West Virginia. Joe Halstead
the advancement of our species until we start our new society.”
“Oh my god, you’re such a fuckin’ weirdo, you know that?”
“Yeah, well, we’re stronger than you and we’ll subjugate you by whatever means necessary. Even sexually,” she insisted, “which is the mating preference of our females. We’re capable of unspeakable evil, much like a human sociopath.”
He just looked at her with this WTF? expression.
“Hey, I’m a child of the nineties,” and then, looking away as if not wanting him to hear her, “Look, I’m sorry. I fucked up. I’m not perfect, but I’m trying.”
“I mean, it’s—I mean, I just want my shit back.”
“Your arrowhead.”
“Yeah.” He felt self-conscious. “My arrowhead.”
“Yeah, so, what’s up with that thing anyway? Oh god.” She stopped, a look of horror on her face. “It was his. He gave it to you.”
“Where is it?” he said instead of answering.
“I’m just trying to help you. It only makes it harder if you won’t talk.”
“I know,” he said. “I know you’re trying to help. And it’s really nice. You’re a nice person. But I just don’t know what to say right now.”
“What was his name?”
“What?”
“Your dad. What was his name?”
He wanted very badly to say it. Instead: “I need you to give it to me.”
Eventually the waiter brought their food and then he said he’d forgotten to ask to see their IDs earlier, so he looked at Sara’s and nodded and then they started eating.
“My cousin told me about what happened,” Sara said.
He took this in. “She did, did she?”
“Yeah, and I wanted to tell you I felt weird hearing about your dad and stuff since I didn’t know you and whatever. But I was like, ‘He looks so sad’; I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone sad-looking like you. Not much comes out of your mouth, but your face”—she paused—“it says a lot. Like there’s this big hole there. Anyway, I’m really sorry.”
“Well, I appreciate that, Sara.”
They ate in silence for a minute. Jamie finished his saag gosht, took a swallow of beer, and told Sara that he’d like to just go home and get stoned. She started getting emotional and he asked her what was wrong, and though she couldn’t seem to say what was bothering her, she told him that everything was absurd and therefore she felt like her personality made sense.
“People think I’m just weird and different, but I think I’m responding to how nothing makes sense,” she said. “It seems like no one realizes what’s happening. Like they all have this terminal illness they don’t know about, or like there’s a tsunami behind them and they haven’t noticed it yet.”
“Really—people try to wear all these hats but there’s nothing under them.”
“Yeah, I think we might need to get berets,” she said, squinting at his head for a few seconds. “Or maybe you might prefer an admiral’s cap.”
He burst out laughing and she smiled her perfect smile and then he smiled right back without the slightest reservation, like a goofball.
She took a deep breath. “Is it weird that I want to know why?”
“Why what?”
“Why he did it.”
“You mean my dad?”
“It’s just that I really want to know right now. It’s like killing me. I promise I’ll give you your arrowhead back if you find out why.”
He shrugged and wiped his hands on a napkin. “Well, I really don’t… I’m really not too crazy about this right now. I really just want to forget about it. For now.”
“It’s OK, I’m sorry,” she said. It was sincere, almost timid. “I know you’re upset. I understand your pain. I’ve felt pain like this before.”
“Well, you can talk about it. If you want. Your pain.”
She smiled and took another deep breath, as if she were about to tread on some holy ground. “You know, my dad believes we have power animals that guide our spirit.”
“You think so? What would you say mine is?”
“You’re a panther if I’ve ever seen one.”
She pouted her lips in this goofy way. He thought it was fascinating, the way she tried to make herself seem less attractive and in doing so made herself more attractive.
“So what does that make you?”
“Well,” she said, “I’ve been told I’m a wolf, but tonight? Tonight, I’m pretending to be a panther.”
The waiter brought out the mukhwas and Sara said she didn’t want to put a spoon that had been in some stranger’s mouth into hers, and he laughed and told her she didn’t put the spoon in her mouth, and for the first time she laughed and he liked it and asked how her food was.
“I thought the vindaloo was really, really… you know,” she paused, “good.” She looked down at her iPhone and seemed to think there was a Christmas pharm party at some squat, 337 Broome, an old event space that a Wall Street Robin Hood had bought and given to UHAB, and asked if he wanted to go.
He murmured, “We can. I don’t really care.” His tone changed. “I said you could talk about your problems. Are you gonna tell me or like what’s the deal?”
She smiled a sad smile. “I’m sure I’ll tell you all about it someday.”
Much later that night, in his apartment, she moved closer and whispered, “You’re so lonely,” with a sad expression that made her irresistible, and then she kissed him and whispered it again and he said, “Sara…” and she pretended not to hear him and then she went under the sheets and took him into her mouth and as her throat relaxed he groaned with relief as he shot into her throat. He turned out the light and held Sara and then tried to sleep, but the music playing next door, “Empire State of Mind” by Jay Z with Alicia Keys, reminded him of something and then the feeling disappeared and he started to wonder if he could go back, if he could simply get up and go home. He looked down at Sara and wondered what she’d do. He knew he couldn’t go; he knew he shouldn’t, but he wanted to go. But first he needed his arrowhead.
He went into the living room and noticed Sara’s purse, which she’d left on the futon, and looked through it. There were a lot of cigarettes in it and tampons and the usual crumpled dollar bills. There were pictures of her family, her mother and father. He was picking up an invoice from a garage when he saw his arrowhead at the bottom of the purse, just within his reach. He grabbed it and felt, despite his anxiety, deeply calm and glad to be holding it again. He went back into the bedroom and got dressed, and he didn’t know what he was doing and then he looked down at Sara, who was smiling dumbly in her sleep, and for a moment felt a slight dizziness. He walked outside and felt something in him collapse, and it was so cold that everything—the air, the music around him—felt frozen, and for some reason the people passing by looked like translucent goblins in the fluorescent lighting. Walking to Astor Place and unable to shake the feeling that he was afraid of the constricted space, he took out his iPhone and opened the Amtrak app and bought a ticket to the station in Prince, West Virginia, and then he hailed a cab and got inside and was gripping his iPhone so tightly he could barely feel his hand and a moment of doubt arose as the shadow of the city loomed against the window.
And then he told the driver, “Penn Station.”