February

Well, here's the second part. The story is much longer than last time, but I think, most likely, much better. Stick with it, I promise it does go somewhere. Some familiar concepts and interactions if you've read any of my older stuff but also, hopefully, better.

I realized that I probably should give the whole thing some sort of title. For the time being, said title is "Such Things." As in "there's no such thing as ________!"

Also, as Simon pointed out, reading things on a computer screen sucks. And, as I have realized, blog formatting sucks too. What do you mean I can't indent? So, for anyone who would rather read anything on here as a PDF or some other file format, just let me know. Email me at piotrowski.luke@gmail.com and I'll send it right away. There might be a way to post files on here, but all I see are buttons for movies, images and links.

That's all for now. Since reading the story is enough of a commitment, I won't waste any more of your time. Although, if you do know anyone who might be interested in reading, please feel free to let them know I'm here, shouting in the dark.

Happy Valentine's Day!!!

Such Things 2: Shadows and Valentines

In the city, there’s a street. On the street, there’s a building (it used to be a hotel, but now it’s a tenement). Before the building, there are steps. Above the steps, there’s a dog. It’s a Welsh Corgi, that dog. It looks like a meat loaf, a big one with big ears. The dog is staring at a redheaded girl with a dumb look on its face. The girl, for her part, is staring right back. Her mouth is hanging open and her shoulders are slumped. In the end, it leaves her looking slightly dumber than the dog.

There’s all this stuff and then there’s me. And Lil, of course. We’re standing on the sidewalk. I’m the short one, by the way, squinting through that flat half-curtain of hair. Lil’s the pretty Asian girl with the almost- too-big-but-not-quite nose. She’s gauging my reaction. I feel her squinting at my squint.

“What do you think of her, Ren?”

I say “I’m trying not to, kid.”

It’s the building we’re talking about, not the redheaded girl. I only bring it up because Lil said 'she.' But here’s the deal with Lil, or one of her deals, at least: She has this little habit of assigning objects genders. She’s always referring to its as hes or shes. It’s a calculated quirk that she stole, I think, from Tori Amos, but she’s been doing it so long now that it’s more or less her thing.

I guess a lot of foreign languages use gendered pronouns for objects and I know people do it with ships and stuff, but that’s ships. I wouldn’t mind, really, except it makes things hard to throw away. Like, I had this digital watch for a while. It was always Ren, what time is it? I don’t know. Well, check him out. What’s he say? Which is cute, I guess, but then the wrist band started smelling like sweaty perfume so I threw it out. Cut to two days later. Ren-Ren, what time is it? Which I hate, by the way. Ren-Ren. Check him out, what's he say? I told her I threw him out. Him, I said! Him! Now she had me doing it, which made me feel like shit. I threw it out is fine, but him? So when I went to empty the coffee grounds like I always do because she never does, I saw him sitting there and I picked the damn thing up. I couldn’t help it. And now it’s the future and we all have cell phones and who needs digital watches anymore but I’ve still got one in a box somewhere and when I think about the fact that nobody needs them anymore, it makes me a little bit sad. Poor, unfortunate digital watches. Thanks, Lil.

We’re almost up to the building now and the girl and the dog are right in our way. The dog looks at Lil who grins and says “Hi, doggie!”

The girl looks at me and likewise she says “Hi.”

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” she repeats and lets her gaze drift off toward nothing.

“Hi,” I say.

And she says, “I wasn’t talking to you.” She keeps on staring, all TV movie blind girl, at a point just past me as if there were something there to see. “Who are you supposed to be?” she asks. “I know, it sucks. I know. You’re not her, but who are you supposed to be? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Creepy kids in movies are stupid by now, yes, but creepy kids in real life are still surprisingly creepy. It works, is what I’m saying. Or at least it’s working on me.

But now this guy’s shouting at us from a window. He’s hollering down from four floors up. He’s got a voice like his face and a face like an old leather jacket.

“Easter!” is what he’s shouting.

The little girl looks up and shrugs. “I gotta go.”

“Don’t forget your dog,” Lil says.

“Nah, it isn't mine.”

Now she’s up and down the hallway, stepping only on the black tiles.

“Who’s dog do you think it is?” Lil asks.

I ignore it. I have to. I’m really not being an ass. You don’t know Lil like I do and I know that we don’t need a pet.

“She’s got charm,” Lil says, again referring to the building, after we’ve stepped over the dog (little bastard just sat in the way).

“She’s got charm,” I agree as we reach the end of the hall. Lil, I notice, is stepping only on the black tiles.

