The Last Post

by Renee Carlino

  I looked at Laya’s last post from six weeks ago about the movie. I wanted to have that kind of moment with her. Instead of creeping her out by hiding tickets under her mat, I decided to ask her properly. Well, at least in a Facebook private message. I wasn’t good on the phone. Always too quiet. I also wasn’t the most technically savvy when it came to social media, and didn’t realize she wouldn’t get the message until she accepted my friend request.

  I wrote:

  Hi Laya. I hope you’re doing okay. There’s a movie I’ve been dying

  Shit, I can’t write “dying.”

  There’s a movie I was really hoping to see. It’s called “The Shape of Water.” It’s about this fish alien-god thing that—and this mute woman . . . oh never mind. I was wondering if you wanted to see a movie with me this weekend? No pressure.

  When I stood to stretch and walk off the anticipation of waiting for her reply, I noticed Devin was in his cube playing solitaire on his computer again. “Hey, don’t you work?” I asked him.

  “I’m taking a mental health break. What’s up?” I was going to ask him to lunch but realized there was already food all over his mouth and he was eating hummus with a spoon.

  I gagged. “Don’t you have pita bread to dip in that? A cracker? Anything? A carrot maybe?”

  “Micah, do you need something?”

  I didn’t know what possessed me to say it, or what sort of cosmic somersault Earth did in that moment, because Devin was probably the worst person to share my feelings with, but I suddenly blurted out, “I think I’m in love with her. And I don’t even really know what that means.”

  “Aw, poor baby. Who the hell are you talking about?”

  “Laya, you idiot.”

  He pinched his eyebrows together. “Laya, like in—”

  “Yes! That Laya.”

  He clicked his mouse a few times, seemingly in deep thought. “That’s really . . . neat, Micah. It’s . . . cute.”

  “Cute?” I said, pinching my eyebrows together.

  “Well, I don’t really know what to say except she’s off limits if you’re thinking serious girlfriend. She’s your boss’s daughter and has too much baggage. I don’t think you’re her type anyway, unless you pick up some kind of extreme sport.”

  “Is it your goal in life to insult me on a daily basis?”

  Devin grimaced. “I’m not trying to, man. I think the whole situation is totally complicated.”

  I sat back down. My body felt heavy, but I also felt a twinge of annoyance. If Devin was talking about any other girl, I’d probably listen to him. But this was about Laya. “I like Laya. I like that she’s complicated,” I said, “And ‘baggage’ is kind of harsh, don’t you think? It’s not like she’s a single mom with twelve kids.” I heard my computer ding. “Never mind, I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

  He shrugged. “I just think it’s pointless to even try with her.” He paused and looked thoughtfully at me, though I knew his next words wouldn’t be so considerate. “I’ll take you out this weekend if you want. Maybe you can find another girl instead of one you know can’t commit.”

  “Just forget it.”

  Sitting down at my computer, I went straight to Facebook. That was the ding I had heard. She had accepted my friend request and responded to my message.

  She wrote:

  Micah, sure. That movie sounds interesting, if not completely bizarre, but what the hell? Why not?

  Am I responding too fast? Who cares.

  Laya, great. I’ll pick you up on Saturday at six.

  She replied immediately.

  Sounds good.

  It wasn’t exactly the most enthusiastic response. Still, I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t tried harder, sooner. I knew she needed time and space, but I felt a connection to her, and I think she felt it, too. And . . . life really is short.

  * * *

  THE WEEK WENT by like I was pushing seventy pounds of molasses up a hill. I actually worked hard through it all and managed to stay off Facebook for the most part.

  Saturday, when I arrived at Laya’s and rang the buzzer, she took her time coming down. For a moment I didn’t think she was going to show at all.

  “Hi, Micah.”

  “Hi, George. How are you?” She looked stunning, even though she was wearing sweats and a beanie. She did have a scarf on, though, and I found that interesting. I remembered her last post.

  She laughed at the George comment and gestured to her clothing, “I get cold in movie theaters. That’s why I’m dressed like this.”

