Page 2 of Earthly Ties

I wish I could blame the wine for my overactive imagination, but that’s a recurring dream, even sober. Kissing—and other activities—only happens with Dream Esther. Real Esther and I do not interact, and certainly not the way we do in our dreams.

Sure, we’ve given the barely visible head nod of queer woman solidarity while passing in hallways, or sat a few seats away in the rare in person faculty meetings. But right now, she is mere feet from me, wearing a button-down shirt and—notably—no pants! Her stout legs, dark hair dusting her shapely calves, are just as mouth-watering in real life. My overactive imagination was pretty spot on—even the mole on her right thigh is real, though I can’t imagine how my subconscious guessed that.

Humming to herself, Esther checks her watch while looking out the window. Her shirt rides up on her hips when she sips from the mug, revealing a tantalizing flash of skin at the hem. Sky blue is a very flattering color on her, making her bright blue eyes pop.

Ugh, she’s pretending I’m not here, and I’m still checking her out? This is pathetic, even for me.

Granted, I’m pretending to be asleep, just to avoid the inevitable awkwardness of trying to fumble my way out of this, so I can’t exactly hold it against her. Do I even want to know the embarrassing truth of what happened last night? Should I be grateful I can’t remember her rejecting me?

An impatient sigh escapes her as she checks the time on her phone, as if Esther hadn’t registered the time on her watch mere seconds ago.

Is that my cue that I’ve overstayed my welcome? Was she expecting me to sneak out while she was in the restroom?

Was I even welcome in the first place?

The only logical explanation I can come up with is that I stumbled my way to campus, stole the Philosophy Department personnel records from Gilda’s desk, and drunk texted Esther—or just showed up at her apartment. If that is the case, that is a new low of desperation; I might as well quit my job now and disappear forever. Not that there was much opportunity for crossover between our specialties (her feminist philosophy, me the occult and spirituality), but in one night, I have irrevocably destroyed any chance of a professional relationship with the cute, bubbly coworker I met six months ago.

Still pretending to be asleep—like the awkward, avoidant woman I am—I roll over to look around, without Esther knowing I’m awake yet. I have no idea where my phone is. I don’t even know where my glasses are. I’m not wearing them—the cat-eye rims are usually visible, yet there’s nothing in the edges of my vision other than a blurry haze.

But I can count the individual hairs growing on Esther’s legs, so my vision is not a problem for once. Is this my Spiderman moment? Did I get bit by my hot, soft butch coworker, and suddenly my nearsightedness is gone?

I reach up and touch my face to check if my glasses are there, but my hand goes past where my glasses should be and passes completely through my face.

“What the fuck?” I bolt upright. Pretending to be asleep while Esther ignores me, or remembering how I got in her apartment, are so much less concerning than not being solid. “Oh no. No. No, no, no. This cannot be happening.”

I pat my body, but my hands just…pass through my stomach.

“Dr. Voigt, are you seeing this? What the fuck is wrong with me?” I ask, panic cracking my voice as my hands frantically pass through each other. “Oh, what the fuck was in that wine? Did I take anything last night? Like, acid?”

Esther doesn’t respond, merely shifts her weight from one foot to the other, checking her watch again.

I scoff. “Uh…Esther? Dr. Voigt?”

“Could she be out of the office today?” Esther mutters to herself. “I hope she’s okay.”

I gape, fighting the ache in my chest that threatens to break me. Is this bitch seriously ignoring me? I refuse to accept the alternative if she’s not. “Can we focus on the fact that my body is no longer corporeal?”

“Oh, could she have gone to campus?” Esther, as stunning and intelligent as she is, ends all of her sentences in upspeak, and it drives me up the fucking wall. Especially now when I need her to pay attention to me!

“Look, Esther. Or, Dr. Voigt…” Rubbing my forehead out of habit, I shudder from the willies when my hand passes through where my brain should be. “I don’t remember how I got here, or what happened last night, so I’m sorry if I said something or did something horribly inappropriate and unprofessional. But I’m kind of freaking out at the moment, and I need you not to ignore my existence. Somehow, you turning me down is not the worst possibility here. Please, I need to still exist.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, gut sinking when it does nothing to shut the world out. I can still see Esther perfectly. This can’t be happening. I have to… I frown, grasping for any reason why this feels like a nightmare.

I have to…

I have to water my plant.

Is that it? I shake my head, horror sinking deeper and deeper as reality claws away at my disbelief. There has to be more purpose to my life than watering a fucking plant. “Just…tell me I’m real. That I’m alive. Anything?”

“Boo, it’s pants time! The worst time of the day.” Stepping into her slacks, Esther bounces to tug the khaki chinos over her round hips. Something I would want to watch a million times, if I weren’t in the middle of an existential crisis about my metaphysical state of being.

“Can you see me, at least?” I get up. Or, I try to. I don’t so much as “get up,” as generally doggy paddle my way into an upright position. Floundering a few feet to where she’s standing by the window, I wave my hand in front of her face. “Ugh no! I don’t want to be floating!”

Esther walks through me, and, oh, it burns!

The inferno raging throughout my body and soul makes me cough. My gut twists as if I’m about to spew fire. Yet somehow, the searing pain is less disturbing than the fact that she just walked through me!

“Oh, I don’t like that for so many reasons!” I gag, coughing as the burn settles back down to a cold nothingness. “Fuck. Am I really dead?”