Chapter One

Friday

Stay awake this time. Stay awake this time. Stay awake this time. Kiana said it to herself like a mantra. Her head swam with snippets of songs, clips of conversation, and a low buzzing noise that was either imagined or real; she didn’t know which. Drunk would be an understatement. Kiana had left her friend’s party over an hour ago, stumbling to the Blue Line, practically crawling up the stairs to the platform, and finally folding herself into a seat.

The nearly empty train lurched forward. Kiana leaned her head against the window, and though she tried her best to stay awake, she succumbed to a warm, tingling sleep that resulted in her riding the Blue Line “L” Train from the Damen stop to Forest Park and back again. Not exactly back again, but farther back from where she’d even come, no memory of switching to the train on the other side of the tracks. She woke up at O’Hare. Forced to get off the train, she tried to gain her composure before heading back south. She managed to board the train back to the city, chose a seat near the door to stay alert, but dozed off again, drunk and drooling, to Forest Park and back again. The transfers blurred twirls of night air and grimy concrete from one side of the platform to the other, back and forth, to O’Hare as if running line drills.

Stay awake this time. Stay awake this time. Stay awake this time. 

She repeated it. Even saying it aloud. Like Beetlejuice. Three times makes it real. At her third ride to O’Hare, someone caught her arm.

“Are you okay, lady?” the man asked. He wore a gray jumpsuit with his name stitched across his chest. Kiana’s blurred vision couldn’t make it out, and in her drunkenness, she always called everybody “Buddy,” so the kind stranger’s name was of no consequence anyway.

“Thanks, buddy,” Kiana said, her tongue thick and dry in her mouth. “But I’m good. Just going home.” She patted his shoulder. He looked at her skeptically.

Kiana stumbled. The man walked her to a bench. She sat down hard. Her body felt heavy. Like her jeans and coat were lined with that sand they use in ankle weights. She thought about that and wondered if it had a special name.

“It’s probably just called sand,” she said with a chuckle. She opened her eyes wide, trying to focus, trying to make sense of the bright subway lights and the blurs of blue and yellow and silver that spun around her.

“What did you say?” the man asked, frowning. “Are you sure you’re gonna be all right?” He leaned over her.

“I’m good, buddy. I’m good.” She waved him off. He walked away, looking over his shoulder at her every now and again as he made his way to the escalator.

When the train boarded to head back to the city, Kiana climbed on, swung her body on the post near the sliding doors, and flung herself into the seat. The car, empty save a petite white woman with a rolling valise twice her size, smelled of burnt cheese. The smell, otherwise putrid and unwelcome on the train car, made Kiana hungry. She looked at her reflection in the dark windows of the train. She ran two hands over her afro, an unruly tangle of coils and kinks jutting up into an inch-thick crown around her head, and stared into her own dark brown eyes.

Stay awake this time.

She did.

When the train pulled into the Jackson stop, downtown Chicago, Kiana finally made it off the car and down the stairs, walking in a determined daze through the white-tiled tunnel to the Red Line for her transfer. The musty, dingy halls that lead to the Red Line train held a special kind of quiet. She walked alone, no one singing or clanking cans for change. A couple walking fast and leaning into each other for support, whispered and giggled quietly as they passed her. She made it to the platform just before the doors slid closed. She exhaled loudly then sat in an aisle-facing seat.

A woman with a messy ponytail of tangled fake hair sat across from her, popping her gum and listening to Jodeci on a Discman. “Come and Talk to Me” blared beyond her headphones. Kiana smiled; the woman rolled her eyes. A tall, skinny man in a stretched out Chicago Bulls hoodie pushed through the doors that connected the cars. “Looosies. Loosies. And DVDs,’” he called as he walked up the aisle and through the nearly empty car. A sleeping woman with a cart stuffed with worn Moo & Oink bags sat toward the middle of the car. A woman with two children, both of them wide-awake with runny noses, filled the seats to her left. The woman’s head bobbed in exhaustion, her eyes snapping open each time her chin dipped.

