Going, Going

You all had just stumbled out of the tattoo parlor in Lincoln Park and decided to head back to Z’s apartment before going to the party. No one was in a rush, but you had been anxious for the better half of the day. You remembered you had to text Nik’s mom some pictures you forgot to send her weeks ago. You had reminded yourself that anxiety works like that, that anxiety is the invisible danger your brain convinces you is there, but actually isn’t. It isn’t, you always repeat to yourself. The feeling of dry, thick cotton balls stuffed down your throat isn’t real. But your heart beating as erratic as the pitter-pattering of raindrops, is only a reminder that you can’t convince yourself mortality and anxiety aren’t the same. 

The bitter January wind attempted to split the exposed skin of your face as you all walked down the block to the apartment. Your coat pockets were filled with tissues from a brutal cold you had just gotten over, so you let your hands fall at your side. It hurt to move them because of how quickly frigid they became. 

Jack was quiet. He didn’t get any tattoos after deciding that his girlfriend would probably be upset with him because he told her he’d get his first one with her. Kinda bogus, you thought. You and Jack dated for a while freshman year of college, and even though it didn’t work like everyone thought it would, you still see him as your best friend. You like his current girlfriend, she’s just a little much sometimes. Then again, so were you when you two were dating. He’s got that effect on women. Your mom used to call him an adonis. You don’t really see it anymore. 

Your mouth felt a little dry as your friends passed around a bowl at Z’s. You didn’t smoke as much as you usually did. You’ve been trying to cut back. Last year you used to smoke a lot with Nik. You used to do a lot with Nik. Talk, sing, shop, fuck, cry, fight, kiss, repeat. He was a good time, a complicated time. You thought you loved him because he loved you. Love had tasted a little more sweet in your mouth before him. Less like metal. 

His brother told you the news mid-December. He said his heart just stopped pumping. His sister found him. You hadn’t talked since the third day of school. 

You blink. You breathe. Jack and Z are discussing Matt Muse’s EP and if they think they get the bigger picture of it, their voices are rising. You blink again, realizing there was some type of buildup behind your eyes. You blink again, and you’re at the party. 

Your dirty white sneakers are soaked from trudging through the snow, as are the ankle part of your pants. They make you take off your shoes at the door of the apartment. There are at least 30 pairs trailing toward the stairs. Like they’re all trying to run away. 

You pour yourself some ginger-ale. You felt queasy after thinking about Nik. Jack didn’t want to be there, and you knew. But something about his bad attitude pissed you off. You didn’t want to be here either. And it’s not like his friend is dead. 

Your friends never really got to know Nik. Nik was a separate piece of your life. A piece that only belonged to you. Not them. 

You didn’t have your glasses on, so everything felt like a guess, especially in the dark room. But you saw him first. The long nose. Oval face, framed with a brunette beard. Soft almond eyes, dark, dark, dark. An infectious smile, even more contagious laugh, like a disease you are told is a blessing. Like you should be grateful you feel like shit. 

He caught you staring and gave you a curious look. He was holding a bottle of Blue Moon, his favorite, while he gesticulated a story to whoever he was talking at. He stood by the yellow lamp light toward the corner, his features exaggerated like a monster in a storybook, or like the pictures in your phone. You still hadn’t texted his mom. 

You couldn’t help yourself. It couldn’t be him. You saw the casket go down. But you had to know. You wanted a name. 

“Nik! My name is Nik.” You stared, unblinking. “Y’know, short for Nikolai.” You still couldn’t say anything.

He started to laugh. “Jesus, Rach, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Why’re you calling me Rach? Only Nik called me Rach.” Raquel is your middle name. Nik called you Rachel to annoy you. It worked, until it didn’t. 

He looked at you funny. “Listen, I know things got weird between us, but you don’t gotta act like that. How about we go back to your place and catch up. I’ve missed you.” 

You wanted to call Jack for help. He’d know what to do. But instead, you nodded. You smiled. You missed him too. You didn’t get to say goodbye, but now you get to say hello. 

You texted Jack that you left the party and were safe. He didn’t respond. But you knew he saw. 

You blinked and you were at your place. A little farther than Z’s, but Nik had put his arm around you and you felt warm. The type of warmth only Nik knew how to give. You offered him something to drink, but he declined. Instead, he made himself comfortable on your bed, just as he always would whenever he came over. He picked up a stuffed penguin and played with the loose hem of its flipper. 

You inched closer to him, almost afraid if you moved too quickly, he’d get away somehow. But there was carelessness attached to him. He wasn’t aware of the space he took up, how he stretched his legs out onto the bed, how his breathing seemed to suck out the rest of the air in the room. 

“You don’t have to look so afraid of me, y’know. I’m-I’m better now,” he paused, almost sheepishly, and let out a breath. He was frustrated. He couldn’t translate his internal monologue into something you could believe in. 

Nik was a religion and once you started to pray you were told God wasn’t real. God was never real. God is god is god is whoever you give the power to be god. But here He lay in front of you, on your bed, hand tracing your bare arm. Here He lay next to you, whispering secrets in your ear He thought you forgot, and you wish you had forgotten, but never did. Here He is, dragging his fingers along the lines of your palms, telling you about your lifeline (“kind of long, but who is to say?”) and your love line (“jagged and disconnected”). 

Your lips were dry, your throat so clogged it almost throbbed in pain. You still hadn’t texted Nik’s mom. But she wouldn’t need the pictures if he were in front of her, right? You wanted to ask how or why he was here. You couldn’t find the courage on the walk back, and now that you could feel him again, you didn’t care about the answer. He was tangible. You had more than just the pictures and the memory of his mother hugging you when you told her you knew him well. 

You felt his breath against your neck. He had moved so close, so softly, like a ghost in search of a home and finally finding one. And you reciprocated. Every piece of your body begged to leave. But you stayed, telling yourself that this was a gift. You wanted to know what he felt like after so long. You took his hand and gently kissed his palm, your breath fanning his lifeline. Barely visible. 

The new grass supporting his gravestone flashed in your head. The call, He passed away yesterday. The smell of his cologne. Your hands faltered for a moment. You realized he didn’t smell like anything. He tasted metallic, almost cold. There was a desperation here. You just couldn’t tell whether it came from you or him. 

You laughed when he kissed the part of your neck that was ticklish. The two of you recalled memories, only the good ones, and listened to one another’s breathing. You were terrified, but you felt so, incredibly lucky. He was here. 

You didn’t remember falling asleep. Or waking up when Nik left. You felt the empty space next to you and your gut lurched. Nik used to always kiss goodbye. 

Your mouth no longer felt dry as you got up to stretch. You felt energized. Genuinely awake. 

You called his number, hoping he’d answer. Maybe you could make plans with him for tonight. 

A woman picked up. Her name was Ella, her voice was soft and young, almost child-like. She said she didn’t know a Nik, that she had just gotten this number. She apologized. So did you.