“Most of them, I didn’t even want to see,” Pam says.
“I don’t know,” I mumble. I did see friends over the break, and I was glad to see them. Like rereading a favorite book. Thestory didn’t really move forward, but I enjoyed myself, and saw a few things in a slightly different way.
“Home isn’t home anymore,” Andie says.
I don’t know,I think.I really don’t.
“I always thought home would be where my parents were.” Pam sighs.
“I thought it would be where my friends were,” Margaret says.
“What about you?” I ask Noah. Andie and Pam have started talking about their former friends—who they haven’t seen, who they haven’t wanted to see.
“I’m not sure,” Noah says. “My friends are still here. Not all of them, for sure. But the ones I’ve been best friends with are still my best friends.”
“No ex–best friends?”
“No. Well, at least not that dramatically.”
“Once–best friends?”
“Sure.”
“Do you think you’ll miss your best friends when we go back?”
“Yeah. I mean, we’ll still call each other.”
“Do you wish you were still here with them?”
Noah looks at me strangely. “Sometimes yes and sometimes no?”
What are you doing?I ask myself.
And I ask Noah, “Do you want me to stop cross-examining you? Sorry. Too many questions.” I walk a little slower. Trying to explain will make it worse.You see, sometimes I feel as if I’m crossing a line, but then it’s revealed to be a cliff and I’m falling straight off. Do you know what I mean? Sorry. Sorry sorry sorry.
“It’s alright,” Noah says.
“Alright” makes me think ofpermissibleorallowable. I am not encouraged. I vow to shut up and hope my silence will last more than two minutes.
Noah looks at me and says, “Really.”
Pam stops and announces, “This is my dad’s building.” Andie looks at us and mouths,He owns it.The doorman nods at us as we enter. Pam says she’ll be right back, dragging Andie to a hidden elevator.
The lobby is enormous, probably larger than my house. It is almost all marble, with lamps and tables that seem to have sprung from a Sherlock Holmes movie. Noah and Margaret stop to look at a bona fide gilded mirror. I keep walking, keep walking until I am right in the center of the room. The light is not bright, more of a glow than an illumination. “Echo,” I say, and hear an “echo” back. Margaret and Noah turn to give me a matching pair of curious glances. My arm extends—I wave—there is so much space, all even. I spread my arms out, pull back my head. I let go.
I am an arc. I move my foot around. Barely a sound as I start to spin. I close my eyes and move around and around so I can make the air around me as smooth as the stone. Faster fasterfaster. My feet need to hop to keep me steady. I open my eyes and see Margaret and Noah coming closer. Even though I am spiraling, I see them. Suddenly it doesn’t make any sense. I don’t fall, exactly. I slow to a stop, my feet the first part of me to give up. Then I sit down on the floor, feeling the ground tilt and tilt. I am ready to slide off.
Noah and Margaret are above me now. Noah is looking down at me, and I am so dizzy I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I wonder whether he thinks I’m stupid or out of my mind. Probably both.
“Are you okay?” Margaret asks.
“It felt great ... but now I feel very close to sick.”
Noah holds out a hand to help me up. I shake my head. Not yet.
Breathe in. Breathe out.Things stop turning and melting.
“You know what I wonder?” I say, mostly to the ground. “You have the earth—it keeps turning and turning, but we’re so used to it that it doesn’t matter. I wonder if there is a point that if you twirled long enough, it would all seem normal too.”
