Chasing Shadows (20 page)

He grimaces. "I think our food is
coming."

"No, I told you, no one's screwing
them."

Schuyler rolls his eyes.

"I can't help myself." I whisper, "Masturbating
fruit." I laugh. "Masturbating fruit."

Schuyler's turning red. "Stop."

I'm taken aback. "Really? That's not
funny?"

The waitress gives us out pancakes. We thank
her. Schuyler says, "Not from you."

"What do you mean? Masturbating fruit would be
funny coming from someone else? Hah coming!"

He puts his head in his hand. "Stop. You're a
girl. From you, it's way too crass."

"Are you serious?" Schuyler looks guilty. He
nods. I am shocked. "You're
shaming
me? Holy shit! Is this a
Catholic thing?" And now he looks angry. I guess I've gone too far.
A silence falls. I feel my lips purse into and O.
"Sorry?"

Schuyler sighs. "Forget about it." Yeah right.
Like I
can
. Wow. I guess I'm just not the decent person he
was hoping I would be. Well honestly, screw him for having
expectations. I'm like that, guilt ticks me off. I'd make a very
angry Catholic. After a time Schuyler opens his hands palms up on
the table. "It is
not
a Catholic thing. I can object to
something you say without it being because of my religion. I wish
I'd never told you."

"Wow. Can you forgive me?" I hope my voice
isn't pissy, but it probably is. "If I promise to never, ever bring
up anything like that again, will it be okay?"

He shakes his head. "I forgive you. Sorry I got
mad."

I shrug. "So, no joking about sex, or
some
joking about sex? Because when I said the fruit guys
were never going to get laid,
that
was okay but when I
mentioned the self gratification of said fruit guys, that was
not
okay. I don't know where the line is. Also I'm not
terribly good at editing myself. That's kind of why I work nights,
not fit for public consumption, so to speak." I bite my lip torn
between wanting to make it okay, and being pissed that he's judging
me.

Schuyler sort of clutches his jaw. It's a
gesture of frustration. "Look, I'm sorry I said anything. You are
how you are, and I like you just fine. It's the anxiety, makes me
irritable. Please, let's drop it."

Oh, there it is. Let it go, let it go... Fuck
it. "I
am
how I
am
?" I ask. "How's that?"

"Shit." He says, and by the look on his face I
know he knows he's stepped in it. See? See how I am? First I'm
crass, offensive and insulting and
now
it's
his
fault! Where has the nice gone?

I laugh. "Sorry." I say. "I did that on purpose
and you don't deserve it. Please forgive me."

"Did what?" He asks. Men are wonderful. I wish
I was a nicer person.

I sigh. "I turned it around and made it your
fault, because I felt guilty, and I don't like to feel guilty, so I
put you on the defensive. I did it on purpose. It was
mean."

"Oh."

"Yeah so I'm rude, and crass, and manipulative,
but at least I'm aware of it. Some women don't even know they're
doing it."

He nods. "Explains a lot."

"See?" I say. "There's another one. I could
demand to know what exactly that explains and you'd be apologizing
again before you know it. You've gotta watch that, honey. The wrong
woman could run you in circles."

Schuyler smiles sheepishly. "That's what
usually happens."

I nod like I know all. "Not anymore. Now you
have me and if some bitch starts pushing you around, I'll run her
off."

He laughs. "Please don't."

I laugh too. "Fine, she'll run me off
then."

"Who will?"

"Whoever you get with, sweetheart. When you get
a girlfriend she's not going to want me hanging around."

He nods seriously. "Not with your
past."

My face transforms to mock shock.
"Punk."

He cocks an eyebrow. "You mean
Catholic
punk right?"

Is he joking? I'm confused. "So... As per my
previous promise I am officially not allowed to comment on
that."

Schuyler nods. "Good girl."

"That's patronizing."

He lifts his hands for emphasis. "That's how I
am."

"Touché"

We both laugh, but there's an edge to it now
that there wasn't before. We tackle our pancakes with gusto usually
reserved for awkward family reunions, not that I'd know. Somehow
making fun of strangers has lost its appeal. As soon as Schuyler's
finished with his food he throws some money on the table. "Ready?"
He asks.

