If Nicole Gracie Rossum was still deepening her debt in the throes of education, she would have spent what would forever be known as “that night” rereading the same few paragraphs on social phenomena and not understanding a single syllable of any of it. In a cramped little dorm room at a wooden desk too many days past its retirement date, she would have been contemplating her life and what she was doing with it. Sure, she would be toting a glorious paper framed in a cheap Target-bought frame that declared Nick graduated… but in a field leading her nowhere but to a comfy little cubicle job most likely not at all dealing with a single lick of what she studied.
Or letting her flesh meld with the cracked leather of the sofa. Nick wasn’t picky.
The pressure, the stress, the overwhelming and undying questioning all became too much. It made her anxious, releasing flurries of butterflies in her chest that made her heart spasm and made her throat swell; she became prone to breaking down into fits of sobs and a swallowing bout of depression. The future terrified her, made her want to curl up, sleep, and forget it still needed to happen. She didn’t know what she was doing or what she wanted to be doing. Tears were shed too often; her face lost weight and color, looking gaunt and drained. But her stomach found them and couldn’t look more jovial in its unhealthy happiness. Lectures and tutorials were better spent doodling and trying to send telepathic messages to everyone around her – ‘cough if you can hear me… now. Okay, cough… now. Nnnnnnow. Now!’ It never worked, and yet still she kept trying. Anything to distract herself from the important tasks at hand – which she was very well aware was a horrible work ethic. Those moments of genuine excuses as to why she couldn’t get around to finishing assignments, essays and chapter readings were what she lived for. Anything to postpone grown-up responsibility.
Time flew by before she knew it. Almost two months seamlessly gone. She lost friends and gained new ones – mostly in the form of cheap vodka and rum. She lost respect from professors and TA’s when she secured a reputation for failing to hand in assignments or attend lessons. She lost interest in the daily things that kept her going and discovered she could move her eyebrows to the beat of “Stayin’ Alive” when the blue hue of her laptop monitor burned neon stains into her retina late every night. Life had reached a stalemate, and Nick wasn’t fully sure she wanted to force her way forward and hope for the best. Because going forward was what made her witness the way the sky changed from a deep purple to streaks of dusty gold and gray bi-weekly when sleep just couldn’t engulf her, and there was nothing beautiful about it.
And she had been feeling that way since the first moment she stepped foot on campus, three years prior. She was restless, crumbly and ready to loathe herself. She didn’t like herself like that.
Everything, all wrapped in a pretty bow of anxiety and fear, was why Nick decided it was time to “take a break”. Too long she spent with shouldering a life she would’ve tossed aside had she had the bravery to. For the time being it was only a semester; she planned to stay at home, recollect herself and actually map out the rest of her education to get a better idea of what makes sense and what is entirely foolish.
There lurked a little pessimistic devil in the back of her mind, whispering beautiful words of advice on dropping out and working in retail. She hushed it, sticking to the “one semester off” rule, but secretly listened to it when she let her mind wander.
There would always be time to settles on things later, she told herself on the trip home.
There was always time.
~*~
It had been four days since Nick first replanted the fine outline of her body in the old, stained mattress in what was her old bedroom. It was where she stayed every summer, amongst the mildewed boxes and fake Christmas tree that spluttered out plumes of glitter every time Nick bumped its bristly, plastic arms. Nick hated those flashy festivities, the kind where garland and seasonal pastries and obscurely scented candles were vomited over everything. Nothing smelled worse than burning “First Snowfall” and “Thanksgiving Dinner” candle combos. Pumpkin spiced-everything had been circling the city for a while now. It was dreadful.
Speaking of pumpkin, the faint scent of pumpkin pie baking in the oven wafted in through the open door, and for just a second Nick let herself draw in a heavy breath of the stuff. How her nostrils reveled in that orange goodness…
“Woah, mama… forgive me Lord, for this girl will sin hard later,” Nick muttered. Mental images of whipped cream-covered pie waltzed to the forefront of her mind. There was no doubt that Nick was the embodiment of gluttony. If it was edible, it would be eaten. Even if it wasn’t edible… it could still be tried – for science.
So maybe she didn’t hate pumpkin-everything, which was quickly proven as she couldn’t resist following the invisible scent trails to the kitchen, her nose held high in the air and getting high off the fumes. Her mother sat at the table, clicking her tongue and sighing as her meaty fingers tried poorly to compose a text message. It was adorable, watching Ma work a flip phone. Nick never offered to help. It was more entertaining to watch the robust woman learn about technology.
