Faraway, so close

By ERICK WONG

SOMEWHERE IN THE distance, Justin could hear the low rumble of music. He couldn't see the moon through the shifting gray clouds and slowed the car as he leaned closer to the window.

"There," Brian said, pointing to an empty space by the curb.

Justin nodded, carefully squeezing his car into the last space on a block lined with weeping willows. He killed the engine and popped the trunk. "Let's go," he said.

The bottles clanged with their steps as they walked against the crisp air. Justin lit a cigarette, then reached inside the bag and pulled out a bottle.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't feel like showing up completely sober," he said, handing the rest of the beer to Brian. He drank as much as he could in one swallow, then drank some more. "You think this party will be any good?"

"The one she had over the summer was pretty crazy."

"Good. Maybe we'll just all have a good time then."

A car came up behind them, and they stepped over to the sidewalk. Justin finished his beer and exchanged his empty bottle for a new one. He drank slower, and tapped his fingers to the growing beat.

"It's not so simple," Brian said. "There's been a rumor."

"So I've heard. About me and Alice."

"No, this one's new. This one says you planned this whole thing as soon as Wes went back to school."

"That's so stupid."

"It's the rumor. I heard it from Jen this morning so you know it's been around."

Justin searched for the moon again, but the clouds had become thicker. He spun around slowly until he felt a little dizzy. "Wes Stilman is a reasonable guy. He's smarter than that."

"Wes will come after you whether he believes it or not."

"He hasn't shown up at my doorstep yet, and Thanksgiving was yesterday. So he's been home for how long - two, three days now?"

"He got home yesterday. It's been a day. For all you know he's only just now hearing about it."

"Hell." Justin wandered over to the curb and tried to balance himself as he went, one foot in front of the other. He started walking faster and looked back at Brian. "Or, then again - " he began, but slipped and fell. The glass broke beneath his hand as he hit the pavement, and suddenly the music sounded closer and the ground felt very solid as he stood up. He picked up what was left of the bottle with his other hand and faced the broken edge toward Brian.

"You fighting him then?"

"I could."

"No," said Brian, shaking his head over the mess of glass and blood. "I don't think so."

Most of the lights in the house were turned off, and Justin took his first few steps inside carefully, staying close to the walls to avoid eye contact with the people whose names he had already forgotten and whose association with various cliques had become blurred now that high school was long over. He couldn't tell, for example, if the group standing around the keg consisted of goth kids who had softened their image or if some of the old theater club had taken to darker clothing. Perhaps it was both. Time and alcohol, it seemed, were the great equalizers. In the kitchen he washed his hand of the blood and glass while Brian deposited the beer in the refrigerator. As Justin patted his hands with a paper towel he began to notice some half glances from the corner of his eyes, but the faces always turned away too quickly. Then he made eye contact with Rachel and he was glad to finally be acknowledged. She came to him wearing a smirk and raised her drink in a mock toast.

"What the hell happened to your hand?" she said not unkindly. "Don't get any blood on the carpet or my parents will murder me."

"How are you, Rachel."

"I'm just dandy. Good to see you again," she laughed. Then she dropped her voice and said, "I'm surprised you came. What are you doing, coming here tonight?"

"I'm here for a kick-ass time," he said, wrapping the towel around his hand. He froze. "So to speak."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she said, pointing both hands at him and spilling some of her drink.

"Yeah all right," Justin said. He noticed the way Rachel took two steps away from him. He saw Brian making his way across the room with more beer and waited for him to revive the conversation.

"Hey Rach," Brian said.

"Hey yourself," she laughed. "I haven't seen you since ... "

"Summer."

"It's been too long," Rachel sighed. She lightly punched Justin. "And this guy! You drag him here tonight?"

"Nope. He wanted to be here."

"You're kidding. Justin, are you looking for trouble?"

Justin stared down into his beer and, when he didn't find the answer he was looking for, threw back his head and emptied as much of his drink as he could. His tongue felt very cold and he said, "It's still a party, isn't it?"

"Whatever," Rachel said. "What really happened with you and Alice?"

"A misunderstanding," he said, but even as the words slipped off his tongue he remembered the deliberate way he looked at her that afternoon in front of her house, when the sun had tangled in her dark hair, and he just looked, knowing that if he didn't stop soon he would be blinded to who she was. He thought he saw her smile before she tilted her head slightly and blocked the light. The sun left blue-tinted blurs that washed over his eyes as he blinked once and moved closer, waiting for her to back away ...

