Where the Staircase Ends (15 page)

We skirted the perimeter of the party as we looked for the rest of our friends. Sunny waved and blew kisses at different people. I tried to look like I was having the time of my life while keeping my eyes open for Logan, torn between wanting to hide from him and wanting to find him so I could knee him in the balls.

I was so busy watching for Logan that I didn’t see Justin coming toward us, and I ran head-first into him, spilling beer number two for the evening. If the universe wanted me to quit drinking, it sure picked a crappy night to start relaying the message.

“Ugh, I’m so sorry!” I said, staring uselessly at his dripping shirt front. I thought about offering him some toilet paper to wipe up the mess, but that would have only made it worse, so instead I stood there staring at him with my arms dangling pointlessly at my sides. He looked at me with the same flat-line frown he had earlier. I couldn’t tell if he was mad at me for running into him or thinking about the Logan thing. Either way, seeing him so serious made me uncomfortable.

“Jeez, Taylor, are you trying to drown the poor guy?” said Sunny, giving Justin one of her winning ear-to-ear grins. “Where’d you run off to, Justin? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

She pouted her bottom lip and batted her lashes as she took several steps toward him, shrinking the space between them from a few feet to a few inches. I watched numbly as she hooked her fingers through one of the belt loops on his jeans and pulled him the remaining few inches toward her so they were pressed together like two pieces of bread. It all happened in slow motion, her fingers separating and linking through the denim, each one a pointed claw as she sank her hands into him. She might as well have peed on him to mark her territory, the intention was that clear. It was a move that said, “He’s mine. Game over, bitch.”

The conversation I’d overheard in the garage suddenly became crystal clear. It was so obvious I was ashamed at how easily I’d dismissed the idea. Of course they were talking about me. Sunny told Amber and Jenny she’d hooked up with Justin and asked them not to tell me until she could find a way to break the news. A perfect end to a perfectly crappy night.

I turned away so they wouldn’t see my eyes welling up with frustrated tears. Not only because I’d obviously lost Justin to Sunny, but because I was dumb enough to think I stood a chance. Because Logan was probably the best I could do. Because Sunny would never see Justin for what he really was. Because I wanted to go home and crawl under my bed and die. Because, because,
because
.

I must have looked like a crazy person barreling toward the keg, but I didn’t care. I needed to get as far away from Sunny and Justin as possible. I marched up to the front of the line and used the sharp end of my elbow to shove a girl I didn’t recognize away from the tap. She started to yell something at me, but the look on my face must have been terrifying. She backed away, both hands raised defensively like she thought I might attack her. And she wasn’t far off base. It would have felt good to hit something, even better to hit someone, and her head was kind of shaped like Sunny’s and that was appealing.

Instead I pumped the tap like I was drilling for oil, taking breaks to wipe away the tears that managed to leak from my eyes despite my best efforts to hold them in.

“What are you doing?”

I didn’t have to look up to know it was Justin who asked the question. For a moment I was embarrassed that he might have followed me to the keg, watching me steamroll my way through the crowd of people. But why should I care anymore?
I didn’t have anything else to lose.

The sound of his voice said he wasn’t asking me what was I literally doing, but I answered that way anyway.

“I’m getting a beer.” I wiped away another tear with the back of my arm and hoped he couldn’t see me crying through the darkness.

“I can see that. Here, let me.” He took the cup and filled it, tipping the glass so it wouldn’t foam. Then he handed it back and motioned for me to follow him away from the keg. I did, only because I didn’t know where else to go or what else to do.

We stood silently for a few minutes, or maybe it was only a few seconds. It felt like an eternity, because he still wore a drawn expression. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“You’re so much better than all of this, Taylor,” he finally said.

I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant, but then I closed it. I didn’t really care. Obviously I wasn’t good enough for him. Obviously I’d overanalyzed the whole staring thing, thinking there was something more between us than there really was. I bet he only asked me to The Fields because he knew I’d bring Sunny. I should have been used to playing second fiddle to Sunny by that point, but it still stung.

Sunny bounded up then, wedging herself between me and Justin so we were both forced to look at her and not each other. Her timing was annoyingly impeccable as always.

“Where’s mine?” she asked, eyeing my beer. I handed it to her. She might as well take my beer too.

She took a long sip before giving us one of her wicked grins. “This place blows. It’s like freshman city and I’m over it. Why don’t we go back to my house for a late-night dip? What do you guys say?”

“Sounds peachy,” I answered, my voice thick with bitterness. I didn’t even bother trying to hide my anger anymore. “Let’s go.” I led the charge across The Fields toward Sunny’s car. Anything was better than the horrible fields, the pulsing music, and all of the people I wanted to get away from.

She gave me a funny look when she caught up to me and linked her arm through mine. “Jenny and Amber are already rounding everyone up. Do you mind driving?” She aimed the last question at Justin before tossing him the keys to The Bee.

When we got to the car, I was relegated to the back seat and realized too late I’d chosen the same side Jenny had to squeeze into earlier. I fought back the urge to hit something again as I squished myself behind the front passenger seat, watching as Sunny stretched her legs out across the front dash.

“Somebody’s in a foul mood,” Sunny said as she reapplied her lip gloss and caught sight of my face in the mirror. She must have sensed I was a funnel cloud about to touch ground because she pulled the seat forward and passed me the vodka-OJ container without another word.

I slipped a cigarette from the pack sitting on the center console and lit it, pulling in a long, hard breath so the cherry glowed deeply in the dim light of the back seat. I felt like the cigarette right then: hot and angry. Screw my vow, I thought. I was not going to
relax
. I didn’t give a shit about being nice to Sunny. Not anymore.

