Before I WAKE: A Becoming LUNA Novel

3

The first night in Mimi’s house was quiet. Too quiet. I decided to put off unpacking my clothes until the morning, but when I laid my head on the pillow, I couldn’t hear anything. The silence invited all the thoughts in my head to start talking, softly at first but before long, their voices had turned into a dull roar. I couldn’t take it so I crawled out of bed, flipped on my lamp and started unpacking.

At home, my closet had been completely disorganized. Pants mixed between dresses, shirts sandwiched between jackets— I could never find anything. I decided that a fresh start called for fresh habits and from now on, my clothes would be more organized. Of course, I’d made that promise to myself at least a hundred times before. But, in the spirit of new beginnings, I hung my clothes in the closet according to type and color.

 I had to admit I was a little impressed with myself afterward and I could immediately understand why people could be so particular about their closets. “Now, let’s see how long it lasts,” I said to myself.

           It was almost two a.m. by the time I finished the closet and dresser, but I was just getting my second wind. And the quiet of the house certainly hadn’t dissipated. So, I moved on to my bookshelves. I had been in the habit of keeping my books in a particular order, namely, alphabetized by author. But I had no idea which boxes contained which sections of the alphabet so putting the shelves in order was going to be a challenge. It always made me feel a little bit like a librarian. Like all I needed was the Dewey Decimal System and I’d be set. Although it took some finagling since the shelves at Mimi’s were obviously different lengths than my ones at home, eventually I got all the boxes emptied and all the books in their rightful new homes. 

           Then I decided I needed to find and hang my posters. My favorite was one my mom had had framed for me. It was a photo montage of the escalators of Chicago’s Water Tower juxtaposed with a guy with a briefcase who was walking through the waves of the ocean toward the escalators. Beneath the image it read, “I am a pilgrim on the edge/On the edge of my perception/We are travelers at the edge/We are always at the edge of our perceptions.” It struck me as odd, disturbing and comforting all at the same time. It should hang by my desk but since I didn’t have a hammer or nail, and even if I had I wouldn’t have wanted to wake my grandma by banging on her wall at four in the morning, I just propped the frame against the wall where I wanted it to go. I decided to hang my vintage Smiths “Shoplifters of the World Unite” poster on the wall by my closet. The headboard on the bed was too cool to detract from.

           I sat on the bed to admire my work. The room was starting to look like my space, like a place I would actually belonged instead of a guest room. I opened the door to my own little balcony and felt the coolness of the night air as it kissed my now flushed face. It smelled clean, like rain and pine trees. The balcony probably needed a chair or two, but I decided it would be better to check it out by the light of day, since I wasn’t really sure how secure the railing was. I went back inside and curled up in bed, ready to drift off to sleep just as the birds started to welcome the dawn with their tunes. Finally, the silence was broken and the noises in my own head were drowned out.

           A few hours later I woke to the smell of coffee and bacon. I grabbed my robe and slippers and headed downstairs to find Mimi and her coffee mug sitting out on the back porch, which was less like a porch and more like a veranda in the treetops. She folded her newspaper and squinted up at me. “You were up late,” she said.

I grabbed a piece of toast from the platter on the table and nibbled it as I sat down. “Oh, sorry. Could you hear me?”

“No. I just saw the light on under your door.”

“I couldn’t sleep so I started organizing my stuff and setting up the guest room,” I said.

“You mean your room,” she corrected.

“My room,” I repeated. I felt hot tears welling up in the back of my eyes. I looked away so Mimi wouldn’t see. I don’t know why I was crying. Maybe it was the craziness of the past two weeks, the lack of sleep, the move, the beautiful house and a place to belong, or, conversely, the realization that I was officially and suddenly and starkly alone in the world. Or probably it was some combination of all those things and then some.

“Vi, are you crying?” Mimi asked.

“No,” I said.

“You’re not a very good liar.”

“I know.” I looked down at the newspaper on the table.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” I said. “I’m just tired. Exhausted, really.”

