Chasing Shadows

by Liana Hakes-Rucker

  I gasp. I’ve seen too much of the throat slitting lately.

  Lupa waits a full ten seconds before she bursts into gales of laughter.

  I laugh with her but it sounds thin and nervous to me.

  “Here.” She says. “This bra goes with those. It’ll make your boobs look good.”

  “Thanks.” I say quietly. Lupa precedes to hand me one item after another. Apparently I will not be choosing my own outfit today. It’s okay though, at least she doesn’t try for the dress. The jeans are low cut and they cling to my hips and thighs. I feel a little exposed, but when I check myself in the mirror I have to admit, they make my ass look good. Lupa puts me in a scoop neck, long sleeve t-shirt that fits close to my body, but its not too close, and it goes all the way down to my hips so that’s fine. It’s a light blue with purple, gray and pink swirly designs scattered across it a-symmetrically. It looks okay. It’ll go with my jacket and my hair stripes. I like it. I smile at myself in the mirror. “Thank you so much Lupa.”

  “Of course, Miss Jones.” She beams.

  “You can call me, Meegan please.”

  “Yes, Miss Meegan.” She says. “Now, here,” She hands me a little compact. “Put on some make up. Its oil free, hypoallergenic and it’ll match your skin. Then, you let me do your eyes.”

  Well, hell, might as well run with it. I obey some more, and by the time I leave the bedroom to go get some coffee, I look like a more feminine and put together version of myself. I can rock it. It is a holiday after all.

  ***

  It's cold out here. I know I've said that a million times but, damn it, it just continues to be true. Schuyler and I are walking through a pretty snow fall down the brightly lit sidewalk that leads to Golden Waffle. He's got his long gangly arm over my shoulders. We scurry and slide across icy patches on the pavement. Passing us on every side are holiday revelers. There is a man in a flesh colored body suit with a fake fig leaf over his groin. He's not in what you'd call "top form". I smile up at Schuyler. He grins down at me. We walk on, and in moments find ourselves in Golden Waffle happily seated in a booth by the window.

  "This was a good idea." He says to me.

  "It was your idea, hot stuff." I reply and lightly kick his shin under the table. We've just come from a relatively terrifying haunted house, and now, its time for pancakes and voyeurism.

  "Whoa, look at them." He says staring out the window. A zombiefied nurse slut and a vampire whore are strutting arm in arm through the snow.

  "Kind of an odd choice, the zombie nurse one." I say. "Like she couldn't commit to either gory or sexy, so she tried both."

  Schuyler nods thoughtfully. "There's gotta be a deeper metaphor there. We're just missing it."

  I gasp. "I always say that! It's like we're reading a book too fast to see the deeper meaning."

  He grins. "All caught up in the plot and missing the point."

  "Precisely! Ooo look at that guy! There's a highly realized vision." It's a man with a purple Mohawk and a unicorn horn wearing cardboard cuffs that might be hooves.

  Schuyler nods. "That's new to me."

  The waitress visits us and we order sugary carbohydrates. It's nice and warm in here, so I remove my jacket. We stare out the window in silence until the nice lady brings us our coffee. I take a sip and crinkle my nose. It's burnt, so I add sugar and cream to make it drinkable.

  "There's a concert, not this weekend, but the next one." Schuyler says. "Modest Mouse is playing. You want to go?"

  I nod. "If I have my job back by then. I don't want to dip into my savings for frivolous stuff."

  Schuyler shrugs. "Even if you don't. I'll pay for it, but I need a yes or no so I can buy the tickets."

  "I'm not sure, sweetie." I say. "Wow. What about that guy?" I gesture towards a very round man who from the neck up makes a passable Frankenstein's monster.

  Schuyler grins. "It's highly improbable that Frankenstein would have robbed the graves of the morbidly obese."

  I laugh. "That's what we'd say: 'You sir, are highly improbable!' I bet he's fun at a party though, he has that look about him."

  "Just say yes." Schuyler says.

  "To the concert? Okay, I guess. I'd be off that weekend if I do get my job back by then."

  He nods. "Whoa." He whispers. His eyes are bugged out. I look. It's a flabby red devil woman. Her skirt doesn't cover her ass, on which she appears to wearing tidy whities. Also, the costume looks like its been around for a few years. Maybe she's not in costume. Maybe this is how she dresses.

