The Other Side(41)
“I’m not sad,” I repeat, but my voice betrays me. There’s shock, hesitation, and agreement in it that makes it sound shaky and uneven.
She smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that kindly accepts what she’s being told, knowing it’s complete bullshit. “Someday that will be true.”
For a second, I believe her. I want it to be true.
But then I remember I’m Toby Page and that isn’t possible.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Present, April 1987
Toby
The knock on apartment 3A’s door rouses both Johnny and me out of our rooms and creates a near collision in the middle of the kitchen. I acquiesce right-of-way even though no one has come knocking on the door for him in two years. He opens the door, offers a quick, “Let me just grab my coat,” to the person outside and returns to his bedroom.
Taber is standing in the hall, wool coat on, hands tucked deep in the pockets until he lifts one and raises it in my direction. “Hey, man.”
“Hey,” I say in return. We get along pretty well these days, all things considered. I’m trying to keep it that way.
His hand returns to the warmth of his pocket and he rocks up on his toes and back down again like he’s trying to be patient but is running late. “We’re late for our meeting with the friends of Bill W.,” he says to me like that means something.
From behind me Johnny says, “I’ll be back in an hour or so,” as he slips on his coat and walks around me to the door. It sounds ridiculous, like he’s a child and I’m the parent. Since when are we checking in with each other in this house?
I nod but give him a puzzled look. “Leave the door open, I’m right behind you,” I add. It comes out all wrong because I’m confused.
Alice is ready when I knock on her door: jacket on and white cane in hand. “I’m so excited and I have no idea where we’re going.”
I warn her our walk will be long and she doesn’t mind.
Conversation starts out surface level but digs deeper when I ask, “Do you know where Johnny and Taber were going?”
“AA meeting,” she answers matter-of-factly.
“Taber is in AA?” I ask stupidly.
“Yeah.” If she’s shocked by my question, it doesn’t show.
Which encourages me to continue, “I thought Taber was a bartender? How does he do that job if he’s a recovering alcoholic?”
“‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,’ that’s what he always says. I think he’s trying to prove to himself that he’s strong, mind over matter and all that.”
“Do you worry about him? That he’ll start drinking again?”
“Not at all.” Faith is kind of refreshing when it’s as sincere as hers is. “He made some mistakes when he was younger and he paid the price. When people learn from their mistakes it matures them; when they don’t, they stagnate. Taber’s probably the most mature twenty-two-year-old on the planet.”
What kind of mistakes? I wonder, but I don’t ask because it would be rude and I’ve already asked my fair share of private questions.
When we finally arrive at the Natural History Museum, I guide her in through the planetarium entrance. The lobby is packed and there’s already a line forming to get in to the two o’clock showing. “Wait here, I’m going to grab our tickets,” I tell her. I don’t want her to come with me and hear me or it will ruin the surprise.
She smiles widely. “A movie, huh?”
I gasp, feigning offense. “Give me some credit, Alice. I’m not that cliché.”
She laughs at my teasing as I walk away.
I purchase two tickets, and when I return to her, we get in line with the masses. I’m worried the entire time the flow weaves back and forth, as we’re corralled between velvet ropes on either side, that she’ll overhear someone around us talking and guess why we’re here. And then I start worrying that maybe this was a horrible idea and she won’t enjoy it. I’ve never been to one myself, but I’ve heard kids at school talk about it and hope I’m not overestimating the potential of the entire sensory experience for her.
The planetarium is dimly lit inside, and as we settle into our semi-reclined seats, the announcements begin, “Welcome to Laserium at Gates Planetarium.”
Alice interrupts with a whisper, “I’ve never been to a planetarium, Toby.”
She sounds excited and it’s then that I remember how much she said she used to love looking at the stars. The thought makes me both happy and sad. If we were here to stargaze at constellations, she wouldn’t be able to see them.
The announcer continues with warnings about light, sound, and motion sickness, and finishes up with, “If you need to exit during the show, readmission is prohibited. Now sit back and enjoy The Led Zeppelin Experience.”
I wish I could see Alice’s face, but the room is pitch black.
Until the synchronization of primary colored lights flashing across the ceiling and the first notes of “Whole Lotta Love” assault me. The combination is visceral. As laser lights dance above us, I pry my eyes away to look at Alice and I’m instantly in awe.
Her lips are parted. No hint of a smile, just the arch of an upper lip and the rounded out bow of a bottom lip forming the guileless, unmistakable expression of someone who has been thoroughly stunned. Eyes open and unblinking, she sits statue still. The room momentarily goes dark for a pause in light and sound and I lose her. But when the choreographed swirl of color and thump of bass simultaneously burst back to life, she gasps and reaches over the armrest searching for my hand, fingers curling between mine, securing us.