Social Haze

by Maggie R.

I sat in the front yard waiting for him to return, wondering if anything would ever change. It was one of the two pieces of my daily routine, playing fetch with him. He trotted back to me happily and curled up in my lap. His name is Elbow, and he is a cat. My name is Margaret Elizabeth Ian, and I am a disappointment.

A ticket for the Monterey Pop Festival

The rain had rapidly picked up. I knew Mother would be upset if I trailed mud into the house, so before Elbow could run away, I picked him up and headed to the porch swing. Elbow meowed in protest; he loved the rain. Swinging softly, I reached in my pocket and poured a few Chiclets into my hand and popped them in my mouth. The fruity gum and Elbow’s content purrs were calming, and I found myself closing my eyes…

“Margaret!” my mother screeched. “Margaret, where are you?”

I sighed and slowly lifted myself up, letting the porch swing in its serenity. “I’m right here, Ma!” I said as I walked through the door, stepping over our other two cats.

“Come to the kitchen! I need to talk to you!”

How big did she think this house was? I headed towards the kitchen, rubbing my temples. “Yes, Mother?”

“Margaret, you know what I said about getting dirt on your white shorts! Dry cleaning is expensive!” Mother said, walking over to me, brushing the dirt off my now whitish-brown shorts.

I stayed silent.

“Well, your father and I are going to dinner at the Meads’ tonight. Jamie and I need to decide on the next book for book club, and your father and Andrew are doing who knows what.”

I still didn’t speak. The perfect plan was brewing in my mind. Floyd was playing with his band tonight, at Cafe au Go Go. Mother had already said I couldn’t go, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“Margaret!” Mother said, clapping her hands. “Snap out of it!”

Mother doesn’t like it when I think.

*****

My bedroom in the attic had to be one of my favorite places in the world. It was the only place I was safe from the constant nagging of my mother. I would never be the daughter she wanted me to be. From the attic I could see both the front yard and the back, and the old wood made it smell like Christmas. The walls were a classic floral, although there wasn’t much of the walls showing. Mementos covered the whole space. From Edgar Allan Poe’s Annabel Lee to a flyer from the Beatles playing Carnegie Hall, the walls made sure I would never forget anything. My bed was simple. A tapestry my uncle had brought me back from India covered the mattress. If you looked closely at the foot of the bed, you could see a small Elbow-shaped dent. He wouldn’t sleep anywhere else. The walls were interesting, and the tapestry was unique, but it was not what people noticed when they climbed the stairs into my room. I had records. I didn’t just have a couple records; I’m guessing I had hundreds… although I never counted. I kept every penny, every dime, saving every cent I ever earned for sound. I liked all kinds of music: the Rolling Stones, the Who, the Grateful Dead, the Beatles, but the Blackjacks were my favorite. They were from England. I knew almost every word to every song, but I couldn’t get enough of the song “Bourgeoisie” in particular. I made sure the Blackjacks’ album, Social Haze, was easy to access at all times. It was always to the right of my Motorola record player. The Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was next to it. It had just come out earlier that month. I carefully slid Social Haze out of its case, and placed it on the turntable. I sat the needle on the vinyl record and sound erupted into my room. I flopped onto my bed and focused on the music. I wonder if my room still looks the same.

*****

I took a swig of the Schlitz and passed it back to Lily. I normally wouldn’t drink, but tonight was different. Floyd and his bandmates were playing music, my parents didn’t know I was gone, and I was having too much fun on account of my slight intoxication. “I’ll be back!” I shouted to Lily. “I’m going to sit down for a minute!” She nodded. My legs felt like jelly. I pushed through the crowd towards a seating area off to the side. I sat down with a sigh of relief. My legs were still shaking. I poured a few Chiclets onto my hand and popped them in my mouth. Out of nowhere, a boy about my age came and sat a little too close to me.

“Quincy,” he said to me, putting out his hand.

“Margaret Elizabeth,” I replied, shaking it.

He looked at me closely. “That,” he paused, “is a horrible name.”

“I know.” I decided not to argue.

“Why d’you have it?”

“It’s not like I got to pick it.” The sass was evident in my voice.

“You can change it.”

