“Did you really memorize the whole poem?”
“The first section, yeah. I like how it speaks in so many different voices. It’s sort of loud, you know?” I picture Ethan practicing with Oville, strumming his guitar and singing his heart out. Noise as balm. I listen to them on repeat on my headphones after school every day. Try to parse out Ethan’s voice, like a middle schooler obsessed with a boy band. He sounds stronger, rougher than Liam. Gravelly. Equal parts angry and resigned.
“I’m sorry about your brother.” I blurt it out, and he looks as surprised as I am that I have taken the leap and mentioned it. “I mean, I know ‘I’m sorry’ is pretty useless, but I just heard—I’m like a year and a half behind on all things Wood Valley—and like you said a few weeks ago, I didn’t want to be one of those people who didn’t say something just because it’s uncomfortable. Anyhow, it sucks, and nothing I can say will make it better. But yeah, I’m so sorry.”
I stop talking, even though I have more to say. I want to tell him that he will sleep again, that it gets easier, sort of, despite the fact that it will never be okay. That those cards, time heals all wounds, start to feel a bit more true and still not true at all. I want to tell him I understand. But I’m pretty sure he already knows.
“Thanks,” he says, again drawn to the window. He’s so far away now, I feel like even if I were to indulge my need to touch him—my hand on his arm, my fingers in his hair, my palm on his cheek—he wouldn’t feel it. “You’re the only person who didn’t know me before. Everyone else assumes I’m just like him or wonders why I can’t just go back to being how I used to be. But I’m not him and I’m not the same me either, you know?”
“Ethan is Ethan is Ethan. Whoever that may be now,” I say.
Ethan’s head snaps back, as if he has again come to, the window forgotten. He looks at me instead; his eyes bore into mine, almost pleading, though I don’t know for what. God, I want to touch him, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin. What if he doesn’t want me to? What if he just needs to occasionally have coffee with a person who didn’t know him before? Maybe that’s all I am.
I can understand that. The idea of leaving Chicago—of not being surrounded every day by the people who had always known me, who expected me to keep on being the same Jessie they had always known—once seemed like the answer, until it turned out it wasn’t.
“Exactly. You get it. I am who I am, whoever that may be now.”
“I wish I could recite ‘The Waste Land,’ because I feel like that would be so appropriate right now.” I smile, which is almost the same as feeling his skin against mine, but no, not the same thing at all.
“Liam’s going to ask you out. I thought you should know that.”
“What?” I heard him, of course I heard him, but I don’t know what to say. Liam has nothing to do with whatever is going on here. I’m still not sure whether Ethan is SN, but I’m also not sure how much that matters. Because Ethan is real and right in front of me, not just carefully written words on a screen.
I was wrong. I will not just let go of this silly crush, because this is not silly. Not even a little bit. Maybe it’s my crush on SN that’s ridiculous. He could be anyone. Typing is easy. But talking like this? This is hard.
Ethan shrugs. He knows I heard him.
“I…I don’t want him to,” I say. Now my eyes are pleading, though again I don’t know for what. For him to touch me? Please touch me. Your hand is right there.
Ethan’s coffee cup is interesting to him again; he stirs the black. He doesn’t touch me. “Then I think you should say no.”
—
Later, I lie on my bed and replay the conversation over and over again. I think you should say no. I measure the literal space that was between us—no more than a foot, probably less—and wonder how, if, we’ll ever cross it.
SN: t minus forty-eight hours. i’m nervous.
Me: Me too. But I think if it’s a disaster, we can just go back to this. Being friends here.
SN: you think? I don’t know.
Scarlett: Did you know you can order the pill online?
Me: Do NOT order drugs online. If you want the pill, GO TO THE GYNO.
Scarlett: Yuck. I hate stirrups. The whole thing is so humiliating. So many personal questions…
Me: Come on, put on your big girl panties. YOU CAN DO THIS. Maybe I need to start making you empowering computer tattoos, because I’ve suddenly become the you in this relationship.
Scarlett: So I’ve been listening to Oville.
Me: AND?
Scarlett: YUM.
Ethan: I think we need to start writing our paper. Not just discussing.
Me: You do?
Ethan: Yup. I know it’s not due until spring. But it’s a long poem, and we need to get started. Maybe meet more than once a week.
Am I dancing around my room right now, rocking out, my whole body smiling? Maybe. Maybe I am.
Me: Yeah. Totally.
Ethan: Cool.
Me: Cool beans.