No One Belongs Here More Than You. Миранда Джулай

far below the hills and I felt something similarly bright falling down inside of me, I called, Blanca. I called out to my own heart, as if she were within me like an egg. White like an egg and not quite ready; about to be, like an egg.

      I had never thought much about Victor, but now he became this exciting person because he was Blanca’s brother. Victor thought of me differently, too, more as a member of his family. As if Blanca and I were already a couple. He invited me over to a family-style dinner with Blanca and their parents. It was in an old people’s home, and Mr. and Mrs. Caesar-Sanchez were the oldest people I’ve ever met who were still alive. The food they ate was all intravenous. When I asked Mrs. Caesar-Sanchez where her daughter was, she looked so incredibly confused that I let it go. There was a picture of her on the wall, not Blanca but her mother, as a girl. She had Blanca’s look in her eyes: come hither, come yon. Victor talked to his parents as if they understood him, but I knew they didn’t. He gave them each a purse, the popular SOHO-style shoulder tote in pebbled leather. It didn’t seem like his parents would ever stand again, and shoulder totes really demand standing. Walking, living, needing, caring, toting. It seemed they were so far beyond these things, but I don’t know, my parents died before I was old enough to give them anything. Victor and I ate the Chinese fried chicken that we had brought with us, and then we all watched a show where couples compete at remodeling their kitchens. Victor drove me home, and we did not speak in the car because what was there to say. For the eighthundredthmillionthtrillionth time, she hadn’t shown up.

      I had never been in love, I had been a peaceful man, but now I was caught in agitation. I accidentally hurt myself with my own body, as if I were two clumsy people fighting. I held on to some things too tightly, ripping pages as I turned them, and let go of other things too suddenly, plates, breaking them. Victor sat with me at lunch all week and tried to interest me in things that were not interesting. Finally, he invited me over to his apartment to have drinks with Blanca. I could tell this was it. I had wowed their parents with my comfortable silence. Some people are uncomfortable with silences. Not me. I’ve never cared much for call and response. Sometimes I will think of something to say and then I will ask myself: Is it worth it? And it just isn’t. I wore the same thing I had worn all the other times I thought I was going to meet her, the all-beige, but this time I was more careful. I tucked my shirt into my boxers before I pulled up my pants, and when I pulled them up, they stroked the hairs on my legs. I was noticing everything, I was electric.

      Blanca, of course, was late. Victor and I laughed about this, and I really laughed because now it was really funny in a way it had not been before. Goddamn that girl! She knew how to tease a guy. Victor and I toasted to Blanca and her lateness. I filled her cup and drank it for her, here’s to my girl! My little girl!

      At midnight Victor cleared his throat and said there was something he hadn’t told me.

      She’s not coming?

      No, she’s coming.

      Oh, good.

      But I had a little plan for tonight, for you and Blanca.

      What.

      I have E.

      What?

      E.

      What’s E?

      Ecstasy.

      Oh.

      Have you ever had it?

      No, I’ll just stick with my beer.

      You’re gonna like this.

      I had a joint once and I didn’t feel right for a whole year.

      This isn’t like that; it’ll make you nice and loose with Blanca.

      I don’t think she wants me loose.

      Trust me, she does. She’ll have the third tab when she comes in.

      Blanca likes this stuff?

      Of course.

      Is she like a … wild, out-of-control teenager?

      You know she is.

      God, I thought maybe she was, but I didn’t want to ask.

      Just put it under your tongue, like this.

      Okay. Is she seventeen?

      Yeah. Now let’s just listen to the music and wait for it to kick in.

      We sat on Victor’s couch and listened to Johnny Cash or someone who sounds like that. A cowboy singer singing his cowboy song. I thought about Blanca and could feel her coming closer. I could almost hear her shoes on the street below, the sound of her running up the stairs, the door flying open. I imagined this again and again, hoping the door would fly open at the exact moment that I was imagining it flying open, and it would be a dream come true. The music, the cowboy, was a part of this. It made the air thicker, like I was thinking on the outside of my head. My thoughts were in the air, riding the song like a horse. I began to think of Victor as the cowboy. And for some reason I said this. Even though I don’t like call and response, I called out.

      Victor.

      Yeah.

      It’s like you’re the cowboy.

      Yeah. What cowboy?

      Singing the song, the cowboy song.

      That’s me, all right. You hear that sadness in my voice.

      I do.

      There’s a lot of sadness in me.

      I can hear it.

      I think you’ve got a similar pain.

      I do. I want to see her so bad, Victor. You have no idea.

      I know.

      Can you just show me a picture? Please.

      You know I can’t do that.

      Why not?

      Come onto the couch.

      I sat beside Victor and I knew it was happening, the drugs. He held my hand and I rubbed his arm harder and harder and it felt okay. But then the rubbing was all of us, the whole length of our giant old selves. It was like a humping thing. I was thinking of eagles humping each other and then I remembered they don’t hump, they lay eggs. I pushed him away.

      What if Blanca walked in? You’re her brother.

      Let’s just take our shirts off. The pants can stay on.

      Are you gay?

      I said the pants can stay on.

      When do these drugs stop? If I drink water, do they stop sooner?

      Just let this happen. It’s okay. Just let it happen. There’s no Blanca.

      I didn’t believe him for three hours. I sat in Victor’s bedroom and he stayed on the couch and we waited for the drugs to stop and I waited for Blanca. When the drugs were over, I suddenly knew he was right. It was as if I had been on the drug for the last three months, and now I was back. I came out of the bedroom and sat on the couch.

      I feel like she’s been killed.

      I’m sorry.

      Do you even have a sister?

      No.

      Why did you take me to meet your parents?

      I wanted them to meet you before they died.

      Oh.

      It felt like the air was multiplying, and I couldn’t even think about what Victor said because I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the air. I tried to think of myself as a breathing machine. I told myself: You won’t die from overbreathing, because you are a breathing machine, specially calibrated to adjust to the changing amounts of air in the room.

      He said, Tell me about the girls.

      What girls?

      You like little girls.

      No, teenagers.