Maybe I’ve Still Got Time

Noah wore their black jacket over a cropped sport hoodie that was just short enough to show off a sliver of skin. Their eyeshadow made them look ghoulish in the moonlight, but somehow Sal still found them breathtaking. She longed to run her hands through their dark, lazy curls.

“I still can’t believe you’ve never been to one of Ian’s parties,” Noah said as they ran up the front steps ahead of her. “You’ll love it.” They rang the doorbell, and almost immediately it was opened, and the music from inside spilled out into the street.

“Hey, Noah, Sal, what’s up? Come in,” Ian said loudly with that goofy, almost endearing smile boys get when they’ve had too much to drink, and staggered back inside.

“I like your house,” Noah called after him. “Your parents are gone for the weekend?”

“Yep,” he said, turning around and spreading his arms. “All ours. Help yourself to a drink.” He turned back around, and almost immediately bumped into someone, spilling his cup on their shirt. The two of them burst into laughter. Noah and Sal pushed their way past them, through the horde gathered around the speakers, to the back of the room, where the crowd wasn’t as dense. Just a few sulkers, and some of the more insular groups engaged in unintelligible conversation. Some of them glanced at the newcomers as they arrived, serving brief smiles in greeting, and then turned back to continue their conversations. Noah leaned against what Sal decided must have been a kitchen counter; everything looked different with the lights down and the music blaring. Sal took their place next to them.

Noah kissed her, slyly, on the cheek, and she jumped. “I’ve missed you,” they said, flashing a smile at her. Their eyes glinted like they contained sparks.

“I was only gone a few weeks,” Sal laughed.

“It felt like a lifetime,” Noah replied, in all seriousness.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. C’mon, I’ll pour you a drink.” Noah turned around and rooted through the pile of empty bottles that crowded the counter. Eventually, they found something, and poured it haphazardly into two cups.

“You want Coke in yours?”

Sal nodded. She didn’t really care. She could take it pretty well, and she wanted to get a little buzzed.

They handed her one of the cups, and then took a gratuitous gulp out of their own, coughing slightly. Sal sniffed hers, and then sipped it, savoring the sweetness and the bitterness on her tongue for a moment before swallowing it with a shiver. The smell always reminded her of hand sanitizer.

“I haven’t been able to party in a while, I’ve been busy working. This is the first proper one I’ve gone to since you left. I’m glad you’re here. Isn’t this fun?” Noah was already breathless, their grin overtaking their face like nothing else mattered.

Sal smiled back at them.

A couple split from the main group and walked over to them. “What’s up, you guys?” said one of them, a girl about Noah’s height, with long, straight black hair. She wore a white blouse and light blue jeans, and stood like she knew she was a little buzzed. Her pockets were embroidered with carnations. “That outfit is doing it for me,” she said, gesturing at Noah’s midriff.

“I’m Sal; this is my partner, Noah,” said Sal, waving microscopically. “We’re friends of Ian’s. I like your flowers.”

“Thanks! Do y’all go to Fairview?”

“I do,” said Sal.

The girl waited for a moment, as if they would say more. Sal remembered when she and Noah had first met, and she’d asked them the same question. They hadn’t answered, only shrugged and said that it didn’t matter. It took her months until they finally told her they were homeschooled.

“I don’t like to tell people.” They were avoiding looking at her; instead they looked up, squinting their eyes against the sun. They were sitting at a bench outside the food court in town, sandwiches in hand. They didn’t eat out often—neither of them had a job; Noah sometimes had money, but Sal had no idea from where—but Sal insisted on a casual date once or twice a month. Noah took a small bite and wiped the mayonnaise from their chin.

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing,” they said quietly once they had swallowed.

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I do. And everyone does.” They stifled whatever Sal might’ve said next by standing abruptly, folding up the remains of their sandwich in the napkins they’d been given, stuffing them into the bag it came in, and depositing it in a trash can. “Let’s go, I found a nice spot under the bridge the last time I was here. I’ll show you.” She followed after them, focusing on avoiding the cracks in the pavement to avoid thinking about anything else. Sal grimaced imperceptibly at the memory.

