Kiss the Morning Star (15 page)

“I think,” says Kat, so weary that the act of forming words is almost beyond her reach. “I think that was the worst night of my entire life.”

I nod, my hand closing tight around hers. “Me, too,” I say, and then all at once the falseness of saying this rushes over me as the memory of the
real
worst night of my life looms in horrifying detail across my exhausted brain. For the first time since we left Minnesota I’m once again right there on the edge—the edge of Anna and a vast chasm of emptiness and sorrow.

No, not really
, I want to say.
Actually it was much worse when my mom died
. I long to say these words and jump into that abyss, to feel myself split apart into all my separate atoms.

I can’t say it, though, so instead I squeeze Katy’s fingers until I think I might break them in half and press my other hand against the backs of my eyes, hard.

“I know,” she says. “I know.” Kat extracts her hand from my grip and stands up, unlocking the car and pulling a hunk of cheese out of the cooler along with a tube of crackers from the grocery bags. She makes me three little sandwiches.

“You’ll feel better with some food in you.” She hands over the crackers, and I nibble a little, wishing my stomach felt less queasy.

“I’ll feel better when I pull the tent out of the stuff sack to find that it isn’t completely ruined.” I lean back against the side of the car. For the first time I notice the rocks digging into my butt and the back of my legs. “I suppose we should survey the damage, huh?”

“Eat first,” says Kat, handing me three more cracker sandwiches. “And maybe we could just spend an hour or so napping in the car?” We stuff the tattered remains of our things into the trunk and recline in the front seats.

I wake just once in the next four hours, long enough to turn away from the sun coming in through the driver’s side window and fall back to sleep curled up on my side. When I surface again, the temperature inside the car is sweltering, even though we left the windows rolled down halfway. My body aches in places I can’t even name, and the back of my throat feels parched and scratchy.

I lean over and fish around in the cooler for the bottle of orange juice I purchased in East Glacier, knowing that we would want something cool and sweet after our trip. My mouth feels furry, and I can smell myself. Disgusting.

“It’s five thousand degrees in here,” says Kat, her eyes still closed.

I hand her the bottle of cold juice. “This helps.”

Kat holds the bottle up against her forehead. “Can we just go swimming or something?”

Swimming does sound good. “We should probably figure out if our tent is ruined first. If we have somewhere to sleep that isn’t this bitch of a car, then we can ask Melvin about someplace to go swimming. At least we’d smell better afterward.”

Kat opens her eyes and takes a swig of juice. “We stink,” she pronounces. “Like terror and sex.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “Katy…”

She squeezes my knee. “I love making you blush, Anna babe.” She sticks out her tongue at me. “This dharma bum business is hard work.”

“I guess the path to enlightenment is never easy.”

“Yeah.” Katy laughs. “But I didn’t count on a bear.”

I’m still not sure if I’m getting closer to figuring out God’s love. One minute I can see God in everything—in Katy, in prayers of desperation, even in the grizzly bear. Other times it seems this trip is showing me that there is nothing personal at all about God—that if he exists, he is indifferent to our actions and inactions.

Or possibly it’s like Kerouac was saying, and nothing is real except the illusion of reality. Nothing but the void, calling to me. Maybe, like Jack, I should just drink myself silly over these zen verses and revel in every contradiction, certain that underneath all the nonsense the truth lies glittering.

I’m too rational for that, though. I want to capture evidence of God—of his hypothetical love—and pin it down in a spreadsheet, rows and columns neat and orderly. I want to find the secret algorithm, assign it a symbol like the figure eight of infinity. I want to file it in a folder labeled FAITH and close the drawer, no more questions. No more doubt.

The tent is salvageable. It’s not easy, but Melvin the campground host comes by with his cheerful yellow cap and his satiny old-man jacket snapped up tight to his chin even as the two of us are sweating in our skirts and halter tops.

“Well, now, you gals look like you could use a tube of some of that tent goop, seal that thing back up.” We tell him about the bear, and he nods, then chuckles amiably. “Bad news, bears,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

We inspect the damage, which is considerable, but not as bad as we feared. My sleeping bag is dead; high-tech acrylic fill spills out from at least a dozen rips. The big camping backpacks are ruined, but I can’t imagine ever convincing Kat to use one again, anyway.

Melvin strolls back into camp, bearing two different tubes of seam sealer and tent repair glue. He also has some strips of patching material and two ice-cold sodas.

I crack open the can of pop and read the directions on the back of one of the tubes. “Melvin, you are a savior.” He’s actually kind of a weirdo, but thanks to him, we may have a place to sleep.

He waves his hand bashfully and ambles away, while we set to work, sweating and hoping.

Finally, Kat sighs. “You want to find a restaurant and get something to eat?”

My stomach growls. “I don’t know, Katy, I’m so stinky and yucky.”

Kat slams the car door and tackles me in a hug—the kind of hug that prior to the last twenty-four hours I would have called a bear hug. “You are dirty and delicious,” she whispers into my hair.

My breath gets trapped somewhere in my poorly functioning lungs, and I sound like a strangled parrot. I pull away. “Showers,” I say. “Let’s get clean and then find a place to eat.”