From here the building opens up into a small sitting room. There’s some damp, old furniture in front of a fireplace and a pint-sized bar to the left. Across from that, to our right, is an expansive front desk. There’s a bellhop behind it with a little bellhop hat. He’s writing in a book or something and only glances up. His thin mustache is kind of suspicious, but his eyes seem kind enough.

Lil’s the people person so I let her do the talking. She pounds the desk bell and gives him a grin.

“Ha,” she nudges me. “The bell made the bellhop hop.”

“I'm a doorman,” he tells her.

“And I'm Kaori Kim. But they just call me Lil.”

“Who's they?” he asks. He's a spacey guy.

Lil looks over her shoulder and whispers “The government.”

That's Lil for you. Her and her people person persona. She won't adapt it to fit the situation. She goes all out whether they get it or not. It takes her five minutes to order a hamburger. Howdy, howdy. Evening sir. Let me see, let me see. Ah! How are the Whoppers today? I know her. I love her. Those people don't.

Take the bellhop, sorry doorman, he's completely at a loss.

“I'm Ren,” I mumble and I sound like an idiot.

“Like the bird?” he says.

“Like the fest,” Lil says.

“Like short for Rene,” I say.

He frowns. “Rene's not short enough?”

Jerk.

Lil tells him that we're moving in. He shows us around, he gives us our keys. We take all our boxes and move them upstairs.

Now, I guess, we live in the city.

***

My shadow’s half a second off. I’m serious. I was hanging up the phone after talking to my mom (which I’m doing a lot more often these days) when I saw someone moving right beside me. I couldn’t tell who or what it was exactly, but the light shifted, you know, so I freaked. When I realized it was just my shadow on the wall, I laughed and rolled my neck. My shadow did the same, but it did it a little too late. I lifted my arm, my shadow lifted its arm. I put my arm down, my shadow put its arm down. My arm, its arm. Just like that but in that order. Me. It. My shadow’s on fucking delay.

So here I am, pacing and waiting for Lil to get back. She went to pick up Chinese food. She’s thrilled there’s a place at the end of our block. She says she’s going to go through the whole menu, never ordering the same thing twice. I’ll get house fried rice every time, but that’s me and that’s her so whatever. Anyway, she isn’t here and I’m starting to get pretty scared.

I jump. My shadow jumps. I hit the ground before it does. I try it again and again and again until some asshole starts pounding the ceiling.

Sorry. Fine. I’m going downstairs. I’ll wait for Lil in the lobby. It’s probably something about the light in here, that's all. I’m sure that’s all it is.

The hallway is empty, the elevator’s not.

“Welcome aboard,” says the redheaded girl.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi.”

She’s in my way again, but she moves when I do. I stand in the back corner. All the buttons are lit.

“What are you doing?” I ask her.

We pass three floors in silence. The doors open and they close, but nobody gets on.

“It’s a spaceship,” she says finally. “You’re captain. Say ‘come in base.’”

I laugh and don’t say that.

“Say it!” she says.

Alright, whatever. I’ll give the kid a show. I take out my cell phone and hold it to my ear. I do the fake static with my hand over my mouth. The airplane captain voice, awkward pauses, the whole bit.

“Uh, base command this is Nostromo. Uh, do you copy? Over.” Pretty good.

“No! Not like that! Say it right!”

Christ. Whatever. I tell her I don’t want to play.

Several more floors go by. I’m thinking about getting off, but I’ve been here so long now, it’ll look weird if I leave. Besides, we’re at the top of the building and I don’t feel like being alone in the stairwell. It’s my first night in the city, give me a break. Also, she’s sitting in front of the door. I’ll only make her move when I have to. And maybe she’ll get off first. Sure. Right. Something tells me she could do this all night. Spaceship. Ha. Not a bad idea really. It’s confined, it goes up, it makes your stomach drop a little. I start picturing a porthole with dark and stars outside.

“Tell me a story,” the girl says. “I’m tired.”

She looks it, sitting Indian style with her chin in the palm of her hand.

“You should probably get back to your room. Apartment. Your dad must be worried about you.”

“I’ll go pretty soon. Can you tell me a story?”

“I don’t know any stories.”

“Sure you do.”

“No I don’t.”

“You can always make one up.”

We’re still a few stops away from the lobby. Dammit. I’ll make up a story, I guess.

“There was a knight,” I say.

“I heard that one.”

“There was a knight. And a princess and a dragon.”

“What kind of dragon?” she asks me. “Chinese?”

“European. Like you see on those old nature shows.”

“What color was it?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “What color?”

“Brown.”

“Brown.”

“And white.”

“Brown and white. And the brown and white dragon, he kidnapped the princess. So the knight ran and ran and ran and ran,” I pause for dramatic effect. “And ran.”

