I turned my face and, in the darkness, saw her closed eyes, her gentle breathing.
“You’re sleeping?”
She frowned.
“No. Can’t you see me with the broom? It’s so messy in here.”
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Oh, you know…in the room…in between…”
“Between what?”
“Huh?”
“The room in between what, Autumn?”
“Pretend and reality. Help me. It’s so messy.”
“Why is it messy?” I asked, but she didn’t answer me.
I went to sleep much like I am now, on my back, staring at the quilt above us. I remember stretching my arm above my head, vaguely aware of the way she was twitching and mumbling a few inches away from me, presumably cleaning the space between this world and the next. We weren’t touching, but it felt like the atoms between us were warm with my love for her.
Later on in the night, I woke up when she smacked my face. I pushed her hand away and turned my head toward her. She was close but not touching me, the covers bunched in her other fist, the hand that clocked me resting between us. I made myself look away and close my eyes, go back to sleep.
But now…
This is heaven: her forehead pressed into me, her head under my arm, and my hand on her shoulder. We found each other by instinct. Even if I was half-asleep, I would never have done this knowingly. I wouldn’t know if she was okay with it. I don’t know it now either, but I am unable to move.
My penis, based on very minimal evidence, has decided that today is going to be the greatest day of both our lives. I understand its enthusiasm, but it’s （sadly） vastly overestimating the situation.
If I move, Autumn will wake up.
If Autumn wakes up, she’ll see my body’s assumption.
This is what I get for putting myself in this position. Again.
Not that I’ve been in this exact position with Autumn. But like I said, the tales I could tell.
The toilet flushes. I hadn’t wondered where my other best friend had gone off to.
I am not going to be able to keep up the brave face with Jack. I don’t think he’ll let me this time. He’s always known that I was still in love with Autumn after all these years, in spite of my being mostly happy with Sylvie. He let it slide all through high school, but he’s not going to let me pretend anymore.
A couple of weeks ago, after we went to see that silly horror movie that made Autumn scream three times, both of them—Jack and Autumn—said they had fun. They said they could understand why I liked my other friend so much, and sure, maybe we could do it again.
Autumn had meant it. I could tell.
It wasn’t that Jack didn’t mean it. There was just a lot he wasn’t saying.
I don’t know if last night helped. I want Jack to see that Autumn isn’t a poseur who thinks she’s a princess like Alexis or Taylor make her sound.
It’s more like Autumn is a real princess but from an alien planet. She is the most confident and insecure person I’ve ever known.
Except for Sylvie, of course.
Remembering Sylvie robs my penis of the delusion that a miracle is about to occur and adds to my already bloated guilt.
Jack retches and spits. The toilet flushes again, then the sink runs. I hear Jack get a glass of water in the kitchen.
I try to remember what Sylvie said about her flight itinerary. She must be in the air now. Over the English Channel? I can’t say. I picture her in her seat, on the aisle, like she told me she prefers. Her Discman rests on her tray table, and her golden hair falls back as she tilts her head to listen.
I hope this trip was everything she needed, helped the way her therapist thought it would.
At first, I was doubtful. Sylvie in Europe on her own with no one to rein her in? Sure, she’d been to Europe before, is fluent in French, and has a cell phone. But I still couldn’t believe that her therapist insisted she get away by herself without a single friend or parent on the postgraduation trip he’d prescribed.
I see now that Dr. Giles had been onto something. Sylvie knows how to take care of herself when she’s not trying to impress other people. Sylvie gets drunk to impress people. If no one had dared her first, Sylvie would have never pulled her legendary inebriated stunts.
On her own, with her backpack and her maps, hostel listings and train schedules, Sylvie trekked across that continent. She got herself in a situation in Amsterdam when she didn’t realize some guys were trying to get with her, but she got herself safe, and it was all over by the time she called me.