6-Zach - Eleven years ago
(August fourth, twenty-fourteen)
Fiery auburn spirals hide Nicole’s profile as she leans forward, practically climbing into the driver’s lap.
“Why are we stopped?” she asks, tight-voiced impatience leaching through her vowels as she cranes her neck toward the windshield.
“Seems to be an accident up ahead, miss,” the cabbie responds in a chipper rounded accent.
Leeds, maybe. Yorkshire something. I’ve gotten weirdly good at spotting most UK accents. Occupational hazard of being a filmmaker is cataloguing voices the way other people collect postcards.
To celebrate our first summer as college graduates, Nicole and I explored London.
The food is unreal, art is everywhere, and the nightlife is nothing like Milwaukee.
We went clubbing for my twenty-second in June, and Nicole requested the infamous song of the same name to be played at each one.
In a way it became like home. The tiny flat we rented overlooking the River Thames is the closest I ever had to something that felt like ours.
We’re going back to Arcadia for the arts festival this weekend, then she and Jeremy fly out to LA for his new marketing job. We always volunteer for the non-profit, it’s tradition, but it won’t be the same driving back to Milwaukee without her when it’s over. Like breaking a sacred oath.
I called my dad to see if he wanted to get lunch while I was there, but he simply responded with “no time.” I’m not going to chase him. Not after everything.
A horn blares somewhere behind us, sharp enough to jolt me back into the taxi. I toss the thought through the trash chute of unresolved trauma. I’ve gotten good at that, forcing things down until they stop stinging.
Rain drifts through the crack in my window, an earthy brass and iron scent that always comes before a downpour. It mixes with the air freshener clipped to the vent, causing the “Ocean Breeze” to somewhat resemble a shoreline.
“Ugh, come on,” Nicole groans dramatically, flopping back into her seat so hard the car rocks. “We’re gonna miss our flight.”
“Hey. Chill.” I nudge her ribs. “It doesn’t leave for a few hours. You’ve waited nearly three months to see Jeremy again. You can survive another half-day.”
“I know. I just really need to see him.” She crosses her arms with an inflated huff. Her strappy sandal taps against the floor, restless and jittery. “And staying dry all summer while you picked up cute British guys left and right? Torture.”
I snort. “You did it, though. And I’m proud of you. Seriously. This was a major test for you two, and you passed with flying colors.”
She bites her puckered lip, staring out the window.
The night is a dull slate gray, clouds hanging like they’re too tired to float.
Nicole twists the hem of the t-shirt she ‘borrowed’ from our friend Jericho last night, her hazel eyes flicking toward her phone every thirty seconds.
She’s trying to be calm, but her body is buzzing.
“Come on,” I grumble, “Jeremy would never cheat on you. He told you exactly what happened. Sarah made a move on him. Which, honestly, she’s been doing since sophomore year. Even Simone stood up for him.”
Nicole snorts. “Simone hates Jeremy.”
“Exactly. And if she said you could trust him, then it means something.” The words are as sweet as black coffee; the revolting aftertaste of a goodbye you didn’t choose. “It’s more than I got.”
“Carter’s an asshole.” Nicole’s calloused features soften.
“If he waited less than a week into this trip to cheat on you, he was probably cheating the whole damn time.
That was the best thing he could have done in my opinion.
Now you can take your fancy schmancy videographer degree and come to LA with me and Jeremy.
Screw Carter, okay, he's always only gonna be Milwaukee good. We came and dominated London, which means you’re world good. Don't forget that.”
Nicole shifts beside me, the seat groaning under her weight. My thoughts drag somewhere I don’t want to go.
“Yeah.” I dig my nails into my palms. They’re jagged from the biting habit I picked up a couple years ago, and the sting grounds me. “Still hurts, though.”
Carter and I have been together since my first week of freshman year, and we always had a plan.
When we graduated, we got an apartment in Milwaukee.
I accepted an apprenticeship this fall to save up for New York while Carter kept working with his dad at the plant.
But now that we broke up, I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do.
Red brake lights glow through the misty air as the line of cars inch forward. Exhaust drifts in through the cracked window, smelling as rotten as I feel.
Jeremy, along with Simone, kindly packed up my stuff after the cheating debacle, and now it’s in Jeremy's dad's garage until I figure out what to do with it. Nicole insists I go out to LA with her and Jeremy, but I couldn’t impose on the new nesters. It almost always ends up with broken friendships or a failed relationship, and I don’t want either of those things for my best friend.
The wipers squeak across the glass in an irritating rhythm. Nicole taps her fingers against her thigh in time with it, her nails clicking. Her restlessness radiates off her like heat.
I lean my head back against the seat, letting my gaze drift to the window. The rain comes down in a fine drizzle that clings to everything. Traffic crawls in jerky little bursts, lurching my stomach even though we’re barely moving.
London is a blur. Everything’s washed out, like someone turned down the saturation. Even the air is muted, damp enough to taste the chill.
“I hate the doom-gloom.” Nicole sighs, tracing a fogged circle on the window.
“It’s not gloomy,” I retort, pressing my cheek against the cool condensation, “it’s cleansing. Fresh and new, but still old and wise.”
“Right, of course your artsy ass would say some profound shit.” Scribbling out her circle, she puffs out another canvas. “I need proper vitamin C and sunshine, but you—you were always a shaded tree and hoodie on a rainy day. Screw New York; you could totally move to London and make a home here…”
She trails off, too chicken shit to say the reality out loud. …Even if she never could.