Kiana suddenly felt sad. Drunk and sad. She’d been here before. Alone, late at night, on the train, feeling like no one cared about her. Like no one gave a damn. This was the fucked up part about getting loaded. Sure, while drinking and partying, everything is fine. Good times to last you until your last days. That feeling wore off over an hour ago. She had lost the feeling of euphoria somewhere during that last, embarrassing, and ridiculous ride to O’Hare and back.

She closed her eyes. She imagined her friends in bed, the ones she’d just left. They spooned and slept peaceful and warm in the comfort of their North Side flats, all the lights out except for the one over the stainless steel sink of their modern kitchen with marble countertops and breakfast bar. She sighed. She dug in the pocket of her jacket and pulled out her phone. She had a single bar of battery left. She pressed the buttons to get to her recent history. A list of missed calls. None of them from the friends she’d just left. All of them from her sister, Karyn. She’d been calling all day. Kiana called her. She braced herself for her older sister’s hard, judgmental voice.

“Kiana?” Karyn asked, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat. “You know what time it is?”

“No,” Kiana said. “What time is it?”

Karyn sighed into the phone. “You’re drunk.”

“Why you always say that when I call you?”

“I don’t know, Kiana,” she said. “Why are you always drunk when you call me?”

Kiana shook her head and looked over at the woman with the children, as if she could help her. The train rumbled to a stop at Sox 35th. A man dressed in a faded, stained jogging suit and dress shoes entered the car and sat down. The doors closed and the train pushed on.

“What time is it?” Kiana asked.

“It’s after two,” Karyn said. She yawned. Kiana didn’t know if she was being dramatic or if the yawn was legit. Suspicion and paranoia. Side effects of her lingering drunkenness.

“The Seventy-One still running?” Kiana asked.

“Seriously, Kiana?” Karyn said. “Where are you? Where are you coming from? You on the train?”

Too many questions at once. Kiana was coming down, but she was still drunk. The train stopped. The doors didn’t move and there was no overhead announcement. A beep. Another. The train sat unmoving and quiet.

“What?” Kiana said. She shot a confused look to the woman across from her. She nodded to the jam, singing the words under her breath.

“Where are you?” Karyn said, interrupting.

“On the Red Line,” Kiana answered. Karyn lit into her. She rambled on about late nights, drinking, transportation, partying on the North Side without a ride home, hanging with white people who don’t even really care about you, and drinking too much. Again. It always came back to that.

“What?” Kiana said.

“I said, get off at Sixthy-Ninth and I’ll come get you.”

Kiana nodded. She closed her eyes.

“Okay?” Karyn said, already shuffling about, getting dressed.

“What?” Kiana said.

“I’ll meet you at the stop,” Karyn said, ending the call.

Kiana pulled the phone from her ear. She looked at it then slid it back in her pocket. The train began moving again. No announcement, just clicked into gear and continued on. An uneventful stop at 47th, a stop at Garfield that nearly cleared the train, and then 63rd. The woman listening to Jodeci rushed off the train, leaving Kiana all alone. Finally, 69th.

Kiana pushed herself to her feet and made her way off the car and up to the street. She stood at the 71 bus stop. A huddled group of young men in hoodies and oversized jeans stood in the bus shelter passing a single cigarette back and forth. She nodded at them and went to the corner. She looked over at the McDonald’s, remembering the smell of burnt cheese on the train. She frowned, but her mouth watered. She stuffed her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket and began walking toward the corner. The restaurant’s dark windows didn’t register, the muted light of the drive-thru window didn’t catch Kiana’s eye. She stopped at the corner, the cold wind and blaring streetlights making her eyes water. The glowing arches of the restaurant fought against the shadows of the dim lobby. Kiana couldn’t decide if the place was open or closed. She stared at the empty restaurant, licking her lips and trying to remember the last time she had a Big Mac. A car honked short and loud. Kiana jumped and looked over her shoulder.

“Get in the damn car,” Karyn said through a crack in the passenger side window.