"Hey, you keep the fight outside, okay?" Rachel punched him again. "Outside."

A small group had gathered around them, and he wondered exactly what rumor they had heard. A girl whose short, strawberry blond hair he almost recognized asked him about the bloodied paper towel around his hand.

"He says he won't fight. He thinks our friend Wes can be reasoned with," Brian explained. "Good thing too, since he just lost a fight with a bottle."

The circle of familiar strangers laughed as Justin saluted them with his beer. He took another drink, the sound of his own gulps going against the rhythm of the music and the erratic, heavy pulse of his own heart. He wanted to ask Rachel something, but noticed she had slipped away.

"Behind you," Brian whispered.

He turned around, thinking Brian had read his mind. But there was no one directly behind him, and he kept looking further. He noticed other heads facing the same direction, then glancing back at him before looking across the room, where Wes Stilman stood quietly with his friends.

Justin watched him carefully and opened another beer. The living room seemed to shrink, and Justin blinked his eyes several times to create more space in his head. Each blink of his eyes kept the rest of the crowd a few paces away and Wes on the other side of the room. Those around Wes occasionally glanced in Justin's direction, inviting Wes to follow their gazes, but he answered these suggestions with a disinterested tilt of his head.

"Something's not right," Justin said.

"He's waiting for you to make the first move."

"No, it's not that," he said, turning around. "Where's Alice?"

Brian shook his head.

"You'd think he'd have her right there by his side ... " Justin said, but even as he was saying her name a second time he noticed a pair of shoulders across the room that shifted in his direction. "Wait here," he told Brian.

"Where are you - "

"Better yet, just meet me in the rec room at the other end of the house, okay?" He finished the rest of his beer and moved, carefully, to the center of the living room.

Alice Martin had never been a hard girl to spot, though for different reasons tonight than when Justin first knew her. In high school she was all neck and elbows as she walked down the hall, held up by an invisible string at her back that pulled her awkward body just a little too taut. But in the years to come she would learn to control that string, release it bit by bit, so that all her sharp angles smoothed out and her head no longer hung so severely, but just enough that her hair fell over her face and her eyes never directly met those of anyone else.

"Meet me in the hall," Justin said as he passed behind her. She turned quickly, and he felt some of her hair brush his neck. He resisted stopping, instead counting seventeen steps until he reached the darkened passage. He held his breath.

"Justin?" Alice said, eyes averted, head slightly askew.

"Hello there," he said. "You never called."

"Oh yeah," she said. "Yeah." A strand of hair fell over one eye. He noticed she didn't brush it away.

"I didn't mean it that way, but ... I'm just wondering ... it's just, I haven't talked to you since that day, and I'm wondering if there's anything to talk about."

Something he said or something she thought of made her smile, he couldn't tell which. Then she looked back into the room. "This isn't a good time," she said. "I didn't think you'd be here tonight."

"Did Wes see you come in here?" He tried to sound calm.

"I'm not sure. Maybe."

He closed his eyes, knowing she wouldn't be able to tell in the dark, and said, "I'm just trying to figure out if all this should mean anything."

She was quiet for a long time, and he opened his eyes to see more dark strands tumble over her eyes. He wanted to lift the veil over her face and wondered how many times Wes had done the same thing. Finally she tossed her head back and looked at him with a sideways gaze.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what to tell you right now," she said. "Maybe now's not the time to tell you anything."

"Okay."

"But," she said, touching his arm lightly with the back of her hand, "I haven't forgotten Tuesday. And whatever it meant for you, I hope you don't forget either." She began to walk away.

"So what did it mean to you?"

Alice stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder. Then her eyes fell, gazing at something very distant and he thought he saw her smile again. He watched her disappear into the party, and he went the opposite direction through the dark.

"That was stupid," Brian said.

"What was?"

Brian glared at him. The light from a nearby television flickered off his face.

"Relax. I made it here, didn't I?"

They walked to a darker part of the rec room, weaving their way through a game of pool. Brian pointed to a ragged couch in the corner. The stale scent of indoor smoke lingered in the air.

"Do you think he saw you talking to her?"