The kid laughs.

“Hoping he’d be able to rescue her in time,” I say. “He ran from cave to cave, searching for the dragon’s hideout. At last he came to a big, burnt out forest. The dragon stomped out of nowhere, roaring, breathing fire.”

“Real dragons don’t breathe fire, you know.”

“This one did.”

“Why?”

“Because. Because he ate the princess,” I say. “And the princess loved the knight. She loved him so much that her heart was burning inside her. Then the dragon ate her up and it burned in him instead. It was magic fire, the fire of passion.”

“Did the knight die?”

“Oh, yep. The dragon burnt him up. He didn’t fight back or anything. He knew he was too late, so he fell on his knees and let it all happen.”

“That’s a sad story,” she says.

“I’m not done,” I tell her. “The dragon lived happily ever after.”

She cups her hand in front of her mouth. “Come in base,” she says. “Come in.”

I do the same. “This is base,” I say. “Go ahead.”

“No! We’re cut off out here! Base can’t hear us!”

“That dragon’s gonna eat you if you get too bossy.”

“No he’s not.”

“If you say so.”

The doors open on the lobby. Lil’s there with a bagful of food.

“Making friends already?” she smiles.

The girl runs out screaming that no dragon is going to eat her.

Lil’s smile disappears. “Ren, what did you do?”

***

My shadow’s back to normal. I tried to explain it to Lil. She went along with little convincing, but now, I’m not sure what to think. We both waved our arms and jumped for several minutes. My shadow stayed with me, keeping pace the whole time. Maybe I’m exhausted. Maybe it's me who’s a half-second off.

Lil let that stupid Corgi in, by the way. It followed her onto the elevator and whined outside our door. It ran back and forth between us while we jumped at our shadows and it’s sitting there now, watching me eat.

“Did we do the right thing?” Lil asks.

“I guess so,” I tell her.

“We’ll get it together and do something, right?”

“I hope so,” I say.

“I’ve been working on some sketches.”

I write and she draws. That’s what she's talking about. I want to make genre stuff with female protagonists, have Lil do the pictures and be published some day. It seems like the first step in endeavors like that is to move into the city. We’ve done that. Check. Now what? We don’t really have contacts or know quite what to do. We don’t even have much output to show, but we fantasize a lot and if the sun’s right on a certain day, the prospect almost feels real.

“Hey,” she says. “The movie theater’s hiring. The one we passed on the way in with the old school marquee.”

“Gah. Don’t say ‘old school.’”

“Ren.”

“Sorry.”

“I thought we should apply.”

“Yeah.”

We should.

We unpack some stuff. We clean up the food. Lil puts on a song. Her inaugural theme. She plays it the first night in every place she moves. It’s whatever song you want it to be. We dance to it until we’re out of breath, giggling like madmen and gasping for air. The dog runs around us in circles and stuff.

We climb into our separate beds. I swear, it seems like vacation. This apartment was a hotel room once and, really, it still is. I wonder how long before (if ever at all) it might start feeling like home. I wonder if I’ll still be here in a year. Here or anywhere.

Lil is whispering beside me in the dark. There’s the rustle of sheets, a whimper and a thud.

“Lil,” I say. “We’re not keeping that dog.”

I can’t see her, but she’s smiling. It’s all over her voice.

“Bullshit,” she says. “Let's get some sleep.”

***

The first woman I ever had a real relationship with was named Margret and Margret was a willow tree. I’m serious. Think of a willow tree. Think of adjectives to describe it. I’ll wait.

What have you got? Tall? Beautiful? Sad? Strange? Natural? Quiet? Rough? Green? Green doesn’t work as well as the others, but most of those things are Margret.

She was tall and her hair was long. She walked with a stoop and made things with her hands, wonderful things out of feathers and twine. And she had this voice, so deep and soothing. Calm. Perfect. She was never put out. Always herself. She was so smoothly confident and effortlessly pretty that I should have felt like an asshole just being around her, but I didn’t. I felt like. I don’t know. But the first time I shook her hand after weeks of watching her where she worked, I felt the weight of my fingers more than I ever had before. I was aware of them in a way I wasn’t used to, as an extension of myself, as parts of me to touch. Her own were a little bit cold that day, but they were right there on top of mine and dammit they were real.

She was only four years older, but she seemed so far away; a ghost you could hold. She seemed done, you know? Talking to her was like playing chess with someone really smart. I mean, they’ll probably play with you to pass the time, but what could they possibly get out of that? Not a challenge. Not a lesson. Not a whole goddamn lot. But they’ll play with you, probably. That’s how much they love the game. Why? Because they understand it. More than you ever will.