“I guess.”

He took a sip of his beer. “Why are you here?”

“Music… rebellion, I don’t know. What about you?”

“Someone told me this band was kind of like the Blackjacks, and I like that kind of music, so I came.”

“I love the Blackjacks. Especially Callum Hill.”

“January 25th,” Quincy replied. “And me too.”

“What?” I asked, obviously confused.

“January 25th is Callum Hill’s birthday.” He took another sip of his beer. “Lance Hughes, July 16th, Mitch Cauth, November 20th, Aaron Irvin, July 7th.” He smirked at me.

“Why do you know that?” I questioned.

“It’s just a thing I do. Always have. I know a lot of people’s birthdays.”

“Mine’s June 1st.”

“So was Marilyn Monroe’s,” Quincy explained, looking at the stage.

I didn’t respond. I never knew that.

Quincy turned to me. “How much do you like the Blackjacks?” he asked.

“A hell of a lot.”

“We need another person.” He sounded frantic. “My friends and I, we’ve been driving around the country following them. They’re performing at music festivals all over. This is the start of something big. We really need someone else to come with us to help split the cost of gas. We’ve got a VW bus and we need one more person to get the gas price down to what we need it to be. It’s too expensive with just three people. Please, we’re just stopping here, we’re heading back out after this.”

“Seriously?”

“You seem relatively sane.”

“Thanks,” I said sarcastically.

“Please, Margaret, we’re desperate here.”

I had to get out of this suburbia. I was done with tennis and dinner at the Meads’ house. I needed to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, who I wanted to be. I decided hastily. “I’ll come. Meet me at the corner of Hawthorne and Walsh -- 45 minutes!” I yelled over the music. He looked smug. “You’re welcome,” I added.

*****

The universe was on my side that night. There was no car in the driveway. I raced into the house, the screen door bouncing against the doorframe behind me. I rushed up to the attic and found a rucksack in my closet. I ran to my dresser, frantically grabbed all of the clothes I would need, and stuffed them in. Next were my records. I didn’t have much time, so I only took Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and Social Haze. Looking back on it, I wish I had brought more. I ripped the tapestry off my bed and folded it nicely before placing it in the rucksack. I lifted up my mattress and took the wad of cash from underneath it. That was my safety money. It was the only money I had since I had spent the rest on records, and it was exciting to think that it would finally be used for something. I stopped right before I closed my bedroom door, and I stood in that doorway for about a minute, looking at the things covering my walls.

“Maybe now I’ll forget everything,” I said to myself. It was bittersweet.

I ran down the stairs fast, screaming for Elbow. I tripped over our other sleeping cats and walked into the kitchen, where I found Elbow chewing on a stick he probably had found in the yard. “Come on, you silly cat. Let’s go,” I said to Elbow, signaling him to follow me. The other cats scrambled when Elbow strutted past. They had always been intimidated by him for some reason. I exited my house and walked to the corner of Hawthorne and Walsh, sitting on the curb. Dim lamp posts were the only things that illuminated the dark street, and Elbow’s eyes seemed to glow. He snuggled up into my side, begging for attention. I pet his head softly and he purred in delight. Until that moment, I never really realized how different Elbow was. He didn’t get along with our other cats. His un-catlike interests set him apart. He loved fetch and hated yarn, and he would sit outside during storms because he enjoyed the rain while the other cats would spend hours grooming if their coat had gotten wet. I thought it might be good for Elbow to get away. I saw headlights coming up Hawthorne. I picked up Elbow and stood up, as my future came closer and closer. I almost forgot my bag as I opened the door to the bus.

“You didn’t hear?” Quincy laughed, looking at the cat in my arms. “No pets allowed.”

“D’you want my money or not?” I wasn’t leaving Elbow behind.

Quincy gulped. “Fine. But if that cat bothers me one time I swear to god I will throw it out the window!”

“His name is Elbow, and he won’t,” I promised.

“Take that one,” a girl said, pointing to the seat behind her.

I climbed on and sat down on the leather cushion. “Thanks,” I muttered.

“I’m Paisley, and that’s River who’s driving.”

River took a hand off the steering wheel and waved. “Hey.”

