CHAPTER TWO

            The storm had lifted somewhat. The clouds now passed swiftly overhead, their motion visible. They had thinned a bit and were now an anxious, sheetrock gray; the snowflakes had diluted to the point that Karen hardly noticed the ones that did manage to whine their way to the ground, swiftly forgotten in and swallowed up by the lumpy, gravy-esque snow-scape that lay under her feet. She peered across the bus terminal parking lot, two tense fingers sticking up from a weary, half extended hand, moving in drunken circles, trying to get the attention of one of the taxi drivers in front of the terminal. There were two drivers outside, Karen noticed, and three cabs. The two she saw were drinking coffee out of blue cups, talking, one of them leaning on the hood of one of the cabs while the other paced back and forth slowly, probably not realizing, Karen thought, that he kept pacing in and out of the shadow cast by the enormous BUS sign by one of the spotlights in the back of the lot, from where the busses arrived and departed. Karen watched them for a while, wondering what should be done. They continued not to notice her.

            Dawn was looking up at the sky, sort of. She had her arms folded against her chest, her head tilted at a 45-degree angle, looking up at the street signs on the corner. The moon, all gassy and bloated, hung in the sky like a Christmas ornament, balancing, it seemed to Dawn, cradled, right in the empty, snug space between the criss-crossed signs. Its light hummed through the thin cloud screen that drove past it, blurry and discreet, making the moon appear to Dawn somewhat out-of-focus as the outer edges of the hazy aura was projected on the clouds almost blended straight in with the stained white paint trimming the green signs, and the static white falling around her. She imagined a night of no false light, where the only illumination came from the moon that would have split the shadow of the slim, steel street-sign post right down her face, her body. She could almost feel her face, blushing cold, anticipating.  

            Neither one of them noticed the cab until it had made its way up Division Street and had stopped at Dawn’s ankle. The driver, a waif-ish Caucasian male in his mid-twenties, poked his head out of the half-opened window.

            “Call a cab?”

            Dawn panned her head from the cab driver to Karen. “Yeah. One second.”

            Karen was contemplating putting out the cigarette she had just lit when Dawn walked over.

            “Did you call a cab? While I was in the bathroom?” Dawn asked.

            “No, did you?”

            “Uh-uh,” Dawn said, shaking her head. “Let’s take it anyway.”

            “Somebody called,” Karen said, tenderly stepping her way past Dawn towards the cab, deciding not to snuff her cigarette. Dawn looked back at the bar before following her to see the bartender at the window, watching them. She flashed him a knowing eye and he turned and walked away from the window.

            “703 State Street, between Ontario and Quail,” she heard. “Dawn?”

            “Coming.”

                                                            ~

            For Dawn, it was the bus motif all over again. The cab plowed up State Street rushing head first, throwing the snow, whooshing it off to the sides. Back and forth, the wiper blades. Back and forth, Dawn’s eyes, from the beige leather of the back of the cab driver’s seat to his smirking eyes in the rearview mirror. Back and forth, Karen’s hand, from Dawn’s knee to her own, when Dawn’s got too tight and cold.

            The cab rode low through the snow. State Street, which from the bus terminal went straight up a steep hill, blinked and yawned through the flashlight illumination of the beat-up cab’s headlights. When the cab reached the top of the hill, Dawn turned around to see two straight lines pointing at the cab, packed down to the ground, zigzag patterns compressed in between them. Karen’s thumb was gently stroking her knee again, Dawn occasionally feeling the tug of a hangnail on her designer pants. The cab, stopped at a red light at the top of the hill, gave a slight impression of moving backwards, its engine humming monotonously in the still night air. Snowflakes stuck to the window, only to be erased from existence by the stoic motion of the wiper blades, back and forth, back and forth. The cab driver kept poking his eyes into the back seat via the rearview mirror. Dawn sensed the bulge in his breast pocket breathing, and decided to break the silence.

