Лиза Макманн: Wake

Greece. Melinda mostly hangs out with other rich kids. And then there’ s Carrie.

Janie doesn’ t mind being with Melinda. Melinda still can’ t stand Janie. Janie thinks she knows the real reason why, and it doesn’ t have anything to do with having money.

June 25, 2004, 11:15 p.m.

After working a record eleven evenings straight, and being caught by old Mr. Reed’ s recurring nightmare about World War II seven of those eleven evenings, Janie collapses on the couch and kicks her shoes off. By the number of empty bottles on the ring-stained coffee table, she assumes her mother is in her bedroom, down for the count.

Carrie lets herself in. “ Can I crash here?” Her eyes are rimmed in red.

Janie sighs inwardly. She wants to sleep. “ ’ Course. You okay with the couch?”

“ Sure. Thanks.”

Janie relaxes. Carrie, on the couch, would work fine.

Carrie sniffles loudly.

“ So, what’ s wrong?” Janie asks, trying to put as much sympathy in her voice as she can muster.

It’ s enough.

“ Dad’ s yelling again. I got asked out. Dad says no.”

Janie perks up. “ Who asked you out?”

“ Stu. From the body shop.”

“ You mean that old guy?”

Carrie bristles. “ He’ s twenty-two.”

“ You’ re sixteen! And he looks older than that.”

“ Not up close. He’ s cute. He has a cute ass.”

“ Maybe he plays Dance Dance Revolution at the arcade.”

Carrie giggles. Janie smiles.

“ So. You got any liquor around here?” Carrie asks innocently.

Janie laughs. “ There’ s an understatement. Whaddya want, beer?” She looks at the bottles on the table. “ Schnapps? Whiskey? Double-stuff vodka?”

“ Got any of that cheap grape wine the winos at Selby Park drink?”

“ At your service.” Janie hauls herself off the couch and looks for clean glasses. The kitchen is a mess. Janie has barely been here the past two weeks. She finds two sticky, mismatched glasses in the sink and washes them out, then searches through her mother’ s stash for her cheap wine assortment. “ Ah, here it is. Boone’ s Farm, right?” She unscrews the bottle and pours two glasses full, not waiting for an answer from Carrie, and then puts the bottle back in the fridge.

Carrie flips on the TV. She takes a glass from Janie. “ Thanks.”

Janie sips the sweet wine and makes a face. “ So what are you gonna do about Stu?” She thinks there’ s a country song in that sentence somewhere.

“ Go out with him.”

“ Your dad’ s gonna kill you if he finds out.”

“ Yeah, well. What else is new?” They both settle on the creaky couch and put their feet on the coffee table, deftly pushing the mess of bottles to the center of it so they can stretch out.

The TV drones. The girls sip their wine and get silly. Janie gets up, rummages around in her bedroom, and returns with snacks.

“ Gross— you keep Doritos in your bedroom?”

“ Emergency stash. For nights such as these.” Since Mother can’ t be bothered to buy any actual food at the grocery store when she goes there for booze, Janie thinks.

“ Ahh.” Carrie nods.

12:30 a.m.

Janie is asleep on the couch. She doesn’ t dream. Never dreams.

5:02 a.m.

Janie, forced awake, catapults into Carrie’ s dream. It’ s the one by the river. Again. Janie’ s been here twice since the first time, when they were thirteen.

Janie, blind to the room her physical body is in, tries to stand. If she can feel her way to her bedroom and close the door before she starts going numb, she might get enough distance to break the connection. She feels with her toes for the bottles on the floor, and goes around them.

She reaches out for the wall and finds her way into the hallway as she and Carrie are walking through the forest in Carrie’ s dream. Janie reaches for the door frames— first her mother’ s bedroom (hush, don’ t bump the door), then the bathroom, and then her room. She makes it inside, turns, and closes the door just as Carrie and Janie approach the riverbank.

The connection is lost.

Janie breathes a sigh of relief. She looks around, blinks in the dark as her eyesight returns, crawls into bed, and sleeps.

9:06 a.m.

When she wakes, both her mother and Carrie are in the kitchen. The living room is cleared of bottles. Carrie is drying a sink full of dishes, and Janie’ s mother is fixing her homemade morning drink: vodka and orange juice on ice. On the stove is a skillet covered by a paper plate. Two pieces of buttered toast, two eggs over easy, and a small fortune of crisp bacon rest on a second paper plate, next to the skillet. Janie’ s mother picks up a piece of bacon, takes her drink, and disappears back into her bedroom without a word.

“ Thanks Carrie— you didn’ t have to do this. I was planning on cleaning today.”

Carrie is cheerful. “ It’ s the least I can do. Did you sleep well? When did you go to bed?”

Janie peeks in the skillet, thinking, discovering hash browns. “ Wow! Um… not long ago. It was close to daylight. But I was so tired.”

“ You’ ve been working ridiculous hours.”

Janie. “ Yeah, well. College. One day. How did you sleep?”

“ Pretty good… ” She hesitates, like she might say something else, but doesn’ t.

Janie takes a bite of food. She’ s famished. “ Did you have sweet dreams?”

Carrie glances at Janie, then picks up another dish and wipes it with the towel. “ Not really.”

Janie concentrates on the food, but her stomach flips. She waits, until the silence grows awkward. “ You want to talk about it?”

Carrie is silent for a long time. “ Not really. No,” she says finally.

AND PICKS UP SPEED

August 30, 2004

It is the first day of school. Janie and Carrie are juniors. They wait for the bus on the corner of their street. A handful of other high school kids stand with them. Some are anxious. Some are terribly short. Janie and Carrie ignore the freshmen.

The bus is late. Luckily for Cabel Strumheller, the bus is later than he is. Janie and Carrie know

Cabel— he’ s been trouble in school since ninth grade. Janie doesn’ t remember him much before that— word was that he flunked down into their grade. He was often late. Always looked stoned. Now, he looks about six inches taller than he did in the spring. His blue-black hair hangs in greasy ringlets in front of his eyes, and he walks with shoulders curved, as if he were more comfortable being short. He stands away from everyone and smokes a cigarette.

Janie catches his eye by accident, so she nods hello. He looks down at the ground quickly. Blows smoke from his lips. Tosses the cigarette down and grinds it into the gravel.

Carrie pokes Janie in the ribs. “ Lookie, it’ s your boyfriend.”

Janie rolls her eyes. “ Be nice.”

Carrie observes him carefully while he’ s not looking. “ Well. His pox-face cleared up over the summer. Or maybe the new fancy ’ do hides it.”

“ Stop,” hisses Janie. She’ s giggling, and feeling bad about it. But she’ s looking at him. He’ s got to be about as dirt poor as Janie, judging by his clothes. “ He’ s just a loner. And quiet.”

“ A stoner, maybe, who has a boner for you.”

Janie narrows her eyes, and her face grows sober.

“ Carrie, stop it. I’ m serious. You’ re turning mean like Melinda.” Janie glances at Cabel. His jeans are too short. She knows what it’ s like to be teased for not having cool clothes and stuff.

She feels herself wanting to defend him.

“ He probably has shitty welfare parents, like me.”

Carrie is quiet. “ I’ m not like Melinda.”

“ So why do you hang with her?”

She shrugs and thinks about it for a minute. “ I dunno. ’ Cause she’ s rich.”