  “Do you know why movie theaters are cold?” I asked as we walked toward the subway.

  “To prevent the screens from overheating.”

  I smiled. “I just can’t get one past you, can I?”

  “You can keep trying. I like it.”

  This was a different Laya. A more playful and less sullen Laya. I hadn’t checked my Facebook in a while, but I wondered if that whole business of posting on Cameron’s page had stopped. I couldn’t exactly ask her.

  “Do you think you’ll go back to being a doctor again?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I want to be a dog groomer now.”

  I laughed. “That’s funny.”

  “I’m actually serious. I want to do something mindless. You know, just wash the dogs and dry them. No high expectations. No potential for killing someone.” I nodded. “Or I was thinking grocery store checker. I used to play grocery store with my friend when we were little. You know, the beep, beep, price check on aisle two . . . it’s all pretty fun and gratifying.”

  Downstairs, Laya swiped her card—maybe the one I had given her—and went ahead through the turnstile first. I wanted to ask her if checking out groceries would actually be more gratifying than saving lives, but at that moment Laya had turned around, gesturing for me to hurry up. She was smiling. I didn’t want to ruin the mood by asking serious questions.

  We waited downstairs on the platform. A busker was playing a cover of an Aerosmith song on a banjo and something made from a rolling pin and washboard. He had a Brazilian flag hanging on the column behind him. The tourists—their fanny packs and sneakers (dead giveaways)—weren’t the only ones listening. Even the New Yorkers, easily distinguished by their brisk pace and impatient expressions, seemed to enjoy the momentary entertainment.

  I turned to Laya, who was nodding her head along to the music. “So . . . ?” I asked.

  “I’ve been well. If that’s what you’re wondering. I’m trying to figure things out. I’m as well as can be expected. You know, being a doctor was a lot of pressure. I was working really long hours while trying to balance a social life . . . and a marriage.”

  “I can understand that. Luckily, your dad has given me a lot of freedom to work when I want to. I almost make my own hours.”

  “But how can you stand Tweedledum and Tweedledee?”

  “Yeah, Steve and Shelly are a lot to handle.”

  “I meant Devin and Freedrick,” she said, deadpan.

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You know I’m joking,” she said.

  “Are you?”

  She smirked. “It is really Steve and Shelly who are the problem. I think they’ve taken advantage of my dad. I wish I had a sibling to shoulder the burden because I feel like the old man’s going to lose a lot in a company he built from the ground up. Steve and Shelly have contributed nothing.”

  “I’ll help look out for your dad. Steve knows I don’t like him and Shelly just wants to sleep with everyone in the office.”

  “Have you?”

  “Are you kidding? No.”

  She looked up at me with sincerity in her eyes. I almost felt embarrassed, like she was staring at something inside me. “That’s really nice of you to offer looking out for my dad, and the firm.”

  I wasn’t trying to score points with her. I meant it. I didn’t want to see Jim’s company destroyed. “Well, I’m there all the time and—”

  “I know you don’t h
ave to. I know it’s because you care.” The Brazilian busker ended his cover and bowed as people clapped, us included. “Do you have any siblings?”

  “I have a twin sister, Melissa. She lives in Maine.” I already knew more about Laya than she knew about me, but I did notice she was wearing a NASA space camp sweatshirt. “Do you like NASA?” I said.

  “I like space,” she replied. “I went to space camp every year from the time I was six to twelve years old. When I was eighteen, my dad took me to the Kennedy Space Center Museum. I was so disappointed I cried like a five-year-old. All those childhood fantasies went up in flames.” She was laughing so I knew she wasn’t serious. “I thought I was going to see a rocket ship take off, or some other cool shit, but it was just a museum.”

  Her childlike wonder was endearing.

  “Space is totally fascinating,” she said.

  “So why didn’t you become an astronaut?”

  She winked and said, “I just told you. The damn Kennedy Space Center Museum. It ruined me. Dream shattered.”