            “Mind if I smoke?” she asked, leaning forward a bit, suggesting that her chin could very easily rest on the driver’s seat.

            “Not at all,” the driver said. Dawn could not see his mouth in the rearview, only the bags under his eyes swelling and receding, indicating the facial muscle movement  associated with speech. “I was hoping, you know... I need one too. Lots of people complain, you know.”

            “We’re coming from a bar, dude,” Karen volunteered. Dawn snickered and shifted in her seat, trying to give Karen the impression that she might just lock thumbs.

            The driver laughed heartily. “Go, smoke.”
            Dawn lit her cigarette. The cab was flooded with pale green light as the stoplight changed, and the cab’s engine gasped and wheezed as the driver lifted his foot off of the brake and gently pushed the accelerator. The cab’s engine whined for a second, and then got the automobile to turn right.

            Karen and the driver lit their cigarettes in unison, and Dawn caught Karen’s thumb with her own and nonchalantly turned her head out the driver’s side window. They were now on Washington Avenue. State Street was interrupted several times in its journey through the town of Albany; this first interruption was a huge mansion that was somehow turned into a government office building. In the field in front of it, there was a huge bronze statue of a man on a horse. It presently had a thin, weak layer of snow on it, ready to concede to the first bright sun. The cab drove on, passing the outskirts of the Plaza and another government building that was built to resemble the Empire State Building, only eighty-six stories shorter. Besides for a man walking his dog, the streets were empty.

            “God, I hate this town,” said Karen.

            “Shit, man, it ain’t that bad,” offered the driver.

            “Alls it is is SUNY students and government employees,” Karen said, her voice the beginnings of a whine. The alcohol had gotten to her head, and Dawn’s thumb was simply not enough. She opened her thighs a bit, trying to bump Dawn’s knee with hers, without looking, without being obvious. Her knee swayed in the air a bit before gently tapping Dawn’s leg. There was no discernible response from Dawn’s leg.

            “Hey, I’m a SUNY student, and I’m sure as hell ya’ll are both SUNY students. Why complain? We own this town.”

            “What, are you kidding? Remember Parkfest?”

            “I’m not a SUNY student,” Dawn said, wondering if they were listening.

            “That’s different, that wasn’t even us.”
            Karen audibly flapped her lips. “The city shut us down.”

            “What’s Parkfest?” Dawn asked, the alcohol inspiring a pinch of jealousy.

            Karen and the driver both opened their mouths at the same time, spurring a quick exchange of eyeballs in the rearview.

            “That’s okay, Let me explain,” Karen said. Dawn noticed that the driver had not offered to explain. “Parkfest is this big annual end-end-of-the-school-year concert that SUNY sponsors every year, down at Lincoln Park.”

            “Was,” said the driver, turning his head towards them. The cab was stopped at another red light, and for the first time, Dawn got a really good look at his face. It was clean and new and unshaven, his bright blue eyes seemingly laughing at the boyish stubble on his cheeks. He had no mustache. His teeth were shiny and straight, and all of them showed when he smiled, as he was  when he turned to look at them. Dawn and Karen instinctually separated thumbs and knees.

            “Was, fine,” Karen said. “Anyways, there was a huge controversy last year, in ‘97, when the school brought Tribe Called Quest to perform. Since Parkfest was held in an open park and there were no gates, anyone could go. It was done by the school, but not for students only. Anyways, they got Tribe and apparently a lot of the little high school punks came and started a lot of shit. I’m sure there were a lot of SUNY students getting into shit, but that had to have been expected. I mean, after all, it’s not like the people who ran the thing didn’t know the score. Frats and shit would brings kegs every year. There was always drugs everywhere. Pot, acid, shrooms. There were always fights.”
            The cab was flooded with creepy green light again and made a left turn, onto Quail Street. The section of State Street that Karen lived on ran between Quail and Ontario. Karen stopped talking, sensing that it was

            /now I have to make it happen now/

            just about that time. She looked at Dawn, who was still gazing out the window, unfazed.

