Page 49 of Earthly Ties

“I’ll still be here, Esther. I’m Tied to you.” My voice cracks into a whisper. Despite months of not seeing myself, I can’t tear myself away from her gaze. My East can actually see me. This is real eye contact, no adjustments needed to make pretending easier. “Even when you can’t see me, I’ll still be here with you.”

Esther swallows a sob and brings my hand to her mouth. Her kiss burns where her lips touch my knuckles. The aroma of jasmine shampoo and rose bodywash blossom in the small room. I’m reminded of our dates on the cloud blanket, breathing in her floral scent and tasting the vanilla from her kiss.

But that wasn’t real.

I don’t even know if this is real. Or if my imagination is putting scents from my dreams into my mind now, because I want those dreams to be reality. I want to kiss her and taste her vanilla Chapstick. I want to bury my face in her neck, breathe in her familiar scent, and press my lips to her tattoo. I want to feel her warm skin under my hands. I want everything.

But that can’t happen.

Everything I want is impossible.

For one last, lingering moment, I meet her teary blue eyes once more in the mirror. When the surge of bittersweet regret overwhelms my focus, I fade from view. Hot tears roll down my own cheeks as my hand passes through hers. “Sorry. I’m still here.”

Still staring with red-rimmed eyes at the spot where I should be in the mirror—where I am, where I swear I am, even if neither of us can see me—Esther chokes a sob into her empty hand. “I know you are. I can still feel you.”

Twenty-Three

As we ramp up to the end of the spring semester, Esther puts me to work. Hovering in the chair across the desk from her, I scan the paper that’s fanned out, facing me. I never thought I’d miss grading, but it’s nice to be helpful. Satisfying in a way I didn’t realize I missed. Esther has done so much for me, this feels like such a small way to give back to her. But if I can take anything off of her very full plate, I will.

The essay I’m reading now, about early horror films that influenced how the West conceptualizes spirits in popular culture, is incredibly well researched and cited. A little uncanny how closely a quirk of film technology landed so close to reality. But that’s something to put in the journal later, the one Esther is keeping for me; we debrief all of my facts and observations before she goes to bed every night.

The essay is more of an art history paper than a philosophy essay, but the necessary citations from the textbooks and suggested reading are mixed in with the film techniques that led to the contemporary imagery of ghosts. Besides, the student is a film major, and this late in the semester, these essays are driven by their own interests. This is a liberal arts college after all; philosophy is interdisciplinary. My own focus pulls from history, anthropology, and literature, as much as Descartes or Sartre.

“Are you close to a stopping point?” I ask as Esther clicks away on her laptop across the desk from me.

“Yes, gimme like two seconds!” Esther murmurs, finishing a sentence with a flourish of her fingers, before turning in my general direction with a smile and a blue pen (she hates to use red; it’s “too mean”). She turns the pages toward her, and waits for me to give her instructions.

“She has a few typos, like the third sentence on page two where I can’t figure out what she’s trying to say.” I wait for Esther to mark it with her pen. “And a comma missing about halfway down page four.”

Esther marks up all the typos I point out.

“Her thesis sentence is really strong, and she supports it with evidence, especially the section on page three. Can you emphasize the first sentence in the second paragraph please? It was really concise but demonstrative.” Esther underlines it diligently, and writes “concise but demonstrative! Well done!” in the margin. “Overall, A minus. She did get a little off topic, since her thesis was primarily about semiotics, but about a quarter of the essay was on specific film techniques that weren’t relevant to her argument.”

Esther marks those notes at the end. “Anything else?”

“Nope, ready for the next one, Dr. Voigt! Lay it on me!” I tease, delighted when pink tinges Esther’s cheeks. Flirting with her is probably a poor choice, but I enjoy how flustered she gets when I call her Dr. Voigt.

Tucking the film paper into her “done” pile, Esther spreads the next paper out onto her desk, fanning the pages out so I can read them. “This is so much faster with you here, Lucy. You’re a lifesaver, I swear!”

“It’s the least I can do, since you’re the one teaching my class, yet again!” I settle back into the chair, grounding myself to rest my elbows on the desk. “Besides, give your new TAs some credit. Between all of us, you might actually get one day off this semester. Probably right at the end before finals start.”

Esther snorts, turning back to her laptop. “My mentees, you mean? Because I actually do have to do some additional work for the mentee program.” She nods at her screen. “Currently arranging an admission visit for them at the state university graduate program.”

“Oh, you can name drop me, if you want. That’s where I worked before coming here.” I frown. “I might not have made a huge impression, but I don’t think I burned any bridges?”

Esther wrinkles her nose. “Would they believe me? You’re…you know. Dead?”

“They don’t know that.” I shrug, ignoring the twinge in my chest. It’s weird to hear Esther say it out loud; she usually dances around it. I’m usually the one to acknowledge the elephant in the room. “Officially, I’m on sabbatical, remember? Do you think Gilda is just gonna quietly lay me off this summer and hire someone else? What’s her plan?”

“Fuck if I know!” Esther scoffs. “She’s dug herself—Oh, Syd! Hi!”

I whirl around, backing out of the chair as Syd shyly scurries into the tiny office, Harriet a few steps behind them.

“Sorry, I don’t have a lot of time today, but I had some questions about the essays I’m grading? Then class went over, and I’m supposed to meet— Are you reading upside down?” Syd asks, their expression going from apologetic to skeptical, as they look at the papers facing us, not Esther, on the desk.

“Yup!” Esther gives a nervous giggle. She gathers up the essay I hadn’t started reading yet, and gestures for Syd to sit. “Helps me see things differently! After the first hundred essays, the words start to lose their meaning. Keeps the brain sharp, you know?”

“East, stop rambling. You are so bad at lying,” I tease, slipping past Syd to greet Harriet. Esther’s office is tight enough with just the two of us.