“Here, take part of the paper and I’ll go get you some coffee. Lord knows you need it today.”

“Yeah, coffee would be great.”

“Black?”

“You know it.”

Mimi went inside and left me alone on the porch. I flipped through the section of the paper, the Weber Grove Gazette. I was hoping to find news about the old man we’d seen on the street and whether or not he’d recovered. But there was no mention of him. There was an article about a zoning dispute between the city and a local business owner, area high school sports scores and highlights, and some local political coverage, apparently the mayor was in hot water for having a personal relationship with a city contractor. But nothing of the old man and his fate. In my head, I decided that the EMTs had revived and stabilized him, and got him to the hospital where he was expected to make a full recovery. After all, I’d seen him open his eyes. And that little dance he’d don? That had to have been a good sign.

 I turned to the crossword and started filling it in. My mom and I used to spend Sunday afternoons with the New York Times crossword. When she got sick, I bought her an entire book of them. We got about halfway through before she died.

Mimi returned with a cup of coffee and the cordless phone. “There was a message on the machine for you from last night,” she said.

“For me?” Who the heck would be calling Mimi’s looking for me?

“It was Josh from the Blue Cat Café.”

“The what?” Who?

“A local coffee shop downtown. I may have pulled a few strings and put in an application for you when I heard they were hiring.”

“A coffee shop?” Mimi knew me too well.

“All the young people seem to hang out there and I thought it might be a good way for you to make some money, stay out of trouble and maybe even meet some people.” She elbowed me. “Make some friends?”

I ran my finger along the rim of my coffee mug. “All good things, I guess.”

“Well, they must be desperate because Josh wants you to call him back ASAP to set up an interview.” She handed me the phone.

“Now?”

“No time like the present, right?” She handed me a piece of scrap paper in with a scribbled telephone number. I picked up the phone and dialed the first six numbers then hung up.

“What’s wrong?” Mimi asked.

“I don’t know. I have this habit— fear maybe? – of cold calling people. Especially people I want something from.”

“But it’s not a cold-call, Vida. He called you first.”

“I know. It’s stupid.” It was stupid. I always dialed the first few numbers then hung up, pressed redial and tried to muster the courage to press that last number so the call could go through. It usually took me at least three tries before I’d finally hear the ringing on the other end.

“Well, I’m right here for moral support,” Mimi said. She winked at me.

I took a deep breath, pressed redial and punched the last number. Five. It occurred to me that it was possible that the cafe wasn’t even open yet, since it was only eight thirty. Of course, being a coffee shop it probably opened at six or something so all those early birds could get their caffeine fixes. Before I could even finish the thought, a voice squeaked on the other end. “It’s a great day for coffee at the Blue Cat Café, how can I help you?” she asked.

           It turned out my interview at the Cat was a lot like my experience with the YMCA had been, where the sports director asked me if I wanted it, I said yes and that was it. Josh asked me a few questions about myself, showed me around the café and had me tell him which evenings I would prefer and when I could start. I didn’t even get to deliver the lines I’d rehearsed. Like, “Thank you very much for your time and I look forward to hearing from you,” is what I planned to say. What I actually said was, “Great. I’ll see you Wednesday,” as Josh asked me to come in for my first training session. He told me I’d be shadowing the other baristas on duty and learning how to pull shots, which sounded like a cool skill to have. I had no idea you pulled them. I thought you pressed a button and voila! Espresso.

           But, before I could get to Wednesday afternoon, I had to make it through Monday and classes at my new school, a satellite campus of the University of Colorado. Mostly commuters, just like back home. But unlike back home, classes here had only been in session for 2 weeks so I would be behind but not terribly. And apparently Mimi and the Dean’s wife play Bridge together which was how she got them to make some exceptions for my extenuating circumstances. “I’d hate for you to lose an entire semester’s time,” she’d said.