            “I live on this block.”

            “I know, 703 State.”

            “Dawn.”

            The cab driver turned onto State Street, the engine making a subdued noise through the hood that sounded vaguely like a sigh.

            “Hm?” Dawn asked, turning back to Karen.

            “That’s my house, right up there,” Karen said, pointing ahead of them a little. There was nothing to indicate the house to Dawn even if Karen tried. This part of Albany was known as the Student Ghetto, where all the SUNY students got their apartments after finishing their sophomore year. SUNY Albany students had to live on campus their first two years, and the majority, having seen quite enough of the campus, took their slender wallets down to the Student Ghetto to pile into four bedroom apartments for as little as $150 a person. Unfortunately, all the houses looked exactly alike, with nothing to distinguish them except foe the occasional blue or green paint job. Dawn tried to follow Karen’s finger, but all the houses were blurred and looked mass-produced and bland.

            The cab pulled up in front of 703.

            “Seven bucks.”

            Karen pulled out a ten. “Keep the change.”

            “Thanks.”

            Karen exited the cab. She was waiting at the door. The cab driver heard her ask, “Coming?”, then saw Dawn lean across the back seat, and gesture for Karen to bend her head inside. Karen did, and Dawn whispered something in her ear.

            The cab driver gently stroked his chin with the crisp ten dollar bill.

            “Okay?”

            “Okay,” said Karen, managing a smile.

            Dawn closed the door. A strange silence collapsed on them and sat there, like a fat passenger on a bus.

            “Drive,” said Dawn.

            “Sure thing. Where to?”

            “Where ever. Just drive.”

                                                            ~

            Karen, at the top of her stairs, saw the cab’s left turn signal blink hurriedly and heard a faint squeal of tires on snow as the cab turned down Ontario Street. She was tossing her chin from shoulder to shoulder with a faint, pissed-off frown, trying to fit the house key in the lock without looking, keeping her eyes fixed on the spot where the cab had been, at the stop sign. She dropped the keys and bent over to pick them up. There were few lights on down the block, and very few footprints in the snow. Her wobbly, patent oval prints were the only ones on her staircase.

            “Fuck,” she said, a small wisp of visible breath emerging from her mouth. She managed to finally turn her head to the door and unlock it. She went in quickly, rubbing her cheek. The door closed behind her noiselessly. The snow outside, she imagined, continued.

                                                            ~

            Dawn, now in the middle of the back seat, was resting her head comfortably on the passenger seat. A lit cigarette hung from her lips. The driver had not really looked at her, or asked her what the deal was, what that scene was about. He drove down Western Avenue, towards the uptown SUNY campus.

            “You know, I’m not going to campus,” she said, her cigarette bobbing up and down, shaking at him like a mother’s long, bony index finger.

            “I didn’t say you were,” the driver said.

            Dawn leaned back and tilted her head to the right. “I’ll be going to Lark Street, eventually.”

            “Eventually?”

            “Yeah,” she said, ashing her cigarette in the little metal flip-up ashtray on the door. “Eventually.”

            “Okay. Until then?”

            “I dunno.”

            “You know I’ll have to charge you for this random driving.”

            “Hm,” Dawn said.

            A long silence; the cab drove cautiously through a few green lights.

            “Let me ask you something, man-” Dawn said, leaning her head forward a little.

            “Doug.”

            “Doug. Let me ask- Do you have any weed, by chance?”

            “Sure. What else for these long night shifts?”

            “Let me ask something else, then. Would you mind sharing?”

            “Um,” Doug said, sliding his hands over the wheel without touching it. The cab was stopped at a red light in front of the police precinct at the corner of Madison and Western Avenues.

            “C’mon. We’ll go smoke, I know a nice spot, you’ll drive me around for a bit and then drive me home, and I’ll drop you a twenty.”

            “Sounds good. Where to?”