"He could have. He didn't do anything about it." Justin picked up a spare pool cue. Forming a ring with his index finger and thumb, he began to spin the stick in small circles on the floor. "Anyway, how about some pool?"

"You spoke too soon," Brian said, pointing toward a tall, bald-headed figure awkwardly searching the room.

"I don't remember his name."

"Kelly."

"Yeah, that's it." He waved to Kelly, who made a beeline for the couch. "So you think Wes is sending his friends to fight me?"

"What's making you so confident all of a sudden?"

"I don't know," Justin said, gripping the stick. He realized he was sitting at too low an angle to get up quickly and that the alcohol was lightening his head more than he wanted. He watched as Kelly paused at the pool table for someone to make a shot. Justin gingerly wrapped his other hand around the pool cue. But it was Brian who stood up and put a hand on Kelly's shoulder. They exchanged stares until Kelly nodded at Justin and said:

"Wes wants to meet you alone at the gazebo. At midnight."

"You're kidding me."

"I'm just the messenger, yeah? He says there's too many people around or something."

"Fair enough. Thanks."

"Fuck you, yeah?" He shook off Brian's hand and walked back through the room, this time forcing the game to stop for him.

Justin let go of the pool stick and winced when he saw the fresh blood on his hand. He lit a cigarette, and as the smoke quickly thickened around them he found it easier to ignore the pops and cracks of the cue ball from the center of the room.

"What time is it?"

Brian looked down at him. "You're not really thinking about going out there? I mean, just because you're alone doesn't mean he'll be."

Justin waved the cigarette over his eyes and took another drag.

"You think this is going to work with you and Alice?" Brian said. "You're going to beat Wes and win her heart or some bullshit? Seriously, man, is there even a chance of that?"

Justin looked at his hand and watched a trickle of blood grow from the wound and crawl down his palm. "But there is," he said, waiting for the blood to fall, "isn't there?"

Brian threw himself on the couch. "Gimme one of those," he said.

Justin tossed over his last cigarette, then looked at his hand again. The drop of blood had disappeared in its own trail. There was a brief flare of light from Brian's match. Something about the way the smoke floated reminded him of how the sun had caught the dust in front of her house, and how as she said goodbye he tried to catch sight of her faraway eyes that promised to make true and real whatever she gazed upon. He kept staring at the smoke until he brought the cigarette to his mouth one time too many, and tasted the filter.

"Well," he said, looking at the fading orange of the ash, "what do you think?"

The gazebo felt too small to Justin as he paced inside it. He had circled the interior a fourth time when he heard the slow shuffle of what sounded like a single pair of feet along the path behind him.

Wes Stilman looked very pale in the moonlight, and his hands were hidden deep inside the pockets of his black jacket. When he stepped into the gazebo he didn't seem to notice Justin at all, and instead looked out to where the backyard ended with the decline of a hill. He took his hands out of his pockets and rested them on the railing.

Justin folded his arms and leaned against a post. The thought of Alice crept into his mind, and as much as he tried, he couldn't push her away and she gently slipped through his fractured thoughts until they were again at the moment her breath gently pushed against his -

He squeezed the wounded hand and filled his mouth with the empty air.

"Wes - "

"Give me time, brother," he said quietly. "I've got problems."

"Do you have a cigarette?"

Wes pushed himself off the railing and turned around. "You're smoking. When did you start?"

"Awhile back. Regularly since summer."

"Brand."

"Marlboro."

"Cowboy shit. Tastes like dirt."

"Fighting words," Justin sighed. He uncrossed his arms. "Let's just finish this."

"We've been at the party for awhile," Wes said. "What makes you think ... I want to fight you now?" He bit his lower lip. "Then again," he said, taking an uneven step away from the railing, "Something did happen between you, and my girlfriend."

Justin took a step forward. Wes was close enough to push.

"Heh," Wes said. He leaned back against the railing.

"I don't understand."

"You tell me, brother. Is it true what they say?"

"Alice can tell you."

Wes nodded. "Right now, Alice and I are not talking."

"She didn't tell you anything," Justin said, thinking of the sun in his face, and how he couldn't see hers at first, and then only briefly before they closed their eyes together -

"No. I had something to tell her first."