No one even used flip phones anymore. It was pure precious nostalgia.
“Where’s everyone at?” Nick asked. Grapes were left out in a bowl on the island countertop. Green, with their bottoms browning. Nick popped one into her mouth and took a bite – paused, slowly stuck out her tongue and let the grape roll into her palm. She pretended the light trickle of blood she suddenly tasted was entirely because of an open sore. Exactly that and nothing else.
“Out,” Ma answered after too long of a pause. Little beeps filled the empty stretches of silence as she continued to try and text.
“Well now, don’t dump that speech on me all at once,” Nick murmured.
It was never that Nick expected a classy whore hidden in a cake to greet her at her homecoming, but a little more excitement, support and enthusiasm would have been appreciated. Instead, Nick had gotten into several arguments with Ma since returning home; Robby hadn’t come around home since his last girlfriend coerced him into moving in “full-time this time!”; and Rick spent every waking moment just asking for someone to deck him square in that pretty little lady’s jaw of his. Ted, Nick’s oldest brother, was the only one who conjured up a minute effort to make Nick feel at home.
He bought her chocolate and gave her a box of Morning After pills, sternly saying: “tell me who he is and I’ll wreck him.”
Apparently he misunderstood Nick when she said she had put on a lot of weight, was feeling stressed and sick “just one semester in”.
No one ever corrected him and said he was thinking of “trimester”. It was funnier that way.
Leaning on the countertop with her hand twisted around so it faced her gut, Nick made clicks and pops with her tongue in the form of some beat she liked to think was catchy. Ma looked up at her, one eyebrow arched, wordlessly commanding Nick to stop.
“So I heard your friend Allison’s got a job down at that insurance company,” Ma said with a high, sweet lilt in her voice. “Maybe you oughta go by and –”
“Ma, I haven’t talked to Al in years. Don’t even remember what she looked like,” Nick sighed. She waved her hands above her head, collapsed into the chair with a dramatic huff. From the second Nick walked in through the door, Ma bombarded her with “suggestions” on how Nick could bounce back from what her mom perceived as dropping out.
Ma leaned back, her eyes gazing up at the ceiling in a zoned-out flashback. “She was the blonde girl, sorta round in the face, a little loud,” Ma said.
“Nah, that was Amber. Al was the one with the flappy rack,” Nick said. Her mother gasped and swatted a hand at her daughter, lips pursed together in disgust and disappointment.
“Well, it’s true! It was like she breastfed a whole nation.”
“Now you know I don’t like that talk in my home, and I think you oughta go to your room,” Ma snapped. She shook her head, muttered something to herself. Later she would ask Nick if she’d been praying nightly – Nick could already her mother’s eyes flicking to the side where the bible with the cracked spine sat waiting to be used for a guilt trip.
“For Christ’s sake, Ma, I’m a grown woman. When you gonna stop talking to me like that?” Nick pleaded, a little too whiney for her liking.
“When you start acting like one.”
“Ma, don’t give me that. You know I’m trying my best,”
“Well… you don’t always,” Ma quietly retorted. Barbara “Ma” Rossum, always the woman to demand respect and always serve it cold. It was a jibe at Nick returning home; she knew it. A low blow, entirely expected. It was enough to silence Nick and feel a pang in her gut.
Ma didn’t understand Nick’s insistence to return home. She belonged to the generation that believed anxiety was make-belief. Ma believed if you wanted to succeed at life, you had to try. And Nick collapsing beneath that anxiety meant she didn’t want to try. It was taboo in the Rossum household, and Nick was bringing up things that shouldn’t be spoken of. Ma loved Nick greatly, there was no doubt about that. But Ma didn’t love being confused or wrong. Nick’s anxiety was confusing and wrong.
At that moment, their would-be fight was interrupted by the heavy bass of Nick’s ringtone butting in for a musical break. Sliding it from her pocket, Nick saw Ted’s name and number.
“… yo, I swear, it’s the same chick you like from that show!” Ted proclaimed.
“What show?”
“That show with the guys who do that cop shit!”
“Teddy, if you’re lying out your ass right now…” Thankfully Ma left the room, missing out on the opportunity to scold her for that beautiful word.
“Swear to God, Nick, it’s that girl with the forehead.”
It was all Nick needed to hear. Within moments, her shoes, sweater and scarf were on and she was bounding out the door, down the steps and feeling like an eagle honing in on the finest prey it could ever ask for.
