Ask the Passengers

Mingle.

I look around the room. This is not like Atlantis. Most of the people are keeping to themselves, and there are no leathery biker ladies with whistles who were sent from the gods to make me smile. There are just strangers. So I go out the back door past the two smokers, and what do you think is in the farthest and darkest part of the backyard?

A picnic table.

There are tall trees obstructing most of my view, but I can see the occasional plane, and I send it my love. Then I have a conversation with myself about Kristina.

ME: You know, you’re going to have to say something to her about this up-and-down shit she’s been doing.

ME: I know. But if I say something, she’ll just ignore it.

ME: Doesn’t that make her a shitty friend?

ME: Yes and no. Yes, she should listen to me and care how I think, and she doesn’t. No, she’s not a shitty friend, because she’s my only real friend in Unity Valley, so if I didn’t have her, I’d be on my own.

ME: You’d have Dee. You’d have Ellis.

ME: Ha-ha ha-ha ha-ha. Ellis. You’re hilarious.

ME: She’s your sister. You have her whether you want her or not.

ME: She may have me, but I sure don’t have her. Mom has her. You know it.

ME: Well, then, you have Dee.

ME: Thank God.

ME: You’re getting closer to answering all the questions, aren’t you?

I sit up and look around. A few more women are outside smoking now. They are facing me but looking up to the stars. I look up too, and I get up to try and make conversation and not be an antisocial nerd. Plus, I have to pee.

I walk past them and say, “Hi,” but all I get is a series of grunts in return. Inside, I smile at people and ask where the bathroom is, and when a woman tells me, she says, “I think it’s out of paper. You got a tissue?”

I laugh at this, thinking it’s funny—whether it’s true or not.

No one else laughs.

Do I not show up on their g*ydar? Or is this just how they are here at Gamma Alpha Psi? Either way, I don’t have a tissue, so I look around and go back to the kitchen, where the back door to the picnic table is, and there I find a napkin, so I grab it and put it in my pocket in case the woman is right about the paper.

I go up the steps and pass a couple coming down the steps and say hi, and they half-smile. Everything feels territorial—like I’m trespassing.

I pee, and there are several rolls of toilet paper on a holder right in front of the toilet. I use the napkin anyway because I feel an intense paranoia that if I use their toilet paper, they will be even more pissed off with me than they already seem to be.

I look at myself in the mirror above the sink, and she is more visible here—the girl inside my Unity Valley suit. She’s telling me to go out there and be myself and talk to people. I hear my dad’s voice: You have to let people get to know you before you decide they don’t like you.

I plaster a big fat smile across my face and go back downstairs. I say hi to a few people and then I find a girl who’s standing on her own reading the back of a CD cover and I say hi to her and she looks up and smiles at me.

“Never saw you here before,” she says.

“First time.”

“Ah,” she says. “That explains it.”

“You go to school here?” I ask.

“Yeah. I’m a poli-sci major. Here to change the world,” she says. “You?”

“My best friend is dating someone from here. We’re only visiting tonight.”

“Who?”

“Donna?”

“Oh! So you’re in high school, right? Her girl’s from high school, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. We’re seniors.”

“You the one who was lying on the picnic table for the last hour?”

I nod and try not to blush.

“What were you doing out there?”

“Just looking at the sky. And at the airplanes. It’s what I do, I guess.”

“Huh,” she says. “Wanna show me how you do it?”

I look around, and I see the others looking at us. Still, no one is really smiling or being all that welcoming. I don’t get that. These are supposed to be my people. I didn’t think they’d be douches at all. Note to self: Not all g*y people will be cool. Not all straight people will be not cool. When did you get so us-and-them, Astrid?

As we walk out to the table, I ask my new friend, “Is it me, or is everyone at this party kinda standoffish?”

“That’s just how they receive strangers.”

“It’s weird,” I say.

“Not really. It’s hard. You’ll understand soon,” she says. “Plus, it’s early. In another three hours, the place will be packed and everyone will be drunker and the mood will lighten considerably.”

“Good. Because it’s a little like a funeral in there.”

“What’s your name?” she asks.

We get to the table. I sit on the bench. She sits next to me. “Astrid.”

“I’m Kim. My ex should be here any minute, and I’m kinda not okay with it.”

“Bummer.”

We both spend half a minute looking up into the sky.

“Have you told your family yet?” she asks.

I laugh. “God no.”

“Anyone?”

“Just my two best friends. And my girlfriend,” I say.

She laughs. “I hope so!”

“Yeah.”

“Are they going to be okay with it, do you think?”

I nod. “I think so.”

“I thought mine would be cool. They are now, but they weren’t at first. I think it’s a shock.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“You know, you’re really cute,” she says.

I let out a shy laugh. “Thanks. You too.”

She steps onto the bench and sits on the table and then lies down. “Is this how you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Look at the planes.”

“Well, yeah, but those trees don’t help,” I say, pushing her over so I can lie next to her.

“There’s one!” She points. “Can you tell what kind they are from here?”

“Sometimes. Not at night, though.” I spot the blinking white taillight. “Did you know that every plane has a red light on the left wing and a green light on the right for navigation?”

“So you’re cute and smart,” she says.

“So the white strobe you see”—I point—“is the tail.”