  "That might have fit her in 05." I say. "Not that I should talk. I'd be rockin' my rolls in a get up like that." I always feel weird making fun of other women's weight issues. I'd rather stick to clothing choices or make up catastrophes.

  Schuyler scoffs. "You'd look great in that. You'd just never wear it out of your house."

  I giggle. "You got me. My closet's full of crazy whore costumes. I prance around in them when I'm home alone."

  He gives me a stage-worthy thoughtful look, so I blow my straw paper at him. "Hey," He protests. "I'm having a moment here."

  "Picture me as a floppy hooker on your own time, now is the time for the mocking of others."

  "Right you are, and here come some now."

  "Highly mockable." I say with approval, and they are. It's a gaggle of college men dressed as fruit. They're like the Fruit Of The Loom guys except that apple has a beer guzzling cap on his head. Grape is staggering into Banana, who is making the jerk off gesture for reasons unknowable. "I hope they're not thinking they'll get laid tonight."

  Schuyler laughs. "Yeah, because even a very drunk woman knows she doesn't want to have to admit she got it on with a giant pear."

  "Oh my God Becky! I did this apple guy last night, and he made me sooo hungry!"

  "I bet those guys are getting a lot of gay jokes."

  I nod. "Maybe that's why they got so tanked. 'Nobody takes me seriously when I'm dressed at a cumquat.'"

  Schuyler chuckles, which is cute. "Clinically depressed fruit."

  "Ooo, Ooo, they've gone bad." I say. "Ba dum bum."

  He grimaces. "I think our food is coming."

  "No, I told you, no one's screwing them."

  Schuyler rolls his eyes.

  "I can't help myself." I whisper, "Masturbating fruit." I laugh. "Masturbating fruit."

  Schuyler's turning red. "Stop."

  I'm taken aback. "Really? That's not funny?"

  The waitress gives us out pancakes. We thank her. Schuyler says, "Not from you."

  "What do you mean? Masturbating fruit would be funny coming from someone else? Hah coming!"

  He puts his head in his hand. "Stop. You're a girl. From you, it's way too crass."

  "Are you serious?" Schuyler looks guilty. He nods. I am shocked. "You're shaming me? Holy shit! Is this a Catholic thing?" And now he looks angry. I guess I've gone too far. A silence falls. I feel my lips purse into and O. "Sorry?"

  Schuyler sighs. "Forget about it." Yeah right. Like I can. Wow. I guess I'm just not the decent person he was hoping I would be. Well honestly, screw him for having expectations. I'm like that, guilt ticks me off. I'd make a very angry Catholic. After a time Schuyler opens his hands palms up on the table. "It is not a Catholic thing. I can object to something you say without it being because of my religion. I wish I'd never told you."

  "Wow. Can you forgive me?" I hope my voice isn't pissy, but it probably is. "If I promise to never, ever bring up anything like that again, will it be okay?"

  He shakes his head. "I forgive you. Sorry I got mad."

  I shrug. "So, no joking about sex, or some joking about sex? Because when I said the fruit guys were never going to get laid, that was okay but when I mentioned the self gratification of said fruit guys, that was not okay. I don't know where the line is. Also I'm not terribly good at editing myself. That's kind of why I work nights, not fit for public consumption, so to speak." I bite my lip torn between wanting to make it okay, and being pissed that he's
judging me.

  Schuyler sort of clutches his jaw. It's a gesture of frustration. "Look, I'm sorry I said anything. You are how you are, and I like you just fine. It's the anxiety, makes me irritable. Please, let's drop it."

  Oh, there it is. Let it go, let it go... Fuck it. "I am how I am?" I ask. "How's that?"

  "Shit." He says, and by the look on his face I know he knows he's stepped in it. See? See how I am? First I'm crass, offensive and insulting and now it's his fault! Where has the nice gone?

  I laugh. "Sorry." I say. "I did that on purpose and you don't deserve it. Please forgive me."

  "Did what?" He asks. Men are wonderful. I wish I was a nicer person.

  I sigh. "I turned it around and made it your fault, because I felt guilty, and I don't like to feel guilty, so I put you on the defensive. I did it on purpose. It was mean."