I don’t know. Maybe you understand chess or something. I don’t. I just name the pieces and try to valiantly sacrifice the pawns. It’s more epic when I’m a general leading men out on the field, into a battle I know they won’t win. I never do. Win, I mean, but at least I feel something. Chess is for robots.

But that’s why we’re not together anymore. I was nineteen and newly queer (or aware). She was a distant and wise old soul. I’m only telling you any of this because tonight I dreamed of her. She was a giant for some reason, in the dream. I went walking across her back. Just fields of white and she didn’t even notice me. I made it past the valley of her neck, through the forest of her hair and down into the cave of her ear. Then I sat for a very long time. Eventually, she noticed. No, she’d known I was there all along. Only she didn’t until just then. You know, dream logic. It changes on you.

So, I was in her ear. She knew it and she asked me for a story. I don’t remember what any of them were, but I whispered her these stories and kept singing her to sleep. Over and over.

That’s when I woke up. To the sound of someone crying. This was, I’d say, a minute ago. I thought it was me at first. Two-thirds still asleep, you can think something like that, that someone else crying is really you crying. I dream about Margret and wake up in tears. Big deal. Not the first time. Whatever and all. But I’m pretty sure I’m fine. I’m not sad exactly, just really confused. Dream logic, you know. It carries over for a while.

But are you ready for the scary part? I don’t think it’s Lil, either. She’s not the type to weep softly in bed. She’d have me up and talking about it. At the very least, she’d have turned on the light. Not that I’d ever give her a hard time, but I’m pretty sure our old friend Lil is still afraid of the dark.

So what does that mean? Is there someone in the room? And why doesn’t that thought have me wetting this stiff hotel bed?

I’m sliding my foot toward the bottom of the mattress. It sounds like the sound is coming from there. The sheets get cool around my calf as I shift, slipping myself into uncharted areas. And then I stop. Because then there’s weight. Someone’s sitting on the end. They’re definitely there. The sheets are tight and, shit, my foot must be right up on their ass.

The crying stops.

I guess I’m really still two-thirds asleep because I can’t decide if I should scream out Lil! or softly whisper Margret? but it doesn’t matter anyway because now there’s a hand on my mouth. There’s breath in my ear, hot breath that makes me shiver, and a voice that’s sweet and girlish is whispering to me.

“Shh,” the voice says. So I shh. I start sweating. “I don’t want to wake your girlfriend up. She’ll turn on all the lights.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I whisper. “But she would.”

The hand is gone. There’s a disparity in the dark. Some things are blacker than others. I can see her sit up, for instance. And I can tell that it’s a her; a woman about my size.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she says. “I didn’t want to make a scene.”

“Who are you?”

“Shh! Not so loud.”

“I’m not loud!”

“Shh!”

“Shh!”

I hate it when people shh me.

“I was Lora,” she says.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

There's a wet and heavy sigh. “I don't know,” she says. It sure sounds like she doesn't. That's straight-up despair in her sweet, girlish voice. “I don't know, I don't know.”

“Why were you crying?”

That starts her up again. She whimpers for a while, then says “I don't want to die.”

“You're scaring me.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” Sniffle. “I wanted to be with you. I wanted to stay, but I don't want to die.”

“Who says I'm dying?”

“That demon in the road.”

Holy shit. Wait, what? How could she?

“How do you know that?” I ask.

“I know everything,” she says, “About you,” the crying back under control. “I'm your shadow.”

I close my eyes. Nothing much changes. “My shadow?” I say.

“Not always, but lately. And now always, I guess.”

“I don't understand.”

“No. You don't remember.”

“So tell me!”

“Shh! Lay back and I will.”

I turn on my side on my bed in the dark. That sweet voice creeps inside my ear and, yes, tells me a story.

***

My shadow was a girl named Lora Lyons, who I don't remember meeting, but we met, she says, two years ago and Lora fell in love. It was Valentine's Day and we were both lonely at a party, so we made a big show of it to garner some attention. I really hate that stuff, of course, but can totally see myself doing it. Nobody responded (outside of one another), so we found some empty room and watched Robocop on VHS twice.

I guess we hung out a few times after that. I guess she played guitar a bit but wasn't very good. I guess Lil made fun of the fact that she wore toe rings and sandals. Much as I hate to admit it, that does sound a little like Lil.

(Obviously, I'd remember this. I'm not some terrible person, you know. If I'd dated a girl, I'd remember the girl. It's not like I've dated that many.)