"Sure." We stand to leave.

"You coming over?"

"My bag is at your house, but after I get it I
could go home."

Schuyler looks at me funny, but then he says
"Okay." On the walk back to the Escalade he takes my hand. To me,
the gesture feels a little off. When we get in the SUV he turns to
me. "Listen, Meegan, you can stay over. Sorry I was a
jerk."

"You weren't a jerk."

"Really? Because I can't tell right
now."

I smile reassuringly and rub his shoulder.
"Schuyler, you're wonderful, seriously. I'd have been lost without
you today. Thank you." He smiles but he's clearly still unsure of
things. Well hell, so am I. It's not far back to Schuyler's
building. We arrive without further confrontation which is easy
since we're not really talking.

When we walk in the door Schuyler checks his
watch. "It's 11:00." He says. "In an hour it'll be All Saint's Day.
I'm going to midnight mass."

"Okay." I say, scanning the room. Where did I
put my bag?

"You wanna come?"

I look at him. "You want me to?"

"Not really." He sighs. "I won't be able to
concentrate with you there. I need to calm."

I nod. "That's cool. Thank you, again. I'll
just find my bag and go home."

"Take some clothes." He says.

I cock and eyebrow. "I have
clothes."

He nods. "I know. I'm not saying you should
take them all, but I got them for you. No one else is going to wear
them. Anyway you can put off doing laundry another day if you take
a set."

"Okay." I move towards the bedroom where Lupa
put the clothes and Schuyler follows me. I enter the room. My bag
is on the bed. Lupa must have moved it here. I guess as far as
she's concerned this is my room now. Quietly I throw together an
outfit for tomorrow. Schuyler sits on the bed. He seems pleased,
watching me put things in my bag. When I'm done I sit next to him
and wrap my arm around his waist. He throws his arm over my
shoulders so I lean up against him. "Sorry things got weird." I
whisper. "I guess I'm kind of still freaked out over stuff." It's a
convenient excuse.

"No." He says. "It's the medication. I can't
even explain to you how different it is, being without it. When I'm
back to normal, I'll call you." I reach my other arm around to hug
him. He hugs me back. When I release from the embrace Schuyler does
not. This is odd but not bad. We sit here like this for a little
while. At last he sighs and lets me go. I mess with his hair and he
closes his eyes and leans in.

"Here." I say. "Turn your back to me." He does
and I scoot over and rub his shoulders. They seem so tight. Have I
ever rubbed anyone's shoulders before? Not in my memory, but my
hands seem to know what to do. Schuyler makes some contented
noises. I stand to get a better angle, resting my knee behind him
on the bed. This goes on for some time. I get his neck and his
scalp too. I sort of plan to keep at it 'til he tells me to stop
but now my hands start to get tired so I ask, "What time is
it?"

He checks his watch. "11:45, I have to go." He
stands up fast.

"Yeah." I smile. "Will you make it on
time?"

"Just." He precedes me out to the hall and I
try to match his pace. I don't want to make him late. We leave and
ride the elevator together. I have to exit at the lobby. He's going
down further to the parking garage. When the door opens at the
lobby, Schuyler reaches over and gives me a one armed hug. He
plants a kiss on the top of my head. "I'll call you in a couple of
days." He says.

I look at him. "For you, I'll answer my phone."
I smile and he smiles back. I exit the elevator and head across the
posh lobby to the double doors that lead straight into
winter.

Chapter Nine

This coffee is good. It’s rich and dark with
cream and sugar. I love the feel of its steam in my nose and the
smooth heat it leaves down my throat. I love the way my gloved
hands allow the warmth from the paper cup to seep slowly and softy
into my skin. The cup releases a luxurious fog into the frigid
evening air, and I love that too. The only down side is the
occasional slosh of warm liquid onto my purple knit gloves, but
that's just the hazard of walking and drinking. Snow crunches under
my new boots. They pinch a little, and will continue to do so until
they're completely broken in. I've got new leggings under my new
jeans and the way the two fabrics move against each other is nice.
The heels of the jeans are dark and heavy with melted snow. The
sidewalk has been shoveled in some places but not in others. I'm on
a residential street. Nearly every parking spot is taken, which
isn't unusual in any weather but it’s only in the snow that you see
the random pieces of furniture set out as place holders in the
empty spots.