Kiana stepped toward the rumbling Oldsmobile that nearly ran up on the curb. She leaned over and peered into the passenger window. She cut her eyes. Looking into Karyn’s face, she saw herselfÑthe same dark eyes, same pointed chin. She’d come to save herself. A simple smile crept across her lips, a mix of satisfaction and amusement. Karyn honked the horn again, and Kiana jumped.

“Get in the fucking car, Kiana!” Karyn said.

Kiana adjusted her eyes. She recognized Karyn’s face, the frown lines around her mouth and deep crinkles at the corner of her eyes. Kiana burst into laughter and looked down at her body as if the absurdity of Karyn coming to rescue her only suddenly became clear. She reached for the door handle and pulled at it. Locked. Her fingers slipped off the handle and she stumbled backward. She laughed and clapped at her thighs.

“How you gonna yell at me to get in and the shit’s locked!” She laughed. Holding her stomach and stomping her feet, she looked over at the men in the shelter as if they cared. She reached out for the handle again. Two hollow clicks. Nothing happened. Karyn reached across the passenger seat to flip the lock manually. Kiana, chuckling, finally yanked the door open. She climbed into the car.

“Hey,” she said.

Karyn didn’t respond. She yanked the gearshift into drive and pulled away from the curb with a screech. She drove in judgmental silence, trying her best to look straight ahead.

Kiana felt Karyn’s eyes on her, sidelong glances burning the side of her face and punctuated by irritated sighs. She couldn’t face her. Relief and shame wrestled for space in her chest, which burned and bubbled with whiskey and bitters. She gagged and swallowed. Karyn sighed and shook her head. Always the responsible one, the one to take care of things, especially when they were kids, Karyn made Kiana feel safe. But they were adults now. It was time for Kiana to take care of herself. It had been time. Shame took the upper hand.

Drunk and tired, Kiana wiped at the tears burning against her eyelids as Karyn drove down 71st street, the darkened storefronts and vacant lots going by in a blur. Kiana nestled into the passenger seat. The vents blew warm air at Kiana’s feet and face. The car smelled of coconut and gasoline. The familiar smell comforted her, and she closed her eyes and nodded out instantly.

***

Kiana woke up on her couch. She glanced around the small, neat apartment; shadows clung to the small table near the door, the oak shelf filled with books and magazines, and the sagging floor plant. She looked at her sister, who sat crossed in the black leather chair adjacent the couch. She was crossed in every way, crossed as in mad, but also crossed physically, her legs, one bouncing atop the other, and her arms, firm and tight against her small breasts. Kiana had seen the look before, was quite familiar with it, actually.

Without having to guess, Kiana knew she must have been stranded somewhere and needed Karyn to collect her. She closed her eyes to remember, flashes of memory fluttered behind her eyelids: whiskey sloshing and trains clacking, dark tunnels and golden arches. Loosies. Jodeci.

“You’re pathetic, you know that, Kiana?” Karyn said. “One of these days, I’m not going to be there to pick you up.”

“I’m sorry,” Kiana said. She always seemed to be apologizing. She sat up slowly. Her head pounded. She pressed her hands against her temples then smashed her palms into her eyes. Everything was too bright. The lamp next to the chair where Karyn sat, the light coming from the kitchen, the neon green numbers flashing twelve on her stereo. She squinted at Karyn and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.”

Karyn just shook her head. “Whatever.” She stood. “This has got to stop,” she said.

“I know,” Kiana said. She scratched at her scalp through the matted side of her afro. “I said I’m sorry. I justÉ”

“You just nothing,” Karyn said with a shrug. “Look, I saw the invitation.”

Kiana winced. She didn’t need to look into the other room to see it, the lavender wedding invitation sitting like a strong, elegant tent in the center of her wooden kitchen table. Without seeing it, she could smell it, the vanilla musk whispering from the fold; she could feel it, the heavy cardstock soft against her fingertips as she traced the gold script. She struggled to her feet, the memory of Michelle, of being in love, weighing her down. Though Michelle had been gone just over six months, Kiana ached as if she had just left, as if she just realized that her love was gone for good. “Fuck that invitation,” she said, pulling up on her baggy jeans. She walked over to Karyn, who stood in the middle of the spacious living room.

