Catherine Lacey - Nobody Is Ever Missing

I don’t mind going … anywhere, I guess .

Well , she said, and I braced for it, the question that was going to lead to an answer that would lead to a confession that wasn’t nice and wasn’t comfortable—

What does your husband think of you going just anywhere by yourself?

I lied , I said, I didn’t come here with my husband. He doesn’t even know where I am , and once I said all that I felt myself lighten but the atmosphere in the truck darkened because it’s disappointing enough to know that the people we love will sometimes lie but it is almost worse when we remember that strangers do this, too, and this is why it is best not to admit our lies to strangers, because it is not pleasant to learn that someone will lie even when there is little to nothing at stake, and it’s not pleasant to remember that we have all believed other strangers’ lies, and even though almost every living person knows this, in a way, it’s still not the best thing to bring up in polite conversation. If the widow had asked, I would have told her the rest of the story, the grey meat of it, but she didn’t ask. She put the truck in drive and drove and she didn’t ask me why I’d gone through all this trouble. Probably a more powerful part of herself was telling some less powerful part to just leave it — leave it —the way I’ve heard people tell their dogs to stop being interested in stinking gristle on a hot sidewalk.

She let me out at a visitors’ center in a town that seemed close to nothing, just cliff faces and bridges over narrow rivers. Someone can help you in there, tell you where you should go , and I was thankful that she was right — inside there was a wall tacked with flyers, one said Bakers Needed , and another said Farmhands Needed , and there were other needs, needs I either couldn’t meet or didn’t want to meet, but one just said Live on Waiheke Island, Live in Paradise! and I liked that it didn’t ask anything of me, just told me what to do, emphatically. Lodging and meals for labour, many skills needed , so I took the flyer off the board and called the number and a woman answered— Do you mind weeding, housekeeping, laundry, light repairs? — and even though I did mind those things I had realized by sleeping in sheds and parks and yards that Werner wasn’t totally wrong and wasn’t totally right: I’m not a person who needs people, but I am the kind of person who needs to be near people who don’t need me. So I told the woman I didn’t mind any of those things and she said I could come whenever, and that’s how easy it was to find a makeshift life, a life blind to the past and future.

After being picked up again, then let out in a sulfur-smelling parking lot by a row of train tracks and picked up again and let out at a petrol station and picked up for one last time by a bucktoothed woman driving a pale grey van, I ended up in Auckland, and as I got out of the van the bucktoothed woman said, God bless you , which I followed, as if by reflex, with a sneeze, so she said it again— God bless you —and I sneezed again, and I thought this was the kind of thing that people make easy, laughing eye contact over, that life is funny sometimes, or maybe not funny but maybe somewhat unexpected, but the bucktoothed woman kept her face as plain as a curtain, her two front teeth bucking right out of her lips like they were the other two in the holy trinity of she.

Luna said she was vegetarian for purely physical reasons as she slid a wet pile of diced onion off the side of a knife and into a hot skillet and she did this with unnerving precision, and the onions hissed, and I imagined Luna pushing a javelin through a white rabbit for fun because she said she knew she could easily kill an animal — killing wasn’t the problem — but she didn’t want to ingest dead flesh, to absorb a death, and the skewered-rabbit-on-javelin image, combined with her knife skills and the way she was looking at me, made me wonder what her body could do to a thing if it wanted to do anything to another thing, and this memory has always come to me link-armed with another memory of a morning when Luna was just eating a piece of fruit — maybe an apple but an apple has obvious implications, allegorical and otherwise, and maybe a peach, but a peach has other implications, sexual and otherwise, and I know I don’t entirely remember what kind of fruit it was, and I am not even certain that this moment ever happened in real life, but I do have a feeling that I once saw the lush flare of her lips as she bit into something and a certain purse as she chewed.

This was during the first week of the many months I lived in a caravan behind Luna and Amos’s cabin, back when I still thought I had solved the problem of who I was, of why I couldn’t seem to go about life the way other people did — I was beginning to realize that what I wanted was the noise of people living near me, but not near enough to cause any inaudible noises to show up because I knew that those sorts of noises often shift into inaudible minor chords and I am unable to deal with that shift — when love or kindness or inaudible noises turn into boredom or disappointment or minor chords — and this is the difference between me and the rest of the world: most people can let their feelings shift without a wildebeest smashing them up from the inside, but I, for some reason, cannot — and, still, I am more human than wildebeest so I’ll never be exempt from the human need for other people to be near, but because I am part wildebeest they can’t be too near, and I would like to apologize for that but I can’t apologize for that, I can’t apologize to everyone who deserves an apology for it, unless no one deserves anything, in which case, what a relief, because I can give everyone that nothing — I can give them nothing all day.

But this theory hadn’t completely set during those early days with Luna and Amos and their extremely organic and well-ordered life, their highly organized toolshed and their biodynamic kiwi orchard where the hens roamed around laying eggs without regret or reserve, and I noticed that Luna and Amos smiled shamelessly and openly at each other and aside from the fact that Luna knew she was an animal capable of killing other animals, neither of them seemed to have a dark corner of themselves and why is it that some people turn out like that — Luna and her constant smiling and her glowing skin and her hair shining and thick, and she was young, maybe even younger than me, and I knew she was one of these women whose youth would stick around longer than average and even though Amos was in the part of his life where his wrinkles were not just visible, but obvious, he still usually had this calm expression on his face, as if to say, yes, his life had mostly already happened, but he had won and would continue to win and here he was with his well-worked hands and heavily sunned skin and hand-hewn cabin and his pretty little wife, and all their unashamed smiles. Some people just turn out like that and other people live in caravans behind those people’s cabins, trading chores for a place to sleep.

If Luna could tell that I was a person who wasn’t entirely all right, she must have overlooked that, or maybe was just profoundly bored and lonely in her well-ordered, organic, seaside, photo-ready life because in those first weeks she was always trying to create some kind of understanding between us, which reminded me that it is hard for me to understand people who want to understand me and be understood; Luna (she must have been flatly unaware) was always inviting me to make dinner with her and she was trying to ask me about what my life consisted of, was there a love in my life, what had I done before New Zealand, what did I hope to do next, and I tried to be good, I tried to be a good woman with good answers to these questions and I tried to appreciate how Luna wanted to share a bottle of wine with me and explain to me why it was special and I wanted to appreciate the stories she told me about how she had met Amos and how it was a whirlwind romance but I found, increasingly, that I did not particularly care and I tried to fake a little kindness, a little sweetness, tried to mirror Luna back at herself, but that exhausted me after a week and I concluded that I was not meant for this sort of thing, friends, friendliness, no, I wasn’t meant for it. I was meant to earn my keep and just keep my keep, that’s all.