I didn’t have an answer to that. Most of the time, I didn’t know how to respond to her. Most of the time, I didn’t need to.
She just shook her head a little and raised the bottle back to my lips. “Drink.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because the universe doesn’t give a shit, Micah,” she said. “So why should we?”
It takes my eyes a while to focus. I know it isn’t Janie. I know but I still hope, even though her eyes are too dark and her hair is too short and her face is too sharp. Even though she is in running clothes, and Janie does not believe in running. Even though she is crying, and Janie refuses to cry anymore.
“God,” she says. Her voice is thick with tears and I want her to leave. I want to lie here and squint at the moon until the sky becomes white. “God, I wish I hadn’t, okay? Okay? Stop following me around. Stop looking at me like that. I know she told you, I know she did. I tried to tell her—I tried to apologize but—”
“Piper?” I ask, because I’m not sure. “Piper?”
She’s on the ground next to me now, crouching with her head in her arms. Arms on her knees. She gasps out muffled sobs.
“I was drunk too.” I think this is what she says. “I was drunk, I just wanted to go home. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean for him to . . .”
Home. Home would be a nice place to be. I wish I could get there. Or remember where it is. Or where I am.
“I left her,” Piper whispers, not that anyone is listening. “I let her go.”
No, I’m at the Metaphor. I know that. It is December, not September. It is cold, and it will snow soon. Janie moved away on the last day of summer vacation before senior year, which was months ago, and I am still trying to remember. She made wings, and burned them. I burned them. She declared an apocalypse, but it had already started. She believed and stopped believing in love. None of it matters, because she is dead. She fell into the quarry and never quite came out. And on the night she fell into the quarry and never came out, she had a bonfire.
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to,” she says. “I didn’t know what to do, what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t—I didn’t know—oh god, I didn’t mean for it to happen, I didn’t. I didn’t. Oh god. She asked me to stay.”
At that bonfire, I was on the ground.
Gravel on my palms. Puke in my throat.
Janie’s dragging me up. She sighs. “Dammit. I forgot how unsteady you get. I wish I could take a shot. I love being drunk. Did you know that? Of course you do. I love it, Micah. I love not giving a shit. God, you’re so tall. I hate that.”
“Take a shot,” I say, thrusting the bottle at her. She steadies me.
“Not tonight,” she says.
We walk for forever. “Why is your driveway so long?”
She almost laughs. “I had to park far away. Everyone’s going to clog the driveway later and I don’t want to get stuck. We have to get out of here fast. Oh, wait. Here.” She slips my keys back into my pocket. Her fingers are cold.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do we have to get out of here fast?”
She doesn’t answer. I don’t ask again.
The house finally comes into view. She drags me into the backyard and over to a lawn chair and goes to light the fire. There are marshmallows on a long table, and other shit, but I only care about the marshmallows. I don’t think I can get to them. I take another swallow of vodka instead.
Soon there are other kids from school too, everyone from school and maybe I talk to them and maybe I don’t. There are chairs all around, and blankets, and booze. I see the booze. It’s almost like Janie cleaned out her parents’ cabinets and put it all on the table.
And eventually I see the fire.
It is at the very back of the yard and the house is behind us. More cars are coming, cars spilling out the senior class of Waldo High. Janie really did invite everyone. They whoop and punch each other, and eventually this turns into chasing each other, and eventually this turns to chasing each other with torches.
For a while, Janie walks around, talks to people. She smiles. Her eyes are pale, and I watch the fire reflected in them. I start playing a drinking game with myself. Sip every time she laughs and touches someone’s arm. Sip every time she flips her hair over her shoulder. Shot every time she looks back at me.
Finally she comes back. I don’t remember seeing that. One moment she wasn’t there and the next she was, dark and backlit against the fire. There was a blanket in her arms. She climbed into my lap and threw it over us. We sat and did not speak, but we listened.
It was not warm or cold.
It was not dark or bright.
It just was.
Here, it is quiet except for Piper’s sniffles. I wish she would stop.
“Are you staying?” I ask her, because I want to leave.
Her head snaps up. Her jaw is slack and her eyes are drowning, drowning.
She slaps me. My head snaps back. When it comes back down, Piper is leaving too.
And I am drowning, drowning.
No, wait.
That’s not right.
Not quite.
THE JOURNAL OF JANIE VIVIAN
Once upon a time, Sleeping Beauty is raped and only wakes up when she gives birth to twins.