“Being halfway across the country is gonna be hard enough, dude,” I say, clamping my teeth together, “I can’t imagine being an ocean away from you.”
Nicole sighs loudly. “I swear, if we miss this flight—”
“We won’t.” I force my voice steady, even though my chest is too tight to breathe. “We’ve got time.”
She stares out the window, chewing her lip again. Nicole leans into her seat, the vanilla citrus body spray she bathes in mixing with the dampness from outside. It’s comforting and familiar, a scent I’ve lived in for years.
We’re leaving. Then she’ll leave me. Losing her is gonna be like stepping off a ledge before my wings have gotten strong enough to support my weight.
“We’re nearly through, ladies,” the driver says through his scraggly black beard, clearing his throat.
A prickle crawls up the back of my neck.
Emergency lights flash ahead. I sit up straight to peer past the driver. Colors smear in the rain, too bright and frantic. The air changes, blending with burnt oil and rubber.
“Oh my god,” Nicole whispers, leaning forward.
We crawl closer, and the scene sharpens into focus.
A small black town car is crumpled against the guardrail.
Its front end is crushed inward, and the left passenger side is concave.
Beside it sits a boxy gray delivery truck skewed sideways, its bumper hanging off.
Scattered debris shines across the road, shards glinting as rain patters against them.
Nicole gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. I can’t speak. My heart pounds from my ribs to my fingertips. The closer we get, the more my sight hones, like turning the focus ring on a camera lens.
Alternating lights strobe across the asphalt, painting everything in violent bursts of red and blue.
Every color deepens as the bustle crescendos, the awful stench thickening.
Rain smears the bruising colors like spilled blood as they reflect off puddles.
My anxiety’s like cold pennies pressed against my tongue. I swallow hard, but the zest lingers.
“Oh, no,” Nicole says, reaching for my hand, her fingers cold as they weave between mine.
Everything holds still, suspended in the rain-blurred dark.
Headlights flicker from the abandoned delivery truck like they’re struggling to stay alive. The town car’s engine is mangled, the windshield shattered into a web of glittering shards. Steam rises from the hood, curling into the damp air like ghostly appendages.
My breath catches, the world narrowing to a single, trembling point.
In the crushed passenger seat, a young woman hangs loose-limbed, blood staining her daffodil-yellow hair a sickly, muddy-maroon. A firefighter blocks my line of sight as he lifts a giant fork-looking thing to the car. I force in a breath, but it reverberates through the cab as a guttural sob.
A paramedic in a yellow-green jacket shouts something I can’t understand. Another waves traffic through the single open lane. Our driver creeps ahead, tires hissing as they hydroplane.
My fingers dig into the seat, knuckles aching with the force of it.
Two other paramedics roll a gurney into view.
A tall, lean man lies on it, his skin the ashen tone of death.
White-blond strands fall in clumps around his sharp-angled face; the chunk of hair plastered to his forehead streaked with red.
His chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven gulps, and relief hits me so hard my tears spill over.
He’s alive.
The gurney crosses beside our car, close enough to make out a faint spattering of freckles across his straight nose, the smear of dirt on his high cheek, and his bony fingers twitching weakly against the thin blue blanket.
His lids flutter twice before they open.
My lungs forget how to work, the air stalling halfway up my throat.
Time slows.
Blue, but not just blue. His eyes are deep-sea dark and summer sky radiance. A thousand shades reach inside me, tugging at something buried in the abyss.
It makes no sense—this pull, an impossible familiarity.
A vicious jolt surges through me, as though someone plugged me into a socket. I grip the seat, my hairs prickling with goosebumps. Desperate to shake the feeling, I blink hard, but it clings to me like static.
I stare out at the empty space, my pulse thundering. He’s gone, swallowed by the ambulance as the doors close. Time snaps back into motion as Nicole squeezes my clammy hand.
“Hey, they’re gonna be okay.”
Rain taps against the roof like fingertips drumming a lullaby. Nicole squeezes my hand once more before letting go. The ambulance turns the corner, lights fading off the highway.
“They’re gonna be okay,” she murmurs again, though her voice wavers. She twists in her seat, watching the last flicker of light disappear around the bend. “At least I hope.”
I nod, my throat too constricted to speak. My lungs are stuffed with fiberglass fragments. Electricity hums just beneath the surface of my tingling skin with the ghost of that jolt.
Flipping through memories like a deck of cards, I try to place those eyes. But it’s like searching for a match that simply isn’t there; a non-existent symbol.
The car rolls forward, humid air carrying the scent of wet soil. I drag in a shaky breath, trying to steady the tremor in my hands. My heart rate evens. As if the universe waited for me to settle, the clouds part, peeling away like drawn curtains.
A beam of moonlight spills through the break.
It cuts across the sky, illuminating the tops of passing cars.
Beams hit the wet pavement and scatter into a thousand shimmering reflections.
The moon hangs swollen, glowing with a translucent clarity.
It appears closer than it should be; brighter, like someone polished it.
A strange ache spreads through me. My fingers bend against my jean shorts. I’m not really religious or spiritual, but something inside me moves. It’s instinctive, like it’s been waiting for this exact moment. The ache in my chest swells, too big to swallow. I bow my head.
“Please let them be okay,” I whisper, the words dissolving into air like smoke.
Please let him be okay.
I cast the prayer into the universe like a coin tossed into a fountain.