  "Oh."

  "Yeah so I'm rude, and crass, and manipulative, but at least I'm aware of it. Some women don't even know they're doing it."

  He nods. "Explains a lot."

  "See?" I say. "There's another one. I could demand to know what exactly that explains and you'd be apologizing again before you know it. You've gotta watch that, honey. The wrong woman could run you in circles."

  Schuyler smiles sheepishly. "That's what usually happens."

  I nod like I know all. "Not anymore. Now you have me and if some bitch starts pushing you around, I'll run her off."

  He laughs. "Please don't."

  I laugh too. "Fine, she'll run me off then."

  "Who will?"

  "Whoever you get with, sweetheart. When you get a girlfriend she's not going to want me hanging around."

  He nods seriously. "Not with your past."

  My face transforms to mock shock. "Punk."

  He cocks an eyebrow. "You mean Catholic punk right?"

  Is he joking? I'm confused. "So... As per my previous promise I am officially not allowed to comment on that."

  Schuyler nods. "Good girl."

  "That's patronizing."

  He lifts his hands for emphasis. "That's how I am."

  "Touché"

  We both laugh, but there's an edge to it now that there wasn't before. We tackle our pancakes with gusto usually reserved for awkward family reunions, not that I'd know. Somehow making fun of strangers has lost its appeal. As soon as Schuyler's finished with his food he throws some money on the table. "Ready?" He asks.

  "Sure." We stand to leave.

  "You coming over?"

  "My bag is at your house, but after I get it I could go home."

  Schuyler looks at me funny, but then he says "Okay." On the walk back to the Escalade he takes my hand. To me, the gesture feels a little off. When we get in the SUV he turns to me. "Listen, Meegan, you can stay over. Sorry I was a jerk."

  "You weren't a jerk."

  "Really? Because I can't tell right now."

  I smile reassuringly and rub his shoulder. "Schuyler, you're wonderful, seriously. I'd have been lost without you today. Thank you." He smiles but he's clearly still unsure of things. Well hell, so am I. It's not far back to Schuyler's building. We arrive without further confrontation which is easy since we're not really talking.

  When we walk in the door Schuyler checks his watch. "It's 11:00." He says. "In an hour it'll be All Saint's Day. I'm going to midnight mass."

  "Okay." I say, scanning the room. Where did I put my bag?

  "You wanna come?"

  I look at him. "You want me to?"

  "Not really." He sighs. "I won't be able to concentrate with you there. I need to calm."

  I nod. "That's cool. Thank you, again. I'll just find my bag and go home."

  "Take some clothes." He says.

  I cock and eyebrow. "I have clothes."

  He nods. "I know. I'm not saying you should take them all, but I got them for you. No one else is going to wear them. Anyway you can put off doing laundry another day if you take a set."

  "Okay." I move towards the bedroom where Lupa put the clothes and Schuyler follows me. I enter the room. My bag is on the bed. Lupa must have moved it here. I guess as far as she's concerned this is my room now. Quietly I throw together an outfit for tomorrow. Schuyler sits on the bed. He seems pleased, watching me put things in my bag. When I'm done I sit next to him and wrap my arm around his waist. He throws his arm over my shoulders so I lean up against him. "Sorry things got weird." I whisper. "I guess I'm kind of still freaked out over stuff." It's a convenient excuse.

  "No." He says. "It's the medication. I can't even explain to you how different it is, being without it. When I'm back to normal, I'll call you." I reach my other arm around to hug him. He hugs me back. When I release from the embrace Schuyler does not. This is odd but not bad. We sit here like this for a little while. At last he sighs and lets me go. I mess with his hair and he closes his eyes and leans in.

  "Here." I say. "Turn your back to me." He does and I scoot over and rub his shoulders. They seem so tight. Have I ever rubbed anyone's shoulders before? Not in my memory, but my hands seem to know what to do. Schuyler makes some contented noises. I stand to get a better angle, resting my knee behind him on the bed. This goes on for some time. I get his neck and his scalp too. I sort of plan to keep at it 'til he tells me to stop but now my hands start to get tired so I ask, "What time is it?"

  He checks his watch. "11:45, I have to go." He stands up fast.

  "Yeah." I smile. "Will you make it on time?"

