Look Closer

by Stewart Lewis

  I decide to surprise Edge and see if he notices my new look. But he doesn’t answer my texts. Maybe he’s still doing “damage control.”

  On my way home, I pass the coffee shop on Connecticut Avenue where my father and I used to hang out, where he would get a cappuccino for him and a hot chocolate for me, and we’d share a scone. He always gave me the last bite. As I stare into the window, a flyer for a rock show blows in the wind and gets caught on my leg. I stop, take a deep breath, and peel it off to look. The band is called Jelly, and it says the show is July fifteenth, with the date spelled the long way, except most of the letters are crossed out. I hold it closer.

  J U L Y F I F T E E N T H

  The letters that aren’t crossed out spell a name.

  Julie.

  I drop the flyer on the ground. Someone walking by picks it up for me, handing it back. When I meet the person’s eye, a tremor ripples through my whole body. It’s the ghost man.

  I start running in the other direction. I’m sweating, my heart is beating too fast, and I feel my stomach drop. I don’t look back.

  I see a lobby for an apartment building and there’s no one at the desk. It’s freezing inside, but better than a hundred degrees outside. I sit on one of the brown bubble chairs and start texting Coach. But every text I start sounds weird, so I delete it. This goes on for several frantic moments until I type: Can you call me? and press send.

  My phone rings almost immediately.

  “Tegan, is everything okay?”

  “Yes. How’s Julie?”

  “My dog? She’s fine, why?”

  “Does she seem tired, or is anything off?”

  “Tegan, what’s going on? Does this have something to do with what you were trying to tell me about?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe it’s not healthy to look for signs everywhere…”

  “Coach, do you think you could get Julie checked out?”

  “I guess. She actually hasn’t been to the vet in a while…”

  “See!” The tremble comes back. The front desk person returns and gives me a strange look. “Listen to me. You need to take her to the vet. Now. Do you hear me? Now.”

  “Tegan, calm down. You’re freaking me out a little.”

  “Coach, please. Trust me. I have to go.”

  The front desk person is now in front of me. I hang up and say, “I was just leaving.”

  All the way home, I continue to sweat and don’t even bother wiping myself. I try to think if there’s a pattern to this, but it’s all so different, so arbitrary. A young person, a homeless person, an old person, an animal. It all seems disconnected. And who is Ghost Man? It’s really confusing me. Right now, I pray Coach does what I told him. There may still be time.

  When I get home, my mother notices my hair.

  “Wow, that color looks amazing,” she says. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I have.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I used your credit card, but I’ll pay you back.”

  “It’s fine, Tegan. I’m happy you’re swimming, I’m happy you’re out and about…except, you look frightened, like the other day when you knocked over Larry’s coffee. I know something’s going on, and I know you feel like you can’t tell me things, but I’m your mother. I’m here to protect you.”

  She hugs me, and I try not to cry. There’s no way she can protect me from what is going on. This is way bigger than us, I know. I take a deep breath, pull back, and look at her. “It’s cool, Mom.”

  “Okay. We need your application sent in, and you’re good to go to Cali!”

  My mother saying Cali sounds wrong. She always tries to remain relevant, but misses the mark, and it makes me feel sorry for her. I’d wish she’d embrace where she is in life and not always try to act younger. Life is turning out to be one big contradiction.

  Back in my room, I check my phone. Nothing from Edge. I sit in front of my laptop, the file for the first college essay prompt still open, the cursor blinking.

  What makes you unique?

  I start typing to get something on the screen.

  What makes me unique is swimming. When I’m in the water, it feels like coming home. And I am really fast. But when my father died in a helicopter crash, everything changed. I felt suffocated, numb. I wasn’t motivated to do anything. I was ready to crawl into a hole forever. Then something miraculous happened.

  I became chosen.

  I saw signs.

  I saved a life.

  I woke up.

  That’s enough for now. My thoughts don’t necessarily make sense on paper.

  I put on the Moth podcast to try to distract myself. It works until my phone buzzes. I jump across my bed for it, hoping it’s Edge.

  It’s not Edge, it’s Coach.

  You’re not going to believe this…

  There’s something going on with Julie’s heart.

  The vet is keeping her overnight.

  I feel the tremble once more, and tears burn the back of my eyes.

  I text back with shaky fingers.

  She’ll be fine.

  But the truth is, I don’t know. Do we ever know if any of us are going to be fine? I don’t think she’ll be fine should even be an expression. But in this case, I have to believe I was able to help Julie and Coach. And that is real power. Like I feel in the pool. As if I could do anything.

  I mark another X on the wall and check under my pillow. It’s there, one of my father’s medals that I always liked because it had a purple ribbon on it. I hold it to my chest and think of how he always made me feel safe. That as long as I was with him, the world was going to be all right. I think of the poem about the geese, and Jean Fordham’s eyes, which were so distant but also beautiful, how her whole life had led up to that moment. Did she cherish every one of them? Were they all coming back to her in a flash? There are no words for the mix of emotions I’m feeling. I try to breathe deeper and relax.