Lora loved all of the things that I loved. I showed her what I wrote and which comics to read. I took her to movies and made her CDs full of all of the songs that I wanted to share. She would sit and she'd listen when I bitched about Lost. I’m the very first person that she ever moved in with. All of her nightmares had to do with losing me. She said I was the ocean, big and blue as the sea. I could drown in you, she said. She wrote poetry of her own, I guess, but wasn't very good.

Anyway and in the end, she saw a man about me. There was this guy who lived off campus. They called him Mr. Story. He had a too-tight suit in which he sat in public places. He could help you with stuff if you knew how to ask. You know how it goes, there’s always a catch.

***

“Mr. Story?”

“Yes?”

“I can never stay awake. I fall asleep in all my classes, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you tried taking naps at home? Going to bed at an earlier time?”

“I’ve tried that, yes.”

“And coffee too?”

“And coffee too and sugar and pills.”

“Then drink this potion and say these words, you won’t fall asleep again.”

Now somewhere there’s this guy with bloodshot eyes and missing teeth. He hasn’t slept once since that day and he won’t until he’s dead.

“Mr. Story?”

“Yes?”

“My son is always crying. His father left us all alone, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you tried telling him stories? Singing him to sleep?”

“I’ve tried that, yes.”

“And rocking too?”

“And rocking too and dancing and driving.”

“Then leave the window open and a light on in his room, he won’t bother you again.”

Now somewhere there’s this factory that makes these magic knives. There are kids running the furnaces and they’re never allowed to leave.

“Mr. Story?”

“Yes?”

“My girlfriend is so cool. I can’t tell her how I really feel, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you tried writing letters? Making her a song?”

“I’ve tried that, yes.”

“And talking too?”

“And talking too and kissing and hugging.”

“Then take this magic knife and cut her shadow from her feet, it’ll show us how you really feel.”

Now in my bedroom, there’s this girl who never really was a girl. Once you become a shadow then that’s all you’ve ever been.

***

“You cut my shadow off?” I say.

“Yes. You were asleep.”

“So you could take its place?”

“I didn’t know that’s what would happen.”

“What exactly did you think?”

“That we’d be together. In a way, I guess we were. Things went on as they did before, always staying in, watching movies on your couch. I said less and less as I lost a little weight. I got bags under my eyes, under my nose, my chin, my neck. I turned purple. My hair got straight like yours. One day, I couldn’t remember what it was that I was like, or anything I liked, before I started liking you. I woke up flat against the wall.”

“But why don’t I remember? I never knew a Lora.”

“No, you never did. Not anymore.”

“And my shadow?”

“Gone. To the place where shadows go.”

“You’ll have to be less cryptic.”

“Underground. In the dark.”

“Less cryptic.”

“There’s a place that all caves lead to if you go down deep enough.”

“How deep?”

“So deep you can’t get out again. Once you go that far, all caves are the same. They end up in the same place.”

“Which is?”

“Purgatory.”

“With the unbaptized babies?”

Her laugh is grating like mine is. “Rene, some myths are just myths. Purgatory's what we call the land of menless shadow.”

“Menless?”

“Without people. That’s where I was planning to go.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Because of what the demon said?”

“Shadows die with their men.”

“I’m not a man.”

“It’s all the same. If I stay with you, I’ll die with you.”

“He might not find me here.”

“That’s true. But I’m too scared to see.”

Fuck it. Fine. Who needs a shadow anyway?

“Goodbye, then. And I’m sorry,” I say. “If any of this is true. By all means, take your leave of me and jump this sinking ship.”

I could beg her to stay, but what’s the point? Who can blame her? It might be different if I was awake, but I’m in that residual dream logic daze. It’s so dark and I don’t even know where I am. I mean, I’m in this strange room and I haven’t been sleeping well. If I might die and she wants to go, let her go, let me be and whatever.

“Ren?”

“What?”

“I didn’t want to ask you.”

“What now?”

“It’s the reason I was crying. I hate to ask.”

“Just ask.”

“Never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“For Christ’s sake, Lora, speak up for yourself.”

“Well, it’s just that. Well, I’ve been wiggling loose. Like a tooth, it takes some back and forth. You noticed earlier today. Ever since New Year’s, I’ve been trying. It’s best at night like this, but I still can’t get too far.”

“So what?”

“I need to get to Purgatory.”

“So?”

“I need you to take me there.”

“What?”

***

We’re on our way to the Forest Preserve, the huge one in the middle of the city. It’s like Central Park with a lot more trees and, if you believe the stories, a bunch of weird shit. There’s magic and there’s mankind. The two hardly ever interact, but you know how mankind likes to spread. The further we’ve shined our lights into the darkness, the further the darkness has been forced to recede. Magic’s been more or less swept into the corners. I worry when I think about what cornered animals do.

