pieces from last night.

  “You don't look good,” she finally said to me.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “No, I mean you look really pale. Are you sure you're okay?”

  I shook my head. “I still feel really out of it, and I've got a throbbing headache.”

  “Rio usually carries Aspirin, if you want some. Her purse is under your seat.”

  I reached down and found it after only a little fishing around. Sifting through its contents,
I noted with amusement that the condoms she bought at the liquor store were missing. Unfortunately, so was the Aspirin. I checked the front pocket to see if maybe it was in there. As soon as I unzipped it, though, I let out a loud, surprised laugh.

  “Ha! That fucking bitch. After all that, she just up and pocketed it. I don't believe it!”

  “What are you babbling about?” Maggy asked.

  “Look at what she stole from the liquor store,” I said and held up Rio's Daddy's Little Princess porno.

  As soon as Maggy saw it, her face fell.

  At that moment, I realized something fundamental about Magdalena that I was a little ashamed not to have figured out sooner.

  Suddenly I heard a loud bang and immediately felt the car jerk to the right, careening onto the shoulder of the highway.

  We got out of the Camry to inspect what happened and found the right front tire blown out.

  Maggy started digging through her purse. I went around to check the trunk for a spare, but there wasn't one. By the time I returned to the front of the car, she had found her glass pipe and an empty plastic zipper bag that had at one time held a considerable amount of drugs.

  That's when Maggy lost it.

  “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!”

  She shrieked at the top of her lungs as she kicked wildly at the car. When she finally ran out of steam, she collapsed onto the ground and dug her fingers into her hair, tugging on it in two big handfuls.

  I offered to call my dad and have him come out with AAA, but Maggy didn't respond. After waiting around for her to say something, anything, for five minutes, I announced that I was going to find a pay phone. She still just sat there silently, almost catatonic.

  We had blown out on top of the overpass over Highway 85, so the walk down to the nearest gas station wasn't too bad. The return walk uphill was another story, especially since I wasn't doing so hot to begin with. By the time I made it back to the Camry, I was pouring sweat, wheezing, and so dizzy I could hardly see.

  Maggy was sitting on top of the parapet on the edge of the overpass, her feet dangling freely over the traffic below.

  I hopped up next to her, facing the opposite direction towards her car. I was still dizzy and off-balance, and worried for a second I might tip backwards and fall over the side, but I was able to stabilize myself.

  “My dad's on his way,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Should be about twenty minutes.”

  She didn't say anything or make any motion to even acknowledge my presence.

  “Oh, and FYI, the world did not in fact end at midnight. The whole Y2K thing, nothing happened.”

  Maggy's lips curled into a bitter half-smile, and she let out a couple subdued chuckles. “So I guess last night was a big disappointment all around.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, my head still reeling.

  She turned to look at me, her face leaving tracers in its wake as it moved. “Nothing really happened in this story,” she explained.

  She braced her feet against the parapet and used it to launch herself forward, doing a perfect swan dive off the overpass. I peered over the side and watched her plunge between the oncoming traffic. The black asphalt turned to liquid as she passed gracefully through the surface, barely making a splash at all. It took a few minutes for the ripples to die down until the surface finally evened out again. The cars kept zipping by in either direction, paying no heed to any of it.

  My right leg started itching again, so I threw it up onto the parapet and scratched it through my jeans. Then an image flashed in my head, a memory from last night of woman wearing a choker with a silver spider. I rolled up my jeans and saw the inflamed welt surrounded by a large circular rash, like a big red bullseye.

  “Shit, I should probably get that checked out.”

  Nothing in this story really happened.

  Notes

  PLAYLIST

  Teenage Riot, Sonic Youth

  Electioneering, Radiohead

  50 Foot Queenie, PJ Harvey

  Wish, Nine Inch Nails

  I Don't Like the Drugs, Marilyn Manson

  Army of Me, Bjork

  Oh L'amour, Erasure

  1979, Smashing Pumpkins

  Hey Jupiter, Tori Amos

  about the author

  Moxie Mezcal lives under an assumed name in San Jose, California.

  DEDICATION

  To the Class of 1999,

  I will not be making next month's reunion.

  Love,

  Moxie

  For more (free) guerrilla fiction, visit:

  MOXIEMEZCAL.COM

  Contact Moxie:

  [email protected]

  twitter.com/MoxieMezcal

  facebook.com/MoxieMezcal

  myspace.com/MoxieMezcal

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