Invisibility

by Andrea Cremer

  “Holy holy,” he says. “I mean, holy holy holy.”

  Elizabeth is watching all of this.

  “I’m real,” I tell her. “It’s still me.”

  Laurie backs away again. “How long have you been like this?” he asks.

  “My whole life,” I tell him. “Apparently it was a curse that made me this way. I was born invisible.”

  “So, really, no one’s ever seen you?”

  “No. No one but Elizabeth.”

  I’m hoping to see some tenderness emerge in her expression. Now that she has an explanation, now that she knows, I want her to show some sign that things between us are still possible. That even if I lose her as a girlfriend, that even if she never wants to touch me again, I won’t lose her in my life.

  But the tenderness is tamped down. Confusion and anger are still in control.

  “So you don’t go to school,” she says. “Obviously.”

  I shake my head.

  “And when I went over last night, your father couldn’t actually see you.”

  “Correct.”

  “What other lies have you told me?”

  There’s a cutting, wounded tone in her voice now. And I think, This is not how I want to tell her. But I can’t avoid it any longer.

  “My mother’s dead,” I say. “She lived with me for most of my life. Until a year ago. My dad isn’t really in the picture; he just pays for things. But my mother was everything.”

  It’s Laurie who says, “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  Elizabeth, though, is still caught up in the larger anger. “You lied about that? Why would you lie about that?”

  “Elizabeth,” Laurie cautions.

  “No,” I say, “it’s a valid question. Even though there isn’t really a valid answer. I mean, I don’t know. That’s the answer. It was just something that came out of my mouth the first time we talked about it, and then once I’d said it, I was pretty much stuck there. And, I admit, there were moments when it was nice to pretend she was still alive. Bittersweet, but nice.”

  “I guess I gave you a lot of chances to pretend,” Elizabeth says. “Pretend to be visible. Pretend to have a mom. Pretend to like me. What a joke. What an amazing joke that must have been.”

  I really can’t comprehend why she’s saying such things.

  “It wasn’t pretend,” I tell her. “Not with you. I’m genuine with you. More than I’ve ever been allowed to be. Because you can see me.”

  “It’s not fair,” she says. “It’s just not fair.”

  Now the anger is subsiding, but it’s sadness, not tenderness, that’s emerging in its place.

  It’s Laurie who says, “I think you should probably go.”

  “No,” I say. “Not until . . .” And then I freeze. Not until what? Not until she recognizes that the time we’ve had together was never a lie? Not until she says that, hey, even though I’m invisible to most people, she’s happy to be with me forever? Not until someone in the room acknowledges that this isn’t easy for me either? That it’s never been easy for me, and this is taking all the hopes I’ve ever had and pulverizing them into one neat, tidy black hole?

  I’m trying to think of something else to say when Elizabeth surprises me by starting to laugh.

  “What?” I say.

  She shakes her head. But she can’t stop laughing. “It’s just that—I thought to myself, ‘You have to tell him you can’t see him anymore.’ Isn’t that funny? I can’t see you anymore. That’s so incredibly funny.”

  “All right, Jo, c’mon,” Laurie says. He moves over to comfort her again, but she pushes him away.

  “No, Laurie—don’t you think it’s funny? Isn’t it hysterical? My life—everything that’s happened so far in New York—is a complete joke. So shouldn’t I be allowed to laugh at it?”

  “You can laugh all you want,” Laurie says gently. “But I don’t really think you find it funny. And I don’t think Stephen finds it funny either.”

  “Thank you, Laurie,” I say.

  Now it’s his turn to shake his head, as if he can’t accept my thanks.

  “Really,” he says, “you have to go. Although we all know this isn’t a joke, you have to admit that it is extremely, extremely messed up.”

  “Believe me, I know. I’ve lived it my whole life.”

  I know I have to go now. I know that by leaving the room, I am running the risk of never being allowed inside again. That’s not my call to make. I know that.

