“Talk to him.”
“I was thinking about Chase,” I say, hoping that if I share something, it may help him open up. “All during the movie. If I seemed preoccupied.”
Nick’s stony demeanor falters, elbows bending slightly as if pressure were being released from his joints. “That explains why I had to eat the entire bag of gummy worms myself. Hope you’re happy. I’m going to shit the rainbow later.”
We both exhale a laugh through our teeth.
“I’ve been avoiding Kayla at school,” I explain. “She’s the editor of our paper, The Hester Gazette, which I used to shoot for. The problem is, I haven’t been able to touch my camera since Chase died.”
“Why?”
“It probably has something to do with the fact that it’s part of the reason he’s dead.”
Nick’s head whips to the side, which terrifies me, as we’re coming up on the traffic light.
“Wait, what?”
Shit. This is getting ridiculous. I can’t just go around telling people I’m instrumental in your death, Chase. How will that look on my college application?
“It certainly doesn’t inspire the warm fuzzies.”
I sigh. “It’s a long story. And one that honestly, I don’t want to tell. But that roll of film, the one that’s been in that camera for three hundred and forty-seven days, it holds the last pictures of Chase while he was alive. If I develop them… there’s no way I’d be able to do it.”
The light changes to red and we roll to a stop.
“Why are you still using film?”
I stare at him, my mouth hanging open just enough that I’m aware of it.
“What?” he asks, passing a glance back at the traffic light.
“I just told you my camera and I were partially responsible for someone dying, and you’re asking me about film?”
Nick gives an exaggerated shrug. “Well, you said you didn’t want to talk about it. Plus, I’m a genuinely curious person.”
Green flashes through the windshield and we’re moving again.
His eyes dart over to me every three seconds. Three seconds road, two seconds me. “So, why film?”
“Google it. You’ll find thousands of reasons.”
“I don’t want to know other people’s reasons. I’m asking about yours.”
“You’re really strange.”
“Says the guy who thinks his camera is malevolent.”
“Touché.”
“Come on, there must be a reason to stick with something so archaic. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal?” I scoff, words bubbling up like lava from my gut. “The deal is that film is the essence of photography. The excitement when you know there’s a limited number of shots. There’s no six-thousand pictures of redundancy that you sift through and slap a filter on. You’ve twenty-four shots, so you make each one count. Take that moment to get everything just right.
“After each roll, this excitement builds inside as you go through the motions of developing. Did I get the perfect shot? Will it be what I wanted? God, I hope I don’t fuck up this negative. So, you hang up the prints and walk away.”
It just now registers that we’re in front of my apartment complex.
“That does sound more exciting than snapping a selfie and printing it on my Canon.”
I laugh hard enough to snort, and suddenly my face is blazing. “Sorry.”
Nick’s grin is bright against the darkness.
A fluttering sensation fills my stomach when he looks at me, propping his elbow on top of the steering wheel.
I fumble with the handle before I realize the door is still locked. Nick hits a button and it pops open with the next pull.
“Thanks for the movie.” I say, unfastening my seat belt.
“My pleasure,” Nick says with a chuckle. “See you Monday.”
An idea springs forward, clearing through the hazy brain fog that accompanied the cluster of fluttering nuisances. I climb out of my seat but crouch down on the sidewalk.
“Hey, how would you like to help me develop some prints in the morning? I can go on for days about the superiority of film, but it’s nothing compared to witnessing it yourself.”
The bait is laid. Will he bite?
“That sounds… Educational?” Nick leans over the center console. “What time and where?”
“Pick me up around eight?”
“Ugh. So early. It’s supposed to be my day off.”
“Hush your face. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I linger longer than I intend. Nick doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave either.
“Right.” I clear my throat. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Sleep tight,” Nick says, then winks. I straighten, closing the door before the reality of what just happened has the chance to set in.
The fluttering intensifies, threatening to lift me off the ground as he pulls away from the curb. Once the dark sedan has turned the corner, I exhale to try to get rid of these pesky butterflies. It doesn’t help much.
God, what am I thinking? This is a terrible idea!
“I think it’s a great idea.”
The rusty stairs shake with each step of my sluggish ascent to the apartment, but the extra time is useful for processing.
“Hey, honey,” Mom calls from the kitchen, much to my surprise. It’s not often that she sees the other side of 9pm. She pokes her head around the corner, her Tom’s hat pinned safely in place. “Where have you been? It’s almost midnight.”
Her tone isn’t accusatory, more so curious. It’s a rare occasion I have plans since you’re not here to drag me out at odd hours.
“Movies,” I answer, pulling off my shoes. “You get off early?”
She steps around the wall to model the stained apron for me. “On break, actually.”
“You know, I thought the point of you working for that douche was that you get to cut back at Tom’s. You seem to be there more than home lately.”
“The tips are good overnight,” Mom pleads her case. “Folks are far more generous when they’re hammered. Tourists are no different.”
I nod, in no mood to go toe-to-toe with her. Not when she’s bound to be hyped up on half a pot of coffee.