  We started laughing so hard my stomach hurt. “You’re something else,” I said. She locked her arm through mine and I nearly jumped at the unexpected touch. This Laya was drastically different . . . and I loved it.

  “So, tell me about Melissa.”

  “Well, Melissa is complicated.”

  “Like deep?”

  “No,” I said without humor. “She’s kind of the opposite of deep. I love her, but she’s blatant and crass and crude and—”

  “Wow, sounds like you have a very high opinion of her.”

  “No, no, I really, really love her. She’s . . . it’s hard to explain; maybe you’ll meet her someday.” That didn’t cross my mind until now, but I liked the idea of it. Laya could hold her own against Melissa in a way that might even make my sister shut up for once.

  When we got to the subway platform, Laya walked past the yellow line. “Laya, what are you doing? Laya, stop!” One of those trains that was not meant for our stop flew by and forced her back another step. I grabbed her from around the waist and pulled her flush to my body. The wind was strong from the train and the noise was loud. I heard a gasp from an onlooker. As I held her to me, she stared into my eyes. It was like I could see right into her soul. I couldn’t look away from her—she suddenly appeared so tortured and innocently sad.

  “Why did he want to do that?” she asked, and then she kissed me. A full passionate, long kiss with her hands grabbing the hair at the back of my neck. Her eyes were completely closed. She was giving me all she had, but I was still confused.

  When she tried to pull away, I held on. I didn’t want it to end. She was a mystery to me. I didn’t know why she stood on the edge of the platform and put herself in danger. I didn’t know why she had kissed me, but I knew I didn’t want to let her go. I said, “It’s me, Micah.”

  “I know,” she said very seriously.

  “What did you mean when you said, ‘Why did he want to do that?’ ” I asked her.

  She shook her head, breaking her fugue state. “Cameron always stood so close to the edge in everything he did. I never understood it. I still don’t.”

  It was hard for me to talk to her about Cameron. I felt like at any moment I could fuck it all up and say the wrong thing.

  “Maybe he just wanted to feel. Maybe it made him feel alive, like the way you make me feel.” I didn’t realize the admission I was making until the words were already out of my mouth. The timing might have been bad, but I needed to tell her how she made me feel.

  She was wearing a small, tight smile. “Maybe you’re right. Do you think I wasn’t enough . . . to give him that rush . . . that thrill?”

  I shook my head. “It wasn’t about you . . . at all. He was already that way long before you were in the picture.”

  “What about me makes you feel alive?”

  “Sometimes I feel like a nobody, but not when I’m around you. You must have that gift. You command my attention, too.” We stared at each other while the crowd moved around us. I smiled and she smiled back, her eyes crinkling at the corners like she was still searching for the meaning in my words. “Laya, we just missed our train.” I hadn’t even noticed until it was pulling away.

  “It’s okay; there are other trains,” she whispered.

  “You make me feel alive because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here, talking to you, missing one train after another.”

  “Cameron was always skiing, flying, rappelling away from me. I was always waiting around for him to come back . . . even in our short life together. It’s hard to be the one waiting and watching from the sidelines.”

  “I’m not Cameron.”

  “I know that.”

  I don’t know how many trains we missed before we finally got on one. She sat close to me. It felt right.

  13. Aliens

  LAYA

  The movie, although strange, was about something so simple: two people who understood each other because they were alike. Cameron and I were polar opposites. I thought it made us a good couple. He was outgoing; I was shy and introverted. I could be outgoing and social when I needed to be, but I preferred to be alone most of the time. Cameron was always surrounded by people who adored him; I didn’t need that. I glanced over at Micah in between a scene. Were we better for each other because we were alike?

  We reclined our seats. It felt like we were lying together in a bed. Micah might have felt my stare because he turned and flicked the end of my scarf, whispering, “I like this.”

  “My friend knitted it for me. It’s made from Mongolian silk.”

  If he’s says it smells good, I’m going to get up and walk out.

  “That’s really cool. She must be crafty.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, she is.”

