Blue

It never did make any sense, with its roads folding into monuments which spiraled into thin spindly towers; stairwells which are houses, doors to other doors to other doors, the way each plane seemed to connect at some unseen point, no matter which angle you look at it. I remember the first time I found it. I was sixteen. I don’t think I even had my proper driver’s license yet, just the little slip of paper they hand you at the MVA. It was only my second, maybe third time driving alone, and the rain was coming down in silver sheets, hammering at the windshield with a terrible insistence. As I drove, near-blind, the highway thinned. Three lanes became two, but I was oblivious. I kept to the rightmost, hazards flashing. Someone beeped, tires screeched, but there was no crash, I just went gliding forward.

Then, a final crack of lightning parted the clouds, and caught my first glimpse of a City in Between. I couldn’t stay for long, but a nice man in a white army cap pointed me back in the direction of the highway. Before I went, he offered me neat, square caramels, wrapped in wax paper. As I merged back onto the highway, the taste of sea salt was my only evidence that I had really experienced the city.

At twenty-six, I was on the Beltway again. I remember— I really, distinctly remember— the way the Washington Monument floated above the crest of the DC skyline. I was meeting an old girlfriend for coffee. There was a copy of my resume in a sheet protector on my passenger seat. She was the governor of her home state now (was it Missouri? Kansas?) One of the forgettable, little ones (maybe Oklahoma?) She’d mentioned in her email that big changes were coming, I know she was always impressed by how I can work a spreadsheet.

The address she’d sent gave the GPS some trouble, it flickered between a destination two miles away, and one in Montreal. I lowered my eyes for a moment—just a moment— to fiddle with the navigation. I looked up just in time to slam on my brakes. Not ten feet ahead of me, asphalt turned a pale blue, and became a creaky wooden boardwalk. There were suddenly seagulls overhead. A guy really ought to panic when he stumbles upon an uncharted, logic-defying city, but all I could do was shrink into the light of the glowing marble walls and shining silver hardware.

I found a parking garage. It seemed to spiral in, not up. After I found the exit, I noticed with a start that the building was actually a pyramid. It was then I had to come to terms with the fact that I would absolutely be forgetting where I parked.

When I saw her she was sitting outside, shaded from a warm sunbeam by a broad canvas umbrella. Her hair was slicked back into a bun, something I’d never seen before. As I sat down I called her Blue, an old old nickname. She corrected me. It’s just Jean now. I notice how she splits it into two syllables: “Gee-anne.” She’d never done that before. I think it’s a stupid name. I keep that to myself.

We strolled around the city, ascending slanted walls and then scampering back to safety when we found ourselves too far off the ground. I asked her once what had happened to good old Fenson, the guy she left me for. Jean didn’t say much about it. Just shrugged and ducked between a gap in two stone walls. I couldn’t follow her. The space seemed impossibly tiny. It occurred to me that the distance might have shrunk, that the city itself was on Blue’s—Jean’s!— side.

I called out to her, asking her to please come back. Told her I wouldn’t ask about Harlen Fenson. Offered to take her to the beach, but she didn’t respond, not a touch of her voice. I found my car around the corner. There was a new scratch on the driver’s door. On the Beltway I sat back and tried to convince myself I wasn’t crazy.