I take in a crisp breath through my nose.
Halloween decorations show orange purple and black under the snow
in front lawns. Paper ghosts are hanging wet and pathetic from the
braches of the tree I'm passing right now. I stop and turn to
consider them. There's bound to be some metaphor there that I
should be able to get.

I'm distracted from the reverie by a little
flicker of white. Is that one of the ghosts on the breeze? I squint
and stare in the deepening gloom. The sun's last rays fade away
while I'm standing here looking in the tree. All the white paper
ghosts turn yellow and gray in the glare from the street lamp. All
except for one. It's not the same shape as the others, same size,
wrong color. Even in the gloom, this one's still bright white. I
stare high up in the tree. It flutters. I sip my coffee.

Now the white shape hops down a branch, then
down another. I'm watching and waiting. A car drives by slowly
slurping through the slush and ice. The bright white shape flickers
again, it twitches and now it leaps up, taking flight. It meanders
erratically half a block down to another tree.

I've never seen a pure white one before. I
mean, if this is a shade. Who knows? Maybe it’s just a bird, and I
need glasses really bad. I laugh silently and proceed walking in a
leisurely fashion down the half a block to where the white, shiny,
papery shade seems to be waiting. When I get up to the tree, I feel
my hair move. Its like fingers brush it away from my left ear;
that's nice. I sigh, staring at the apparition. It's low on detail.
Doesn't really look like a bird. It’s kind of like a living swatch
of bright white tissue paper. Seriously, I think I hear it
crinkle.

A gust of wind whips my hair into my eyes. I
lift my right hand to brush it back, but the shade beats me to it.
As I'm lowering my hand again the white paper thing flutters up
several feet and away. Its flight path involves lots of ups and
downs and some swirling. It crosses the street seemingly on the
wind. The white shape continues down the block before swooping west
and landing just barely in my field of vision, again, high in the
branches of a tree.

This is neat. I climb awkwardly over the snow
bank that separates the sidewalk from the street. I cross the
slushy, wet, slick, road and climb over the other bank. It takes
some work to do this without spilling my coffee. As I arrive on the
bare salted sidewalk I raise my sights. The tissue paper shade is
still where it landed. It seems to be pulsing and jiggling. I think
I detect some other color now in the glaring white, but I'd be hard
pressed to identify it. I focus on the sound of my boots on the
pavement as I follow my filmy guide. I'm reminded of the night I
found Madeline. Perhaps these things can only ever lead me to
terrible places. I know I should stop. I should feel trepidatious,
but I don’t. If I’m honest I know I’d follow a flickering,
unexplainable vision to hell, if that’s where it was headed. I just
like the feeling.

We go on like this, tissue shade and I, for
what feels like a long time. Walking through snow and ice always
takes a while. I estimate it’s been about ten blocks, give or take,
since I first saw Filmy. That’s his name now, Filmy. Filmy lands in
yet another leafless tree. I catch up to him at my own pace and
this time, instead of flickering away again, Filmy evaporates. Just
like that. Well, poo.

I stand here for a second before setting my
coffee on the ground so I can light up a smoke. Once those first
few drags have had a chance to placate my nerves, I look around.
The tree I’m standing by is on the north side of the street. I am
facing west which puts the tree and the street to my left. To my
right is a big five story brownstone. The building is shaped like a
U, with a pretty little gated courtyard on the inside of the U.
There’s a buzzer on the gate, and likely more on the inner
entrances as well. I stand here smoking, holding my near empty cup
and watching the building, as the real shadows of real people move
about behind curtains and blinds. The windows cast pretty yellow
strips of overlapping light into the courtyard. Seems like a nice
place to live. I wonder if the apartments are very
small.