  During a touching part in the movie, the mute woman put on a record for the fish alien, god, whatever he is, and he swam gracefully in circles in the water. I rested my head against Micah’s chest. His heart was beating fast as he held me. “Are you nervous?” I whispered to him.

  “No, this film is moving.”

  Micah touched my stomach under my sweatshirt and moved his hand way up. I held my breath but didn’t stop him from slowly moving further. He was reassuringly warm and tender, and it wasn’t long before I felt relaxed even though I wasn’t wearing a bra. He caressed the underside of my breast, and then he leaned in and kissed me, very gently. I remembered back to the club, how he was so rigid, maybe uncomfortable when we kissed. Now we were taking our time.

  “Was that okay?” he whispered near my ear.

  “It’s okay,” I responded, but realized I could have said more. I could have told him I liked it. We focused back on the movie—or I tried to, at least. All of it was so hard to navigate. How do you get married and then a couple years later start dating someone else? Were we even dating? All I knew was that I was making out with him in a movie theater. I’d had sex with him in a club. I’d cried on his shoulder at the ramen place. I wasn’t rejecting him, but I still felt a tremendous amount of guilt for Cameron. I couldn’t remember if he’d really, sincerely told me I should move on if anything happened to him. What if he didn’t want me to move on? What if he were rolling over in his grave while I was getting felt up in a movie theater?

  The movie ended, and I blinked to adjust to the bright lights. Micah stretched and waited for me to get into the aisle first. It was impossible not to compare the two men. Cameron would have laughed at the movie. He would have thought it was silly. He would have jogged down the stairs laughing and jokingly teasing about being my fish alien god.

  The fact was, the movie was touching, and well-made, and it had a beautiful sentiment. It was about a lot of things, but one piece was about being scared to lose someone and to make a sacrifice to save them. I wasn’t given the opportunity to make that sacrifice for Cameron.

  Cameron was brave and I was always fearful; even when I wore the mask of proud wife or strong doctor, I was terrifie
d. Scared of not performing, scared of being hurt. Scared of dying at the stove while listening to the Allman Brothers on the record player.

  For a short time Cameron had given me a glimpse into the mind of a brave person and what it was like to face your fears and embrace adventure. But then he skied off that slope with a smile and within seconds confirmed all my fears again.

  So, the fish alien god was misunderstood and the mute woman was, too. They were the same. They fell in love because words didn’t matter to them. Sometimes I thought words shouldn’t matter to anyone. They are just words, after all. Actions, mannerisms, movements, embraces, and sacrifices . . . simply put, added up to love, right?

  Micah pulled me close as we walked back to the subway, and I let him. He was a gentleman. He walked me to my place, kissed me on the cheek, and said, “That was a weird movie, but I kind of got it. If you feel like lunch, come into the office. I promise I’ll keep Devin away from you.”

  * * *

  LATER THAT NIGHT, after cleaning my living room and washing the pile of dishes in the kitchen, I called Micah because I had forgotten to say thank you. He bought my ticket and popcorn and I didn’t even thank him for it. Sometimes it felt like I was out of touch with other people’s feelings, or out of practice with how to be a human. I would ask someone a question, like “What are you up to?” or “How are you doing?” and not even give a shit about their answer. I was so swept up in my own crap, I didn’t care. I was always making excuses like, “I’m sorry I hurt you by not calling back, but I’m depressed and my husband just died.” As though that gave me license to mistreat people.

  Micah picked up on the first ring. “Hi. What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Actually, I’m at a little dive bar with a friend from college and my sister. Hold on, let me go outside.”

  I heard music and people laughing. I looked around my living room and saw that cleaning it highlighted just how much space I had to myself. Too much that it made me feel suddenly alone. “No, I don’t want to interrupt,” I said.

  “It doesn’t matter. My sister is sitting at the bar talking to some guy about chia seeds, and my friend is hitting on a girl way too young for him. Hold on.” This time I actually cared what he had to say.