Page 22 of Earthly Ties

I ground myself as hard as I can and kick the box.

I don’t know what I expected. I obviously don’t make contact with it. My foot passes right through. But if I’m allowed to be optimistic—or perhaps delusional—it does appear as if a draft blew by at the exact moment I failed to kick it. One of the flaps on the box waves ever so slightly in the breeze.

Esther looks up.

“Yes!” I ground myself again, so I can clap my hands in excitement. They don’t make a sound, like Harriet’s do when she claps, but at least they don’t pass through each other. Baby steps, but I’m getting better at this ghost shit. I kick the box again. The cardboard waves for Esther’s attention. “Look at this one!”

“Would there be anything in here? These books are on the syllabus, so that’s promising.” Esther gets up to dig through the box, fishing out a well-worn copy of The Complete Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe, which I borrowed indefinitely from my middle school library. She flips through it, settling to sit on the curb, when the page falls open to a stack of pictures. “Oh, jackpot! Photos!”

“Are you serious? Photos? That’s what you’re looking for?!” I rub my forehead in frustration, careful not to accidentally untie my veil; I’d have to wait until I saw Harriet again to fix it. I haven’t figured out how to find the ends of the shroud yet. It’s not really fabric, or matter, yet there is a definitive end to it that Harriet can touch. Not just touch, but roll up and tie back in a cute, jaunty bow.

When Esther sits on the curb to flip through the pictures, I float down beside her. “What else is in the fucking box? I don’t know, maybe my course notes?! Do you not care about making your own life easier?”

With a soft smile, Esther holds up one of the pictures. “Aw, Luce, you look like your Dad.”

“I do?” I ground myself to sit on the curb next to her. I’ve never looked at any of the photos I grabbed in my mad scramble to pack in the thirty-minute warning Mom gave me before she kicked me out. They’ve been tucked in the book since then. So few moments in my life were happy; I never imagined they would show anything I wanted to remember. And yet, I took them with me. Kept them all these years.

The photo in her hand is one of us at the hospital—Dad holds four-year-old me, and I hold a newborn Angel. I personally think all newborns are ugly, but somehow Angel was annoyingly photogenic, even at a few hours old. But Esther is right; I look so much like him, from our strong cheekbones and deep-set eyes, to the proud set of our shoulders and lanky figures. And even though my brother and I look nothing alike, Angel favors him, too.

“No wonder you turned out as gorgeous as you did. Your dad was, well, even as a lesbian…” Esther shrugs, puts the photos back in the book, and sets it on the withered plant next to the precarious pile. “I mean, I wouldn’t, but I’d consider it.”

“Thank you, East. That’s deeply uncomfortable to think about.” I shudder to clear the imagery. “Sorry to say Angel is your only hope of pulling any Monae now.” I wrinkle my nose. “And honestly, if you go for him, I will do everything in my power to move on so quick. You’re my Tie, not Angel’s.”

Esther almost smiles as she looks at the box next to her. “I should bring this in and spend time going through it. I’m pretty sure your notes would be in here, wouldn’t they?” For half a second, I worry that Esther is about to break into another monologue, overthinking a moral decision with a very clear answer, but she simply nods. “Anything else I don’t need, I’ll bring back to the alley for someone else to use. That seems to be the best course of action, ethically. Satisfies my needs and still might benefit others. Right? Moral dilemma solved.” Getting to her feet, Esther pushes the box away from the rest of the pile and turns back to the rest of my belongings in the alley. “What else would you want to keep safe, Luce?”

“None of it. I’m dead. I don’t care.” I look over her shoulder anyway. I honestly didn’t have much stuff. I’ve moved around so much that my meager furniture easily crams into any rented van. I would justify it by claiming to be a minimalist, by moving constantly, always finding a new place to stay—there has never been a point in settling in. Even this apartment, I’d only lived there six months. It was fine, but nowhere was ever home. Living out of boxes, assuming this studio would be yet another temporary place to stay…it was always safer than unpacking. Than getting comfortable.

Esther digs through some boxes, bypassing dishes and towels. She opens a box stuffed with clothes—all black, of course. “Finally, something with some of your personality!” She holds up a silk A-line dress with a pussybow collar that I wore on my first day on campus. “You looked so elegant in this.”

“Thank you. Black is my color,” I reply with a chuckle. Normally, I’m not one to take a compliment, but she can’t hear me. And it’s coming from Esther. At this point, I almost believe her when she says nice things about me.

“What are you doing?” A stern voice comes from behind us.

Esther jumps up, stepping into me.

“Oh, fuck that burns. You gotta give me more warning, Esther.” I float out of her quickly, rubbing my chest as if it’ll do anything to soothe the inferno.

“Were you talking to me, officer?” Esther asks.

A white, middle-aged police officer, a little paunch under his uniform, blocks the mouth of the alley, and a chill runs through me. Why is he blocking us in? What does he want? I glare at him, just because I can. I wouldn’t have dared be so visibly suspicious of him when I was alive, but he can’t see me.

“Yes, ma’am.” The officer nods politely. “Just curious as to why you’re digging through these boxes.”

“Oh!” Esther visibly panics. “I uh…was looking for stuff Lucy might want to keep.”

“Oh my god, Esther. Couldn’t you lie?” I ground myself to rub my forehead. “You’re just gonna tell him all your business like that?”

“Lucy?” The officer prompts.

“Yeah, this stuff belongs to my neighbor. Or did?” Esther scratches her head. “I guess I don’t know where she is, or if she’s…you know. She hasn’t been at work in months.”

The officer looks at her suspiciously. “Is she your neighbor or coworker?”

Esther’s hand freezes mid scratch, seemingly realizing she’s fucked up by telling him way too much information. “Both? I live across from her apartment, but we’re both professors.”

“And you didn’t think to report her missing?” the officer asks skeptically.

Esther blanches, rushing to explain, “I did! I mean, I asked the head of the department about it. She said she’d handle it, and-” She stops then, eyes narrowing. “Sorry, who are you? Are you working on her case or something?”