Ghosting You

by Alexander C. Eberhart

  “Haven’t really thought about it, to be honest.”

  “Well, if you decide you want to, you can totally pay me back by taking a few shots. Pretty please?”

  I take the keys. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Kayla wraps me in up in a hug, and I almost fumble the shoebox. “You’re the best. See y’all tonight!”

  Nick waves as she skips out the door, and then it’s just me and him and the box that holds the last of you. It’s getting heavier by the second.

  “You okay, Tommy?” he asks.

  “Huh? Y-yeah. Sorry. This way.”

  I re-tuck you under my arm, heading down the hall towards the last door on the left. They’ve rearranged the tables in the dark room since I was in here last, but everything more or less looks the same.

  “Time to get to work,” I say, setting the shoebox on the counter, next to the enlarger.

  Nick hovers outside the door, pointing at the placard. “This room isn’t very dark for a ‘dark room.’”

  “That’s because the lights are on. Now come give me a hand.” I point at the three trays sitting beside the sink station. “Get that sink running. Once the water is warm—not hot—fill those trays with about an inch of water. Tell me when that’s done.”

  He just stares at me for a second.

  “Question?”

  Nick shakes his head, “Sorry, no. That’s the first time I’ve heard you be so direct. Why aren’t you like that at Claudine’s?”

  I fight the heat rising to my cheeks. “Because I haven’t been making coffee for the better half of my life. But this, I have done.”

  “Roger that,” Nick gives me a salute and heads for the sink.

  I lift the lid off the shoebox, carefully removing the strips of film. There’s about twenty frames that I’d taken that day, so I need to go through them to decide which ones are decent. But every time I lift one close enough for me to inspect, some otherworldly force just drives my hand right back down.

  Even in negative, I can’t bring myself to look at you. To see those last smiles before the end. Jesus, what am I doing here?

  You don’t answer me. Is it because of what I said last night?

  “I think the water’s ready.”

  “Right.” I clear my throat, setting down the strips before joining Nick by the sink. “Three different chemicals we’re going to mix in. First, the developer. Then the stop bath. And finally, the fixer.”

  Kneeling down, I grab the three containers from under the sink and hand them up to Nick.

  “A scoop of each. Stir till they’re dissolved, and I’ll get the enlarger set up.”

  Nick pulls off the lids, “I feel like such a chemist.”

  “You’re a regular Madame Curie.”

  His laughter fills the small room and I redirect my attention back to the film. Taking the first strip, I line up one of the frames on the enlarger, hitting the switch to see the projection. A ghostly image comes to life: the riverbank, covered in wildflowers.

  I exhale. You’re not in this one, Chase. Even though I vividly recall how close you were when I took this, just inches away in the kayak.

  “I think we’re set.” Nick calls, replacing each lid with a snap.

  “Then it’s time to turn off the lights.” I announce, grabbing the envelope stuffed with print paper. “Flip the switch for me?”

  Nick switches the lights off, a single red bulb coming to life overhead. I blink a few times to aid my eyes in adjusting.

  A flash of light to my right nearly blinds me. Nick holds his phone out in front of him, “It’s pitch black in here!”

  “Shut that off!” I bark, shielding my eyes. “You’ll expose the prints!”

  The light is doused, and I hear Nick collide with one of the stools across the room.

  “Just follow my voice,” I say, blinking the purplish spots from my vision. I feel a tentative hand on my shoulder. “That’s me.”

  “Sorry,” Nick pulls his hand away. “How do you even know what you’re doing in here?”

  “You get used to it.” I say, flipping the switch on the enlarger again. The image flickers to life as I make some last-minute adjustments to the focus.

  “That’s so cool,” Nick steps close enough that his arm brushes against mine. “So, this thing will like, print the image?”

  I remove the sheet of plain paper from the brackets then switch the enlarger off again. “I guess you could say that. This machine projects light through the negative and the paper reacts to it. Here, watch.”