When the girl realized that more information wasn’t forthcoming, she simply shrugged. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“We only just got here,” Noah said.

“It’s great!” Sal assured her. “Are you two friends of Ian’s?”

“Nah, we were invited through Hugh.” The guy she was with spoke up. He had a long, thin face, and a long, thin voice. His hair was fiery red, and he wore only shorts and a yellow B-52s t-shirt.

“Is Hugh here now?” asked Noah, anxiously.

“No. Not yet, at least,” said the girl. She reached between them for a bottle of vodka, and they moved out of the way.

“It was nice to meet you guys,” said Noah, before downing the rest of their cup. The girl handed them the bottle when she’d finished pouring her own cup, and Noah filled theirs again. The two left them alone after that, and Noah seemed to relax.

“How was your grandparents’ place? Does your grandma still dress like a transgender witch?”

Sal knew exactly what Noah was talking about—Sal’s grandmother, Marie, frequently softened the look of her bright red lipstick and shock of short, frizzy, dyed-pink hair with purple stockings, a black skirt, and an overactive broomstick around the house. Sal giggled despite herself, more at the image of her grandmother than at Noah’s comment. She always liked to envision her grandparents side by side. Marie always looked cartoonishly striking alongside her husband, who was a very plain, bald man in a warm flannel jacket and skinny blue jeans, hands always in his back pockets when he spoke.

“It was alright. I mostly hung around and watched TV.”

“You do you.” They took another swig, and laughed. The song changed. “Oh, I love this one. He plays it every time.” With everybody else, they began to sing along, dancing into the crowd, cup in hand.

I know you’ll leave me one night

But until then baby we’ll be alright

I know it’s only a matter of time

But until then baby I’ll be sure that I’m

“Come on!” Noah mouthed at her over their shoulder. Their eyes were alive. “Come dance!” The energy of the room had changed, like a flip had been thrown. The company swayed in unison, smudged mascara giving their faces a raw vibrance as they belted their favorite words.

All you ever wanted

All you ever needed

I’ll be there till it all runs dry.

Sal liked the song too. She supposed it was considered old now; it was popular when they’d all still been in elementary school. But the song was one of those timeless ones—inane lyrics that cut to your heart, twangy, patient guitar, the silky, boyish vocals of Grant, the lead singer. That guy must be in his thirties by now, Sal thought, the image of an old man leaping into her mind. She downed the rest of her drink, and, reluctantly, she chased Noah into the crowd.

The song was energetic, but slow. Grant’s smooth voice rippled through the highest notes in his creamy, innocent falsetto, and the clean, caramel-sweet guitar of Phil Armitage sang along with him. Noah grabbed Sal’s waist and pulled her close, swaying with them as the bridge began. They sang the lyrics in a low and focused voice.

I remember your face through a foggy window

As you waved me goodbye

Maybe it’s not a memory, no,

Maybe I’ve still got time

Their breath was hot in Sal’s face, and smelt of vodka. Their eyes were closed as their head bobbed to the beat. She blinked, and when her eyes opened, for a moment the world was in perfect focus. The bright blue and red and yellow and green and purple lights buzzed across her vision, the sticky, mucous floor clung to her shoes, and she registered each footfall, each brush of skin or clothing against her body. She looked at Noah, the way their makeup smudged and made them look even more beautiful than before, the way the hair that framed their intricate, fragile face had grown damp with perspiration. She gazed at the perk of their nose and the curve of their eyebrows and the tilt of their ears. She could have traced every hairline scar that ran across their cheek, their brow, the base of their neck. Her face hummed with anxious excitement. She wanted to kiss them. She would kiss them. She took their face in her hands, and they looked up, their eyes wide and hungry with anticipation.

And then her focus broke, and it was like a crucial beam had snapped and the world crashed back into obscurity. Her observer’s distance imploded, reverberating everything into a jumbled, overwhelming mess. The music crackled through her ears like they were being boxed, the lights scored her eyes, and every bit of her body felt groped and prodded, a thousand hands reaching for her and into her; she tried to recoil in all directions, and she couldn’t. Noah’s face was foreign and all too familiar in her hands, and she let go, struggling to keep her balance.