            “Make a right here. We can pull over a few blocks down. It’s a nice neighborhood there, the cops won’t do any drive-bys.”

            Doug’s hand swooped underneath the turn signal and patted it upwards.

                                                            ~

            “So what’s with this Parkfest thing, anyway?” Dawn asked, passing the last of the roach to Doug.

            “Do you really want to know?”

            Doug had gotten very stoned. His head was flopping all around the front seat, his eyeballs bouncing off every spare corner of the dashboard. Dawn would rotate her head slowly and judiciously to look out the back window, trying not to let Doug notice. He seemed to her to be in bad enough shape without him thinking she was paranoid. He frequently rubbed his eyes, and was presently holding the burning roach to his lips melodramatically, Dawn thinking the breezy inhaling  intentionally audible. His other hand was gripping the steering wheel tightly. After he took his hit, he puckered his lips and exhaled a big cloud, taking his left hand off the wheel to snap his fingers.

            “Well she, that other girl, had pretty much explained it all. But the thing of it was, the city took away the permit for the park this past year. They, SUNY, tried to do their own thing on campus, uptown, and sold tickets. But the entire thing was a disaster. Sure, it rained that day, but they had sold only a thousand or so tickets and there was very little buzz about the thing. Nobody cared for the most part. It was obvious that it was a sham. The whole thing, the whole charm, was that everyone would go downtown to the park for the day and get wasted and listen to music. Nobody wanted to do that with those damn dorm towers in the background. The whole atmosphere was gone. It was supposed to be a day away from the school.”

            “Sounds pretty typical,” Dawn said. “From what I know, anyway.”

            “Oh,” Doug said. “Is this your first time in Albany?”

“It is.”

Doug smiled and nodded sagely. “Let me tell you this. This city has no mind. Because it has no innovation on the organizational level. You’ll see. There are good minds here, but they leave the first chance they’re hip to this and have the means to leave. No SUNY students with any brains stay in Albany. People can be shit on and shit on, and they can take it for a long time, but common sense takes over at some point. People are hyper-tolerant these days, but they’re not stupid.” He took a long drag off the joint and squeaked out: “Take this Parkfest thing.”

Doug coughed intensely and handed the joint to a silent and listening Dawn. “The powers that be at the college either thought they could replicate the event or that the atmosphere wouldn’t matter. Imagine Albany as the record company that tries to put out a similar artist when something, a sound, a look, on of the other labels hits. But this particular label never comes out with a sound because they look at their work as product, as a means to an end. That’s what this city’s all about. Trying to photocopy every original idea out of existence, or at least, out of interest. To take the heat off themselves, you know. Then they put up a big show to make you think they’re all modern, but its all backwards underneath. It’s sad and it’s asking for trouble. Have you seen the architecture around here?

            “Huh?”

            “It’s horrific. Fancy-schmancy, but no soul. Copies of copies, of copies. Sold as innovation. Without a hint or irony. It drives the best away.”

                                                            ~

            There was a pause. The roach had gone out, forgotten. Dawn got the feeling neither one of them knew who had it last. Then:

            “You know when a radio station plays a song over and over again until you can’t stand to hear it?”

            “Yeah.”

            “That’s this city. A big, awful radio station. Top forty. They just don’t know when to quit.”

                                                            ~

            “Plus, they didn’t sell beer there or let you bring any in.”

            “I remember Gina telling me about that.”

            Doug shifted his body, turning to her and wrapping his arm around the front seat. His eyes were full and alive, if a bit red and dreamy. He passed her the roach, which had mysteriously resurfaced, but by now was down to a nub. She took it from his wavering fingers.

            “Was that Gina?”

            “No,” Dawn said. “Gina is my sister. She lives on Lark. It’s where I’m staying this weekend. She goes to SUNY. That one,” gesturing over her shoulder, “I had never met before tonight.”

            “Heh,” Doug said, turning back to face front and pushing in the cigarette lighter under the radio. “What did you say to her anyways?”