Kiana looked around her apartment, trying desperately not to meet Karyn’s eyes. The living room area, exceptionally roomy with the sparse furniture Kiana owned, had often set the stage for private, late night dance parties and indoor picnics for two. Kiana stared at the carpet. Her eyes stopped on the bare space in front of the stereo. A small black cigarette burn marked the carpet. The memory came back instantly, sharp and clear, happening right before her eyes.

Drunk off sambuca and exhausted from dancing nonstop to Gnarls Barkley, Kiana had collapsed on the floor next to Michelle, who lay on her back, smoking a Kool she had bummed from a crinkled, white-haired Jamaican man at the bar an hour before. They had watched the smoke from the cigarette catch the orange glow of the stereo display, curling and twisting, rolling and dancing in the muted light.

“Your energy is astounding,” Michelle said, taking a long pull off her cigarette.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Kiana said. Out of breath and more than a little drunk, she turned on her side. “But I can feel yours,” she said, running up Michelle’s leg, her fingers sliding up her thighs, finding their way between them.

Michelle turned on her side. With her dancing brown eyes and full lips moist and inviting, her face looked serious, beautiful and serious. She took another drag from her Kool and blew the smoke over Kiana’s head. “You can feel a lot more if you want to,” she said.

“Oh yeah?” Kiana said. Her hands continued to roam, curving around Michelle’s hips and finding her supple ass.

Michelle smiled. “I want you to feel me for real, Key,” she said. “The way I feel you.” She reached forward, the small piece of cigarette still burning, and placed her hand between Kiana’s breasts. “I want you to really, really feel me. Here.”

Kiana’s heart seemed to pulse against Michelle’s hand. She had leaned in, and they kissed. Kiana lost herself in Michelle’s lips, like she always did, feeling light-headed, feeling good, so good. The kiss grew, took over them, and in moments, they were both lost. The cigarette forgotten, the glowing butt abandoned in the mix of searching hands, hungry mouths, and aching thighs.

Karen grabbed Kiana’s shoulders, shaking her to attention. “Throw it out, Kiana. Don’t even think about it.” She slid her hands to the sides of Karyn’s face. Kiana met Karyn’s eyes, and it was like looking into a mirror. She imagined what their mother looked like since Karyn always said they looked like her. Dark brown, doe-like eyes set in a heart-shaped face with full lips and striking cheekbones. Kiana had her father’s honey complexion, but any resemblance to the “nameless donor,” as Karyn called him, stopped there. Karyn told Kiana that people used to remark how fitting his absence was as it seemed Renee, their young, free-spirited mother, made the girls all by herself.

“Forget about Michelle. Forget about the wedding. Throw the invitation away and focus on you.” She looked into Kiana’s eyes. She smiled.

Kiana grabbed her wrists and tried to pull her hands down. Karyn resisted.

“I’m serious. Forget about it.” Karyn frowned. “You’re not as tough as you think you are, you know. I can tell you’re hurting.”

Kiana tugged at Karyn’s wrists. “Don’t let this pretty face fool you,” she said.

Karyn dropped her hands and crossed her arms.

“I’m as tough as they come,” Kiana said. She hardened her jaw against the memory. Michelle had said the same thing before she left, and Kiana had answered the same. Tucking a wavy lock of hair behind her ear, Michelle had looked at Kiana and smiled, whispering in the sweet voice she always used during their pillow talk, “You’re not as tough as you think you are.” Kiana had smiled through the statement, kissing Michelle rather than challenging what she meant. In retrospect, her leaving the next day had felt like a test. What was supposed to be a summer visit with a group of girlfriends in New Orleans had turned, without warning, into relocation. Michelle hadn’t even finished her marketing degree at Roosevelt. Kiana wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, hadn’t known what Michelle wanted from her. So as the daily calls turned to weekly check-ins, which gave way to sporadic texts, she tried to steel herself against needing her. She didn’t want to seem weak.

Kiana shrugged and adjusted her T-shirt on her shoulders. She spun on her heels, almost losing her balance. “Fuck Michelle.”

