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Zoe
Nelson was grotesque. Zoe knew what he wanted, and the thought made her sick. And yet she was still considering it. Would it be so bad, going off into the woods with Nelson? At least someone wanted to go into the woods with her. She’d never kissed anyone. The curiosity was powerful. If things went horribly wrong, she could just move back to Missouri.
She stepped back and tried to take another drink of courage, but her cup was empty. He was still leering at her. “Does anyone have some weed?” She didn’t necessarily want pot in that moment, but she wanted to distract him, and a little pot wouldn’t be so bad. She’d always preferred it to booze anyway, and her swimming head made it clear to her she shouldn’t have any more whiskey.
“Weed?” he cried and barked out another laugh. “Only stoners smoke pot! Are you a stoner?” He was being really loud now—and aggressive. Either he’d just had a mighty mood swing, or she had entirely misinterpreted the situation.
She backed away slowly, tripped, almost fell, and then turned toward the road. She could feel eyes on her. She kept her head down and headed for the road. She needed to get out of there. Suddenly, she was afraid of Nelson, and she picked up speed. She heard a burst of laughter behind her and was certain that she was the butt of the joke. She stopped at the road and looked both ways. Which way was she supposed to go?
Oh yeah. Uphill. She needed to go uphill. She turned right and scanned the crowd for Jason. Nearly every single person there faced her, stared at her. Jason wasn’t there. She looked away and started up the hill, but walking was hard. Now that she was moving, she realized she’d drunk far too much. Fear gripped her. What had she drunk? How did she know there hadn’t been something awful in that cup? Something more awful than warm, cheap whiskey? She tried to pick up speed. She had to get back to Gramma’s. She would be fine once she was there. She would be safe. And she could get something to eat, which would sober her up.
She started up the hill. The walk ahead of her seemed impossibly long and the hill impossibly steep. Just get to the top of the hill, she told herself, and then the rest will be easy. She craved the lights of Main Street. She turned to look back at the ocean, to glimpse that beautiful moonlight one more time, but this swing of her head threw her off balance, and she fell forward, slamming her right knee into the tar.
She was far from the crowd now, but still she thought she heard them laughing. She got herself to her feet and looked down at her knee. Her sweatpants had ripped, but it was too dark to see if there was much damage to the skin. It didn’t hurt, but she knew she’d drunk enough to cover the pain. She started upward again, keeping her head down, concentrating. She didn’t care if she lived or died, but she didn’t want those people to see her dead body as they drove by on their way home. She didn’t want to give them that pleasure.
She realized she was still holding the plastic cup and threw it into the ditch in disgust. Then she trudged upward.
This was the tallest hill in the world. She hoped that all this physical exertion would sober her up, but as she finally crested the hill, she almost fell over sideways. She stopped, bent over, and put her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. She started crying.
She realized she was in danger of passing out, and she forced herself to stand up straight. She turned to look for Battle Ave, but there were only trees. Oh no, where was the street? She looked both ways and saw that she’d walked past it. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said aloud to herself. “You idiot.” Slowly, she went back down the hill until it met Battle, and then she turned right.
She’d wasted precious walking time. She couldn’t wait to slide back into the safety of Gramma’s apartment and then her comfy couch. She was never leaving that apartment again. Still breathing hard, with her hands on her hips, she started down Battle.
Then the sickness came.
This was a good thing. She knew that if she could throw up, she’d feel better.
But she didn’t throw up. Her stomach churned and threatened, but nothing came up.
She started walking again, but the nausea was overwhelming. She looked around for a spot to rest. She just needed a break, and she knew it would pass. Her eyes landed on a tiny church building. A light lit the small porch. It was the cutest little thing. There was no sign to indicate what kind of church it was, but it looked very old. She crossed the street and sat down on the front steps.
Though she knew she shouldn’t, she tipped over and laid her cheek on the white boards. You’re not going to pass out here, she told herself. We’re just taking a little break.
Her eyes slid shut. Out of nowhere, words drifted through her mind like lost song lyrics: All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way.
What was that? What did that mean? She remembered a sticker. A big pink heart with a cross in the middle of it. Oh wow, I am so drunk. Heart stickers and sheep—she needed to get some sleep—
“Zoe.”
She didn’t open her eyes. She knew no one was there.
“Zoe,” the voice spoke again.
She tried to ignore it.
She couldn’t. “What?” She sat up and looked around.
“You know better than this.”
She didn’t say anything. She knew no one was there, but she still peered into the darkness.
“This is not who you are.”
“How do you know who I am?” The anger in her own voice surprised her. She didn’t even know who she was. How dare this invisible man claim to?
“Get up.”
“No.”
“Get up. This is not where you’re supposed to be.”
She tipped her head back and then couldn’t stop herself. Her body flopped backward, and her head hit the porch hard enough to hurt, even through all the alcohol.
She felt a warm hand in hers, and then she was being lifted.
“I can’t,” she whispered. Tears spilled out of her closed eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
“I know,” he whispered back. She’d never heard a voice so gentle.
She knew she was crazy. She knew no one was there. Yet it sounded as if this voice loved her. And wasn’t there something familiar about it as well? And now she was floating. Back to the street. She opened her eyes and saw that her feet weren’t on the ground. She was being carried. She was in someone’s arms. The fact that this someone was invisible wasn’t even the unbelievable part. The unbelievable part was that anyone was strong enough to carry her.
In an instant, she was on her feet in front of her grandmother’s house. Her stomach had calmed down. She was still very, very drunk, but she was almost to that couch.
“Remember.” His voice was deep and magnetic. She didn’t want him to leave. “You know better than this.” And then he was gone. She didn’t see him leave; she hadn’t seen him at all. But she knew he was gone. And the loneliness of his absence was crushing. She leaned against the door and wept.