“Wait-” Noah began, the eagerness in their eyes fading to hurt confusion, like a beaten dog.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She didn’t know if they could hear her over the music. She sank back, feeling the alcohol in the way her hands couldn’t quite find purchase in the air to balance herself, and at long last she found her way to the back of the room, where she dropped to the floor next to the dishwasher, her ears ringing. The song ended with a whimper, and the next one began like an electric shock—an energetic dance number that earned a squeal of delight from the crowd up front.

Noah came staggering out a few seconds later, walking like they were trying to pretend they had yet to drink. They poured themself another cup, and then sat down next to Sal. She was grateful that they kept their shoulder several inches from touching hers. She didn’t need another thing to think about right now.

“Are you okay?” Noah asked lazily, looking at her without focus in their eyes.

“I just need a breath of fresh air. Can we go outside for a minute?”

They made a show of suppressing a frown. Sal knew that look well. They wanted her to know that they didn’t want to leave, but they were doing it out of the goodness of their heart, and their care for her wellbeing. Because they loved her.

They nodded, and they picked each other up. Noah waved goodbye to no one in particular, and they left through the front.

“I’m sorry,” Sal said despondently. “I’m sorry, it’s just a bit overwhelming.”

“It’s not your fault, Sal. I get it.”

Sal winced at that forced maxim. Of course it was her fault. It was her responsibility. Noah had been through more than she could imagine; they deserved to have fun sometimes, but she always ruined it. Why couldn’t she fake it, just for them? But “Thanks,” she said, barely able to bring it above a whisper. She watched disappointment bloom in Noah’s eyes, and she didn’t understand it. She only knew she’d done something wrong. The look seemed to quench itself in an instant, and she questioned whether it had been there at all. Memory had the butterfly effect. Once you think you saw something, it becomes real, and once you question it, it becomes more real than anything else. And pity, she had nothing to blame but herself.

Sal felt like it was her own body stretching, not just the silence. Like she was being pulled taut over a drum. It was always that silence, filling every empty space with a desperate chokehold, threatening to let everything fall apart at any moment. Always, that silence came back, that old enemy, her nemesis, always tugging at the back of her mind. Her hands tightened around her thighs. The cold nipped at her chin, and she tucked it beneath the folds of her hoodie, where the hood met the point of her collar, and she spoke softly through the fabric, feeling it warm under her breath.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you out here,” Sal said. “You should go back inside. Enjoy the party.”

“No, that’s okay. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay. Go back inside, I promise, I’m sorry.”

“I’m here to spend time with you. I don’t care about the party. Besides,” they said, giving her a drunken grin. From where it sat obscured by their body, they lifted a half-full bottle of vodka by the neck and wiggled it enticingly in the air. The sleeve of their jacket fell just a crack as they raised their arm, and she could see new cuts scratched over where old scars used to be, jagged red lines, frenetic and desperate compared to her own neat scores. She almost couldn’t believe that they’d taught her all she knew.

Sal winced, and shook her head. “I’m okay.”

“Suit yourself,” they said, and turned it upside down and let it gurgle down their throat. “Let’s go to your house.”

“My parents are home.”

“That’s okay, we’ll just be quiet.”

“No, they’ll wake up.”

“C’mon then, we’ve got to go somewhere.”

“I think I’ll just go to bed,” Sal said softly. Their head had begun to throb, and that clarity she’d felt earlier had reversed itself: it was almost like she didn’t have a body any longer, just some weighty thing that magnified her discomfort in a thousand ways she couldn’t place. She knew her ears were aching with the cold, but she could barely think straight enough to place exactly where they were. But Noah hadn’t heard her. They were already up, walking down the road away from the center of town, bottle swinging in their hand. Sal swallowed and stood, zipping up her jacket. The wind picked up, and the biting cold curled around her face and through her hair. She tightened the scarf around her neck and hurried after them, hating how she had to run.