“That always freaked me out, too!” Preston says. “Or—oh God—when people say bless you when you sneeze? I know it’s polite. But when I was a kid, I was like, WHAT IS SO BAD ABOUT A SNEEZE THAT YOU NEED TO BLESS ME?!? I mean, if you skin your knee and are bleeding all over, no one says bless you. If you puke up your guts, no one says bless you. So I couldn’t help but wonder how a sneeze was, like, worse.”
The rest of them start talking about other things that freaked them out as kids. I eat strawberries and leave the tops in a circle on my plate. I don’t think any of my friends notice that I’m not really there.
Not until we’re cleaning up. Not until Rebecca holds back and waits until everyone else is inside to ask me if something’s wrong.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Everything’s fine.”
She gives me a level glance. “Any time you have to say that twice, it’s at least half-untrue. Is there something wrong with you and Alexander?”
I shake my head. “Nothing wrong. It’s just that…isn’t it okay if there are some days that aren’t wrong but aren’t really right, either? He hasn’t done anything wrong. I’m the one who isn’t feeling right. Do you know what I mean?”
“All too well. There are days when I look at Ben and think, Why am I even bothering—we’re only going to break up when we go to college. I think my time could be better used elsewhere. Like, learning Russian. Or watching every BBC mystery that I can find on Netflix. But then he does something stupid and endearing like texting me to see how my day went, and I’m like, Oh yeah. That’s why I do this.” She hands me some plates to take back to the kitchen. “Look—with Justin, you were always so desperate for him to love you that you never really got to experience what it’s like when the two of you are balanced. It’s different when you’re balanced. Let yourself get used to it instead of assuming you know how it works.”
This is typical Rebecca: a little bit wise, a little bit condescending. What I want to ask her—what I can’t ask her—is if it always feels like you’re pretending, if part of being in a relationship is feeling like you are going through the motions of being in a relationship. Will and Preston have been together for about the same amount of time that Alexander and I have been together, and they seem to be genuinely happy and genuinely in love.
But I guess neither of them is wondering about someone else.
“Come on,” Rebecca says. “Let’s go inside. You don’t need to commit to forever, or even to tomorrow. But commit to right now. We all want you to be here.”
She’s right. When I get back into the kitchen, Preston gives me a hug and Will turns the music up a little louder and asks me to dance, even though his signature dance move is the pogo. Alexander pours me some pink lemonade. Ben asks Rebecca to dance and she swats him away. The night begins, and goes on. I manage to step into my happiness. But I am always looking back, checking where I came from.
Comment from M:
None of you understand.
Comment from PurpleCrayon12:
Why do you say that? (I don’t ask this to dispute what you’re saying. I want to know why you feel we don’t understand.)
Comment from M:
I don’t belong in this body. I have nothing to do with this body. I am trapped in this body. I exist separate from this body. But I can’t die, because I am afraid I will take this body with me.
Comment from PurpleCrayon12:
There are times I wish I could separate from my body.
Comment from M:
The fact that you can say that shows how little you understand.
Comment from PurpleCrayon12:
You don’t know anything about me.
Comment from M:
This is pointless.
Comment from Someone:
I understand.
X
It is easy to find the boy, because he has not moved. His life does not change.
It is easy to follow him, because he has never seen this body before. He has no idea I am here. He has no idea I have returned.
I made a mistake. When I contacted Nathan, when I told him what he wanted to hear—that he had been possessed by the devil for a day, that his actions had not been his own—I felt I had power over him. I knew I could not take his body—for whatever reason, once a body has been occupied, it develops a resistance to being occupied again. But I thought his mind would be a minor challenge at most. A teenage boy discovered by the side of the road, having no idea how he’d gotten there or what he’d done—his uncertainty was my great weapon, and his desire for certainty was my great leverage. Then, when the other body traveler contacted the boy, I thought, At last, here is a line. It is worthless to have a hook if you don’t also have a line. So I manipulated the boy, set up the confrontation. The body traveler walked into this boy’s house, was right in front of me. I recognized her for what she was, and she recognized me for what I was. She was afraid, as I knew she should be. Man should tremble when faced with the manipulations of that which is greater than Man. I had the lure set, the hook within reach. But then she struggled, and the boy surprised me by interfering, giving the girl a chance to flee. I was angry. At the boy, certainly—but also at myself.
I wonder if Nathan knows that the reverend is dead.
Probably not. I doubt anyone noticed. And if nobody notices a death, it is very hard to find out about it.
This body is a different form of anonymity. When I am in a new body, I have the power of unknowability. To those I am watching, I am a complete stranger. I am scenery. And the whole time, I am taking in their moves, their fears, their faults. It is nearly impossible to run from me.
I could be the man next to you in the grocery store.
I could be the man handing you your change.
I could be the man in the window across the street.
I could be the man who gets on the bus two people after you.
I could be the man hitting on you.
The man bumping your shoulder.
The man in your blind spot.
The man right in front of you.
If that doesn’t confer power, I don’t know what does.
Nathan doesn’t see me in my car across the street as he heads to school. He does not understand that, after school, I am the man walking behind him, into a café. He doesn’t think it’s strange that I sit next to him. Because I have a book and am turning the pages at regular intervals, he doesn’t understand that he is my focus.