  Opening the envelope, I carefully select a single sheet, lining it up under the enlarger’s lens. Once I’m satisfied with the alignment, I hit the button on the timer. The light comes on, illuminating the white sheet. Ten seconds later, the light shuts off and I remove the seemingly blank paper from its place.

  “I don’t see anything.” Nick gets even closer, which means he’s practically my conjoined twin. The heat from his body causes a drop of sweat to slide down the side of my face.

  “Patience. Follow me.”

  We move—well, I move, Nick stumbles—to the sink and I drop the print into the developer. Using a thin pair of tongs from the drawer, I agitate the paper, moving it back and forth until it’s fully submerged.

  “What does-”

  Nick’s question dies as the image appears, trees and water shadowed by leaves. Flowers, beautiful even in their monochrome state. The exposure is just right. Not too light that you lose the contrast between shadows, and not too dark to drop details. I won’t know until the lights are back on, but it looks like a great shot.

  “You still got it.”

  My breath catches at the sound of your voice.

  Nick lets out his own breath. “Whoa.”

  Gently clamping the corner of the print, I pull it from the developer and dip it into the stop bath. A few seconds later, I pull it again to the finisher. Once the process is done, I carefully pin the print up on the string that runs from one side of the room to the other.

  “Ah. That makes a lot more sense than my laundry theory.”

  I stifle a laugh. “Ready for another one?”

  “Yeah!” His red-hued outline hops with excitement.

  “Alright. Let’s get to work.”

  Four. Four is the number of shots I took of you that day. Four is the number of times I captured your essence, before I ended your life. Now I’m looking at you, four times over, and it’s all I can do not to disintegrate right here and now.

  I wipe the sweat from my brow after clipping the last print to the line. The soft red light dulls my senses, but I can tell that these are some of the best shots I’ve taken. The perfect lighting. Crisp images. Every detail soaking through.

  Every detail of you.

  “Can we turn the lights on?” Nick asks, leaning against the wall near the blacked-out door. “I want to get an up-close look at these.”

  I nod. He probably can’t tell though, so I say, “Yes.”

  The fluorescents kick on, the glare blinding, washing everything in cool white. This is not an experience I miss—the pain light brings after so long in the dark.

  Nick bounces over to the clothesline, blinking quickly as he marvels over the fresh black and white prints. There’s twenty in all. I’d almost finished that roll of film. You kept telling me to stop sneaking pictures of you. That I was going to run out. But now, I wish I’d used the whole damn thing to capture your last moments.

  “That’s Chase, isn’t it?”

  Your name sounds weird on someone else’s lips. As if I’m the only one who can say it now.

  “It is,” I answer, stepping up to the print. You stare back at me, looking over your shoulder from the front of the kayak, paddle raised to bop the top of my head.

  Shit, Chase. I’ve nearly forgotten what you look like. Freckles and fair hair and that snaggletooth I teased you about and the circles under your eyes because you were good at everything except sleeping. The straps of your binder showing under t
he tight fit of your t-shirt.

  Seeing you is torture and bliss. Stabbing pain and pleasant numbness, battling for dominance under my skin.

  Nick pulls down the print. “He’s cute.”

  I nod in agreement because if I speak, I’m going to lose it.

  “I’m starting to see your point about the film,” he continues, still holding onto the print of you. “This whole time, I’ve been thinking there’s no way it’s worth all of this. But looking at the results… they’re magical.”

  And it’s not just sadness or longing stinging my insides now, but something new. A blend of warmth and queasiness spreading into my gut and wrapping itself around. A friendly python.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Nick’s question throws me off balance. Or maybe that’s you. Talk to me, Chase. Help me make sense of what’s happening.

  “I don’t really know.”

  “Is this the first time you’ve seen him since…?” He trails off.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you want to maybe talk about it?”

  I stare at the hanging prints. The weight of your gaze threatens to squash me.

  “Talk.”