~*~
And maybe Nick got a little too tipsy after losing track of the best over-the-top TV actress. The family used to watch the crime drama show, and Nick and Ted just couldn’t get enough of the actress’s poor attempt at being serious. They spent every episode laughing over her, creating legions of inside jokes over her. Meeting her would have been a dream-come-true.
It didn’t last; the woman left, but Nick stayed. With her in tow, Ted med up with a group of friends and bar-hopping ensued late into the night. Somehow, Ted and the boys – who Nick had great conversations with – left Nick behind with the girls of the pack. There were no common interests – they all clothes talk, gossip and boy hots, and Nick more about zombie survival plans and explaining the complexity of Redstone in Minecraft. It was no surprise that the girls, with their nicely done makeup and fine hair, saw Nick as a tagalong pariah. It didn’t help that Nick kept trying to insert witty comments long after they stopped acknowledging her.
It was way past two in the morning when the bar closed and they were asked to leave. Stacy, the nicer girl, offered to drive Nick home. Nick was drunk; she shouldn’t have believed herself when she said she was fine to walk. It was only a few blocks away anyhow, said the at-bliss half of her mind. And the girls were not that keen on bringing Nick around. Perfect for both sides.
That was how she found herself strolling through a park, hands thrust in her pockets, a wily smile on her face as she got stuck in a rut of introspective admiration. The world might not want her to carry on strong down the path she couldn’t pave in one day, and she was okay with that. Ma might be on her back about it, but Nick knew she would come around. And she, too, would be okay with that. It would take time to feel like her place in the world was written in stone and she could marvel at the cursive loops her name in that glistening marble plaque. It wouldn’t be right now; it may never be “right now”.
And she was okay with that.
Alcohol always did help bring out the consoling, bullshitting philosopher in her.
In the morning when she sobered up and remembered who she was and where she was at, all of that would mean absolutely nothing.
The sketchiness of a man lurking just beyond the pathway made Nick’s heart pick up pace, her gait reflecting that urgency to not stop. Was she afraid to be out so late at night by herself? Yes. It wasn’t a smart move, and she kicked herself for being a dummy. She fished out her phone from her pocket and began to haphazardly scroll down the contact list, looking for Ted’s number when a collection of voices hummed just ahead like jittery white noise steadily growing louder. More excited.
Nick glanced up and saw a group of people standing in the tennis courts before someone her mind couldn’t process, their shadows stretching long across the ground. They all faced that one person, and that person didn’t look right – something was off. Squinting her eyes with her head cocked to the side, Nick watched from afar. The figure spoke, a voice like a human but not like how humans speak.
And then the flash of green and yellow emerged from beneath the shawl she cast aside, and Nick let out a snort and an amused laugh. Nick was no stranger to LARPing, but even this was a little corny.
The people ahead visibly gasped and their interest swelled. It increased exponentially when –
The blood rushed from Nick’s face and fell heavy into her stomach; it was that feeling of sinking disbelief. She may have lost control of her bowels for a second, but the chokehold of the booze was too mighty to let her notice. It left her mind too hazy to really concentrate on what looked like a spacecraft appearing from between the trees it bent. Nick may have stopped breathing when she saw it; her heart may have stopped beating. All she could do was stare at it like a deer in the headlights.
The people began to move towards it, and the orange and yellow woman suddenly looked less like a cosplayer and more like something Nick had mixed emotions about. Terror, confusion, intrigue, giddiness. But she felt drawn to it. To the woman, to the ship, to the people who were awestruck by the magic of the scene. And foolishly, Nick stepped out from where she stood, let her drunken feet rediscover coordination and bring her closer. She had to get closer, to see it for herself. There weren’t a lot of thoughts in her head then. At no point did she consider running for her life or film it for evidence. Like any rubber-necking human would do, Nick let the curiosity embrace her whole.
When she got close enough that she was just beyond the outer layer of the group of people gathered around, she listened to the multi-colored woman speak. It made Nick feel comfy, like bubble wrap enveloped her. Nick was a happy drunk, and this woman made Nick giggle.
Nick wondered if it was a dream she found herself in. She was too drunk to tell, or else believed she was too drunk to want to listen to reason. The colorful woman had a nice, airy allure to her that Nick found entertaining. So when she beckoned the group forward, Nick didn’t hesitate. It could’ve been the naïve sense of adventure churning in the pit of her belly; it could’ve been idiocy brought on by the alcohol still making her feel like she could float when, really, she hit the ground too hard. Whatever it was… she knew, as she treaded on the heels of the group pushing forward, that this moment would be a go-to party tale of “that night”.
Festive