SEVEN
Just as we’re pulling out onto Grape, I see Vauxhall catch a ride home from Chris Hirata.
In the car, as they’re driving off, Chris has his arm around her shoulders. I can only imagine what they’ll be doing next. I do. And then I’m sick because I do. I’m so ready to go home.
Whole drive to Paige’s the both of us are super quiet. Almost comatose. At one point Paige asks me if I had a nice time up on the roof.
I say, “Yeah. Incredible.”
“And the Jimi thing?” she asks.
“True. Maybe a problem for the time being, but I’m not too stressed.”
“You look stressed.”
“Just tired. I’ve seen it all, remember. All good.”
When I drop her off, before she steps out of my car, Paige gives me a kiss on the cheek and tells me to take it easy. She tells me not to think too hard about it. She says, “You took a nasty hit tonight, Ade. If I were you, I’d just rest. Take tomorrow off, okay, champ?”
I shrug. “Okay, babe.”
A few blocks from my house, at a red light, I pull down the mirror on the sun visor and take a look at my jacked-up face. All the usual bruising is there. The usual cuts and scrapes. I’ve got a nasty welt on my forehead and it’s swollen out like a gourd.
I’m not ready to go home, so I just drive. The sun is blinding as it balloons up over the apartment buildings and McMansions near Wash Park. I drive past school and realize the reason I’m not ready to go home is because I’m thinking too much about Vauxhall. I’m jealous of Chris and Ryan. I want so badly to rewind time and kiss her on that roof. To convey that I can’t wait for it to just happen in its time. That she can be herself with me and me only. That Jimi isn’t special. That Jimi is just sick.
I need the Buzz again. I need it terrible.
Fact is: The future is just so damned addictive.
And cars are so easy to crash.
Used to be, only two years back, before I could drive, that skateboarding or biking or even just walking into things was the easiest way to propel myself into the future. But the collateral damage was heavy. Mostly broken bones and busted-out teeth. Looks seriously suffered. I wore helmets and even padding but still I’d come away with way more bruises and cuts than I’d hoped. Got so that sometimes, bad times, the high would be hardly worth it. And then came the car. Give me an empty street and a wall or a telephone pole or even a tree and I’m on my way to not-yet land. I’m very careful. Cars are big. Fast. What I do, it takes practice. To not really really wreck the car takes serious skill.
And this morning, at five to six, that’s just what I do.
There’s this spot just off Hale Parkway, back in a neighborhood, with a low wall and a telephone pole. I angle my car just right, just so, and I’m able to hit it going twenty. I’m adept at this, making it so I do minimal damage to my ’96 Honda Accord but ensuring that my head rebounds off the steering wheel like a basketball.
Only it doesn’t just rebound but it snaps back and in the hollow part of my skull, my brain goes bouncing and the blood starts flowing. I see the tunnel again. It looks the way Vegas would if it were rolled up into a tube. Walls of light, flashing and glowing. And in the walls are shapes and figures but nothing exact, nothing definite. The edges here are all worn down, the colors reduced to static.
Another concussion.
Another vision.
Actually the same vision. I’m back on the California beach with the storm crashing against the sky and the waves getting higher and higher as the sun glows dimmer and dimmer. Again, there’s a surfboard at my side. Again, the wet suit. Again, the salt water taste on my lips. It’s like I’m starting over again.
And what’s really crazy is I’ve never had this happen before. Of the barrels of visions I’ve had, I’ve never seen the same thing twice. Sure, I’ve been in the same place before but never at exactly the same time. What’s going on here makes no sense.
My feet in the sand, I’m assuming that wires were crossed.
Or maybe this isn’t the future but a memory of the last vision.
Maybe I’m not unconscious enough to throw my mind forward.
I grab my surfboard and stand up. Start walking to the waves. And as my toes hit the cold water, I start thinking that maybe this is different. The guy in the mask last time said that he expected me here. Maybe I try to surf these storm waves all the time. Maybe this is just another of one of my yearly trips to the coast.
But then again, maybe not.
Sitting across from me, on a big red towel, his head angled down, his eyes burning the air between us, is the masked man. He’s here, again, only this time the Mexican wrestler mask is red with flames all around it. He’s staring me down and with his index finger on his right hand, he’s motioning me over.
I walk to the edge of his towel and sit in the sand. What makes him stand out this time isn’t the mask so much as it’s the white suit he’s wearing. The guy is sitting cross-legged, he is filing his nails.
“Back again, huh?” I ask.
The man says, “Actually, I’d say you’re back again.”
“You’ve been waiting?”
“Not long. I had a feeling you’d be back and so I came ’round to see.”
I look up and down the beach. It’s lined with surfers watching the clouds and the waves. The sand is being whipped up down near a pier and it blows in little funnels. The sky is getting really dark.
“Cutting to the chase,” I say with my again deeper voice. “What exactly is it that you came here to see me for? Is there some sort of problem?”
“Yes.” The masked guy’s eyes narrow. “Big problem.”
“And?”
The suited wrestler pauses. “That’s the thing, you’re just not ready to hear what I have to say. And I don’t mean the you that’s here on this beach, I mean the real you. The kid you. See that storm?” The man looks over his shoulder at the black broccoli clouds.
“Couldn’t miss it.”
“The closer that storm gets, the more sense this will all make. I’m guessing that when it’s right on top of us, truth’s going to just spill right out and you’ll be ready to understand it all.”
My throat tightens. I’m confused. “Is this the future?”
“Yes, but I’m not in your future.”
“You’re not? Then…?”
“Ade, I’m in your mind.”
There is a flash like lightning’s hit the water near us but when the brightness of it fades away I’m no longer on the beach. I’m back in my car and the sun is scorching down. It’s flattening the whole world out.
Back to now. Return to regular programming.
I’m confused.
This future that I’ve seen now more than once, which is, in itself, totally bizarre and inexplicable, has got me shaken. Who is this guy with the mask? Isn’t he in the future? It certainly looks like he is. Could he really be in my head? I hope not. And how? That’s just fucked up. Maybe I’m dreaming him? Maybe in the near future I spend a lot of time on a beach tripping.
Fact is: I need to stop stressing and just enjoy the Buzz.
One thing I’ve learned after doing this so many times, after seeing what comes next so many times, is that no matter how strange the future seems, it pales in comparison to the present. This masked dude, whatever. This joker, I’m already over it.
And I need the Buzz so badly right now.
EIGHT
Sucks that I’m snapped out of it too soon by someone knocking on the windshield.
It’s my ex-girlfriend. Angry, I lean forward and my broken nose just lets loose like a faucet. Belle’s seen this before. Plenty of times.
She’s sitting on the hood of my car smoking a cigarette and wearing the very same outfit she wore when I first met her. The leather boots. Black skirt. White dress shirt. She’s got her blond hair slicked back and if it weren’t for the hastily applied makeup and the scars on her arms she’d be perfect for a sexy temp or a trampy accountant.