  “I’ll go,” I say. I look at Elizabeth again. “Is that what you want?”

  She doesn’t say a word. Just nods.

  I turn to leave. But then Laurie calls out to me.

  “Hey—just one more thing,” he says.

  “Yes?”

  “Sean—he’s not, like, one of you, is he?”

  “One of me?”

  “Like, we haven’t moved into an apartment building that’s secretly for mutants, have we?”

  It’s probably a good thing Laurie can’t see my expression.

  “No,” I assure him. “It’s just me.”

  “Thanks.”

  I concentrate on the doorknob, on letting myself out. Then, when I get to my own door, I concentrate on the doorknob, on letting myself in. I think that this might be the easiest way to live—just concentrate on the small things, and never let your mind wander to the big things. But it’s a faulty premise, built on the notion that you can choose where your mind goes. Or where your heart goes.

  I’m sorry. I should have said it again to her, before I left. Even though I didn’t choose this, I’m sorry she’s become involved. Because if she’s feeling even a fraction of the loneliness I’m feeling, or even a fraction of the disappointment—well, then, she’s right. It is deeply unfair.

  “I’m sorry,” I say aloud. And again. “I’m sorry.”

  But who’s around to hear it?

  Nobody but me.

  Chapter 10

  LAURIE GUIDES ME to the couch. I’m shivering and a little nauseated. My skin is too tight and my head throbs.

  “I’ll get you some water,” he says.

  I wrap my arms around myself, trying to rub away the chill that’s settled over me.

  Words that end in ble turn in my brain like a wicked carousel. Impossible. Improbable. Inconceivable. Unacceptable. Undeniable.

  But it all brings me back to one word: invisible.

  “Here.” Laurie folds my hands around a glass.

  I take a sip.

  “You’re going to be late,” I say.

  He laughs. “Josie, we’ve just learned not only is it possible for someone to be invisible, but the invisible person isn’t being discussed on Dateline. He’s your boyfriend.”

  I flinch.

  “Sorry.” His voice gets softer. “Maybe you’re not ready to hear this, but I know how you get. Don’t blame him for stuff that isn’t his fault. Before this happened, how were you feeling about Stephen?”

  I drink more water. I thought he would grind my heart up in the garbage disposal when he broke up with me.

  Laurie answers for me. “You’re crazy about him. Like I’ve never seen.”

  But now I am irascible because he is invisible.

  I crack a slight smile at my silent joke. I don’t know if it means I’m recovering or about to totally lose it.

  “Don’t you want to help him?” Laurie asks.

  “He’s invisible.” I say it and my voice cracks.

  “I know,” he says. “It must be awful.”

  Laurie has done what Laurie does best. He sees the world through the other person, the hurting person. He is seeing life as the invisible boy, who watches everything without ever being noticed himself.

  “When no one can see who you are, no one really knows you,” he says. “The loneliness must be like an ulcer that’s always gnawing at your gut.”

  “But . . .” I say. Guilt begins to chip away at my outrage, but pride tries to weld my indignant humiliation back in place.
<
br />   “But what?” he says. “You know it’s true. You heard him. No one has ever seen him. Not even his own mother.”

  I nod. Something in my chest is cracking and I shudder. Laurie puts his arm around me.

  “No one has seen him. Except you.”

  He lets the words sink in. I nod again.

  “That has to mean something,” he says.

  “What does it mean?” I whisper.

  “I think it means you’re the one who can cure him.”

  “Cure him?” Immediately I want to call Mom. She knows people at the Mayo Clinic. She can pull strings. We’ll figure this out.

  Laurie has seen something spark in my eyes and he grabs my hand. “No, Elizabeth. Maybe cure is the wrong word. Don’t go there. It’s not a disease. If you treat him . . . in that way you’ll never see him again and his ending up on Dateline would be a best-case scenario.”

  “How do you know that?” I ask. “What if he does need a cure?”

