Center of Gravity

Summer’s end, the night was sticky and bright. The highway stretched endlessly into the grainy horizon, blurred by mirage. It was easier to get here than it was to leave. He had aimed for the city and missed by about a hundred miles; the cracked, grease-stained asphalt like a shrug: take it or leave it. The smog stole the day’s heat, holding it captive through the night, orange and jealous. You will burn for as long as I say.

Strangers crowded the hall. Every door hung open, each room diffusing their energy into something weighty and mythical, at once strange and familiar. She liked to walk quickly, catching glimpses of every room – every life – blending together, flickering like film reel. Last door on the left – his place. He dangled his legs off the loft, and they passed around a handle of something cheap and golden. Hard brown limes from the market, salt on a polystyrene plate. She showed him how: Arriba, abajo, centro, dentro.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Yeah, but he’s in the military. He’s stationed in Kuwait right now”
“That’s really far away”
She took pull, passed it back
“How long have you been together?”
“A while. Two years next month”
“Do you ever regret it? Staying with the person you dated in high school?”
“I mean, that was just a few months ago. I guess I don’t really know yet… aren’t you also dating someone you met in high school?”
“Yeah, I guess I am”
“Do you regret it?”
He took another drink

They meandered through the streets, talking just to talk, finding each other through the gaps in their arguments. Then, they were there. A scratchy brown lawn, mostly dirt. Muffled music, mostly bass. The garage was lit from the inside by flashing strobes, the glass fogged with condensation. The energy pressed down on them, heavy on their chests. At the front door, a line trailed out, and they fell into it with relief. A drop in the ocean of scuffed white sneakers and baggy black jeans.

Inside, the floor was tacky with liquid sugar and sweat. 80-something people churned shoulder to shoulder in the unfurnished, subleased, cardboard box of a living room. Their movements pulsed outward, orbiting the music, a galaxy in motion. A dj spun in the corner next to a plastic foldout scattered with paper cups: $3 each, venmo code on a sheet of taped up paper. Movement, shapes, smells, sensations – more than the sum of its parts.

“Aren’t you scared?”
“What’s there to be afraid of?”
“Well, I mean – what? No like, isn’t this our first party?”
“For me? First party of the year, sure, but not like. First ever. Partying is normal, you’ve never done this?
“I… no, this is my first. I’ve never really drank before, actually. Honestly, I don’t even know what we’re celebrating”
She laughed.
“Celebrating isn’t really the point”
“What’s the point then?”
She leaned closer.
“Well, you feel good right? You drink like you know how”
He finished his drink, wincing
“It tastes good, and it feels good, but it hurts a little going down”

People came and went endlessly, like specters through the thick clouds of sweet vapor. Down the hall, the bathroom line propped open the front door. All bodies and friction – the wanting, the waiting, the leaving. This wasn’t a celebration, no, it was a revel. A grievance. You didn’t come here to have a good time. You came here to forget that you went.

The music picked up. The room spun and the lights blurred in a saturated aurora. The sweat pooled on his collar, baptized his neck, trickled down his nose. Inches away, she wasn’t looking, eyes shut, dancing lazily to the beat. Her fists were clenched, and sometimes she’d grab his shoulder to steady herself. He looked at the door, then at her. She followed without question.

Outside, the air slightly cooler, the smell of weed and dust. They sat on a cinderblock and took another shot. If they ever looked back – which they wouldn’t – this would be the shot they shouldn’t have taken.

“Why are you still with her?”
He looked down at his empty cup, and then slowly,
“She means a lot to me. She was there for me through high school, and she’s… she’s just the sweetest. She’s always in my corner”
“So why do you want to end it then?”
He looked up
“Did I say I wanted to end it?”
She was quiet
“I think she knows me too well”

They stumbled back to the dorms, shoulders together. She held his hand as they walked up the steps, laughing and shushing him as they walked past the main lounge. They hardly had to be quiet – night birds were everywhere. Hooded figures around clouds of smoke, backs pressed against walls, broken bottles and echoing shouts. The orange streetlights exposed each like sculptures in a gallery. Then, the stairs. The hallway. Her door stood open, waiting.

“Do you want to come inside?”
He thought for a moment, looked down the hall
“Yeah”

They were there for a long time. An early morning street sweeper groaned, impossibly loud, the sound blatant and pressing through the wide-open window. The sheets were damp with their sweat. They were turned away from each other, backs touching slightly. The warmth between them was unbearable, but neither moved an inch. Outside, someone laughed.

Finally, he got up, sat at the edge of the bed.

“I’m gonna get some water”

He walked down the hall. Last door on the left. He didn’t go back.