River: A Novel
Authors: Erin Lewis
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River |
A Novel |
Erin Lewis |
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River: A Novel
By Erin Lewis
Copyright ©
2014 Erin Lewis
Cover Art
Copyright © Erin Lewis
First
Edition February 2014
All rights
reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or part,
without written permission from the author. The author acknowledges the
trademark status of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The
publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored
by the trademark owners. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
For my parents
There was nowhere
else to go.
Everywhere
was thick darkness, an almost tangible black curtain. Certainly there had to be
something in the void space, and I reached out to move the abyss away from me
enough to see what was ahead.
My hands did
not stir the atmosphere.
I glanced
down to test if my phantom
body was connected to my mind. It was, still, and faintly glowing from a pale
light before me.
A path that grew
marginally brighter with each step I could not feel.
“What’s in
this anyway?” I asked before inhaling. It tasted sweet and cloying, just what I
was looking for. Danny was obviously anticipating that question, and one of his
dark lashes winked. I rolled my eyes—of course he would never tell his secrets.
Childish, but whatever makes him happy,
I thought while waiting patiently
for
the numbness to
begin. Already twenty-one, Danny was still such a teenager most of the time. An
undeniably brilliant MIT drop-out, he had recently decided his culinary chemist
skills were better appreciated recreationally. I was pretty sure he would never
grow up, but I didn’t mind.
In addition
to being an essential part of my current existence, I loved Danny like a
brother. He was my best friend and shoulder to lean on, because I refused cry—at
least not in front of anyone, preferring numbness both physically and
emotionally to pathetic public displays. Unfortunately, my mind went back two months.
I’d been in the shower, and it had been just after my last review with the head
of The Studio
.
I will
never feel this way again as long as I live
. My tears had dissolved with the water while I promised
myself a life minus living.
Predictably,
no one noticed my features contort in pain from the memory. Everyone was too
involved with socializing at the party. I had never been the greatest at being
social. The wall was plastered solidly behind me as I confirmed that whatever
I’d ingested was working—my face had finally begun to feel rubbery. When pressing
my lips tight to make sure the numbness was real, the warmth flooded in from my
scalp to my toes: an illusion of armor.
Escaping
pain was my new reality, and I was becoming a pro. I wasn’t a junkie requiring
an intervention; it’s just that sometimes I needed to stifle the ache. Sometimes
was
becoming more frequent since I’d moved in with Danny, however, and I
pushed away a ragged vision of myself in a gutter, panhandling for another fix.
That
wasn’t me. Things would get better. Soon I’d have a couple of jobs
and my own place. Dan was a sweetheart, but he certainly wasn’t a good
influence in the sobriety department.
He also had stellar people skills compared to my own. Not one for having
issues, he got along with everybody; even the leeches lurking around to bleed him
dry with every score.
Suddenly,
the party grew twofold. The lights seemed to be set on bright headlight, and I
swore the shadows moved without a catalyst. “What the hell?” I said to anyone. My
own voice was a megaphone in my head. Claustrophobia had never been a problem
for me, normally I was able to tune out the noise, but my heart was pounding
and threatening to break through my ribs. I looked down, surprised my chest was
not visibly drumming to the staccato beat. When it felt as if my throat were closing
up, I decided that I was having some kind of reaction to whatever Danny had
cooked up and fed to me. I drew a shaky breath.
You couldn’t breathe if you
were dying, moron,
I told myself to calm down
.
Glancing
around, I saw that Dan had been swallowed by the growing crowd. The rooms were
completely packed with bodies. Just as the panic started to subside, someone
pressed up and grabbed me. My jaw
dropped in stunned embarrassment and impending accusation as
I spun around, not knowing what I intended to say to the jerk, but ready to
scowl in the groper’s general direction.
All I heard was laughter—the precursor of an evil omen. The lazy rap music was
bouncing around with such ferocity that the bass was a physical hammering
against my skull.
Out—have to get out of here.
Cursing with abandon, I
scrambled toward what looked like the nearest exit, shoving someone. Odd for
me, I observed, as I plowed through someone else. Usually I avoided conflict
like the plague.
“Excuse
me!” My voice sounded panicked in my head. It was impossible to hear my feeble
apologies within the mayhem. Through a gate on the edge of the balcony, the fire
escape was my beacon.
Escape
—
such a beautiful
word
, I mused
while eagerly blowing through the crowded space. Disregarding the latch on the gate,
I climbed over it, fairly limber sans walking cast but still off balance. Once
on the rickety stairs, I held on to the railing and flew down into the clear night
air.