The Forest Preserve’s probably one of those places, a figurative corner of the world. The magic retreated there, seeking safe haven. Now, it’s trapped, surrounded by city, by people and all of this terrible noise. Oh, city planners have tried going in there with bulldozers and all of that stuff. It never ends well for the ones who do.

My shadow (or Lora) says there’s a cave there. If we go down deep enough, we’ll find Purgatory.

“How will that be any better than dying with me?” I asked her.

“You don’t understand,” she said. “I didn’t explain myself. A person’s shadow’s part of them, united forever. With the body, at least. That’s what I mean. When the person dies, their shadow stays the corpse’s shadow. And shadows of corpses get buried in a box. They stay there, aware, till the end of all things. No light, no sound, no nothing, no nobody. Thinking with nothing worth thinking about.”

“I’ll be cremated.”

“Then I’ll be trapped in a jar.”

“I’ll be scattered somewhere.”

“Then I guess I’ll be nothing.”

“Then isn’t that just what’s meant to be? Isn’t that the grand design?”

“Yes. You’re right. Most shadows don’t care.”

“But you do?”

“I do. I remember being Lora.”

“You said you didn’t. You said you weren’t.”

“I don’t. I wasn’t. But some time and place, I was. The more I wiggle free, the more it comes back. See, somewhere I’m a person. I’m scared to get stuck.”

“So what’s Purgatory?”

“A kingdom. For shadows who get free or for people who become them.”

“This happens a lot?”

“All the time. It’s witches mostly. There’s a spell they can do. Witches love men. They love to seduce them. If that man already has a woman, well, then the witch does a spell. She can make him forget her, make the woman wither away. Until she’s nothing but a shadow.”

“Witches, huh?”

“They live forever, most of them. Or so long it might as well be. They outlive the men if they don’t tire of them first. If they do tire of them, then they do the same thing. Turn the men to shadows and the world moves on. There’s more out there than you’d ever know,” she sighed. “So many shadows were people.”

“How do you know all of this?” I asked her.

Her answer? “I know what I know.”

She said she can’t go to Purgatory by herself. She said that she would if she could but that she can’t travel far enough from me. Wiggling free would take too long. If we had a magic knife, apparently, I could cut her loose. We don’t, of course, so we’re stuck doing this. My real shadow’s probably found her way to purgatory. We can call her out when we get there and, it seems, she might come back. She and Lora can swap places and that’ll be the end of it. I get my shadow, Lora lives underground. It’s a real win-win, if either’s really a win. I’ll bet anything you want that Purgatory sucks and me, I’m promised nothing past a year and a day. Less now. What, eleven months? It’s the end of February. Maybe we’d all be better off in a box, thinking about nothing worth thinking about.

I try to feel sorry for Lora. I do. I try to feel guilty for the way things went down. I can’t, though. I can’t see her face. All she is now is a name. In the passenger seat, there’s a flat, dark outline, but the outline is of me. There’s nothing special there. I don’t see anything but my own shape. I guess that was always the problem.

I did feel bad for sneaking out on Lil, though. What if she wakes up and finds me gone? How would I explain that? What would my excuse be? I guess I could just tell her the truth. Then again, it's a little embarrassing.

The corgi heard me when I got up to leave. I couldn't see any of the boxes in my way. Lora had to lead me and I still stubbed my toe several times. When I did, that dog came toddling over. I felt it panting on my ankles as I tried to tie my shoes.

Ugh, this is stupid. I wish I was home in bed. I don't mean that converted hotel building, either. I mean home. Our house back in town. Or maybe even my mom's place. The room I shared with Mia.

“Here,” Lora says.

I stop the car.

There it is, the Forest Preserve. Look at the size of that thing. This is what our mothers warned us about. A quiet place at night. It's right in the middle of the city. If you want to get from one side to the other, you have to go around. Or go through. The shortcut. They tell all these stories about it. They've made movies. All of them come to the same conclusion. Like caves, according to Lora, they all end up in the same place. The shortcut's a bad idea.

Suicides go in, though. Dozens or more every year. In this city you don't really get jumpers or overdoses. If you want to die, just give in to curiosity. Wander into the Preserve and never wander out. At least until later, when they string the bodies up. Whatever things live in there sometimes hang them at the outskirts. Every few months, you might be driving by and there'll be all these bodies in the trees. It's the Preserve's way of giving them back or of giving us a warning. Either way, it's kind of sad. I haven't seen it or anything, but there's pictures. You can find them online if you want, but why would you?

“Come on,” Lora says.

