“Everything!” It’s the lie she wants to hear. The lie I want to tell. So it’s almost the truth.

“Beautiful baby,” Nancy coos and kisses my cheek.

I love them. I love this night.

I’ve lost Rose. She wouldn’t have just left without saying anything. She wouldn’t have just left me. Maybe she’s in the bathroom doing a line with someone. God, I’m really tired. The skin on Nancy’s hands falls, makes valleys between the knuckles and bones as she rolls a massive joint. She spreads her fingers wide, curling the edge of the paper over the leaves, and rolls the whole thing up tight and tidy.

The band wraps up with “Casey Jones.” The pitch of the whistles and wails from the Wrinklies makes me wince. Nancy gestures with her eyebrows and we go outside with our sword-length doobie.

“You got greens, birthday girl.”

I spark it up. Her hash is chocolatey and warm. The joint and the cool air on my face and arms calm my stomach, but looking up at the sky is a mistake. The gaps in the black clouds are full of too many stars. It’s too big; it’s all too much. Where am I? Where’s Rose? My mouth feels glued shut. I have nothing to say to Nancy. I feel for the steps and sit down, a little embarrassed at how fucked up I’ve gotten.

Reading my mind, Nancy reaches into her bag and hands me a bottle of water. I love old people. They fucking know everything.

“Where should I go, Nan? You’ve been everywhere.” My words aren’t coming out clearly. I can hear my tongue in my mouth when I talk. “Should I go to Europe?”

I pass the joint, which is awkward since it’s pretty much as long as my forearm. Nancy takes a draw. Thinking lines settle across her face. “Europe’s spent, kid. Maybe the Balkans, though . . .”

That makes me laugh. “I don’t know where that is. What about California?”

“California’s going to fall into the ocean. San Fran’s gone the way of Woodstock.”

I’ve been to Woodstock. It’s pretty silly. Lots of middle-aged people in designer hippie gear. “Fine, then, I’ll go to Tibet and hang out with the Dalai Lama.”

“Dalai Lama’s gone, kid. Don’t they teach you anything in school?”

“I don’t go to school.”

“I guess that’s why you need to travel.”

“Exactly.”

I don’t want any more of the joint, and Nancy doesn’t pass it back, so I must look as wasted as I feel. I finish the whole bottle of water. I don’t think she minds.