Earth to Skye

2

2A huge ivy dinosaur sculpture welcomed all the tourists and Angelenos who visited the Third Street Promenade, an outdoor shopping mall with a lot of cafes and restaurants with patios, European style. Santa Monica weather is almost always nice enough to be outside and the Promenade was a big hangout for teenagers.

Dirty backpacks were piled on a bench in the middle of the walkway, in front of the Apple Store. Skye had made friends with the kids who always hung out there. A few, like Max and Samantha, were runaways and homeless, but they acted like they were just camping out. The others were local stoners who either didn’t want to get jobs or didn’t know how.

“I thought we were going to the bookstore,” I said to Skye, as she headed straight for the outdoor party.

“These kids need us,” said Skye. “They’re homeless, like orphans. What’s the matter with you?”

When she put it that way, I felt bad. And it was kind of cool, hanging out with well-traveled souls like Max and Samantha. Max wore a dirty shirt with a rainbow peace sign and had a cigarette stuck in the strings of his guitar. His low voice droned on like Kurt Cobain on heroin. He smelled more like sweat than alcohol, but there was a cup of unidentified liquid that he offered Skye and didn’t offer me.

“Hey, girl,” said Samantha. “I like the new do.”

I was surprised Samantha had noticed that my light brown hair was now reddened by henna. I wasn’t as brave as Skye with her blue hair.

“I thought you were out of here,” Skye said to Samantha.

“My mom doesn’t have a car and can’t afford to send a plane ticket,” said Samantha. She grabbed Max’s cigarette and blew smoke upwards so it mingled with the ocean fog. “And even if she wanted to send bus money, there’s no place to send it.”

If I lived in Minnesota and disappeared, my mom would walk in bare feet to find me. Or in moccasins. Wet Converse. Whatever it took, she’d find me.

“I can give you our address,” I told her. “Maybe you can stay at our house.”

“Never mind. I like sleeping on the beach.”

“I want to play a song,” said Skye.

Max handed her his guitar. Skye started strumming a tune in a minor key. Her music ranged from songs that were simple and sad, to full-of-rage punk rock.

I had never heard this one. It seemed like she was only half inside her body as she sang.

Orange peels, eggshells, used coffee grounds

Ripped apart and thrown around

Hateful words they pack a punch

If this is breakfast what’s for lunch?

Max gave her a kiss in the middle of the song and Skye put down the guitar, laughing her sweet laughter, left over from when she was innocent. Lately, she was an odd combination of soft and tough, like if you touched her gently she would bruise, but if you crossed her she would rip you to shreds.

Skye’s scene at home was much more of a mess than mine, even though my parents had just divorced and Skye’s folks were still together. Her mother slept all day and Skye often had to take care of her two little sisters.

Skye’s parents were teenagers when they had Skye and it didn’t seem like they ever grew up. Riva, Skye’s mother, partied all the time, and her dad, Zeno, still traveled in a punk-rock band. My dad grew out of punk rock before I was even born.

I loved it when Skye played music. But I bet that playing music wasn’t half what was going on when she stayed out late partying with Max. Or whoever else she found to hang out with. I didn’t know what was with this disappearing act, but it wasn’t good. Seemed like she’d turned the corner recently and I sure wasn’t going to follow. I wanted so badly to take care of her, to rescue her, but I didn’t want to drown trying.

“Come on, Skye, let’s go to the bookstore, or get something to eat,” I said.

“Don’t leave,” Skye picked up the guitar again and sang, or I should say, screamed, a couple of lines of a fast, pissed off song. She was a great guitar player, talented as her father. I wished I could write lyrics as good as my dad’s.

They want to own your freakin’ body

They want to get inside your mind

Skye suddenly stopped and looked toward me. “So what’s the next line? I wrote it and forgot it.”

“Let’s go freaking shopping,” I said. I got annoyed when Skye said we were going to do something and then ended up just slacking off. I didn’t want to leave her, but the scene she was in wasn’t where I belonged.

“Stay,” she whined. “We’ll finish writing the song together.”

“Yeah, stick around,” said Max. He handed Skye some kind of pill and she swallowed it dry.

I had hoped I could be a stronger influence on her than her drug-addict boyfriend.

“Nah, I’m leaving,” I said. “See you later.”

“Life’s a car Livi. Drive it!”