September 1976
For days, Blue smiled. She baked. She said she had been corrected if she burned her hand on the skillet. She never talked
about the past or birthdays. She was perfect.
Dean seemed to notice this. He never missed a trick, trading smiles, complimenting her work, extolling her virtues. Then he
and Denver went out for a few hours and returned to the house just in time for dinner, all smiles.
“Something special tonight,” Dean said.
“Acapulco Gold,” Denver said, fishing around in her massive purse and producing a bag of grass. “The real deal. This stuff
is supposed to be amazing.”
Blue served, they all ate, Dean rolled. They adjourned to the living room and spread out on the floor.
Cat put on the Grateful Dead and the joints of Acapulco Gold circled the room.
Blue took a long toke. It hit quick and hard.
She immediately got dizzy and crashed back onto a cushion, the room rotating slowly.
She leaned into Lacey’s side for support, and Cat laughed and played with her hair.
The world was warm. She could never leave this place.
Leave it for what? A dirty apartment in the city?
The airless world of her family? This was the happiest she had ever been.
Oh, shut up, said a familiar voice.
Somehow, she was no longer on the floor—she was on the side of the room, watching the group. She was Helen, and Helen had
things to say. Her words played aloud in Blue’s head, like a radio.
Sure, Helen said, feels nice. But you think this is free?
Blue squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push imaginary Helen out the window, but Helen refused to budge.
This isn’t free. Star knows it and you know it. This place is full of rules and hidden costs. Obey, and you can be a part
of this. Obey, and see how delightful it is. The soft touches and voices make the gentlest cuts, like a velvet knife.
This was the kind of ridiculous shit you imagined when you were high—another part of yourself wandering the edges of the room,
describing a knife that couldn’t possibly hurt you. A useless knife! Not a knife at all. You can’t have a knife made of velvet.
Imagine trying to slice a crusty loaf of bread with that.
Oh yeah? Helen replied. Maybe it doesn’t matter what the knife is made of—maybe what matters is how soft the thing is you are trying to cut. Wear
the thing down enough, the velvet knife will go through it. It’ll cut you up into pieces and reshape you. You know something
bad is going to go down here. Take the money and get out before it does.
Blue tried to look somewhere else in the room, to get Helen out of her head, only to find Dean draped over Star, and Star looking at her over his shoulder. It was like Star had heard Helen speaking. That current passed between them. She knew Star was going to leave.
It was time.
The next day, Blue tapped Star to help her in the kitchen. Blue checked out the window to make sure everyone else was far
enough away, then she reached into the pantry, produced a container of baking soda, and dumped it down the sink, rinsing it
away. Then she took the empty container outside to where Dean and some of the others were building a makeshift greenhouse
out of spare wood and old windows.
“I need baking soda,” she said. “And salt. A few things. Can I take Star and head down to the co-op?”
“Yeah,” he said. “How much you need?”
“A few bucks should do it.”
Dean reached into the pocket of his cutoffs and produced three single dollar bills.
“Thanks,” she said. “Anything you want?”
“Naw. Denver and I are going to go out on a run.”
Blue beamed back at them. She took Star down the drive, putting a finger to her lips to silence her until they were halfway
to town and alone on the roadside.
“You want to go,” Blue said.
“I want to go back,” Star said plainly. “I want to go, Blue. I want to go home. I want to call my brother. I don’t like it
here. It’s weird. Dean . . .”
She burst into tears right there, on the side of the road.
“It’s okay,” Blue said. “I’ll help you.”
“And I’m Melissa. Not Star. Melissa. Melissa Long. I don’t want to be called Star anymore.”
Melissa. Saying her old name had a transformative effect, dispelling whatever remaining haze lingered over Melissa’s doubts.
Melissa’s brother lived in Virginia, which was going to be a long-distance call. They went into the co-op to break their three
dollars into change.
“We got the new calendar in!” Loretta said, swishing through the aisle in her long patchwork shirt. She was the always-smiling
manager of the co-op with the raven-black hair that hung down to her waist. Unofficial manager. There were no titles, but
nothing worked until Loretta took care of it. “You’re in it! It’s fifty cents.”
“Sure,” Blue said, shoving the money over. “We’ll take one. Can we get all our change in dimes?”
With the change and the calendar, they returned to the phone booth out at the end of the street.
“How should I do this?” Melissa asked, shaking the dimes in her closed fist. “I know my brother is going to come for me right
away. I mean, he will get in his car now.”