            “I told her I’d meet her at Last Call Monday night at eight to finish what we started.”     

            “Um, okay,” Doug said, tapping his box of Newports against his wrist.

            “I’m leaving Monday.”

            “Hey,” he said, chuckling. “Fine by me. Whatever.”

            The cigarette lighter popped up. Moments later, the distinctive odor of menthol creeped through the car. Doug turned the ignition key and started the cab.

                        ~

TO: IN%”gb0720@csnvax.albany.edu”
FROM: IN%”yCreede@worldwide.net.ca”

CC:

SUB: I hope you don’t mind...

     ...I stole your address off your /whois. I just wanted to tell you that I had a good time talking with you on the channel tonight. Don’t worry, I’m not a freak or anything :) Write me back if you remember who this is :)

                                           reed

                                                                        ~

            Gina Becker was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. She nodded her head inquisitively toward the Elvis clock on her wall (a going-away-to-college gift from her grandmother that she couldn’t refuse and ended up falling in love with) and, shaking its rhythmic hips, it told her it was six oh-five. She said she would be coming in late Friday night, and made her promise to stay up until she got in, but Gina was having a hard time keeping her lids up.

            Even the warm, trembling glow of the screen could not encourage her. The steady pulse of the light, more obnoxious than television snow, could only flatten her consciousness and suggest sleep...

                                                            ~

            I remember him.

            Do I write back?        

                                                            ~

            Gina, of course, had by this point ceased to worry about the fact that she consistently asked herself these questions. It was trite, of course, she would think, but how was she really any different in having to hide? To feel that need? To just cut it all off with everyone and... To just be able to do it if you want? If you need?

            Gina was doing the nod-and-jerk-one’s-head-up-quick thing. She was now able to see herself, her reflection, in the computer screen.

            Somewhere in there...

            A slow, lazy tilt of the head, rolling off of limp hand, enlightened her to the fact that her answering machine was blinking.

            “Shit!”

                                                            ~

            “You have ONE new message. Received SATURDAY, at SIX OH FOUR in the morning.

            ‘Gina, babe, pick up. Please, if you’re there.... Gina, pick up. Don’t have fallen asleep. Your front door is locked- Shit.’”

            Gina rose from her chair, lost her sleepiness, and shut the door behind her.

                                                            ~

            Dawn was standing on Gina’s stoop when the front door opened, her back turned, smoking a cigarette.

            “Dawn.”

            “Gina.”

            “How nice of you to show!”

            “C’mon, let me in, I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”

            Dawn stepped besides Gina and let her close the door. “Well, how come you didn’t pick up the phone?”

            “I had the ringer turned off.”

            “And the machine?”

            “Volume was off. All the way down. I do that when I go online sometimes.”

            “You freak. You have a separate phone line for the computer?”

            “Listen,” said Gina, leading her sister up the stairs. “With all these Computer Science classes and the amount of fucking around I do on the Internet, it just makes sense. Sometimes I have the computer on all day. Having it on a separate line just makes it easier.”

            “All right, all right,” Dawn said, giving Gina a light tap on the ass. “Don’t get so defensive.”

            “I wasn’t being defensive,” Gina said. Dawn noticed she did not seem to be addressing her.

            They made their way up the flight of stairs that led to Gina’s apartment. Dawn headed immediately for the restroom, while Gina sat back in her room in her chair, back in front of the computer. She had her right hand on her mouse, but was moving it without any real direction, just watching the small arrow make its way around the field of vision of the monitor. Her eyes, however, were not looking at the screen but rather at some fixed spot on the opposite wall. 