  "Just." He precedes me out to the hall and I try to match his pace. I don't want to make him late. We leave and ride the elevator together. I have to exit at the lobby. He's going down further to the parking garage. When the door opens at the lobby, Schuyler reaches over and gives me a one armed hug. He plants a kiss on the top of my head. "I'll call you in a couple of days." He says.

  I look at him. "For you, I'll answer my phone." I smile and he smiles back. I exit the elevator and head across the posh lobby to the double doors that lead straight into winter.

  Chapter Nine

  This coffee is good. It’s rich and dark with cream and sugar. I love the feel of its steam in my nose and the smooth heat it leaves down my throat. I love the way my gloved hands allow the warmth from the paper cup to seep slowly and softy into my skin. The cup releases a luxurious fog into the frigid evening air, and I love that too. The only down side is the occasional slosh of warm liquid onto my purple knit gloves, but that's just the hazard of walking and drinking. Snow crunches under my new boots. They pinch a little, and will continue to do so until they're completely broken in. I've got new leggings under my new jeans and the way the two fabrics move against each other is nice. The heels of the jeans are dark and heavy with melted snow. The sidewalk has been shoveled in some places but not in others. I'm on a residential street. Nearly every parking spot is taken, which isn't unusual in any weather but it’s only in the snow that you see the random pieces of furniture set out as place holders in the empty spots.

  I take in a crisp breath through my nose. Halloween decorations show orange purple and black under the snow in front lawns. Paper ghosts are hanging wet and pathetic from the braches of the tree I'm passing right now. I stop and turn to consider them. There's bound to be some metaphor there that I should be able to get.

  I'm distracted from the reverie by a little flicker of white. Is that one of the ghosts on the breeze? I squint and stare in the deepening gloom. The sun's last rays fade away while I'm standing here looking in the tree. All the white paper ghosts turn yellow and gray in the glare from the street lamp. All except for one. It's not the same shape as the others, same size, wrong color. Even in the gloom, this one's still bright white. I stare high up in the tree. It flutters. I sip my coffee.

  Now the white shape hops down a branch, then down another. I'm watching and waiting. A car drives by slowly slurping through the slush and ice. The bright white shape flickers again, it twitches and now it leaps up, taking flight. It meanders erratically half a block down to another tree.
/>
  I've never seen a pure white one before. I mean, if this is a shade. Who knows? Maybe it’s just a bird, and I need glasses really bad. I laugh silently and proceed walking in a leisurely fashion down the half a block to where the white, shiny, papery shade seems to be waiting. When I get up to the tree, I feel my hair move. Its like fingers brush it away from my left ear; that's nice. I sigh, staring at the apparition. It's low on detail. Doesn't really look like a bird. It’s kind of like a living swatch of bright white tissue paper. Seriously, I think I hear it crinkle.

  A gust of wind whips my hair into my eyes. I lift my right hand to brush it back, but the shade beats me to it. As I'm lowering my hand again the white paper thing flutters up several feet and away. Its flight path involves lots of ups and downs and some swirling. It crosses the street seemingly on the wind. The white shape continues down the block before swooping west and landing just barely in my field of vision, again, high in the branches of a tree.

  This is neat. I climb awkwardly over the snow bank that separates the sidewalk from the street. I cross the slushy, wet, slick, road and climb over the other bank. It takes some work to do this without spilling my coffee. As I arrive on the bare salted sidewalk I raise my sights. The tissue paper shade is still where it landed. It seems to be pulsing and jiggling. I think I detect some other color now in the glaring white, but I'd be hard pressed to identify it. I focus on the sound of my boots on the pavement as I follow my filmy guide. I'm reminded of the night I found Madeline. Perhaps these things can only ever lead me to terrible places. I know I should stop. I should feel trepidatious, but I don’t. If I’m honest I know I’d follow a flickering, unexplainable vision to hell, if that’s where it was headed. I just like the feeling.

  We go on like this, tissue shade and I, for what feels like a long time. Walking through snow and ice always takes a while. I estimate it’s been about ten blocks, give or take, since I first saw Filmy. That’s his name now, Filmy. Filmy lands in yet another leafless tree. I catch up to him at my own pace and this time, instead of flickering away again, Filmy evaporates. Just like that. Well, poo.