  Part of me wants a rational explanation. Something that science can drop into a textbook and let us all learn to live with because someone else claims to understand it.

  “He said he’s cursed,” Laurie says. “Curses aren’t diseases, they’re . . .”

  Now he starts realizing what he’s about to say. He offers me a helpless sigh.

  “Oh my God,” I say. “Magic? Give me a break.”

  “He’s invisible!” Laurie stands up and paces across the room.

  “I know!” I draw my knees to my chest. “But magic? It’s not . . . real.”

  “And invisibility is?” Laurie says. “Elizabeth, I could not see him. Nothing. Not anything.”

  “I know . . . I just can’t . . . how can this even . . . ?” I dig my fists into the couch cushions.

  “I thought I was having a Pop-Tart hallucination at first.”

  “Come on.” I’m not ready for jokes yet.

  “I’m serious,” he says. “If you eat more than fifteen, things can get a little crazy.”

  “Whatever.” Irritation curls around me like a blanket and I feel better. It’s easier when I’m angry. Anger has been my armor for a while now and I’m comfortable slipping into it again.

  “Don’t.” Laurie has other ideas. “Don’t do that.”

  “I’m not doing anything,” I say, withdrawing further into myself.

  “Liar,” he says. “Being pissed will get you nowhere.”

  “Don’t tell me how to feel.”

  “Then stop acting like a baby,” he says. “Stephen didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “He lied to me!” That’s the worst part. I still can’t quite believe he’s invisible. I can see him. I’ve held him. Kissed him. But the lies are all too real.

  “Can you blame him?” Laurie asks. When I glare, he says, “Obviously, you can. But I think you’re taking this the wrong way.”

  I tear my eyes off him, staring at the blank television screen instead. I see Laurie’s and my reflections on its surface like we’re the hour-long drama playing out for the world to see.

  “If you were in his place, what would you have done?” he asks.

  I look at him, open my mouth, and realize I don’t have an answer.

  “No one has ever seen him,” Laurie says. “Until you.”

  Suddenly he walks out of the room. I stare after him, thinking he’s decided he’s made his point and is leaving me to either retreat to anger, sulk, or come up with my own solution. But a minute later he’s back with a comic in his hand. He walks up to me, thrusting the Runaways in my face.

  “Who had me get this for you?”

  “Shut up,” I say.

  “Stop it!” He’s shouting. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get a clue about what’s happening here!”

  “Why don’t you explain it to me since you have all the answers!”

  “He’s in love with you!” Laurie throws the comic at me. “When he figured out I was here, he could have bolted back to his place, waited for you to show, and then made an excuse about having forgotten something. He could have found a way to lie again, Elizabeth, but he didn’t. He told you what he hasn’t told anyone. And he told me too. He frickin’ let me trace the shape of his face with my hands. How weird must that have been?”

  I want to yell at him, but I can’t. I can’t do anything but cradle the Runaways against my chest.

  Laurie isn’t done yet. “He is in love with you and if you love him at all, you need to figure out how you’re going to deal with this. He needs you to do that. And if you want me to continue to respect you, I need you to do that too.”

  “Okay.” I say it quietly.

  “Okay?” Laurie’s chest is still puffed up, like he expected another round or two of shouting. “Oh.”

  He sits beside me.

  “So what do I do?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure,” he says. “You’re the one who knows him. What do you think you should do?”

  “Apologize?”

  “Probably.” He smiles. “But don’t overdo it. You’re right about the lying. Lying is not okay. Forgiving him for it is a good idea, but I’m not happy about my sister’s boyfriend being dishonest either.”

  I return his smile. “Thanks.”

  “Of course.”

  Questions begin to bloom in my mind. “You’re serious about the whole curse, magic thing?”

  “I don’t know if serious is the right word,” he says. “It’s more like there aren’t any other options, so let’s go with this one.”

  “How do curses work?”

