Ghost Time

Karen’s car, her new Audi, because it has four-wheel drive and obviously he can’t drive his car in these conditions. When we got in the car, I took a deep breath, inhaling that new-car smell, and I was like, I remember that smell, I remember having new cars , and the snow was still coming down, hard, but it was amazing. It was like our town was in one of those snow globes, with these huge, fluffy flakes, and dry, not slushy and gross. It was so quiet out, just the two of us, and it felt like we had the whole world all to ourselves, and the world was such a beautiful place, I didn’t even recognize it.
    So we parked and got out and we had a snowball fight and made snow angels, and then, after we drank the hot chocolate I brought. We were sitting in the car, warming up, and then Cam looked at me and goes, You ready to go skating? I was like, Now you want to go skating? I said, I haven’t been on skates since I was, like, ten. I don’t even know if I can stand up on skates anymore, and he goes, Not a problem. We’ll stay seated, he said, then he rolled down all four windows, and I was like, Cam, what areyou doing? Just lean back, and enjoy, he said, so I pushed my chair back, and I got all comfy. Then he goes, Ready? I was laughing, still no idea what he was about to do, and I was. Am I ready? I barely got the word out when he floored it—he hit the gas, gunning for the middle of the parking lot, and I started screaming, and he turned the wheel, hard as he could, whipping a kitty or doughnut, whatever they’re called, and then he took his foot off the gas, and the car just started gliding across the parking lot.
    It was so great, because we couldn’t hit anything, and there was just enough ice on the ground that he was able to keep spinning around, and we kept running into these waves of powder, just crashing into the car. It was the best amusement park ride I’d ever been on, like playing bumper cars with the clouds, so I grabbed my phone and took some video, because it reminded me so much of those old sleds, carriage sleds or whatever they were called. We car-skated for maybe an hour, then he stopped. My face and my neck and hat were sopping, and I was like, Oh, man, Karen’s going to be so pissed her new car’s soaking, but then Cam stopped, and he turned off the car. He held his finger to his lips and he goes, Listen, and I held my breath, listening, and all you could hear were the flakes, falling, so sweet and warm, just the faintest tinkle.
    He reached over and took my hand, and I looked out my window, and the world looked so white, so pure, and I turned back, grinning, because he was watching me. I go, What are you thinking? And then he mouthed it: I love you. He mouthed the words, and I said, Don’t tease , and I threatened to point my camera athim, if he didn’t stop. But then he didn’t stop, just the opposite: Cam leaned closer and said, I’m not—I’m not teasing. So I hit video and I said, Then tell me again, for the record, Cam, and he said it again. Well, he mouthed it again, and I got up real close, like I was going to kiss him with my phone. Then he said it out loud: I. Love. You.

FRIDAY, MAY 6, 2011
    (THIRTY-TWO DAYS LATER)
    7:42 AM
    When someone disappears, when someone you love vanishes into thin air, you imagine the worst, while trying to hope for the best. And it’s exhausting—it’s so fucking exhausting. It’s not like grief—when my grandpa died, I remember how I cried and cried. But at least you can cry, because you know they’re dead. But when someone disappears, you’re just stuck in limbo, getting jerked all around all day, all night, awake, asleep, same difference. Every sound, every single time a phone rings or a car drives by or a door opens, I think: It’s Cam! He’s back! But it’s not him; he’s still gone; he’s still missing. Then you have to start all over again, so every morning, I take it from the top, asking myself: Who am I? Where am I? What day is it? How do I do this?
    So I cover my eyes for a moment, letting my mind fill up like a tub, and piece by piece, things fall into place: bed; bedroom; morning; sunlight; awake in bed, and, finally, Thea: my name is Thea. The thing is, of course you don’t know who you are anymore, when you wake up, when you get out of bed, and every time you blink your eyes, all day long, because that person who’s gone, he took part of you with him. Maybe even the best part, and who knows if you’ll ever see either