We're out of the car and she's stretched out before me on an unmarked length of snow. My shadow, waving her arm, urging my onward. My own arms are down at my sides. This is strange. How's Horatio put it? Wondrous. Wondrous strange.

“I don't think this is such a good idea,” I tell her.

“Why?”

“The Preserve. People aren't supposed to go in.”

“Hey, I told you. Some myths are just myths.”

“But most teach a lesson. Magic wants us to leave it alone. I didn't think this through, let's go back. We can find one of those knives somewhere. I promise we'll look if that's what you want.”

“Ren. Nothing in there will bother us. I'm magic too, now. Remember? I belong.”

“Right.”

“Please. You owe me.”

I do.

“Well, what about afterward?” I say. “You're with me on the way in, but what about the way out?”

“I wouldn't worry about that.”

“Why?”

“Cause we're not even inside yet. One thing at a time. One step, you know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Come on. Let's go. You owe me.”

“Uh-huh.”

I look back at the city lights. I listen to the sound of cars. I should have woken Lil up. Doc, I need a second opinion. Something isn't right here. I'm not supposed to go into the woods.

But I do.

We cross the clearing filled with snow, as white as a woman's back. We make our way down and up a small valley and into a thickness of trees. It isn't long before Lora stops at a hole amongst the rocks. A cave, like an ear.

It's been a pretty straight shot, I notice. Still, I should have brought bread crumbs to find my way back.

“This is it,” she says.

“I figured,” I say. “So what now? I don't have to go all the way in, right?”

“No. Not far. Just far enough to call her. She'll recognize your voice if you holler. She'll come, if she's there. Go on. Holler her home.”

“Shadows first.” I gesture.

My shadow enters the cave. I do as she does. One, two, three.

It's drippy and wet like a cave should be. My canvas high tops are too old for this shit. I slip and hit and puddle, lose my foot to numb, wet cold.

I can hear Lora whispering something, but can't quite make it out.

“What are you saying?” I ask her.

“Shh!”

We keep going and going and going.

“Further up and further in,” I say.

“This should be fine.” Lora stops. “Call to her.”

“What do I say?”

“I don't know, it's your shadow. What do you think?”

I clear my throat. “Hello,” I say.

There's a slight echo, my voice bouncing back. Hello, hello, hello.

“They can hear you,” Lora says. “That's the shadows shouting.”

“Pretty sure that's my echo,” I tell her and smile.

“What do you think echoes are?” she asks. “Try again. Try louder and listen.”

“Hello!” I shout.

Hello.

Hello.

“Hello.”

I can hear it. Different voices, if only slightly. Menless shadows in a call and response.

“Say something else,” she says.

“I don't know what to say.”

“Whatever.”

“Who knows,” I start and then cough from the cold. “Who knows what evil lurks in the minds of men?”

Men.

Men.

“Men.”

And then. “The shadow knows.” This from behind me in a nasal squawk I recognize. It doesn't have that far-off sound. The speaker's somewhere close.

“Shadow?” I say. God, I sound stupid.

“Ren,” she says.

I can't really see her. The only light is the moonglow at the mouth of the cave. Plus, she's a shadow after all.

“Welcome back, I guess,” I say.

There's silence for a while.

“You didn't notice I was gone.”

“Well, no. Lora here took your place.”

“You couldn't tell the difference.”

Uhm.

“No,” I admit. “I didn't know till now.”

“Relax girl, I'm messing with you.”

I let out a breath. “Thank god! Don't say 'girl' like that, though. I hate that.”

Someone sniffles.

“Sorry,” I say. “Why are you crying?”

“Oh that's not me,” my shadow laughs. My original shadow, I mean.

“Lora?” I ask.

When Lora speaks, her voice has changed. It's smoother and milder than mine.

“I'm sorry,” Lora says through throaty, old tears.

I can just make out her face now. She has color and shape. Pink on her cheeks. Glasses. Pierced eyebrow. She's cute, in a way.

“I'm sorry,” she says again.

“For what?”

Her slight silhouette shifts and fills the light. She's slowly backing away from me. I watch her feet stepping backwards and up.

“What?” I ask her again.

Where her feet touch the ground, there's a shadow.

“Wait,” I say.

“I'm sorry. I don't want to die as you. And I don't want to live underground.”

“Shadow?” I ask.

Lora's shadow rises up onto the wall. It lifts its hand and waves goodbye.

“It's all the same to me,” the shadow tells me. “She drew me with the incantation. Nothing personal, you understand.”

The whispering as we went inside. Lora was planning this all along. My heart speeds up as I finally catch on.

“You can't steal my shadow! I tell her. If you ever really cared, you couldn't.”