            Dawn came in from the bathroom rubbing at her eyes with smooth hands carrying drops of hardened sink water. Her face was clean and full, Gina noticed. She was drunk and high, no question. But whatever had numbed her body or her mind earlier had changed the effect of her face; alert, active, probing. Gina had always felt very loving towards her sister, but was always wary of her in an abstract way, like turning your head away from someone who walks out of the shower in a towel when you know its not a problem if you see and you’re not even completely sure why you’re turning your head. As if everything demanded explanation. Gina had often thought that it was a good thing that they were close enough that she could tell Dawn everything about herself, because if they weren’t, she would have to tell anyway; Dawn’s presence demanded that nothing but complete no-bullshit honesty would be tolerated and Gina was more than willing to give that to her any time.

            “Where’m I sleepin’?”

            “You can sleep in here. There’s a sleeping bag up in the closet.”

             “Your common room is pretty cold.”

            Gina smiled. “It’s just drafty, babe. The door is high.”

            “You’re high,” retorted Dawn. “I’m just glad I don’t have to sleep on that couch I saw in the common room. I would not have enjoyed myself.”

            “Why not?”

            “I’ll always prefer the floor with a sleeping bag to any couch. Especially a short one like that.”

            Gina laughed. “It’s rather comfortable, actually.”

            “It’s sad that you know that. Was the problem really that bad?”

            “Of course. You got my e-mails. And I know that you talked to mom.”

            Dawn began rubbing her cheek with her mouth open, fighting off a yawn. It came anyway, interrupting her: “So what happened?”

            “Well,” Gina said, and then, following suit, “yhaaaarum--- the landlord finally sent the exterminator over. It turns out that these people that just moved out of the apartment next door- there kitchen is right on the opposite side of this- ” Gina tapped the wall in front of her lightly- “Were incredibly nasty, filthy unhygienic creatures.”

            “So what are you doing?” Dawn asked, gesturing weakly towards the computer.

            “Just shit,” Gina said. “Thinking about answering some e-mail. Some random dude from IRC e-mailed me.” She tapped a black fingernail against the screen, producing a strangely metallic tink. They mutually shared a non-awkward silence as they simultaneously lit cigarettes.

            After a minute, after an exhale: “Some random IRC dude, huh?” Dawn asked.

            “Yup.”

            “You still have to teach me have to access that. I think we can access it from Gettysburg.”

            “Oh, I’m sure,” Gina said. “You just need the program.”

            “I mean, I have it, I got it from some computer guy at the lec halls. I just don’t know what to do next.”

            Gina ashed her cigarette with a frown. “All right. Just don’t get too involved. It’s bad.”

            “Why’s that?” asked Dawn.

            “It just is.”

                                                                        ~

            “So,” Gina said, finishing her cigarette first.

            “Yeah?”

            “Well?”

            “Where’s Caitlyn? Sleeping?”

            “Sleeping. She came home late, fucking wasted, and passed right the fuck out. I think I remember her saying to say hi to you when you came in and to tell you that she looks forward to spending large amounts of quality time with you and hanging out with you when her bloodstream is not flooded with toxins.”

            Dawn sat down on the bed and took her bra off under her shirt. She did not notice Gina turn her head. “Heh. How nice. So all the stories really are true.”

            “She’ll be fine. It’s just work. She needs an outlet.”

            “Don’t we all.”

            “Don’t even think of falling asleep on my bed.”

            “Not a chance, dear sis. I’m just having down time.”

            “So?”

            “So?”

            “So...” Gina said, rolling her eyes playfully. “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

            “Tell you what, O mysterious one?”

            Gina stopped for a second and lay out a huge grin that spread across the room, making Dawn take notice of the moon in the window, fuzzing its way through the layers of clouds again.

            “Well?” asked Dawn.

            “Blond, brunette, or redhead?”

            Dawn’s jaw hung in the air for a while. The line of smoke from her cigarette, held in front of her chest and directly under her chin, rushed to the ceiling, using each side of Dawn’s jaw as a guide equally.

            Gina laughed.

            “Oh, go to hell.”

            “I know you too well!”

            “The sleeping bag is in your closet, right?”        

            “Right,” Gina said, in between giggles. “Right up there.”