And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 7: I Didn't Want To Spoil The Party

Ryan's words hung like smoke in an airless room. They floated around, like the lyrics of Tomorrow Never Knows, enveloping my senses. "Cora, this is Jane. Jane Asher." I stared at this supposed Jane, holding Marty's glass in one hand, then set it down on the counter where it resonated with a thunk. I noticed my hands were shaking.

I wanted to touch her face, to see if she was real. She looked real enough. She had the same cute face as I had seen online when I wanted to see who this girl of Paul's was. Her auburn hair was even redder in real life, and I could see her usual toothy smile replaced by a confused frown and a possessive hold on Ryan's arm, her fingers digging into his skin unconsciously. Blimey, this was Jane. My gaze travelled to her feet; she was wearing a pair of black booties and the top of her head only barely came to Ryan's mid arm. A confused glance passed from her to Ryan, who ignored it, and back to me, and it turned into a suspicious stare. And then, to my absolute horror, my mouth seemed to move on its own, and I heard myself ask, "Are you real?"

"Cora, Jane is real, as real as John is, and Jane, don't mind her, she's just consumed a mind altering substance." Ryan's glance bounced from me to the now empty plate of brownies on the countertop to me again and he suppressed a grin.

"This isn't bloody funny, bugger," I heard myself say.

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Okay, Cora. Sorry about that. I was going to stop you, but you just stuffed them in your mouth. Go find Danny. He knows what to do."

I began to panic. I had never smoked before, and now here I was, having consumed a few pot brownies involuntarily. "Ryan, tell me, what's happening to me right now. Am I in any danger?" A laugh escaped the corners of my mouth. Suddenly Jane was hilarious and Ryan was even more funny. I laughed and sank down towards the sink, hitting my head on the ledge.

Jane looked confused. "Ryan, let's go," she said, tugging at his arm like a small cat. Ryan shook his head faintly. "She's never been high before. Where are my manners?" he said, smiling slightly. "Jane, Cora is in my class at school. She's not usually like this. Do you know what skunk is? I don't think they had it in the early sixties."

"Ryan... forget Danny. I just want a little kip," I mumbled, my eyes closing.

***

I got my kip, in the end. Blinking sleep out of my eyes, I found myself with my head on someone's lap, feeling the rough scratch of denim beneath my cheek. We were in a dark room; the sounds of the party were still there but my mind struggled to get my bearings. My thoughts jumbled together to form a memory: a few days ago, late afternoon, sunlight fading through the curtains. The telly going off. "Do you believe in an afterlife?" I had suddenly asked John after a commercial about life insurance came up. The question had just popped out of my mouth. It had been bouncing around in my brain in the past few days, related to the inevitable fact that I knew John was going to die in 1980.

He looked at me. "Cora, I hope there's an afterlife."

"Blimey, me too," I said quietly. The noises of the telly were drowned out by his next words. "I think there is. I mean, when we die, we don't just die, right? There has to be something after. That's why I don't believe in evolution—how could there have been a transformation from a bug into a fish into a monkey?" I thought I could feel him staring me down. "Why do you ask?"

But I wasn't there, among sunlit afternoons. I tried to speak; a croak came out: "John?"

I opened my right eye. Someone was snickering softly. The party was still happening; I could see faint slivers of bright lights and red solo cups, with noise fading in and out, folded in like one folds flour into a cake mix. "Where's John?"