Radioland

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Look at me.

Life as an adult is like a fever dream, but without the relief of knowing your parents are going to be there to comfort you when you wake up.

This was the liminal space where his thoughts coalesced as he slipped between youths; a stockade of denim jackets and primped hair, rings and piercings, tats like semaphore, people pressing dully against him like livestock – tall and thick, oblivious to anyone nearby other than those they chose to see. Their hearing blearied by music competing crosswise over their conversations. Some with broad shoulders, some shorter, perfumed, arms outstretched with drinks threatening to spill on anyone passing through their undulating obstruction. That confidence. Their presumptive immunity, revealing a more delicate and implicit trust.

Fresh adults, with unspoilt convictions and unarmed predilections.

Amidst the bustling elbow-to-elbow, he made his way with little undertaking, holding his tumbler aloft to part through the crowd, eyes fixed on a couple in their early twenties he’d spotted earlier in the even­ing while he was perched at the bar, nodding quietly to anyone who might’ve recognized him. He understood he had a certain look, a certain reputation. It was not warm or welcoming, though strangely something about him glowed, and at a given moment he could send a signal out. Send out a little hook.

He slid past the guilty laughter of a shared joke between some boys wearing leathers on his left. Snorting and giggling like they might as well have been in high school, huddled by their lockers.

How do you come this far lacking knowledge of certain truths?

He affected interest in his phone as he followed the couple, taking interest in her growing exasperation with her partner, then casually sat himself at the bar across from the high top where they settled. She clearly didn’t want to be there; all defeated sighs and rolling of eyes. The kinds of things children do when they’re unable to find the right words for how they feel, or the depth to do so. He was patient, folding himself over slightly, taking up less space, fading into the background. The boyfriend didn’t come across like a bully, but dressed the part, perhaps to compensate. The more time passed the clearer it was to him that he was watching two outsized adolescents forced to be with one another, perhaps thanks to an interpretation of society’s rules: that it was natural to stay together, but certainly not because it was best for them. And so they quietly chafed against another, checking their phones and looking to see if they knew anyone floating nearby, neither one of them a good guy or bad guy, rather just two people coming apart together by virtue of being themselves. Just because it’s natural doesn’t mean it’s healthy.

All these beautiful children, tasting freedom, displayed dimly under umber lamplight. How they sifted around each other with false certainty, their wallet chains and leather purses.

He hoped the couple would come to a decision soon because his thoughts had become cloudy as of late – like the winking vignette used in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, closing in on a character’s face as a scene faded to black, darkness quietly imposed itself. He wasn’t naive about what was changing inside, but a core part of him needed to retain clarity. It was clarity that was going to get him through to the next stage. Through, the life coach poseurs prescribed, not around. A less patient part of him wanted to stand up, as if directing a play, and tell the young couple to stop being so sullen with one another. And sure enough, miracle of miracles, the boyfriend pulled his phone out of his jeans and within a few seconds of reading something turned and shared a very cold remark with her and abruptly left.

The prowler couldn’t reach quickly enough through the room in that moment to sense what she’d been told but his imagination filled in the blanks.

Oh, their beauty. His hair, her lipstick. The way he positioned himself as he had his final say, the practised masculinity. Their beauty was equal parts miraculous and painful. The spontaneity of his shift, bringing whatever foisted notions that had held them together crashing against the intractable reef of his self-absorption.

The gratitude he felt bearing witness to her unravelling unawares, the blue-white glow like blood draining from her face as she checked her phone, pretending she was supposed to be alone all this time, her ploy serenaded by the laughter chaos music while processing the shame of her abandonment. He witnessed the pain absorbed through her skin; pretending not to feel discarded while the foundation of her self-worth collapsed on itself. And at a given moment the prowler could send a signal out. Send out a little hook. It was easier with only her to target, especially after what had transpired. Who knows where she might go, right? Feeling dejected? Falling into the arms of another. Falling into the comfort of anything so long as she didn’t have to see herself as the victim, as the not-enough person.

The beauty of children like her, he thought, was in these moments of unsuspecting collisions between green-barked naivety and the natural world’s prescient sawtooths.

Without saying a word he turned and a bartender approached him before pausing, then grabbed a tumbler, dropped two ice cubes into it, poured a shot of Jameson and set it on a tray, instructing a server that it was for Table 7, where the poor girl stood. The prowler sat quietly while this was all happening, sending his feelers out toward her unsuspecting. That was the fun about it. That’s what was delicious for him. The clarity. The server approached and set the tumbler upon a napkin on the high top next to where she was standing, shell-shocked.

Look at me.

All it takes, he thought, is one of life’s cruel little moments to pull the foundation out from under you. And while someone’s on the cusp of that destruction, capturing their ripened essence was irresistible. His feelers reached her, and like outstretched fingers he felt them caress her. She raised her head, appearing confused. And why wouldn’t she? She’d been humiliated, and desperate to make herself invisible to the world, only to have a drink appear on the table next to her. And all and all and all she had to do was turn to her left. Turn to your left. That’s it. You luscious thing.

Look at me.