Karyn shook her head. “Let’s get you to bed.” She took Kiana’s hand and led her to her bedroom.

Kiana undressed, tossing her clothes into an empty laundry basket next to a small pile of sneakers. She slid into her bed. Karyn pulled the comforter over her and up to her chin.

“I’ll call you in the morning,” Karyn whispered. “I haveÑ” she started then stopped.

“Tell me,” Kiana said. She clutched the comforter under her chin. She blinked slowly, the bed spinning beneath her, Karyn’s voice soft and soothing.

“I have this place I want us to check out,” Karyn said. She sat on the bed. The mattress sagged under her weight. “It’s not a rehab, butÉ”

“But what?” Kiana asked in whisper, her voice and attention fading. Although she didn’t feel drunk, the multiple Manhattans she drank earlier that night still lingered just beneath the surface of her subconscious. They danced almost. She felt calm, relaxed. One foot in and one foot out of the moment. She thought of elementary school gym class. Dancing the hokey pokey. She smiled.

“Don’t do that,” Karyn snapped.

“Don’t do what?” Kiana opened her eyes.

“Smile like that. I know what you’re thinking. It’s not a rehab, I promise. It’s justÉIt’s just someone you can talk to. Someone we can talk to.” Karyn sighed.

Kiana sighed and covered her face with her hands.

“While I was in the kitchen, I saw the wedding invitation, then”ÑKaryn rubbed Kiana’s legÑ“I saw all the empty bottles. You should reallyÑ”

“Take out my trash more often?” Kiana mumbled.

“No. You should really cut down, and maybe talk to someone. With the way mamaÑ”

“I don’t want to talk about that shit now,” Kiana said with a groan. She turned on her side to face the single window in her room. The orange glow of the streetlights squeezed through the blinds, stripes of light pressing into the room.

“I know, but we can talk about it together. Say you’ll give it a chance. Tomorrow. I’m coming to get you tomorrow. We’ll go together.”

“Fine,” Kiana said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Kiana turned to Karyn and smiled. “Tomorrow. I’ll go wherever you want. I’ll talk to whoever you want.”

Karyn smiled back. She stood then leaned over to kiss her on her forehead. Kiana closed her eyes against the kiss and wouldn’t open them again until morning.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Two

Saturday

Hair of the dog. Kiana chuckled, toasting to the sentiment, alone in her kitchen. She slammed a shot of Maker’s Mark and chased it with orange juice. She winced at the bitterness of the juice after the whiskey. She sat at her kitchen table, the just-risen sun blasting through the bay window blinds and her laptop in front of her. A wine-flavored Black and Mild smoked in a makeshift ashtray beside the computer. She picked up the small cigar, rolled the ash against the pickle jar top, then took a long pull. She blew smoke over her shoulder and clicked through her search results. Same day flights to New Orleans. She poured herself another shot of Maker’s and sipped it. She took the last swallow from the shot glass and clicked on a flight from O’Hare to New Orleans that left that very afternoon.

She clicked the link for the details of the ticket. She glanced at the invitation. The ticket cost more than she could responsibly afford. She barely made ends meet with her job at New Horizons, a small nonprofit specializing in afterschool programs for kids. She wrote their monthly newsletter and did Web design, or glorified Web updates as she called them, for a few dollars over minimum wage. A few credits short of a bachelor’s degree in graphic design from Columbia College, she knew she could do better but always had trouble staying focused, staying committed. Meeting Michelle had changed that, made her look forward to a future that could expunge her past.

“You did all these?” Michelle had asked, looking through her portfolio. “These are amazing! The color, the design.” She flipped through the wide pages, logos and websites, mastheads, and billboards full of clean lines, vibrant blocks of color, images that popped off the page.

Kiana had blushed, a response she wasn’t used to and rarely succumbed to, and slid the leather portfolio from Michelle’s lap. “Thank you,” she had said. On her knees in front of Michelle, who sat on the couch, she escaped the moment of embarrassment by doing what she did best. She unbuttoned Michelle’s jeans, gripped the sides, and tugged at them.