“So, Brenda tells me that she’s seen you at the diner a few times with a certain boy.”
Damn it, Brenda. I should have known you’d be my Judas.
“Yes. She has.” I don’t offer up any more information. Mom knows better than to try to press for details. So instead of giving her the chance, I ask, “Is my developer stuff still in the cabinet?”
She hesitates.
“Um… yeah, honey. I think so. Let me check.”
I stow my shoes on the rack beside the door. The film will have to dry overnight, so I need to go ahead and get the ball rolling.
“I hope it’s still good,” Mom calls from the kitchen before sliding a plastic bag through the opening over the sink. I grab it from her, checking the different containers. It’s all here.
“Thanks,” I say, and what I really mean is ‘Thanks for not prying.’ It must be killing her to hold back the questions.
“Sure, honey.” She hovers over the sink. Maybe she won’t be able to help it. But she only smiles, then looks at her watch. “I’ve got to scoot, Tommy. Be home around six. Please don’t even think about waking me up till at least noon.”
“You got it.”
“Love you.”
“I love you too.”
The apartment is quiet now that Mom’s gone. I’ve finished mixing my developer and fixer solutions, even diluted some vinegar from the pantry to keep ready as a stop bath if I should need it.
I also text Kayla, asking for a favor that she doesn’t owe me, but I hope she still agrees to.
And now I’m standing at my closet door, wishing more than anything I wasn’t doing this. I mean, this is it, Chase. The moment I’ve been dreading since the day I asked you to g
o with me down the Chattahoochee. I don’t know if I’m ready to see you again.
For all of my fantasizing of you still listening, I’m scared to actually see you.
“Come on, Tommy. It’s just me.”
But it’s not just you. It’s everything I’ve been terrified to face for the last almost-year.
The door opens with a creak, and I make quick work of the barriers standing between me and the plastic tub buried in the far-left corner. Past the winter clothing and the box of old homework assignments, I find what I’m looking for. Unzipping the carrying case, I pull out Dad’s Nikon F401.
Flashes of that day soak into my skin.
Your hair, almost yellow in the sunlight. The sound of the river running over stone. The cold splash as I dip my paddle into the water again and again. Smiles and laughter and endless possibilities spread out before us with more twists and turns than the Chattahoochee.
I press the small button along the bottom of the camera, then lift the lever on the left side, rotating it to rewind the film. Once the tension ceases, I pop open the side, retrieving the canister.
Retreating back into my bathroom, I close the door, flicking on the dim, red light lamp that I dug from the bowels of my closet. I thread the film from the canister along the film reel, then set it into the empty plastic container in the sink.
My hands remember more than I thought they would, passing through the motions with ease. It’s almost relaxing, falling back on something so familiar. Before long, I’m cutting strips of the film and hanging them from my shower rod. Once the task is done, I shut off the red light and open the door to my room. But I hover, for just a moment with a hand over the light switch.
With just one small flip, I could destroy it all. Every piece of you that I don’t have the strength to face. The last of you, obliterated with exposure.
“Why am I still here, Tommy?”
Your voice is soft, a murmur in my ear.
“What do you mean?” I whisper in the dark.
“Why am I still here?”
The tone morphs into something cold and alien, a hiss instead of a whisper.
“I don’t know.” I say.
“Why am I still here?”
The voice—I’m not even sure it’s Chase’s—gets louder.
“I told you, I don’t know!”
I tear open my bedroom door, slamming it shut behind me in my attempt at escape, but your voice follows.
“Why am I still here?”
“Please, Chase.” Hot tears stab at the back of my eyes.
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know!” I shout, pressing palms against my ears.
“Tell me what you did.”
The voice continues, unencumbered.
My knees give and I sink to the floor.
“Please, don’t.”
The tears flow hot and thick now, dripping from my lashes and pouring down my cheeks.
“Tell me.”
“I-I… I killed you.”
The voice falls silent. A wave of guilt swallows any heat from my body, leaving me shivering and breathless on the floor.
“So, you’re telling me that he uses film? Are you dating a dodgy New York reporter from the nineteen-twenties?”
“I’m not dating anyone,” I say, rolling my eyes as I spin in the chair at my computer desk. “But yes. He’s showing me how he develops tomorrow. Is it weird that I’m like, ridiculously excited?”
“About the photos or about the photographer?”
I scratch the back of my head. “A little of both?”
Reese laughs, the freckles along her nose spreading as it scrunches. “It’s nice to see you like this, Nicky. It’s been too long.”
“I’m not convinced this isn’t a terrible idea.”
“Why’s that, pudding-pop?”
“Because it’s a dead-end street. No matter how much I like Tommy, I leave for school in six weeks.”
Reese nods her head, her lips pursed in the way she does when holding her tongue.
“What are you not saying?” I ask, leaning forward to prop elbows on the desk.
She bites her bottom lip, drawing out my suspense as long as possible before saying, “You know I love you, Nicky. Like, so much. Like, if I were dying and needed a kidney, I would totally let you give me one of yours. That’s how much I love you.”