I pick up my phone from the picnic table and see there’s a voice-mail message. “Seth and the guys,” I say as I listen, only realizing afterward how I turned away from Kat, like it was a secret. Like it was something to hide.

“They’re here,” I say, hanging up the phone. “They want to meet us for dinner at that little restaurant up the road.”

“When?”

“Right now. Showers first, though.” My filthiness bothers me now more than ever.

“Well, let’s go then,” says Kat, and she tosses me the car keys. Shower and food. Impending heaven. With a side of boys.

An hour later, we’re showered and seated in a big pine booth, heaping plates of burgers and waffle fries in front of us. Above our heads hangs a huge bearskin, and I keep sneaking nervous glances at it. I’m a traitor to the bear on the mountain who spared my life, sitting here below the pelt of his dead brother. My guilt weighs more than my burger and sinks to the bottom of my stomach. Please, Bear, don’t go back there. Don’t get yourself destroyed.

Beside me, Katy talks and laughs brightly, telling stories about our travels, talking about her art “exhibition,” all wit and charm. She sparkles under the attention of the four boys. I lean back against the wooden booth and let the conversation flow around me.

Seth breaks in, and his smile is for me alone. “How long have you been up here?”

I tilt my head to one side and think. “A few days, I guess. We were going to go backpacking. Well, we
did
go backpacking, but…a grizzly ate all our stuff, so we had to hike back out.”

The table falls quiet; all eyes are on me, attentive and eager to hear the story. “It’s kind of embarrassing, actually,” I stammer, the words faltering under their gaze. “I mean, we were stupid.”

There is a chorus of questions, and my face gets hot. There is no way I can tell this story as it really happened. “We left our packs on the ground in the cooking area, and…um, we went back to the tent site for a while…”

I must look like such an idiot. Salvage this, Anna. Tell the story. I take a breath. “While we were hanging out, a bear got into our packs and destroyed all of our stuff. It was scary.”

Lame
, Anna.

Katy laughs. “Anna leaves out the part where this huge freaking bear charges like right at us, all stinking and hot and snorting and crazy-eyed, and she jumps in front of me and stares down the beast like she’s made of awesome.
Twice
that thing charged at us, and twice Anna stood her ground, while I was a blubbering mess.”

Her dark blue eyes shine with admiration as she tells it, and she throws an impulsive arm around my neck and squeezes tightly.

“She talked to it, too, and this monster-bear looked right into her soul. He must have decided she was like his long-lost bear sister or something because he left us alone.” She smiles and shoots me a wicked look, and I see what’s coming. “Oh, and did I mention we were both completely naked at the time?”

“Katy!” I duck my head, but I can hear Seth laughing and it’s okay. Everything’s okay.

“Naked Bear Warrior Princesses!” says Zane, and a cheer rises up all around us. Nobody asks why we were naked; nobody cares. I smile and exhale.

I barely notice when Seth slides his arm around me. “She must be quite a trip to be around all the time,” he says, nodding at Kat, who is telling another story, one in which I play no part.

I nod. “Katy? Yeah, she’s awesome.”

“You guys been friends long?”

Friends. Yes, we’ve been friends for a long time. “Yeah, ages and ages. Kat knows me better than anyone else on earth.” My heart skips a little when I say it, and I squeeze her hand under the table. She slides her finger lightly across the palm of my hand and up the inside of my wrist, tracing designs on my skin; my breath catches in my throat.

“We’re on a pilgrimage,” I blurt. What a thing to say.

Seth moves his arm across my upper back and then lets it linger there, his hand on the back of my neck. It almost feels possessive, and I bristle a little even as I feel myself melting under the heat of his skin. He smells good—fresh and clean, with just a hint of something musky and dark.

“A pilgrimage? Awesome. Where are you going?”

I squirm under the dueling attentions of Katy and Seth’s hands, though both of them seem unaware of the other. “Well, I guess we don’t really know yet, do we, Kat?”

Kat turns away from the rapt eyes of Zane. “We don’t know what?”

“Where we’re headed after we see the shaman.”

“Oh, yeah,” says Kat, nodding back at the others. “We’re using bibliomancy to determine our course.”

That’s my word, my idea. I frown.

“Get the book, babe,” says Kat, pulling her hand away and holding it out. “I’ll flip and you choose, and we’ll decide this right here and now.”

I can still feel the thrill of Kat’s touch; the absence of it fills me with an almost palpable yearning, while Seth’s hand is heavy on the back of my neck. His soft, ocean-colored eyes search for mine.

“What book are you using?” His fingers drift upward, twining into my hair, leaving a path of heat in their wake.

“Kerouac.
The Dharma Bums
.” The words catch in my throat. “We’re searching…” My eyes are trapped by his; I can’t look away. “For God, I guess.” I feel my face getting warm, and I pull away, ducking down gratefully to grab my pack from under the table, removing the book from its pocket.

“You know, acid can be a great way to have a spiritual experience, if you’re open to that kind of thing,” says Seth, running his hand through his own hair—the hand left empty by my sudden movement. “I mean, I don’t know if you would be interested in tripping, but if you were…”

“I have to use the restroom,” Kat says. “Anna?” Her eyes are full of secret meaning, and I nod.