- and as he let go of the moment he realized her eyes were already open, and he caught a glimpse of the distance in them that looked north to a ghost of someone now come back to life and standing in front of him.

"So you tell me," Wes said. "You're right. Let's finish this."

"You trying to even the score?" Justin said, but his voice wavered and the conversation seemed swallowed in the silence that followed.

"Believe what you want," Wes finally said. "Make your own excuses." He glanced at his watch, then slipped his hands back in his pockets. "It's not so late," he said. He took out a pack of cigarettes and handed one to Justin from the foot of the steps. "Let's not run into each other for awhile. I think next time ... " He felt the air to steady himself.

"What the hell is this?"

Wes looked up at him. "That's a Camel," he said, stepping carefully in the dirt.

The party was choking to death on a thick lull of smoke and spirits, and Justin found himself strangely out of place as he stepped back into the house. Whatever alcohol had floated through his body before suddenly didn't feel like enough, and he searched for more to drink. The bottles that lined the kitchen counter were long empty, and he felt around for the stronger liquors he had seen earlier. He finished, with some difficulty, the last parts of a shiny, dark blue bottle and leaned against the refrigerator.

And whatever it meant for you ...

He stood in the kitchen, in the shadows, trying not to think of the setting sun.

Then he noticed the counter moving towards his head, and he shoved a few items off the surface to rest against it. A dull pain crept into his palm, and he lifted his hand over his head to see the wound reopened. The blood slowly pooled into the cut and spread over his palm, clinging tenuously to his skin. Then his hand trembled, and he instinctively closed his eyes and felt the soft, wet kiss drop on his cheek. He kept his eyes closed. After some time Justin heard some people shuffle into the kitchen and he excused himself from the room. He wandered the rest of the house until he found Rachel amidst the ruins of a card game.

"Is Alice still here?" Justin heard himself saying, and when Rachel shook her head he saw her nervous glance at the darkened hall, and he knew where to go, even as she told him to wait. He stepped through the passage until his foot caught in a discarded black jacket and he nearly fell, just barely pressing both hands against the walls in time. A smeared spot of blood trailed down one side of the wall, and he noticed the red catching a flickering glow from the doorway of the rec room. He walked into the little square of light cast from the room, and stopped.

Alice and Wes were sitting very still on the couch while light from the television danced around them. Wes' head rested on her shoulder as he slept, and strands of her dark hair blended with his. Alice's eyes slowly opened, and as she looked at Justin the distance between them dropped, and he saw that she had already forgotten much of that dying afternoon, and was forgetting the part of her that was very sorry she couldn't remember more. Then she leaned closer to her boyfriend, and her hair fell and hid her face.

Justin closed the door, and the hall grew dim. His hand stayed on the knob, until he noticed Rachel standing next to him, and he let it go.

"She already knew," Rachel said. "She knew about the other girl almost from the start."

"What other girl?"

"Nothing. Never mind." She walked away from him, stopping to look at the blood on the wall. She tried to wipe it away with a napkin.

"Another girl?" he said quietly, looking back at the closed door. "She planned this?"

Rachel tossed the napkin. "I don't know," she said.

Justin sat alone by the door for a long time, slowly making out the murmur of the television. He was unsure of what to do if the door opened, but was trapped by the expectation that it would. Eventually he realized he was only listening to static, and he got up to walk away from the flickering blue room. As he neared the end of the hall he saw a figure waiting for him. It was Brian, who seemed unbalanced by a large bruise over his right eye.

"We gotta go now," Brian said, almost dragging him by the arm. "That fucker Kelly," he muttered, "I hit that fucker, I hit him as hard as I could ... "

When they stepped outside the wind was very strong, and Justin looked up to see the sky full of stars. He tried not to think of the sun that afternoon, now brighter than ever, and he knew that whatever imaginary moment he still held on to had been left in its glow too long, that the image would soon bleach and fade.

There was a rattling noise somewhere close to him, and he saw an empty bottle rolling continuously in a circle. He managed to smash it, then stumbled as the last of his balance abandoned him. He remembered how leaning down to kiss her felt like falling and how a smile had slipped into her lips even as her eyes were already closed and no longer seeing him.

Justin held off Brian's attempts at help and stood up. He brushed away a few shiny pieces of glass that clung to him. "I'm all right. I'm all right," he said, trying to believe it himself.