She stops, looking somewhere offscreen for a second.
“Is there a point you’re trying to make, Reese?”
“Sorry,” she says, eyes back on me. “My point is, I want what’s best for you. And your organs. And I want you to be happy! So maybe like, I don’t know, you should tell your parents that you don’t want to go to Duke?”
I deflate with a sigh, folding my arms to rest my chin on top. “I can’t do that, Reese. It would kill both of them. And after Sammy—” the words catch in my throat and I have to blink a few times before I can continue— “I’m their only son now. I can’t be the fuck-up anymore. I’ve got to step up.”
“Oh honey.” Reese leans forward too, so it’s almost like we’re forehead to forehead. “That’s no way to live your life. You can’t fill Sammy’s shoes. He wouldn’t want you to, even if you could! You can only be that perfectly imperfect fuck-up that I love.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel better.”
Reese huffs. “You know what I mean, Nicky. You’re like, my favorite person on this planet and I want you to be happy.”
“I can be happy at Duke,” I say, but it doesn’t sound convincing even to me.
“If you truly believe that, then I’ll shut up about it. But if I know you as well as I think I do, then something’s got to give, Nick.”
I don’t answer. Mostly because she’s right, but also because I don’t want to admit it.
“Now then, do you want me to read your horoscope for the week?”
I laugh, the tension in my stomach breaking into digestible pieces. “Sure.”
“’You should listen to your red-headed friend. She’s wise beyond her years.’ Wow, how crazy is that? It’s like it was made for you.”
“I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks, Reese.”
She blows me a kiss. “Anytime.”
Nick picks me up at 8:03am, which honestly is earlier than I anticipated. He lets out a yawn for the ages as I climb into the car, cradling the shoebox that holds the film.
“Did you get a new pair of kicks?” Nick asks then gives me a crooked smile. He smells like pine trees and morning mist, which should be impossible and is also very distracting.
“Film,” I explain. “I’ve got a couple of undeveloped rolls in here. Too much light can ruin them.”
“Noted.” He nods, shifting the car in gear. “Where to, oh fearless leader?”
“Hester High School,” I say, pointing to the east past Tom’s. “Take Heron Way down about half a mile, then you’ll be able to see it.”
He follows my orders, pulling out of the parking lot.
“How are we getting in?” Nick asks. “And please let your answer be breaking and entering, because I just need an excuse to try to be the badass that I constantly fantasize that I am.”
“As thrilling as going to prison sounds, I figured just using the keys would be a more productive use of our time. Kayla, the girl from the movie theater, is meeting us over there. She’s the editor in chief, so she’s got full access to the printing and dark rooms. Even in the summer.”
“Dang. Here I was thinking that I could finally add delinquent to my resume.”
I snort another laugh. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
The rest of our ride is Nick humming along to the radio while I gradually increase the strength of my death grip on the shoebox.
My fingers have gone numb and leave indentations in the cardboard by the time we arrive at the nearly empty parking lot. It’s surreal, seeing the school completely abandoned. I check my phone, but there isn’t a message from Kayla. I hope that she doesn’t flake. It was super la
te when I texted her, but she’d responded, probably clinging to the hope that if she does this for me, I’ll come back to the paper.
Something in me is hoping for the same.
“Where should I park?” Nick asks, idling by the main entrance.
“You can pull around to the far side. The dark room is back in the old art building.”
As we take the turn, a weight lifts from my shoulders when I see Kayla’s beat-up Civic parked in front of the door. Then my pulse shoots through the roof as the reality of what I’m doing sinks in. She’s here, which means there’s no more barriers between me and your last pictures, Chase.
The car rolls to a stop two spots down from Kayla.
I climb out of the car, tucking the shoebox under my arm.
Kayla leans against the hood of her car, yawning loud enough to make me feel a pang of guilt for waking her up so early. But then she smiles, and I realize she’s probably excited to see me with film in my hand.
“Morning!” she calls, bounding over to me. She’s bumming it in some sweatpants and a Hester High track t-shirt, her hair thrown into a messy bun. “I was starting to think maybe you were pulling a prank on me.”
“Sorry,” Nick offers, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s my fault.”
“Oh. Okay then.” Kayla hovers for a just a moment longer, eyes passing back and forth from me to Nick. But then she grins, pulls a ring of keys out of her pocket and goes for the door. “The air conditioning is turned off,” she says as the glass door swings open. “So, it’s kinda swampy in here.”
“We won’t be long,” I say, stepping inside. It hasn’t changed in the year of my absence. White linoleum and beige painted cement bricks as far as the eye can see. Kayla flicks a switch on the wall and a row of lights flicker to life.
“You remember where everything is?” she asks, keys jingling.
“I’ll be fine. Thanks again for this, Kayla. I really appreciate it.”
“No worries,” she holds the key ring out to me. “Lock up on the way out. You can drop these off at the theater later tonight if you’d like. Or I can just get them back next week at the fourth of July festival. Are you two going?”
Ghosting You Page 19