  “Am I doing what I’m supposed to?” I hear myself ask out loud. Then I put the medal back and turn out the light.

  In my dream, my father is sitting at an old typewriter. He keeps pulling out the pages and handing them to me, but they’re random letters and symbols, gibberish. I know I’m dreaming, so I stare at him. He’s so handsome, so strong. There’s so much light in his eyes. His expression is very serious, though. He’s not smiling. He keeps handing me the pages, and I drop them on the floor, except there is no floor because we’re floating in space. So the papers twist and fall like the broken wings of birds, until they disappear into the black nothingness.

  Then I, too, am falling like the pages. I finally land on what looks like a big, orange beanbag. The papers scatter around me. Now they have actual words and letters that mean something. I get up to gather them and try to make sense of it.

  9.

  put yourself in unlikely situations

  I run my finger over my father’s army head shot that’s been on the fridge forever. In the picture, he wears a crisp uniform, and he’s smiling like a dork, but in a good way. During his two deployments, he saved a lot of wounded soldiers by evacuating them out of war zones. When I was a kid, I’d ask him about the people he had saved. He’d tell me details about them, like how they had curly red hair or a wizard tattoo. I remember being fascinated. I couldn’t imagine ever being that brave. Yes, Jenna’s dad was a doctor, but this was totally different—like, hero material. The worst part is that I never believed something could happen to my dad. I thought he was invincible. I was very, very wrong. And even though I do feel like this is happening for a reason, I know I’m not invincible, either.

  After training at the pool, I decide to go to Edge’s house. I haven’t known him long, but I don’t feel like he would ghost me, as Jenna said
. He told me he lived below Toki Underground, the famous ramen place on H Street. It’s borderline stalking, but what if something’s really wrong?

  The bus is filled with every kind of person. A gaggle of pretty Latinas in bright sundresses, a hippy-looking mom with a baby in a sling, some burly construction workers, and a nervous-looking skinny man with acne, looking at his shoes like they’re the most interesting shoes in the world. Whenever I turn, I expect to see Ghost Man in the corner of my vision, but it’s only regular people, for now.

  When I get off the bus, I’m able to find the ramen place pretty quickly. What did people do before GPS?

  There are rickety stairs leading down to what looks like a small basement apartment. I stand in front of the door for a few minutes before knocking. I would never have done something like this before, but everything has changed. Sometimes I don’t recognize myself. My actions and words have a mind of their own.

  Edge comes to the door, and he looks different. Smaller, tired…shy, if that’s possible.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks flatly.

  “I was worried—you haven’t texted me back.”

  “My phone decided to break. It’s not holding a charge. I asked my mom to get me another one, but it’s not exactly a priority for her.”

  Behind him, in the small living room, I can see what must be his mother, unwrapping a Hershey’s kiss. She’s pretty, but there’s something sad in her eyes. Is he going to let me in?

  “I’m so sorry. It’s just—while I was coming here, watching all the people on the bus, I was thinking about how their lives could end at any minute, and I had to do what my heart was telling me, and I knew you wouldn’t blow me off…”

  Edge comes outside onto the landing and shuts the door behind him. He looks like he might scream or cry, or maybe kiss me.

  “Look, Tegan, I really like you. But I’m not ready for you to come to my house. Do you like ramen?”

  “Yes,” I say, even though I’ve only had it out of the packets.

  He points upstairs.

  “Order the red miso. I’ll be up in a little bit.”

  “Okay.”

  He kisses me on the cheek and hustles back inside.

  Walking up the stairs, I feel a surge of relief. His phone broke. It wasn’t me. He really likes me.

  The ramen place is super hip. It has slatted-wood ceilings and colorful pictures of vintage Japanese cartoons are tacked on the corkboard walls. In one cartoon, two rosy-cheeked children with giant black eyes are involved in some kind of game with nunchucks.

  The waitress is impressed that I know what to order without looking at the menu.

  While waiting for my food, I check the times of some of the professional swimmers I follow on Instagram. I try to picture myself in that place. Qualifying for the Olympics, getting sponsored, having 50,000 followers. With everything that’s happening, it doesn’t seem so out of reach. I never liked the attention before, but why not? If I can make something of myself, I should, right?

  My phone buzzes. It’s coach.

  She has a heart murmur

  What?

  It’s fine, she just has to take medication now

  vet said she got another chance

  I close my eyes. The restaurant noise is a blur in my ears. Another chance. I gave Julie another chance. I text him back a thumbs up and a puppy face, along with prayer hands.

  The waitress comes with my bowl and places it carefully in front of me with a smile. The steam rises and the smell is almost euphoric. Like a field of flowers in Vietnam, or what I imagine that to smell like.

  “Don’t be afraid to slurp,” she says when she sees me hesitate with the chopsticks. “It’s the custom in Japan. In fact, it’s considered rude if you don’t slurp.”

  “Good to know.”