  “What’s there to talk about? How it’s my fault you—he was in that stupid kayak? How if I didn’t make such a big deal out of getting the perfect shot that day, he’d still be alive? That I can’t fucking look him in the face without… without…”

  Gasping shreds my words, breaths stabbing at my lungs in short bursts.

  Nick grabs one of the stools, swinging it over. “Whoa, easy, Tommy. I’m sorry. Hey, just keep breathing.”

  I take a seat, hands finding my knees as I focus on moving air into my lungs. If I wasn’t sweating before, I am now. It trails down the side of my face before falling to the floor.

  “I’m not an idiot,” I say, then take another second to collect myself. “I know that it was an accident, how he died. A stupid accident. I repeat those words on the days I can’t stomach myself. They help, for a time.” I take the print from Nick’s hand. “But seeing him. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to say it enough to forgive myself.”

  Why did I think this was a good idea? This isn’t freedom. It’s the mouth of a spiraling chute, pulling me down, down, down till I’m buried under piles of pain. I have to offload some before I’m crushed.

  So I keep talking.

  “We were on the river,” I say to Nick, even though he hasn’t asked once what happened. “I asked him to come with me. Wanted to beef up my portfolio so I could start submitting my stuff that semester. Try to make a little money so I could get a car or some stupid shit.

  “There’s this perfect spot a few miles south of town. Bowman’s Glade. It’s a hell of a hike, but by kayak, it’s only half an hour away. So, I snuck out my dad’s old two-seater and strapped it to the top of Chase’s mom’s van. We drove down to the river. Ate a quick lunch—banana and peanut butter sandwiches—then hopped right in.

  “The water was the calmest I’d ever seen it. The surface was a mirror, reflecting an endless sky and emerald trees. I went through half a roll of film before we even started rowing.”

  I pause, exhaling a fraction of the weight off my chest. The hanging prints tell the same story, just a silent version.

  “We’d almost made it when I asked Chase to stop. My arms were getting tired and I wanted to snap a shot of this crane that was resting on one of the rocks sticking out of the water. It was gorgeous, with this bright red tuft on the top of his head. I had the perfect angle to catch it taking off. The only problem was that the crane seemed perfectly content where it was. I splashed the water, hoping to startle him. Didn’t even budge.

  “I told Chase we should move on. But he just smirked and told me to get ready to take the shot. He managed to stand, and I yelled for him to sit down before he tipped us over. With a goofy grin, he leaped across to the rocks, landing just beside the crane which proceeded to freak out and attack him. I couldn’t even get a shot in; I was laughing so hard.”

  A smile creeps onto my lips, accompanying a warm, dull ache in my chest.

  “Once the bird had its revenge, it took off, leaving a clawed and panting Chase behind. A single white feather stuck out of his hair, but he looked otherwise amused with himself. I offered him the other end of my paddle and he pulled the kayak over to him, asking if I got the shot.”

  I pause, Nick’s eyes wide as he listens to my story. The next details are private. Something I haven’t admitted, even to Dr. Novak. They make my tongue heavy, the words I want to say. So I leave them out.

  “I was still laughing when the paddle jerked from his hand. Chase’s leg slipped out from under him on the wet rock, and there was this loud crack.”

  Another pause and a smiling Chase stares back at me from the print.

  “That’s not all that happened.”

  “At first I thought he was playing. Then I saw the blood, staining his hair. Thinking back on it, he looked like the crane. A crown of crimson. But Chase didn’t fly away. He rolled, face-first into the water. By the time I realized what was happening, he was drifting down the river. I tossed my camera into the front of the boat and jumped in after him.”

  My heart thrums as the memory of icy water washes over me.

  “I underestimated how deep the water was and I’m not the strongest swimmer. But I shoved the boat up onto the rocks to keep it from getting away. By the time I reached Chase, we were a hundred yards downstream.

