Karolina Waclawiak - How to Get into the Twin Palms

The desk clerk was folding my clothes and putting them on the table. It seemed too intimate to me. Room 214 was watching me now. I considered putting on a show for him, some elaborate swim thing. Instead, I crawled closer to them, twisting my legs to the side as I moved, trying to look stretched and lean.

“No. Business has been slow. The fires,” the desk clerk said. I hadn’t heard Room 214 ask a question. He looked tired again.

“I wish they were closer,” I said.

They both looked at me strangely.

I went back to tread water in the middle, away from them.

“They’re killing business.”

“They’re leveling everything out,” I said.

I waited for Room 214 to say something. He looked at me like he understood, or maybe I was just making that up.

I swam closer to him. It was nice to be here, somewhere else in the city that had no ownership on me. Room 214 was just someone else, but I was in control here. Doing what I wanted, pulling the pool water and ash into my mouth and then spitting it back out again.

“Maybe it is,” Room 214 said.

The phone rang and the desk clerk hesitated, then ran.

“Are you coming in?” I asked.

Room 214 looked at me and shook his head. “I’m too tired to kick.”

“You can stand still in here, let the ash circle around you.”

“I’ve been getting that enough.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You like fire that much?”

“No. I mean, no.”

We squared off, eye to eye, until he took off his shirt and jumped in, not even afraid of the cold. I knew what he was asking.

We swam around each other for a while, he kicked fine. I tried to stay in the deep end and he paced back and forth, creating small dips and waves.

“Someone should clean the pool,” he said.

“The desk clerk doesn’t like to do it.”

“His name is Jason.”

“What’s your name?” I said.

“Greg.”

Greg, Greg, Greg. How boring. He didn’t seem playful or prone to deceit. He probably had a wife but I didn’t see a ring. He didn’t ask my name. It didn’t seem important to him.

“Are you fighting the Moorpark and the Tierra Rejada?”

“Excuse me?”

“Which fire are you fighting? You’re here for the fires, right?”

“I don’t know what it’s called. The bigger one.”

“Tierra Rejada,” I said breathlessly.

“What’s your problem?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure how to answer.

“I don’t know, what’s yours?” I said.

“This place. This place doesn’t make sense to me.”

“It’s all right. Takes some getting used to.” I let pool water into my mouth and pushed it out again, for effect. “There are places you should see.”

“Why would you live somewhere where there’s fires, floods, and mudslides all the time? Earthquakes.”

He raised his hands up when he said earthquakes. Like it was so stupid he couldn’t comprehend it.

“Those are the seasons here,” I said. Holding out my hand and letting the ash crinkle into it.

I was getting defensive now.

“Are you really from Oklahoma?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“What’s it like?” I asked.

“It’s flat.”

“I used to think Los Angeles was flat. I believed it was flat,” I said. I stared at the hills and felt foolish.

“I think everyone does at first,” he said. “Then you get trapped here and you know better.”

I stared up at the hills and thought about being trapped and if the mountain ranges around us made me feel caved in. With the ash falling faster, I thought about the mountains pushing us down and the fires doing the rest.

“I guess they’re trying to shake us loose, get us out of here.”

“Who’s they?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said quietly.

“Well, think about it. No one wants any of you here.”

I thought about it.

“And all that kindling up there? Poof. You bastards don’t even make it easy on yourselves. Just clear it. ”

I didn’t know him well enough for him to yell at me like that. But he was making sense. All of us, roaming, maybe Los Angeles didn’t want us here either. She was trying to shake us free, scorch us out and start over.

But… he seemed somewhat nihilistic.

He was staring at the persistent ash, but not going underneath it. Maybe that would make him feel better. I told him so, but he just shook his head. I asked him to tell me more about the fires, the worst ones he’d seen. How they started.

He looked at me strangely. “Your hair’s different. I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“Box color.”

“Whatever it is, it’s nice. Suits you.”

I nodded like I knew it was true. I noticed the change of subject on his part and knew he wasn’t going to tell me more. I would have to find out for myself.

“They’re moving me tomorrow. I have to go tell him.” He pointed at Jason, the desk clerk.

“Where?” I said it with too much urgency and rushed out of the water.

“Simi Valley, I think. Closer. There’s no point me being here, if it’s over there.”

“Maybe it’ll get closer.”

“Doubtful.”

“But then it’d make sense for you to be here.”

He thought about it for a moment.

Then he mouthed something like catastrophic . He held the last bit. The — phic , really drawing it out.

He was going closer to the fire and I wanted to go too.

He started getting up to talk to Jason. I put a towel around myself and looked up at room 214. I didn’t want him to forget me so I ran up the stairs and grabbed the railing hard as I went. He had left the door ajar.

His room had a thin brown carpet, floral comforter from a shiny kind of synthetic material. It didn’t look like it had ever been washed. He had a bag in the corner. It looked jocky, childish. Like a giant gym bag. I went over quickly and peered inside. Underwear. Pants. A pile of white cotton undershirts getting wrinkled. I had an urge to fold them but there was no time. I had to make a list. I found a pad of paper. Downtowner in atomic black lettering across the top. A pen in the drawer, the end chewed to a nub. I didn’t care.

I scrawled:

things to do when in la

(I underlined for effect)

go to the beach. zuma beach. trancas market. salty tortilla chips — greasy ← so what.

top of laurel canyon, left at mulholland, right into the park. stand there until it gets dark. Longer.

Top of building. A roof somewhere. Just look.

Go to chinatown. late. Full House. orange chicken. Go sit in the square. Digest. Listen to the mah jong through the door.

I was worried he was coming and I was running out of things. Jamba juice? Everything was gone.

Snow white cottages

take the curves around the reservoir.

Tommy’s. It’s near.

Then Galcos. It’s far.

Observatory. Crawl down the side to the Greek. There’s a path.

I thought I heard voices. I threw the pen, and my wet fingertips rippled the cheap paper as I put the notepad neatly on his clothes and peeked out the window. He was still talking to Jason by the glass-squared office. I quietly ran out the door. And away. I hoped he would follow my directions.

I WOKE UP ON MY BLANK MATTRESS TO THEphone ringing. My hair was still damp, but the underwear I had swam in were dry. Flakes of ash dotted them, and they were crinkled and uncomfortable.

“Hello?”

“Zosia.”

I exhaled. I couldn’t do this right now. “Mother.”

“Zosia, where have you been? You don’t answer.”

I didn’t want to open my eyes and wake up.

“Answer me.”

“Working a lot.”

“You could call. I’m lonely.”