14
Lillian
We scatter through the lobby, through the doors, and we’re all running and laughing as we hit the night air. We keep up the pace for half a block before turning down an alleyway, not that anyone chasing us could be bothered to leave the venue in pursuit.
I realize I’m still holding Sasha’s hand.
Since we reached the fire escape, all I’ve been is alive. For a moment, not shattered. Now we’re catching our breath and I let go of Sasha’s hand. The thought hits me that Emelia’s the only person I’ve ever really held hands with, and I’m full of memories of how she’d feel next to me. How her laughter would reverberate through her body and into mine.
Eventually, I’ll be home. I’ll be in bed by myself. I need tonight. It can’t end until I’m dead on my feet. It’s all more confusing because Sasha’s face is the brightest I’ve ever seen. They’re pulling me in with the smile lines around their mouth. They’ve taken off their suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of their white shirt. Just like me, they picked the fire escape and wanted the crush.
And.
My desire has felt shut down for three weeks. For me, that’s an absence. Normally it’s never gone that long. When I’m angry or I’m sad, it’s always there some of the time, spiking up and down. Now three weeks of nothing. Flat. None of the audio porn I usually prefer or touching myself or wanting anything or anyone.
Sasha’s saying it was worth it to go into the crowd. Two songs like that rather than a set from the back row. There’s a flicker inside me. Not some sort of wave of desire, but a small grab in my stomach waking up again. It reconnects me with my body and disperses panic even though it only lasts a second.
Cyprus says we should go to Falafel ’Til Dawn. Quinn tells Sasha they have to tag along, which is good. Now we’re a different group, not one that’s missing Emelia. We’re walking to Cyprus’s car, singing occasional Packing Boxes lines. Sasha picks out moments of harmony, but their voice sounds tentative.
In the station wagon, I grab shotgun and hit play on the last of the cassette players. This car is that kind of ancient. Music leaps in mid-song.
“Did you know,”
says Sasha from the back seat.
“that some soulless people drive with no music at all?”
Cyprus gasps dramatically and pulls into the street.
“It can’t be true!”
“Let’s take a vow.”
Quinn’s still talking loud like his ears haven’t stopped buzzing yet.
“May the music never die.”
“Hallelujah,”
I say, though I don’t believe in god.