Everything Fails. T Van Santana

Danielle thought I was laughing at her. “What? I can fuckin’ cook, bitch.”

      “Huh? No, I know that. I was thinking about Mickie.”

      “Oh ... yeah, no offense, but she sucks at it.”

      “Well she’s new to it,” I said. I couldn’t cook at all then. My sister taught me later, but I had zero interest then. Didn’t know why Mickie did. Not really her style. But she would catch interests from time to time.

      After a while of swimming, I heard, “Hey!”

      “Hey,” I said to Mickie as she put her arms over my shoulders. “I’m glad to see you again.”

      “You always say that,” she said. “It makes me feel weird.”

      That made me feel weird. “Weird how?”

      “I dunno. Like you think you might not see me again.”

      “Well, I do worry that I might not see you again.”

      She cocked her head. “Why? You lookin’ at someone else?”

      “What? No! God, no.”

      “What then?”

      “I dunno … I worry you won’t want to see me again.”

      She smiled, long teeth made bare. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

      “I don’t?”

      She shook her head. “Uh-uh. Not now, not ever.”

      Then she leaned in, turned her head.

      I did, too, and we put our lips together, softly, slowly.

      “I love you,” she said.

      “I love you,” I said.

      Danielle leaned in next to us, her tongue moving around in the air as she made slurping noises.

      We stopped kissing.

      Mickie looked at me, then Danielle, then smiled.

      “Stop it, asshole,” I said.

      Danielle laughed. “You’re so sensitive. C’mon, let’s get shitty and fuck in the pool.”

      Mickie and I walked hand in hand behind Danielle to the pool.

      Mickie stopped me. “Hey.”

      “Yeah?”

      She cupped my face. “I love you.”

      I felt my heart open up, but it buckled. “Yeah,” I said. “I heard you before.”

      I saw something shift in her eyes. “Yeah. Rad. Let’s get shitty, then, I guess.”

      She let go of my hand and walked over to the pitchers of booze and plates of chems.

      “Mickie,” I said. “C’mon, that’s not how I meant it.”

      But she didn’t look back. She just loaded up on the good shit, the best bad shit we could get our hands on.

      11 | Heard Without Listening

      The equipment was not cooperating. Neither was I.

      Horace lit up a smoke. “I think it’s shot.”

      “Fix it,” I said.

      His eyebrows went up, which was his way of telling me he didn’t think he could.

      “Just do it. We go on in, like, five minutes.”

      He shrugged amidst the smoke. “Yeah, all right. See what I can do, see what I can do.”

      Rabbit leaned against the wall, drunk.

      “Dude, can you play?” I asked.

      He nodded. “Yep. I’m good.”

      “You’re sure?”

      He gave a thumbs up that he’s sure.

      I wasn’t sure.

      Danielle leaned into a conversation with three girls, all of whom looked kina young. She was batting her eyes and smiling and shit.

      Tij was freaking out. “I can’t find a stick that’s not fuckin’ broken.”

      “Can’t you just fucking print one?”

      “Those sound like shit.”

      “Worse than a broken stick?”

      “Kina.”

      I pushed my hand at his face in the air, you know, not actually his face but in his direction. “Fine. Work it out.”

      People filtered in, and the manager’s looking at me.

      I went back to Horace. “Talk to me.”

      “I can get you ten minutes. I dunno if we’ve got more than that.”

      “The set’s thirty.”

      He put his hands up.

      “Just make it happen.”

      I pushed through the crowd and made my way to the water closet. I was amplified not by chems but my own fucking brain. I needed a mirror to check things out. My hair was braided for the show, loose braids that fell to the tops of my shoulders. My eyes were made dark, and I looked a bit queasy. I was, but I didn’t really want to look it.

      “You’re gonna fuck this up, you know.”

      I looked over my shoulder. No one there.

      Back in the mirror, I saw him. Dwizaal.

      I jumped back, slammed into the wall behind me. I wanted to stop seeing him, but I couldn’t look away. There’s something fascinating there, something captivating.

      “You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked.

      I looked around, even though I knew we were alone. “Are you the one who was talking to me in my room that day?”

      His face showed surprise. “Wait, what?”

      The door swung open, hit me in the shoulder.

      “Sorry,” some chick said. “Didn’t see you there.”

      “‘S awight,” I said.

      “I like your braids.”

      “Hey, thanks. I like your eye shadow.”

      “Thanks!”

      She went in the stall, closed the door.

      I looked in the mirror. Just me.

      I shook my head again and wiped my face with some sand, since they didn’t have water. Wasn’t the same, but it did improve my look some. I felt ready. Ready enough for this fuckin’ show, anyway.

      I sniffed and grabbed the door when the gal in the stall said, “Good luck out there.” Then she made a grunt.

      “Thanks. You too. In here.”

      The crowd was thicker, then. And louder. People looked happy. That’s cool, yeah, but it felt like that happiness hinged on what happened next, which was me. Well, me and the other fucks up there with me.

      I stepped back on stage, and people cheered.

      I gave a dismissive wave and a smile to no one really, but in the direction of the audience, then went over to Horace.

      “And?” I asked.

      “And you’ve got about eleven minutes.”

      I sighed and took the cigarette from his mouth. “My fuckin’ life, man.”

      He didn’t say anything.

      “Just keep workin’ on it.”

      “There’s nothin’ to work