           I wasn’t too concerned about fitting in since I never really fit it at my old school, either. Or high school, for that matter. I had a few friends, but my standard M.O. was to keep to myself and focus on my grades. It’s not like I went out of my way to be anti-social; it’s just that unlike most everyone else, I actually got along with my mom and liked to spend time with her and didn’t see the point in pretending otherwise. After my dad left, I became the Robin to her Batman. Even the other kids I knew whose parents were divorced hadn’t quite experienced what we had. Most had parents who’d remained at least halfway civil to each other. But absolutely no one else I knew had been abandoned by one parent who then got mixed up in drugs and died of an overdose in his dealer’s closet.

So yeah, I guess you could say my perspective was a little bit different.

           I parked the car— according to Mimi, my car—where Mimi had instructed me to and entered the exact doors she’d showed me. I tried to follow the path she’d described, but I ended up so completely lost. I found a teacher standing outside his door and stopped to ask him for directions. He laughed and explained that the campus was laid out like a horseshoe. “A five-building horseshoe,” he said. “And in the middle are the library and the union which is a catch-all for administration, too. The departments each have their own building. If you can remember that, you’ll be golden.”

           I found the registrar’s office and waited in line while a woman behind the front desk sorted the students. Some were supposed to be meeting with the assistant dean, some were waiting on course add-drops and one other kid, like me, was apparently a transfer. The woman behind the desk called us back together. “George Stevens and Vida Maxwell?” she called, mispronouncing my name a Vee-da instead of V-eye-da. “Follow me."

           She led us through a labyrinth of desks and cubicles to another alcove waiting area near some mailboxes. “Take a seat here and Mr. Everhart will be right with you.”

           I sat down but George stayed standing. Too cool for school? I wanted to ask, but didn’t.

           A few moments later a stout, balding man with squinty eyes that were too wide set poked his head out of the office. “Come on back. I’ve got both of your schedules pulled up so we can make sure we’re on track.”

           George was taking art history, music theory, Biology and an English elective. He grabbed his schedule without a word and left the office. Mr. Everheart turned to me. “Now, Vida. I see you’ve got Chemistry, English and Biology plus labs. That is quite a course load already but we need to get you into one more one-hour class. An elective, probably, for your sanity’s sake. How do you feel about choir?”

           “I sound like a dying cow when I sing,” I said. It was true. I loved music but was incapable of singing it.

           “I see.” He scratched his chin.

           “How about art?” I asked. I’d never taken an art class and under ordinary circumstances, wouldn’t waste time on it. But these weren’t ordinary circumstances. And besides, I wanted a full load.

           “Art. Fantastic,” he looked at the computer. “Pottery or painting fit into your schedule. Pick your poison.”

           “Uh, pottery, I guess.”

           “Pottery it is,” with a few strokes of the keys, he was printing out my schedule. He handed it to me. “Here you go. Good luck and if you need anything, my door is always open. Except when it’s not. Then you just wait and I will open it soon.” I smiled politely and thanked him before finding my way to my first class: Biology.

           As it turned out, the science building was the newest addition to the campus and therefore not part of the directions I’d received first thing that morning (it was outside of the “horseshoe”). But I figured it out soon enough and made it through the rest of morning just fine.

I made my way back to the union for my lunch break and was disappointed to see the dining hall in the union was less of a cozy student space and more reminiscent of a high school cafeteria. A nice one, but nonetheless sea of round tables under a fluorescent sky. Awesome.

           I found an empty one along the wall, next to a crowd of students who were clearly academic types. They were studying notecards, pausing only occasionally to take bites from their sandwiches. I opened a book, fully prepared to spend lunch quietly by myself. But before I could turn the page, I looked up to find another girl sitting across from me. I didn’t even have the chance to say anything before she thrust her hand out. “I’m Sylvia,” she said. “Hope it’s okay if I sit here.”

           “I guess I don’t mind,” I said, doing my best not to seem annoyed at the interruption.

           “Good. I haven’t seen you around before so I figured you must be new so I wanted to introduce myself,” she said.

           “Are you the official welcome wagon?” I asked. I was afraid the sarcasm was too evident. Also, how would she have noticed one new person in a sea of them?