“How long do you think it would take him to drive here?”
“I don’t know. Ten hours? Twelve hours? A while.”
“Okay.” Blue paced the edge of grass along the sidewalk to cool her burning feet. “I’ll go back and say the store was waiting
on a delivery, but I’m not feeling well so I came back and you stayed to get the stuff.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the road.
A red truck passed slowly. Despite the fact that they had many stolen watches somewhere, none of the group ever wore one and there were no clocks in the house.
Blue only knew the time when she came to town.
She craned her neck to get a look at the clock in front of the bank.
“It’s five,” she said. “If he leaves soon he’ll be here sometime in the middle of the night.”
“You should come with me,” Melissa said urgently. “He’ll take you too. My family will be so happy I’m home they’ll be fine
with it. You can stay with us. Let’s get out of here, Blue.”
So many times, later in her life, she would think about this offer of Melissa’s. If she had taken it, it would all have been
different. Blue pictured it in detail—a week or two in some house in Virginia, sitting in a kitchen with a linoleum floor,
drinking some red punch made from a mix, white bread sandwiches, long showers in an avocado-colored bathroom, gentle lectures.
She would stay in Melissa’s bedroom, which she had described many times. Butterfly wallpaper. Baby-blue lamps with white fringed
lampshades. Posters, colored sand in jars. They’d spend a few days splashing around in their small, aboveground pool that
their dad filled with a hose. Their cocker spaniel named Dipsy would be dancing around in excitement.
“I can’t,” Blue said.
“Why not?”
Why not? Because there was a heavy bag of money up in the woods in a log. Enough money to completely restart her life. Enough money to live in the city in a way that made sense.
“I’ll be okay. I’ll get out later, I promise. Call him and tell him you’ll meet him tonight. Not here. They might come down
looking for you. I’ll cover for you. I’ll buy you time.”
Saying it out loud made the truth painfully clear. They both understood that leaving was not an option, which was why they
had to go. Melissa gave a shaky nod.
“You need to stay out of sight until he gets here,” Blue went on. “Completely. You know the farmstand on 52? They close that
up about now. Tell him to meet you there. Stay behind it until his car pulls up. Call. Do it now.”
Blue nervously fanned herself with the calendar and watched for the green van as Melissa made the call. She watched Melissa
crying—with guilt, with relief—as her brother was obviously thrilled to hear her voice.
Things were going to happen quickly now. Blue would miss her friends, especially Sweet Jane. Jane. Jane smiling at her with
her freckles. Jane making her teas with such love. Jane bringing in her lettuce proudly, even though it was barely enough
to make a small salad. Jane believed in her, and in Dean. She believed in their mission. She would never accept that it was
all a sham, that Dean had kept the money and one day, when he got bored and the weather got cold up there, he would blow town
with his bag and leave them with nothing. That was the game. None of this was real.
She didn’t even know her friends’ real names. She wasn’t allowed to ask.
Blue went back into the co-op. She explained that Melissa might have to use all their money for the phone, but she needed something to eat and drink.
Loretta let her take a glass bottle of boysenberry soda and a bag of rice crackers for free.
When she returned outside, the phone call was still going on.
Blue signaled for her to cut it short. Melissa nodded, expressed her love and thanks, and hung up.
“He’s leaving now. Like, right now, Blue. He’s coming. I’m going home.”
Melissa’s eyes were red from crying, but her face shone with joy.
“You need to go now, get to the farmstand, okay?” Blue said. “Stay out of sight as much as you can. Take these.”
She passed over the soda bottle and crackers. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It would hold her until her brother arrived.
“You’ve always been so nice to me,” Melissa said, tears dribbling down her face. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry . . .”
“It’s okay,” Blue replied, giving her a hug. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Dean’s going to freak out . . .”
“Don’t worry about Dean. I’ll be okay. Just go. Hurry.”
Blue would always remember that moment, watching Melissa barefoot on the sidewalk by the co-op.
Tiny little Melissa—their Star—her halo of curls partially constrained by Blue’s Hermès scarf, the rest shooting out and catching the light, drawing in the sun and holding it close.
Blue considered reclaiming her scarf but decided against it.
The scarf was ugly and from her old life, and if she came back with it and without Star, there might be questions.
So Blue walked off toward the hill and Melissa walked in the opposite direction. They turned once to watch the other go, Melissa
raised the bottle of boysenberry soda as a gesture of farewell. Blue raised her tattooed hand and made her way up the hill
alone.