Michelle had grabbed her wrists, hard. “Seriously, Key, your work is amazing.” She searched Kiana’s eyes. “You’re amazing.”

Something about the way Michelle said “amazing” had filled Kiana with a mixture of pride and hope that she hadn’t felt in a while. The following week, she set up an advising appointment with her old advisor at Columbia College. She went. She made plans for returning. She got excited by the thought of it all, but when Michelle left, she took all the excitement with her, threw Kiana’s hope in her luggage alongside her lace panties and thrift store T-shirts, and never came back.

Kiana reviewed the ticket price and tightened her jaw.
Fuck it.

She bought the ticket using the emergency credit card she and Karyn shared, the one she promised she wouldn’t use without calling Karyn first. Kiana closed the laptop and poured another shot. She situated the Black and Mild in her mouth, clenching it in her teeth and picking up the wedding invitation that sat next to the bottle of whiskey. The invitation was beautiful. Iridescent paper lined with pale pink lace and gold lettering. The playful, sweet scent of vanilla rose from the crease of the invitation and transported Kiana to memories she wished she could forget, moments and experiences she wished she could soak in whiskey and set ablaze, burn into oblivion.

She read the words etched in an elegant font, pressed in gold with delicate strokes and curled ends. “We cordially request your presence for the union of Michelle Denise Matthews and Michael Anthony Freeman…”

Michelle and Michael. Corny and ridiculous. Kiana took a shot of whiskey. Her phone rang. Karyn. She pressed ignore and rose from the table. She poured one last shot of whiskey and got busy packing.

Three hours later, her face flushed and body warm and tingling, she jostled along as the Blue Line traveled the all too familiar route to O’Hare. Boarding the plane to New Orleans, she returned Karyn’s call. She didn’t answer, so Kiana left a message:

“I’m sorry, Karyn. I gotta go though. You know. I mean, it’s Michelle. MICHELLE. Michelle, you know. I fuckin’…fuckin’ loved her, you know. I love her. I gotta go, you know. I mean. It’s Michelle. Yeah. So, I think…I think we were supposed to do something or talk to somebody. Shit, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’ll just…I’ll call you when I get back. Oh, I’m going to New Orleans. I have to, you know. So, I’ll be there. I’m boarding now. The plane and shit, you know. So, yeah. I’m sorry. She’s getting fuckin’ married. Tomorrow. Can you believe that shit? Crazy, right? Fuck. Can you go to my place and water my plants? They’re gonna need water. I bought this ticket, and I’m not even sure…wait, this lady’s asking me for stuff. Wait. Oh no, this is carry-on. Yeah, it fits. Ain’t shit hardly in here anyway! Fuck that. Look at that dude’s bag. It’s bigger than mine. What? Yes. Okay. Thank you. Yeah. What? No. What? Yes. Oh. This is my ticket right here. Ha ha! Yeah. Okay, buddy, whatever. Thank you. Karyn? Sorry. I was…never mind. So, yeah. Water my plants? You always…Oh, shit. Thank you. You know I love you, right? I mean, you…just thank you. Wait. Hold on. Hey, buddy, this is me. 28A. Yeah, over by the window, buddy. Yeah. Karyn. I’m sorry.”

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A Milwaukee, Wisconsin native, Sheree L. Greer has been published in Hair Trigger, The Windy City Times, Reservoir, Fictionary, and the Windy City Queer Anthology: Dispatches from the Third Coast. She has performed her work across selected venues in Milwaukee, New York, Miami, Chicago, and Tampa, where she hosts Oral Fixation, the only LGBTQ Open Mic series in Tampa Bay. Ms. Greer received a Union League of Chicago Civic Arts Foundation Award, earned her MFA at Columbia College Chicago, and currently teaches writing and literature at St. Petersburg College. An Astraea Lesbian Writers Fund grantee and VONA alum, she published a short story collection, Once and Future Lovers. A novel excerpt “Prom Story in Three Parts,” received a special mention in Publishers Weekly and appears in Best Lesbian Romance 2012.