  The dish is amazing, like a cacophony of flavors and textures. Pork, lemongrass, cilantro. I am immersed in the experience. I never thought I would have an appetite after my dad died. When my father was deployed, my mother and I would cook a lot, as a distraction, I guess. I’d put on a playlist of Lorde and Imagine Dragons, and we’d make lasagna or chicken potpie. She would pretend to sing the songs using a utensil as a microphone. I was young enough to laugh and not think she was dorky.

  Edge comes in and sits next to me. He looks better, refreshed, his hair still wet from a shower.

  “Are you gonna get some?”

  “I’m good right now.”

  He seems a little nervous, like he’s figuring out how to say something.

  I take a spoon of broth and noodles and slurp it up.

  “You learn fast,” he says.

  I smile, and he clears his throat.

  “I hope you understand, it’s not you…”

  “I totally understand,” I say, even though I don’t really. Is it because he’s poor? Is there’s something he’s not telling me?

  “My mom’s been pretty down. She’s been making me watch old movies with her, and she’s not eating unless I make something.”

  “You cook?”

  “A few things. I love food, which everyone thinks is weird ’cause I’m skinny.”

  “Good metabolism.”

  “I guess. So, yeah, and the place is pretty dirty. But you can definitely come over sometime. Just to see, like, what the American dream looks like firsthand.”

  “Ha. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

  “Oh, it’s that bad.”

  I take another bite and slurp, and as I put the spoon down, I feel it. Like a wave running over me. I look to my left and directly in front of me, under the cartoon on the wall, is one of those vintage name bracelets held up by two thumbtacks.

  The name is Gwendolyn.

  I almost choke on my noodles.

  “Is it too spicy?” Edge asks when he sees my face.

  I point to the bracelet.

  “Another one?”

  “I literally felt it before I saw it. And I think I know who it is.”

  “Wait, you know someone named Gwendolyn?”

  “Yes. She was…well, my nemesis on the swim team. She told me I had a big nose.”

  Waiters and busboys move around us, but it’s like we’re in a bubble. Gwen, really?

  “Well, we can’t let her die, can we? I think we should find out where she is, check it out. Are you finished?”

  “Yes.”

  I mimic writing something to the waitress, the international sign for requesting the check. I pay, we leave, and we make our way back to the bus toward Logan Circle.

  “Where to?” Edge says.

  “Well, Gwendolyn has always lived in the same house, about a mile from mine, on a really nice block in Georgetown.”

  “Okay, then. That would be the place to start. And, I’m wondering: What else has she done that makes her your archnemesis?”

  “Wow, where do I start?”

  “I’m listening.”

  As we wait for the bus to arrive, I tell him about Gwendolyn, how for as long as I can remember, she’s always looked down on me, never gave me the time of day. One time in fourth grade, she spilled cranberry juice on the seat of the bus before I sat down, so I had to walk around with a giant red stain on my butt the whole day. She laughed at my misery, she and her other blond, beautiful friends. And she cracked an egg in my purse in seventh grade, and it made me cry for days. The killer was when she kissed the boy she knew I was crushing on at the eighth-grade dance. At that point, I could have strangled her.

  “Wow, sounds like a real charmer,” Edge says.

  The bus pulls up, and we climb on. Once we sit, Edge gets out his headphones.

  “I’m not being antisocial; I just have to decompress when I leave my house. It will only take a song or two, and it will be even better with you next to me.”

  I’m
okay with Edge and me not talking. Isn’t that what normal couples do? Are we a normal couple? Is anyone actually normal? I look around. This time the bus is filled with a whole other crop of people. An ancient lady reading a Bible, some young Black kids horsing around, and a middle-aged couple arguing over a map. No Ghost Man, although I can feel his presence looming, as if he may appear at any moment.

  A man in a uniform gets on, smiling as he walks past us. I wonder if he has a child, if one day he’s not going to come home. I wonder what happens when people die. If they really disappear, or if they stay with us somehow. I’m starting to believe in the latter. I secretly wish for even an ounce of my father’s bravery, his courage to get through whatever is happening to me.

  I grab Edge’s hand, and he squeezes mine. I can hear the beats from his headphones secondhand, like in the church when I first met him. They’re faster than my heart, but both rhythms seem to work together.

  10.

  go with your gut

  Gwendolyn’s enormous house looks empty. There are no lights on, and all the blinds are closed.

  “Maybe she’s out of town…”

  “Where does she usually hang out?” Edge asks.

  “Oh, the rooftop pool at Vida Fitness. I always thought it was weird because she doesn’t swim there, she sits by the pool like it’s her accessory.”

  “It’s not a bad accessory.”

  “Wait, you won’t fall for the whole trust-fund Barbie thing, will you?”

  “No. I prefer G.I. Janes.”

  I laugh, shutting out the thought of Edge being into Gwen. Then again, everyone’s always been into Gwen. But Edge isn’t everyone. Not even close. I can’t see it happening.

  At the front desk of Vida Fitness, I convince the guy to let us up to tell our friend something (even though she’s definitely not a friend). When the elevator opens, Edge grabs my arm.

  “From what you told me about her…are you ready for this?”