  “There were people around, thankfully. A family was tubing, and they heard the screaming a few minutes after I got to him. I probably would have drowned if they didn’t grab and carry us to the edge.”

  Nick is perched, gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles. The color has blanched from his cheeks as well, leaving him ghostly.

  “The family called nine-one-one, but I knew it wouldn’t matter. The man moved me gently out of the way so he could do CPR, but Chase was unresponsive. Blood still streaked from his hair, mixed with water.

  “The funeral was a week later. His family didn’t blame me, at least not to my face. How could they, when they were so wrapped up in how to erase the last year of his life? It’s a full-time job, maintaining appearances.”

  Your parents didn’t give two shits about me. Why would your death change that? Their only concern was how to bury their perfect daughter. Not consoling the broken best friend of their son. My encounter with your dad still stings fresh. Anger, like an acid, burns in the pit of my stomach.

  The silence that follows is the type you wish for on sleepless nights, when the world’s noises won’t quiet.

  “Jesus.” Nick lets out a stockpile of air from between his teeth. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I’m not looking for pity,” I say with a sniff, setting your picture to the side. “But I appreciate you listening. It felt good to get that out.”

  Even though I didn’t tell him everything.

  Nick manages a smile. “Sure. Anytime.”

  A pause blooms. It’s not uncomfortable. Just present. Yet, I can’t get your dad out of my mind. It infuriates me, that he couldn’t accept you for who you are, Chase. Or even give you the dignity of burying you under the name you chose, not the one they clung to.

  But what can I do about it now?

  “I guess we should start cleaning up,” Nick says, pushing off the counter then rubbing hands together while he surveys the room.

  Maybe there is something I can do about it.

  “Hey, can I see your keys?”

  His eyebrow cocks, curiosity piqued. “What for?”

  “My phone,” I lie, patting my pockets. “Must have fallen out and I need to call my mom.”

  Seemingly satisfied with my answer, Nick hands over what I’ve asked for.

  “If you want to start by washing out those trays,” I say, backing toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  He throws a hand up to wave me off and I duck out of the room. The sunlight
streaming from the opposite end of the hall is painfully bright, but I’m not going outside. Not yet at least. My footsteps echo back off the bare walls as I follow the shiny laminate path to my destination.

  There’s something I have to do for you, Chase. With every step that echoes down the empty hall, my mission becomes clearer. I’m going to fix things for you. For both of us.

  I turn the handle to the art supply closet, nerves lighting up as it swings inward.

  Tommy leaves me in the dark room, and I empty the trays like he asked. The weight of his story sits heavy on my chest. To lose someone like that… I can’t imagine. At least with Sammy, we were all pretty far removed. It was a phone call. Just another day. How much more fucked up would we all be if I was there to see it?

  I shiver at the thought.

  I set the trays upside-down on the counter, drying my hands with a paper towel from the roll.

  Every layer of Tommy that gets peeled back is something completely new for me to take in. Two weeks ago, I thought he was just some quiet, cute local. Now, I’ve felt his pain, if only a fraction. I’ve witnessed his strength. And yet, I don’t think I truly know him. Not yet.

  My phone pulses in my pocket.

  “Hey, Reese,” I answer, leaning back against the counter. “You’ll never guess where I am.”

  “If you say prison, just know that I totally called it and tell me how much your bail is.”

  “Very funny. Try again.”

  “Ugh, do you ever stop to think that I called you for a specific reason?”

  “Did you?”

  “Of course.” Long pause. “I was bored.”

  “Thought so.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just get to the big reveal so we can get back to more important things, like Kev’s Brazilian bimbo of the week. I hear this week’s flavor got some tig ol’ biddies.”

  “Wow,” I feign offense. “Hey, keep that locker room talk to yourself, would you?”

  “I’m just saying, if boys get to be boys, then I reserve the right to sometimes be a heinous bitch.”

  “Can I finish now?”

  I can practically hear Reese roll her eyes. “Yes, Princess, please by all means.”