I Was Here(17)

                          x x x

             Alice and I blanket the part of Tacoma near the college with kitten flyers. Then she gets the smart idea of putting them up around this fancy health food store where the rich people shop. We take the bus, and on the way she tells me the place isn’t a Whole Foods, but they might get a Whole Foods here soon, and when I say, “How thrilling,” Alice says, “I know,” not catching the sarcasm at all, so I look out the window, hoping she’ll shut up.

             The trip is a bust because the store manager won’t let us hang flyers inside, so we hand them out to the well-heeled customers with their recycled bags and they all look at us like we’re offering them free crack samples.

             It’s after five by the time we get back, and even perky Alice is flagging. I’m furious and frustrated. I can’t believe it is this hard to find homes for kittens, and the whole thing seems like some kind of sick joke, with Meg getting the last laugh.

             The house smells of cooking, a weird, unpleasant odor of spices that don’t go together—curry, rosemary, too much garlic. Tree is back, sitting on the couch drinking a beer.

             “I thought you were leaving,” Tree says coolly.

             Alice tacks one of the cat flyers onto the bulletin board by the door, next to a large flyer for tomorrow’s Lifeline vigil. She explains how I’m trying to find homes for Pete and Repeat.

             Tree makes a face. “What, you have something against kittens?” I ask her.

             She wrinkles her nose. “It’s just Pete and Repeat. Those names. They’re so gay.”

             “I’m bisexual, and I don’t appreciate your derogatory use of gay,” Alice says, attempting to sound scolding but still somehow managing to sound chipper.

             “Well, sorry. I know they’re the dead girl’s cats, but the names are still gay.”

             When she says this, Tree seems less like a hippie than like one of the rednecks in our town. It makes me hate her both more and less.

             “What names do you prefer?” I ask.

             Without hesitating, she says, “Click and Clack. That’s what I call them in my head.”

             “And you think Pete and Repeat are bad?” Stoner Richard asks, appearing with a stained apron and a wooden spoon. “I think we should call them Lenny and Steve.”

             “Those aren’t cat names,” Alice says.

             “Why not?” Stoner Richard asks, holding up the spoon, the contents of which bear the strange odor of the kitchen. “Who wants a bite?”

             “What is it?” Tree asks.

             “Everything-in-the-fridge stew.”

             “You should add the cats,” Tree says. “Then she wouldn’t have to find homes for them.”

             “I thought you were a vegetarian,” Alice says acidly.

             Stoner Richard invites me to share his horrible concoction. It smells like the spices got into a rumble and everyone lost, though that’s not the reason I decline. I’m not used to company. I’m not sure when that happened. I used to have friends—not good ones, but friends—from school, from town. I used to be at the Garcias all the time. Used to seems far from where I am now.

             I leave the roommates to their meal and go into the kitchen for a drink. I bought a liter of Dr Pepper earlier and stowed it in the fridge, but Stoner Richard, in his zeal to cook, has moved everything, so I have to dig for it. And there, in the back, I find a couple of unopened cans of RC and my stomach drops out because the only person I’ve ever known to drink that is Meg. I fill an old Sonics cup with ice and RC. When I leave here, I don’t want to leave even the smallest part of her behind.