The door of lies had lots of flowers growing round outside

This is the continuing story of Bay and Tulya. If you want to be re-acquainted with them, please read the first part, here.

She was a Junior and he a Senior; but being mind smart and not school smart, he had not really gotten into many colleges. And he refused to go to the dingy community college a few streets away. His parents weren't really around, one being drunk half the time and a moody artist the other half, and the other being too stressed with work, spousal differences, and life in general, to deal with Bay. He was an only child, and didn't think much of his parents, so he didn't have many ties. He floated from his family. So college seemed to be out. Who knows if he would have even gone anyway, even if he was accepted into an Ivy League college; he didn't think very highly of the Establishment, and he and Tulya were too tightly bound together for him to move anywhere far away. The end of the year was looming, and still Bay had made no plans for after graduation. Tulya understood that he was thinking, and she wasn't worried. She just buried her thoughts beneath paper mountains tucked inside her bag, and diligently did all her schoolwork. Then, finally, school was over. It was summer, and the jacaranda trees were blooming purple all through LA. Their school was in the Santa Monica neighborhood, just a little ways from Venice Beach, where Bay's hair would bleach almost blonde during summer. It was graduation, and as Bay stepped down from the stage inside, diploma in hand, he titled his head ever so slightly, just so only Tulya could see, and walked to the door, unnoticed. Tulya slipped from her seat and disappeared through the door as well, catching him in the doorway. They kissed and fled out the backdoor, laughing and stumbling until they found a little back community garden. Bay leant down and Tulya lifted her skirt up with one hand  and climbed onto his back with the other, where from there she climbed onto the branch of a nearby tree. Bay took off his blue gown and cap, and followed her up. No one could see them from up there unless they were looking. They sat and stared out at the world, their world, and thought together.

At last, Bay opened his mouth. “Come with me,” he said. “I've got a surprise.” He jumped down and so did she, and he started off again, long strides, large grin. “It's really fantastic, amazing, I mean I can't believe I found it at this price,” he said. “Think of all the places we can go, I mean just think, Tulya!” He turned to her and she smiled, puzzledly. They were on the sidewalk again, they were veering back towards the school, towards the parking lot. Bay led her past rows of cars, and then he stopped. “Look!” he exclaimed. “Look, I sold my car! I went to a little junk car place and bought this!” Bay had gotten a brand new SUV for his seventeenth birthday from his parents, which he grudgingly drove. It was a hulking grey mass that was always hungry for gas and spitted out awful fumes into the air. Now it was gone. In its place sat an old dusty, slightly dented cadillac. A pink cadillac. “Oh, it's gorgeous, Bay!” exclaimed Tulya. She reached out and touched it, lovingly. It had a convertible top, and was flamingo pink, with flourishing tails in the back. “I know, isn't it a babe?” He responded, very excited. She laughed, grabbed the top of the door and vaulted herself in. He did the same, fished around in the one pocket of his jeans without a hole in it, and found the key. Gently, he turned the key in the ignition, and a sweet, slow rumbling sound came out, like mountains moving across the plains. “Where should we go?” Bay asked, but he knew the answer. They drove off through the streets, attracting catcalls and wolf whistles as they went. On they went, through downtown LA, until they came up to the residential area, twisting through orange trees and forsythia bushes. There Bay slowly eased the Cadillac onto the side of the road, parked and jumped out, running around to the other side to open the door for Tulya. He held his arm out and bowed, his hair tumbling down over his nose. She stepped out and curtsied to him, then ran to the house he had parked by, and in through the door. 

“Abi?” She asked. “Abi, you home?” Abi was her grandmother, whom she called by her first name. Tulya's parents were divorced, and both were too  proud to accept responsibility for that thing they had created together, that reminder of  each other, so Abi had taken her in and her parents had both flown the coop, to live on opposite ends of the world. Sometimes life was just like that. But Tulya and Abi lived very happily together with Abi's pet pig, Duluth. He used to be just this runty little piglet, but by now with all the attention he got, he had become a snorting, humorous, lumbering thing. He snuffled outdoors even now, and came to nuzzle Bay's hand, who stood by Tulya's side in the doorway. Bay often stayed at this house when his parents got to be too much, and Abi had taken a liking to him, calling him her “Bay leaf”. “Abi?” Tulya called once more, then uncertainly stepped in. She strode down the hallway until she reached her grandmother's room, and there she slowly knocked. “Tu, is that you?” A faint, weak voice called from inside. “Come in, please love.” The two filed in, and found Abi on her bed, surrounded by colorful African quilts and still shivering, in the summer heat. Tulya walked to the bed and felt her temperature, and found she had a high fever. “I'm sick, Tu, I'm afraid I can't get up.” Abi sounded like tissue paper, crumpled and semi-translucent. Fragile. “Abi, Abi! How long have you been like this?” She did not respond. “I saw her this morning,” Tulya told Bay. “She was fine, really! I don't know what's wrong, I think it's bad.” She looked worried, but Bay looked even worse. He was always more jumpy than Tulya, and all of her feelings were intensified in him. He had begun to shiver as well, and his brows were knit together. Abi coughed, just a little, but it seemed to shrink her even smaller, this strong woman who was usually seen in the garden, knitting fast with her hands and a sun hat looped over poofy white hair. Her normally cocoa skin seemed covered with a layer of grey dust, and her lips had turned faintly purple. Her fingers were icy to the touch. “Bay, get Abi to the car,” said Tulya. “We need to take her to the hospital.” 

Bay scooped her up, African blankets and all, and carried her outside, to the back of the car. Abi seemed too weak to protest, she just looked up with clear brown eyes and closed her lips. Bay thought about Tulya, and about how her eyes looked just like Abi's, and he held her tighter. He remembered how one day, he had found a little sparrow, lying by the window of his house, stunned on impact with the glass. He remembered picking it up, cradling it in his hands, and feeling each little rib so tiny, and the fluttering fast of its beating heart. He had brought it in and kept it in a cardboard box, trying to feed it seeds, but a few days later, it was gone. Bay never knew if it had left through the open window or if it had died, and his parents had disposed of it in one form or another. Bay felt Abi's fluttering heart like the bird's, and he knew something was very wrong. He reached the car and laid her down on the backseat, and Tulya slid in next to her. Bay drove to he hospital in silence, while Tulya stroked Abi's cheek and murmured to her, braid bits of her hair. The trees no longer seemed very green or lush. The hospital staff took one look at Abi and rushed her onto a stretcher and away to a room, leaving Bay and Tulya to fill out paperwork and sit with their worry.

Title Quote: Traffic, House For Everyone