Dostoyevsky wrote that man can find meaning wherever he looks for it. We can make any situation into whatever it is we desire it to be.
Still, you know, the thing is, with this girl, I really don’t want the situation to be anything.
At least, I don’t think I do.
So the girl prays over me.
I don’t close my eyes. I just stare, sort of out of focus, at the ugly, frayed carpeting.
She puts her hand on my shoulder and begins to speak out loud—asking God to be with us—to show us his heart for us, whatever that means.
And then this crazy rush of energy comes like an electrical storm running through me. My breathing comes on me in great gasps, and I feel like the two of us are just floating here—her and me—me and her. It’s like the world has faded out, leaving only her, this girl, ripped wide open, transparent, with light and energy and the most beautiful, shimmering voice speaking out of her core to me. I feel love and awe for her like I’ve never experienced in my whole life.
When I look up into the pale blue of her eyes, she seems almost as shocked as I am. My hands tremble.
“Do you feel that?” I ask, stupidly, I guess.
She nods, speechless, staring into my eyes. I swear it’s everything I can do not to lean over and just kiss her mouth or hold her pressed against me.
We both just radiate out to each other, and I feel her all over me—like her skin is covering mine, and I know in that instant, I know that I love her. I can’t help it. She’s like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, or felt, or been in the goddamn presence of. We move closer and closer together. There are tears burning my eyes.
I mean, what the fuck is happening?
I almost can’t take it—the intensity is cutting into the very center of me.
I gasp, feeling her warmth and the pressure of her hand on me.
And then, suddenly, she jerks away.
Someone’s calling her.
“Fallon, Fallon, it’s time to go.”
She looks shaken, and then she turns to face me again, and we both just start laughing and laughing so uncontrollably—like little children.
There’s really nothing I can do.
Just sort of instinctively, I reach into my bag, handing over a copy of my book—the last one I have.
“Look,” I say, “I wrote this. I mean, this is my life. You don’t have to read it or anything. But, uh, I feel like I have to give it to you.”
And then I write my e-mail address on the front page, only I can barely make it legible—my hands are shaking so goddamn badly.
“Hey,” I tell her, my voice shaking along with my hands. “Write me if you want. I’m Nic, by the way.”
Her eyes shine. “I’m Fallon.”
She sprints away, obscured by the crowd.
I can’t even watch her leave.
When I take my seat on the airplane, I fall instantly into this deep, almost delirious, sleep. I dream of Fallon. She is inside me. She is with me the entire flight.
I have to hurry to make my connecting plane to Charleston, so I run across the airport without checking to see if she was connecting through the same airport.
But she is with me.
I can’t shake her.
I don’t even try.
Ch.31
I’d actually forgotten about the summer internship Sue Ellen applied for—mostly because I never really thought she had a shot at being selected for it. I mean, the woman she was trying to get the internship with is this super big-time artist—and really is one of Sue Ellen’s idols and major influences. The woman’s studio is in LA, of all places, and, uh, yeah, like I said, Sue Ellen kind of just applied on a whim, you know? Like, why the hell not?
But she got it. She actually got it.
Christ, it’s practically her dream job.
In some ways I still can’t believe it—and I don’t think Sue Ellen can, either. I’d been back in Charleston only, like, three days when she got the phone call from the artist’s assistant saying they wanted Sue Ellen out in LA by the following Monday. So, uh, yeah we’ve basically been driving for three days straight across the whole damn country.
Thankfully, Sue Ellen’s mom was able to rent us a little apartment in Mar Vista that allows dogs, since, of course, we brought Tallulah along. The whole internship is supposed to last three months, so it really is like we’re moving here for a while.
Honestly, everything happened so fast and crazy I haven’t had a lot of time to process coming back to LA and all. Plus, I pretty much drove the whole way myself, so I had to stay good and stoned as much as possible—which was, more or less, the entire time.
But now we’re here. I mean, trying to set shit up as best we can in our new, temporary, tin can–sized apartment kind of near the beach in Mar Vista.
So far everything has just been bleeding out like ink running down wet paper—the hot summer drive, the dingy motel rooms, the rest stops and diners and whatever else. But now, back in Los Angeles, the blur of the road has transformed into a hyperfocused, high-definition reality. And I remember everything. I mean, besides the last year and a half in Charleston, I’ve basically been living here in LA since I was about nineteen or twenty—so that’s, like, five years. Not to mention coming here when I was little to visit my mom over the summer and for holidays and whatever. I know this city—the back roads and secret little parks and cafés and theaters—all the places Zelda and I went together and all the places that remind me of her.
Because that’s what this city really means to me. Zelda. She’s still with me. Despite all this time with Sue Ellen. Despite that weird faith-healing, religious cult girl. Zelda is my one, you know?