  “News flash,” he says. “I’m gay, not a witch. Gay and witch is Dumbledore, and last time I checked, he was still just a guy in a book.”

  I laugh and he hugs me.

  “Despite my taking the high ground here, I’m as stumped as you are, Josie,” he says. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “What if he hates me now?” My mind is jumping around with the same speed as my suddenly pounding heart.

  “Hang on,” he says. “Let’s handle one issue at a time. Remember that whole apology idea you came up with first?”

  I nod.

  “Try that,” he says. “Then move on to step two.”

  “What’s step two?” I ask.

  “If you’re lucky . . . or in his mind, if he’s lucky, makeup making out—probably taking it all the way to third base. Unless you guys are already hitting it out of the park.” He grins.

  “Laurie!” I mash a throw pillow into his face.

  “I’m just trying to give you incentives.” He’s still laughing. “I know how stubborn you can be at admitting you did something wrong.”

  My cheeks are flaming, but I’m grateful I don’t feel cold and sick anymore.

  “Go over there,” Laurie says.

  “What if he’s not home?” I know I sound lame, but my anger is gone, leaving only embarrassment and renewed fear of rejection. If I wasn’t about to get dumped this morning, I may have sealed that deal with my earlier outburst.

  Laurie gives me a long look. “If he’s not home, you come back, take a shower, and transform yourself into ‘lively, attractive Elizabeth’ instead of continuing to sport this ‘waking dead Elizabeth’ look you’ve got going.”

  Now all I want to do is take a shower.

  “I’m kidding,” he says, seeing anxiety roll across my face. “You look cute in PJs. It will also probably assist in that whole make-out scenario I mentioned. Get over there. Talk to him.”

  “Then what?”

  “Did Mom not have the talk with you?” Laurie asks. “Do you not understand the principle of making out? Uh-oh . . . do you not know what third base is?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be helping me?” I laugh, grateful for his teasing even if I’m blushing from head to toe.

  “I am helping,” he says. And he is. “After making out, you talk to him, figure out what he does know about this whole invisible issue, and then together you decide what the next step is.”

  “What is
the next step?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m guessing he doesn’t know either. This is a first for everyone involved. Solutions will require collaboration, I’m thinking.”

  “Right,” I say, worrying at the tangles in my hair.

  “I’ll wait here in case it goes badly,” he says. “If necessary, I will go buy you ice cream.”

  “No,” I say, shrugging off my anger armor and trying to find some resolve to replace it. “Go to school. I’ll be okay.”

  “You sure?” Laurie asks. “I’ll be worried about you.”

  “I don’t want you sitting here while I try to take us past third base,” I say, as much to bolster my own confidence as to tease my brother.

  “TMI! TMI!” Laurie shrieks, bolting from the room.

  “You started it!” I call after him.

  He peeks around the corner, grinning. “All right—I’m going to school, and if I hit the subway right, I might even get there on time.”

  “Okay.” I smile, but I’m starting to lose my nerve.

  He holds up his phone. “This will be on at all times. If you need me, I’ll come right back.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  When he returns to the living room, he hugs me. “Be honest and don’t pretend you’re not falling truly, madly, and deeply for this guy. Denial will get you in trouble.”

  I wait until Laurie leaves and then I shuffle down the hall to Stephen’s apartment. I feel silly wearing my pajamas, but I know stalling will only push me along the road to permanent residence in cowardville. Laurie’s right. I’m stubborn and could easily nurse a grudge that keeps me from ever talking to Stephen again.

  My stomach is a pretzel when I knock on the door.

  There’s no answer.

  I shift back and forth on my feet, count to ten, and knock again.

  Very softly, from the other side of the door I hear his voice.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Yes,” I say. My heart has climbed into my throat.

  The door opens. He’s standing there. Visible.

  I don’t know what to say. I look at him and think how unfair it is that such a beautiful face is hidden from the rest of the world.

  Laurie is right. He is visible to me. Only to me. It must mean something.