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I lean in to his face, like I’m going in for a kiss, but I brush his eyelashes against mine and wait for him to do the same. “That’s a butterfly kiss.”
“Kind of tickles,” Theo says.
I bump his forehead with mine a couple of times. “That’s a caveman kiss.”
“I didn’t know cave people were so romantic.”
I rub his nose against mine, not stopping until Theo mimics me. “That’s an Eskimo kiss.” I want a fourth kiss now, something special like these. “My parents only taught me three, but I’ll figure out another now . . . uh . . .” I look out the window where the streets are alive and undead from Halloween. “Here’s a zombie kiss.” I nibble on his cheek, growling. I bust out laughing when Theo returns his own zombie kiss.
“I like the zombie kiss best,” Theo says. “Screw college, let’s have sex instead.”
“Your parents and Denise are here.”
“Screw them too.”
I smile. “Nope. I’m helping you with your essay. Come on.” I point to his desk chair and he sighs. But he can’t sit still and starts pacing.
The question is simple: What creation are you proudest of?
Theo had originally wanted to talk up some of his animation videos, but tonight he changed his mind; he’s super proud of his alternate universes. Together we look through his journal. We’re standing by the window, but I’m not even the slightest bit distracted by all the Harry Potters and slutty dinosaurs walking the streets. Theo is practically walking me through his brain, a tour of his imagination, and we’re both lost in it, lost in why this universe we live in beats the rest. We’re two zombie pirates who aren’t leaving the ship to feed on brains, but there’s definitely a greater voyage ahead.
Anyway, we always have next Halloween.
TODAY
Friday, November 25th, 2016
Good morning, Theo. Sorry I shut down on you last night. I couldn’t shake off that haunting suspicion you’re hovering over Jackson instead of me. It was like some itch speeding around my body, always a second too late from scratching it dead. Don’t roll your eyes, but I did some soul searching. I dug deep into our history and remembered all our good times and the happy memories that would’ve eventually brought you back to me in life. I no longer believe I’m in this alone, talking to myself.
I am still questioning how often you’re looking around for Jackson, though.
Jackson.
I haven’t forgotten he’s here. His crying stirred a tornado of sympathy and rage in me, and while I remained firm against the force of that grief, I am definitely battered. I should’ve turned around to see if he’d worn himself out and fallen asleep or lay awake staring at walls like me, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Jackson was right: yesterday was a bad start for him and me. I don’t even know what it’s the start of. Thankfully there’s no school today, so I don’t have to spend this morning fighting with my parents to let me stay home or zombie-walking between classes when they send me anyway. Jackson and I will use the time attempting a do-over for you.
I sit up when my phone flashes 8:02. When I turn, Jackson isn’t in bed. The comforter is flat on the air mattress, Jackson’s clothes are on the floor, but he’s not here. I leave my room to see if he’s in the bathroom showering or something and find the bathroom door wide open. I hear the loud clatter of my mom’s laptop keys. You always joked with her about it, accusing her of trying to look busy so she wouldn’t have to answer your probing questions about what she was like as a teen.
In the living room, I find Mom at the dining room table with Jackson, who’s sitting in your seat. I wonder if Mom told him it was your seat or if he felt drawn to the seat because of you. Maybe it’s a total coincidence.
“I’m sorry about that,” Mom is saying. At first I think she’s apologizing to me, but she closes her laptop and looks up at Jackson. “Some clients didn’t get the notice I’m supposed to be email-free today. So, you’re skipping the rest of your semester?”
“My professors have been understanding, but I don’t have it in me,” Jackson says.
“Same,” I say, joining them at the table. I sit opposite of Jackson, like I normally did whenever it was you in that seat, and I keep my eyes on the bagel in front of him. “Except no one’s giving me a time-out, so I’m pretty much going to fail everything.”
“There’s still time to turn everything around,” Mom says gently.
She goes on about conversations she’s had with my teachers about extra credit and issuing me hall passes so I can run to my guidance counselor’s office whenever. But she loses me when I look up. I’m reregistering why Jackson Wright is here, in my apartment, in my clothes.
In a lot of ways, Jackson is a clone of me. Our hazel eyes are strained from sleeplessness and crying, framed with pale black bags darker than the ones I got last summer from when we spent an entire week playing Xbox games online until morning. His bagel has barely been touched, and I bet he’s also been eating just enough lately to shut up his growling stomach. He’s also unable to operate through schoolwork and everything else life dema
nds; he loves you and you loved him.
“Griffin? Griffin?” Mom grabs my hand and squeezes.
“Sorry.” I slide my hand out from under hers. “Got lost in my head again.” I hide my hand under the table so Jackson doesn’t see me scratching my palm.