Seth slides out of my end of the booth, while Zane and the two other boys clamber out of their end to let Katy scoot out. The restroom is a single occupancy, but she drags me in behind her anyway.

“What’s up, Katy Kat?” My tone is nonchalant, but I can still feel the weight of Seth’s hand on my neck, can still feel the way the two of them were touching me at the same time, tugging me in opposite directions.

Kat leans against the wall, her eyes downcast. Her dark hair is shiny and wavy, fresh from the shower, and I want to touch her. I want to. I take a step closer, but Kat doesn’t look up. I can’t.

“It’s those boys,” says Kat. “They want to sleep with us.”

“Boys are like that, I guess.”

“Well?” She looks up at me finally, her eyes full of misery. “Do we want to sleep with them?”

I think for a minute. In a way, yes, I want to go out there and lean into this tow-headed boy, breathe in his musky smell, and see where things lead. I like him. I’m…
attracted
to him.

“You and I could just be best friends, I guess,” says Kat, still looking at the floor. She sighs. “Oh, Anna, I don’t know what I want. This is so messed up.”

I reach for her; I tuck a dark strand of her hair behind one ear, lean in to kiss her gently. She’s tense, coiled tightly, as if to spring. Or to run away.

She squishes her face up close to mine, her nose touching my nose. “I don’t want to share.”

“Okay.” I can’t focus. We’re too close.

“But what about this acid business?”

I shake my head, even though it’s on our list. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Kat bites her lip. “I’m not sure. It could be really cool, but what if we trip with them and it turns into this big seduction ploy and we fall for it and everything tumbles down and falls apart and we don’t even have each other anymore?”

“That wouldn’t happen.” Would it?

“But do you really love me, Anna? Do you? You never tell me anything.” She takes a breath and then slaps both hands over her mouth. Her eyes are wide above her fingers, which slowly part to form a small gap through which she whispers. “Oh, god. Forget I ever said anything so lame in my life.”

I laugh, sorry to find humor in her pain, but relieved, too. “So we’re agreed—no acid. And Katy. I’m not going to drop you and sleep with the first pretty hippie boy who happens to pick me up on a psychedelic bus.”

In her eyes, a sliver of hope. “You
do
love me. More than this Seth character?”

Why does this have to be so complicated? “I like him.”

“Oh, fine. But do I get you to myself or what?” She slides her hands into my pockets, tugging my skirt down over my hip bones. Her thumb traces the outline of my tattoo.

“Katy!” My knees threaten to buckle. “We should go back. We’ve been in here forever; they’re going to wonder what the hell we’re doing.”

“Let them wonder,” she says, but she unlocks the door.

The boys barely seem to notice our return. They are in the middle of a spirited conversation about haircuts with the clean-cut bartender and a guy at the bar with a strange mullet.

“Yeah, I never get a haircut!” Bo says, shaking his head of thick black dreadlocks at the man. “Scary shit happens in the barber shop.”

The boys laugh uproariously. We pay for our food and make our way back out to the parking lot, where I stand in wonder with my head tilted back. There are so many stars I can’t help but contemplate infinity.

“You two staying over at Devil’s Creek, then?” says Seth. His hand on the small of my back startles me, and I slip away, out of his grasp.

Zane opens the driver’s door of the bus and fiddles with his keys. “We could maybe join you tonight, have a fire or something?”

We mill around a bit in uncertain groupings—the boys orbiting nearby but tripped up by our closeness, by Kat’s arm linked in mine. Kat smiles at Zane and shrugs. “Sure, you guys are welcome to hang out.” She winks at me. “But, you know…” She nods to Seth and Zane, “I mean, Anna and I…” She raises her eyebrows.

Seth nods slowly, comprehension dawning. “It’s cool, Kat. We get it.”

Zane climbs in behind the wheel, looking a little flustered. “Yeah, okay. Got it.”

Kat laughs and sidles up to him. “Of course we still want you to come over,” she says, pulling his hand toward her and writing on it with my purple pen. “That’s our campsite. We’ll meet you there.” I’m the only one who sees her slip a Good Lock key behind the front seat.

“What if they never find it?” I ask on the ride back to the campground.

“That’s the point, babe. You’re not the only one trying to have faith.”

At Devil’s Creek, Bo and Frankie go off to buy a couple of bundles of firewood from Melvin, while Kat shows Zane and Seth how we fixed the tent. I sit on the picnic table and write in my journal, trying to get down the day’s events before they swirl out of my memory forever.

“You writing a book or something?” says Seth. He leans over my shoulder, and I move my arm a bit so he can’t see.

I scrutinize his tone for any hint of mocking but find only curiosity and interest. “I don’t really know. I just write. I always have. I write down what happens, and I write down my thoughts, and I write things that are made up, pieces of stories, I guess.” I close my notebook before he can ask to see it.

“You could write a book about your traveling, about you and Kat. Your adventures and stuff. Like that bear, I mean. That’s a good story.” He smiles, warm and inviting.

A tiny part of me would like for what he says to be true. “What about you? What’s your story?”