SNOWDRIFTS

The snow had been falling straight and steady onto the staircase for a while. I still couldn’t figure out what it meant or why it was there, but it seemed to mute out whatever part of my brain made the ghosts appear because I hadn’t seen one since before the first flake fell. It was a beautiful and welcome reprieve.

It fell heavily enough to create small drifts up and down the steps, glittering and white in daylight. To pass the time I made a game out of it, hopping from snowdrift to snowdrift while trying not to lose my balance—kind of like a winter version of hopscotch. Which didn’t sound exciting, but I had limited forms of entertainment up there. I was just working with what I’d been given.

I also tried throwing snowballs to see if they’d stick against the invisible side of the stairs. They didn’t. I must have tried a dozen or so times, bunching up the snow so it was tight and compact before launching it toward the edge of the stairs. Sure enough, it went right over the side, like there was nothing there to hold it in. Yet when I tried to stick a hand or foot over the edge, I couldn’t. It was like I was trapped inside a giant snow globe, but everything else was free to go where it wanted.

The snowflakes seemed larger and more distinct than regular snowflakes. They were so large I could make out the designs on each one, like tiny holes had been punched into white paper in a million different combinations. I always thought snow looked like a bunch of fluffy white dots falling from the sky, not that I’d seen enough of it to really have an opinion. It rarely snowed back home.

I lifted my foot to take another step and nearly tumbled forward. The step in front of me was shallower than previous steps, and I lost my balance when my foot came down lower than I expected. The next step was slightly shorter, and then the next one even shorter than that, as if the staircase was flattening out. I squinted ahead to see if I was right, but my vision blurred from a flurry of white. Was the snow falling harder than it had been a moment before? I could barely make out what was in front of me.

I squinted again, but a gust of white flakes swallowed up the staircase, blowing around me in a thickening cloud until I could only see a foot or so ahead.
Blustering
—that was the word for it. The snow was suddenly blustering into a dense, white storm.

I folded my arms around my body. It wasn’t that the air was cold, but the snow sent shivers down my spine when it touched my bare skin, and there was so much of it falling from the sky that I was practically covered. Keeping my chin down, I stepped upward carefully, but my foot fell down against a level surface, and I realized the steps had completely flattened out. My flip-flops crunched through several inches of snow, but beneath it was smooth, step-less ground. What had happened to the staircase? Was it possible I had reached the top? If I could see through the snow, I might be able to tell where I was, but it was like trying to see through a wall—everything was blotted out.

Somewhere in the distance I heard laughter. The sound tinkled through the storm like a wind chime, light and happy.

“Who’s there?” I called.

“Look at it! There’s so much,” said a girl’s voice.

“I don’t want to step on it. It’s too pretty,” answered another girl. Their voices were small, like children’s.

I stepped forward, and the snow started to thin. The thick air cleared until the flakes were intermittent and I could see the new world around me.

I was in a backyard.
My
backyard. The ground was covered in a thick blanket of snowfall several inches deep, turning hard edges soft. Even the rusting swing-set my parents refused to throw out had crystalline icicles lining the frame and a powdered sugar casing. A younger me huddled against the porch doorframe next to Sunny, our eyes wild at the sight of the winter wonderland. We were bundled to the teeth in puffy coats, tautly wrapped scarves, and woolen mittens.

“Come on,” said Sunny, tugging the smaller me forward into the powder. “I don’t want to waste it. This is incredible! I’ve never seen this much snow before.”

She bent down and scooped up a ball of it. The smaller me followed hesitantly, still awestruck by the pristine sheet of white icing the landscape.

I moved to stand next to Sunny, waving my hand in front of her face.

“Hello?” I said, wiggling my fingers and clapping my hands to get her attention. She didn’t notice me, focused instead on the melting ball in her hand. I was invisible. The girls had no idea I was there.

Beneath me the snow was undisturbed. Even though I could feel the ground underneath the soles of my shoes, I didn’t leave any footprints. It was as if my feet were sitting on top of a barrier that prevented me from sinking through the slush.

“Let’s build a snowman,” Sunny said, grinning from ear to ear as she packed the ball tightly in her hand.

My younger self nodded, walking backward across the frosty ground so she could admire the tracks she left.

“Will you come on already? I don’t want it to melt before we can finish.”

I watched the girls dart back and forth across the yard, mashing handfuls of snow against a growing snowman. They worked mostly in silence, stopping every few minutes to admire their progress. It made me laugh—they looked so
serious
, which was funny because I remembered that sixth-grade snow day as being one of the best days ever. Why was I reliving it?

The younger Sunny and Taylor packed the snow tightly onto the snowman, wearing matching looks of determination. Their cheeks were pink against the cold air, but the temperature didn’t seem to faze them.

Sunny took two smaller balls of snow and slapped them against the snowman’s chest. “There,” she said after she’d formed them to her liking. “Snowboobs.”

The backdoor opened and my mother came out holding a bowl full of supplies. She trudged through the wet backyard in her slippers and terrycloth robe, squinting against the whiteness.

When she handed the bowl to younger me, I sifted through the options carefully, settling on a green jalapeño pepper and two olives to use as the eyes and nose.

“I guess he’s a she,” my mom said, eyeing the two B-cups Sunny had planted on the snowman’s chest. “Should I get one of your grandmother’s hats for her?”

“Yes!” Sunny nodded enthusiastically while inspecting my placement of the vegetables that now made up the snowwoman’s face. “What do you think about the name Betsy?” she asked after my mom had gone back inside. Young Taylor made a face, weighing the pros and cons.