“You'll be safe here,” Lora says. “The demon won't find you. And I can be me and your shadow can be free. It's the best it can be for any of us.”

“You know it's not right. It's not fair!”

“Love and war,” she says.

“Which is this?” I say.

“Rene.”

She comes closer. Her fingers brush my face. Her lips brush my lips. I can feel her breath and smell it. The brush becomes a kiss and I can't blame myself, that distant me that never was, for loving her a little. It's a final kiss. A breakup kiss. A high-schooly, let's have one more.

“Please,” I tell her. “Please don't leave.”

“I've waited so long to hear you say that.”

“What were you planning to say in response?”

“Lots of things, lots of different times.”

“And now?” I ask.

She holds me. Her hands run over my back. Somehow this feels so much sadder than the kiss.

“Don't follow me,” she says. “You'll make it worse. You have to stay here and be one of them. It's give and take, that's how it works. I give you to take your shadow. She can be mine now, since I was yours too.”

“But I-”

“Shh.”

“Don't shh me!”

“I know you're scared, but that won't last for long. People without shadows become shadows themselves. When that happens, you'll see this is where you belong. Menless shadows always do.”

“Then get me a shadow. Call another for me.”

“I can't. Give and take.”

“Lora.”

“Goodbye.”

She pulls and turns away.

“Don't leave me alone!” I shout.

Alone!

Alone!

“Alone!”

The sound is like a wave. There's a chorus from behind me, and a mountain of moving black. Shapes I can barely see run fingers through my hair. Menless shadows. They're sensing where I am. I'm blood in the water, someone with form, for however long that lasts.

I'm being tugged in all directions. My shirt rips and gives way.

“Can I call you my own?” one of them asks. The others respond in an echo. Can I call you my own? Can I call you my own?

“Wait!” I yell, yanking myself from their grasp. “Lora!”

She's at the cave mouth already.

“I loved you!” I say. “I remember! I loved you.”

“I loved you too.”

“Don't leave me like this!”

She and my shadow disappear.

I fight my way, like wading through water, past shadows, shadows with nothing to cast them. I force myself to the mouth. Or almost.

Lora's standing in the moonlight, not as far off as I'd feared. Her back is to me, but she's no longer leaving. She turns. She rushes forward. She's racing in my direction, my shadow attached to her heels.

“I'm sorry. She says. I thought that. I thought...”

She kneels before the hole in the ground and takes me by the hand.

Shadows swirl around me. They start to drag me down. There goes one shoe. And the other.

There are tears all over Lora's face. The face that's her own for the first time in years. She's pretty-plain. She's gorgeous too.

“I'm sorry,” she says. “I was wrong. I was wrong.”

“Can I call you my own?” The shadows are shouting. They grab and yank at everything, leaving me shaking, naked and cold.

Lora sprawls in the snowy mud. She grips my hand so tightly I can't feel it. I grip her wrist in return.

“I'll get you out. We'll find a way. I'm sorry, I was scared,” she says. “Give and take is the rule, but we'll break the rule. I'm sorry I was stupid. At least we have to try.”

She won't pull me out, though, will she? We can't break the rules. It's give and take or nothing at all. They won't let me go. But they might pull her in.

“It's too late,” I tell her. “It's over. Let go.”

“What? Why?”

“They'll pull you in too.”

“But I did this.”

“I did this. Take my shadow,” I tell her. “Take her and go.”

“No, this is my fault.”

“I didn't have long, anyway. Lora,” I say. I see her eyes. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“It's over. Let go.”

The shadows tug. They pull my legs, my hair, my skin. All that's left is my body, pathetic and bare. I'm such a disgrace. Lora screams. She wails. She gets ahold of herself, swallows hard, stares at me.

“I'll let go,” she says. “If you let go.”

I nod and I do.

She doesn't.

“You keep her shape,” she shouts. She's talking to my shadow, yelling at the ground. “You keep her shape. I don't want to forget.” She smiles in my direction. “I'll carry your outline with me.”

I nod.

“Who are you?” I ask the girl with the wavy brown hair and the crooked mouth.

“Lora Lyons,” she says as she lets my hand slip.

Shadows pull me down to Purgatory where more of them are waiting, all lost and looking for someone to be with. They buoy my up like a boat on the sea. For a while, I float there, with no sense of self. Then they start to pull me under and I sink into the dark.

Shadows fill my ears and eyes. When I open my mouth, they slip into my lungs. They're filling up my everywhere. I'm reminded of Margret before I'm all gone.

***

Now in the city, there's this forest. In the forest, there's a cave. In the cave, there are these shadows. In the shadows, there used to be me.