“So who are you?” Paisley asked.

“Marg--” I started, but quickly corrected myself. “Mei.” Margaret Elizabeth Ian. Mei.

Quincy smirked. “Welcome, Mei. What d’ya got here?” he asked, snatching something from underneath my arm. “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band… common, but good record. And Social Haze… another good record!”

“Give them back… they’re not yours to touch.” I grabbed them from him.

“All right, feisty, cool down,” River joked from the front.

It got quiet. I opened my backpack and took my pillow and the tapestry from my room out. I put the tapestry over myself and lay down. I had actually done it; there was no turning back. I woke up that morning as Margaret Elizabeth Ian, daughter of Jack and Anne, the girl who wore her clothes three sizes too big… and I went to sleep as simply Mei, the girl with the cat, whose clothes were still too big, but looked perfectly fine. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the change I'd been looking for.

*****

Quincy, Elbow and I were the only ones awake. We sat on the top of the bus, parked in a motel parking lot in a small town on our way to a music festival in Monterey, California, looking up at the stars. Elbow was tired; he had been playing with some stray dogs that had been roaming around earlier. “Paul McCartney,” I said to Quincy.

“Easy,” he responded, stuffing a handful of Cracker Jacks in his mouth. “Just passed, June 18th.”

“Okay.” I grabbed a couple pieces of the molasses covered popcorn and put it in front of Elbow, who sat beside me. “Khrushchev.”

“Sometime in April… or possibly May, June or July.”  He laughed.

“Did I do it?” I sat up. “Did I stump the marvelous Quincy Kent?” I cheered and we both laughed. I grabbed some Chiclets from my pocket and popped them in my mouth. “Why do you do it? What’s with the obsession with birthdays?”

“I guess...” he hesitated. “I guess I like to know other people’s, because I don’t even know my own.”

“How can you not know your birthday?” I questioned.

“It’s not some sob story.” He looked at me. “I wasn’t born at a hospital, just at some guy’s house somewhere in Maine. My mom shipped me off to my grandmother when I was about a month old, and I guess she kinda disappeared. So we never knew my birthday.”

I thought for a minute. “I like November 16th.” Quincy stared at me like I was out of my mind. “Your birthday,” I stated, “is November 16th.”

Quincy continued staring at me, wonder and amazement in his eyes. “June 1st and November 16th. Marilyn Monroe and Burgess Meredith… unlikely pair.” We both laughed. “What’s your family like?”

“My mom dresses like Jackie Kennedy,” I explained. “My dad’s hopeless. She controls him. She was picking a book for her book club the night I left. There’s two other cats at home.”

“Wow.” He ran his hand over the stubble that was growing on his chin. “Why’d you take Elbow?”

“He wasn’t really like the other cats.” I hesitated. “He needed a change. I kind of regret it, though.”

“Why?” He lay down on the hardtop of the bus.

“I think I brought him with me because we were both alone. But I’m not alone anymore. I think I brought him with me because we both didn’t know who we were. I have a better idea now, but I don’t think he does.”

“Are you sure Elbow is even a cat? Because I think he may be some kind of mutant lab experiment,” Quincy responded, smiling.

I chuckled. “Seems reasonable.” I laughed.

“I don’t know about Elbow, but you seem happier than when I first met you.” He looked at me.

“I am.” I grabbed Quincy’s hand and squeezed it before I jumped off the bus, Elbow in my arms.

I stroked Elbow’s soft head as I walked away. I sat Elbow down on the dirt sidewalk. “I think I’m holding you back, Elbow… labeling you as a cat, trapping you here.” I squatted down and looked into his glowing eyes. “Go find those dog friends of yours, and change your name. It works wonders.” I pulled him close and I heard his purr for the last time. “I promise.” I unclasped his collar, and gently pushed Elbow away. He wandered slowly into the night, into a dark town without a name. I headed back to the bus, kicking the dirt road. Elbow’s collar jingled as I walked. I quietly opened the door and got in my seat. I wrapped the tapestry around myself and lay my head on the pillow. If you were to look closely at the foot of my seat, you would see a small Elbow-shaped dent. He wouldn’t sleep anywhere else.

More from this author...