The farther
away from the building, the more relaxed I became. The cold didn’t touch me
when I inhaled its sharpness to disguise the bitter taste in the back of my throat,
my breath exhaling in little puffs. In the moonlight, the snow made the world as
bright as noon on a summer day, only black and white instead of cool green and
blue. Calming down, I just wanted to walk and forget about my life.
Selfish…
people are dying, really suffering, who would kill to be in your shoes.
Shaking
my head slightly,
I pushed the guilt aside, replacing it with numbness
from my infinite cache. I just wanted to be alone for a while. No one was
missing me; the thought was freeing in the moment. I had
Dan, for the time being. We would
always be close, but I suspected he wouldn’t want to hang out as much if he
realized there was nothing more than platonic friendship on my end. I decided
to deal with that when
I
had to. He was more than a bit fickle in love, and I was sure he would be enamored
with someone else before long.
While lost
in reverie, I‘d come across a huge swath of snow. With the lighted orb
overhead, the field reflected back as though it were a satin-covered garden. I
hummed to myself, at once seeing movement in the music. Placing my arms
automatically into second position, I spun deboulé in wide circles, sparking up
glittery dust. The crystallized air filling my lungs caused the same blissful shock
as diving into a pool on a sweltering day. From the corner of my eye, I watched
an owl glide silently into the trees—not even beating its wings to move through
space. After a moment
of
stillness, I peered through the arced forest to search for the owl, unconvinced
of its existence.
The wail of
a coyote added wildness to the music in my head. From a distance, another
animal answered. A shiver ran down my spine and chilled my numb skin, the cold
reaching me for the first time. The yowling animals went on professing love,
plans, the future, and the past. I didn’t think they would lie; their lives
were much less complicated than humans, with no reason to speak untruths. They
had no real fears except hunger, no real needs other than shelter, only basic
emotions: predictable and non-faceted. No crushing blows of disillusionment.
Their
ancient concerto over, a more familiar language filled my mind. It was a low,
fuzzy cello leading into solemn piano. My arms and legs moved with the outwardly
silent sounds, creating fractured shadows in the spotlight of the moon, my shining
audience of one. I think I may have even smiled; lost but for movement on my
lonely
stage
.
I’m not
sure when it started, but voices had begun to accompany the piano in my mind. It
was an allegro, bubbly chatter of incoherent lyrics, or maybe I just couldn’t
hear them well enough. Turning off my little inner-orchestra, I listened harder
and tried to decipher syllables. Awareness eluded me as I drifted toward the origin
of noise. It sounded like the party again, only hushed. I had been turning in
relevé, flickering in quick orbits upon my stage and sweeping my leg out for
piqué turns, before closing in on an edge of the snowfield. It was there that I
spotted a dark sign post. It was a miniature black hole. When the distance shortened,
I saw movement,
either
grasses in the wind or something jumping out of the ground, and curiosity took
hold.
Bubbles?
That was what it
looked like. A large circle of black bubbles stared back at me. Though the
drugs in my system had not abated, realization trickled into my brain—this
wasn’t a field, but a lake. I knelt by the pool. It was a perfect circle in the
way a cookie cutter would press into rolled out dough, leaving no cracks on the
sides. Bubbles splashed on my sleeve when I slid my fingers into the water. It
was
warm.
Hot, almost. My skin tingled after I pulled out my hand. The
numbness returned immediately, but a chill had broken through my armor. The
pool
had been so tepid
that I felt the cold for what it truly was: bitter and painful. I smiled
. All
the more to numb me with
.
Despite my
hazy stupor, I knew the water should have felt icy, but it was only the air that
remained frigid. Unable to resist the tropical humidity around the pool, I
leaned into it, steamy and inviting. Something was trying to talk to me. The
notion that it should be lunacy to listen to an articulate puddle of liquid did
cross my mind, but I quickly sent
it
away. There were all types of communion happening in the
woods that night: the moon and its voyeuristic tendencies, coyotes flirting
obnoxiously, the earth—sleeping and non-confrontational. The owl was hooting
low as if to give the field mice a sporting chance. Why wouldn’t a pool of
water have things to say?
I leaned
into summery air and warmed my hands in the hot liquid.
“It’s all right,
I can hear you.”
Not crazy at all.
”Who are
you? What is it…?” I trailed off, unsure what to ask a mirage of the senses. The
sounds it made were all-encompassing, similar to echoes from a waterfall or
cicadas in August. When my name was whispered brightly, I jumped. It was as if
the pool had a secret to tell me, but I wasn’t playing the game right. Through the
drugged fog, I felt purpose, inevitability.
“
El-ooo-dieee
.”
The voice was
demanding and impatient.