In terms of Zelda, well, it’s pretty obvious nothing’s gonna come out of our seeing each other. I mean, as much as I’d want us to be together again like we were, I recognize that the way we were was pretty fucked up. And it doesn’t seem possible to build something brand-new together after everything that’s happened. I’d say too much damage’s been done on both sides. But still, thinking about her, I feel this, like, racing crazy energy inside me, making my heart beat fast, like I’m on speed or something. Actually, I’d say that’s pretty much the way I’ve been feeling in general. And, you know, while I do get like this sometimes—kind of hyped up and frantic inside, so I can’t sleep at night and I just have to, like, go, go, go constantly—for some reason right now it feels like a hundred times worse.
I mean, like I said, not only am I talking to Zelda again but I’ve also been talking to that religious girl a whole lot—you know, more ’n’ more every day.
At first it was just e-mails—the two of us writing back and forth. She said she’d been thinking about me the whole time she was in Nicaragua, and she’d finished my book, and she wrote me all about her time doing all that faith-healing stuff in the little villages there. Her writing was so effortless and whatever. It was like I could feel her with me through her words.
I learned about her childhood.
I learned about her life, you know, just day to day.
And the more I’ve learned, I mean, fuck, the more I’ve come to care about her. There’s something so mysterious and seductive behind every word she writes to me.
In terms of all the crazy religious stuff—well, somehow I’ve managed to pretty much dismiss all that. I guess I’ve always been pretty good at compartmentalizing. Her religious babble is filed away in a place where it will be lost and forgotten. My head just discounts it all, somehow. I know there’s nothing to it, and I’m not gonna hold that against her. The whole story is too perfect—her approaching me in the airport—the crazy, visceral attraction we both had for each other instantly. I can’t just abandon it over a few e-mail references to Holy Ghost power or whatever.
Anyway, it was only a couple days ago that she gave me her phone number. After all we’d been through, it seemed sort of stupid that I was so nervous to call her. Maybe part of me was terrified that our connection wouldn’t really exist if we were actually talking to each other.
Maybe part of me was terrified that it still would.
But her voice came through to me like the sweetest, most calming, positive, alive, beautiful, hopeful thing I’d ever heard.
It filled my whole body with heat and tingling and this intense fucking longing.
And then, on the phone, our voices echoing back and forth, I could suddenly feel her presence there next to me. She giggled and breathed, and I breathed, and we breathed together. And we had this love going back and forth. And it made no sense. And I couldn’t explain it. And it scared the shit outta me. But it was. I mean, it was as real as anything.
Or, at least, that’s how it felt.
And feels.
Now, of course, I can’t talk about this shit with anyone. I mean, I know how fucked up this is—how crazy I’m acting—and what a shit I’m being to Sue Ellen. But it’s almost as if I’m being controlled by some overpowering force outside myself—like invisible strings are manipulating my every thought and movement. There’s a voice, something living in my head, commanding me in ways I still don’t fully understand.
I mean, come on, how could this all be a coincidence? How could this just be some accident—some random whatever?
It can’t be. There’s no way. My book comes out, Sue Ellen gets this internship, we come to LA, Zelda contacts me, I meet this girl. Everything’s working out exactly perfectly. It’s all coming together. Life is beautiful. I feel beautiful.
Tallulah and I take a walk around Venice. She’s getting better about not trying to bite everyone we pass. I’ve actually been making an effort to walk her through the most crowded areas, like down off the bike path where all the merchants and head shops are set up, walking her through the mass of tourists and street kids and performers and whoever, trying to get her used to being around people. We walk together for hours—through the day and the night and the day again.
I can’t sleep anymore.
I don’t need to sleep.
I walk with Tallulah.
And I talk on the phone. I talk to Fallon. All day and all night and all day again. Sue Ellen doesn’t know.
I’m out walking with Tallulah.
I dial her number.
She answers on the third ring, her voice coming through sweet and beautiful. Lovely.
“I missed you,” she says. “I know that’s crazy, but I missed you. I want you to come be here with me. I want to just lie down next to you, that’s all—just to be in your presence.”
“I know,” I say, softly—walking without sight or touch or hearing—that is, other than her gentle voice—her breathing. “I want to be with you, too. It feels like I’m