           She ignored my sarcasm and sat down. “So what classes are you in?” she asked. “I mean, I know you have Bio 200 because I’m in class with you. You probably didn't see me because I sit more toward the back.”

           “Oh, sorry. I didn’t notice,” I said. Evidently, Sylvia had a knack for observation.

“I didn’t expect that you would, it being your first day and all. So what else?”

I rattled off my courses.

“Who do you have for Chem?”

“Peterson.”

“Me too! Sweet,” she said, beaming. She waved over another kid who was walking through the commons. “Sathish! Over here,” she called. “Come meet Vida.”

“Oh, it’s Vi. Just Vi.”

Sathish made a dramatic beeline over to our table. “Ohmygodyouguyswillneverbelievethis,” he said as he set his tray on the table.

“Uh, hi,” I said. “I’m Vi.”

“Vi, this is Sathish Patel,” Sylvia said, mock punching Sathish on the shoulder.

“Ow! Hi, Vi. Okay, so I heard from Jennifer that Tim said that Mary is dating…” he paused, waiting for some kind of reaction. Since I had no idea who Jennifer, Tim or Mary were, he didn’t get anything from me but Sylvia inched forward on her seat.

“Who? Who is it?” she asked. She shoved three Pringles into her mouth and crunched them in anticipation.

“Colton,” he said, splaying his hands out on the table, palms down.

“What? Not possible. Colton is more likely to go for you,” Sylvia said. 

“Really?” Sathish asked. He feigned surprise.

I looked at them both completely dumbfounded, suddenly remembering why I made it a habit to avoid social situations like this.

“Okay, so like us, Mary is a townie—we all went to high school together,” Sylvia said, turning to me. “And Colton is one of the Renascor students.”

“And he’s hot,” Sathish said. “Like, smoking hot. Picture Jamie Foxx but with bigger muscles.”

“Maybe. But he’s not the hottest Renascor student.”

“Oh no?” Sathish said.

“Henry. Definitely, Henry.”

“Really? I think Pete is hotter than Henry, actually.”

“You’re joking.”

“Wait, how do you even know these people?” I asked, almost immediately regretting that I’d engaged their gossip. But I was curious because how could they possibly keep track of a whole college worth of students? Plus, that school was supposedly super exclusive and the students kept mostly to themselves. But here they were carrying on about them as if they were celebrities on magazine covers.

“They’ve started hanging out around town and at the Cat a bit,” Sathish said.

“The Cat is actually the Blue Cat Café, a little coffeehouse downtown,” Sylvia explained.

“Oh, I know the place,” I said. “I work there, actually.”

“Wait, what? You’ve been here all of one day and you have a job at the Cat?” Sathish looked at Sylvia and grinned. 

“Well, officially I start on Wednesday.”

“Shut up! Hello, new bff,” Sylvia said. “I would love to work there, but I probably shouldn’t get a job until this summer.”

“The Cat, huh?” Sathish said. “Lucky girl. All the coffee you can drink and just think of the social implications.”

“Well, that’s where I’ll be on Wednesday evenings and Sunday afternoons,” I said.

“This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Sylvia said. “Speaking of which, do you like to hike? Because I was thinking I could show you around the bluffs. Maybe Saturday morning, if you’re free.”

“If she’s free? Girlfriend doesn’t have any plans, do you?” Sathish said.

“Uh, no actually I don’t,” I said almost immediately wishing that I did. Or at least wishing that I hadn’t just revealed my work schedule to them so I could pretend I had a shift or something.

“Great. Then it’s a date,” she looked at Sathish. “You want to come, too?”

“Please. You know I do not hike.” He laughed. “Plus, I’ve got to visit my brother in Boulder.”

I made it through the rest of my day without issue. And as much as I hated to admit it, it was kind of nice to have a few familiar faces around campus. Sylvia was loud and bubbly and animated and all those things that I was not, but short of being mean to her, she’d made it pretty clear that there was no way to avoid her.

So, I decided to stick with my new beginnings mantra and just let it ride. It might be nice to have a friend or two, after all.