Ren must’ve had some sweet dreams, because the hazy broadcast helped me float the closest to sleep I’d been since I died. His alarm blared earlier than usual, judging from the thin bright slice of light on either side of the curtains. He snoozed it the same as ever, groaning and reaching through my waist, because apparently trying to hold me needed conscious effort. It hurt to have to get up, untangle our bodies.
I’d really gotten out of practice in the kitchen. It might’ve been the burned smell of my first pancake attempt that woke him. He jolted right up, looking around. His shoulders eased as soon as his eyes fell on me.
“You’re still here,” he said.
So he’d leaped to a certain conclusion when he woke up to an empty bed. I couldn’t really blame him. Even if my feet were calm, my tongue still fumbled with promises. I couldn’t tell what I wanted to say, let alone let it out. He beamed anyway, making his way toward me, trying and failing to subtly fix his bedhead. I had to stare down at the stove, trying to remember I didn’t even have to breathe.
He leaned on the counter. “I’d say you shouldn’t have…”
“But it’s the least I could do.”
None of the flour stuck to my hands while making the batter, but I ran a finger along the dusted counter, trying to focus on being sticky. It came away coated. I powdered his nose. He laughed, and tried to retaliate, picking up some powder and blowing it in my direction, though it just went through me.
I tried again, dusting my hands, putting one on his chest. It left a print. We both went quiet, looking at it.
“So…” He cleared his throat. “Carlos invited everybody to a show tonight. His old roommates are all in a band.”
I hadn’t been to a show in so long. At least, not the living kind.
He caught the corner of his mouth in a bite before breaking into a smile. “Are you busy?”
I wouldn’t know how to act around him with other people around. In fact, I’d suddenly forgotten how to act around him at all. It had been easier in the dark last night, when we were both tipsy.
“I’ll check my schedule.”
He left me alone to shower and get dressed while I finished up. I curled my toes, trying to quiet my restless feet.
When he came back, with wet hair and an unfloured shirt, I had a plate ready for him. It felt nice to sit with him at a table, for a change. He even put my grave flowers out in a cup.
But he finally had to go and say what we were both thinking. What we must’ve been wondering all along, since the first time he looked twice at me.
“Remember what you said about wishing we could’ve met back when you were still alive?”
I got up. It made him start, but I only went to go put his brand-new coffeemaker in one of the kitchen cabinets, just in case.
“You mean, if I hadn’t bullshitted my way out of the hospital, and gotten committed with you instead?”
I couldn’t let myself picture it, the two of us meeting there, wearing those pajamas, complaining about our shrinks over checkers, one of us getting out sooner but coming back to visit, waiting for the day we could finally check out and start the rest of our lives together. Even if neither of us would have been in the best mental place to fall in love, it might’ve been a start.
As I sat back down across from him, I had to ruin my fantasy for myself. “You’d still be convinced of the wrong diagnosis.”
“So what?” he said. “I still question my sanity, anyway.”
“I thought you hated—you know—the institution.”
“But I didn’t need help,” he said. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been much, and it might’ve given you other kinds of damage, but… you needed it.”
My wrists didn’t chafe, not yet, but I rubbed them instinctively. “There’s no cure for wanting to die, except death.”
“Are you sure about that?” he asked, leaning in with curiosity and concern. “How do you feel now?”
He had me there. My death wish hadn’t been sated by dying. As much as I’d gotten better, deep down, sometimes I still craved oblivion. Maybe I always would.
“There’s no medication on this side,” I said. “And I don’t know any dead psychiatrists.”
His eyes glistened, even as he smiled. “You could always try yoga.”
We laughed. His eyes dropped to my mouth, waiting for me to close the small distance, but I let it gape between us, staring at him as if from across space and time, rather than only a kitchen table.
“I fucked up.”
He did his best to put his hand over mine. “You don’t have to keep punishing yourself forever.”
“That’s why I came back,” I said. “I’m just trying to appreciate what I have. It’s a bit late, but better here than nowhere.”
His mouth twitched up hopefully. “You mean here with me?”
This still wasn’t a good idea. Just like drinking, I might not be healthy for him in the long run, but for a short while, I could make his existence a little livelier.
“I’m in no hurry to leave just yet.”
I sated my restless feet by reaching them under the table and bumping his. He didn’t say anything, but he smiled, and bumped me back.
“Don’t let your breakfast get cold.”
* * *
Ren drove us to the show, all the way out to the suburbs where there weren’t any venues, as far as I knew.
“You didn’t tell me it would be a house show.”
“Is that bad?” he asked.
I laughed, shaking my head. “Well, it might not be good.” I’d gotten my start in garages and basements. Before the thought of fame even whispered in the back of my mind. “That’s not the point.”
Come to think of it, I might’ve been happier as a nobody, playing free gigs on weekends. It wouldn’t have paid the bills, but I could’ve figured out something to keep me afloat the rest of the week. No stage, no persona—just me and the music.
The crowd milling around the house looked nearly the same as the one I’d known years ago, all piercings and rainbow hair, patched jackets and band tees. We followed them down to the basement, where an audience of about fifty or so crammed around a tiny makeshift stage. While they gathered, the opening band did sound checks.
“You made it!” said Carlos.
He threw an arm around each of us. Or tried to, in Ren’s case.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Ren. In the din, it went unheard.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” said Evie. I took her outstretched hands and went along with her excited little shake.
We didn’t have a lot of room, but everyone who bumped through me was in high enough spirits, some buoyed with beer, that it didn’t feel too invasive. No more than usual for shows.
The band began to play. They weren’t great, the guitar solos too long, and the horn section somewhat rusty, but the beat got everybody moving. That’s what mattered.
Danny moved awkwardly but enthusiastically, doing all the usual jokey moves. Carlos put aside his natural rhythm and joined her, embracing the bad. Evie mostly jumped up and down, loose hair bouncing, trying to keep up with the frantic energy.
I’d forgotten how to dance on my own, without the pull of any partners in the ballroom, anticipating their next move and timing mine just right, both of us intertwined with the pulse. Now I had to guess what to do next, hoping I didn’t look stupid. At first, I followed everyone else with the bobbing and skanking. Then, like I used to do in life, I went my own way, letting my hips and shoulders guide me, reinterpreting the aggressive beat by channeling some gentler grace.
Soon enough, a good handful of fans in the audience—friends and girlfriends and even family—all began to sing along, screaming back the call and response. Others in the audience tried as well, picking up on the chorus.
My friends were all singing, even if no one could hear them. I wondered how they’d look to me from up on stage, if we weren’t dead. At least at shitty venues, you could still see faces.
When the chorus came around, more and more people picking up on the bitterly hopeful refrain, I tried opening my mouth, pushing my voice past the drought in my throat. It came out small and cracked. I could barely hear it as I tripped over some of the words. But on the last line, I shoved enough force through my lungs to shout, and somehow, I hit it just right with that smoky old growl of mine. I’d always been embarrassed by it, so deep and rough. Back in the day, my bandmates had to beg me to do any backing vocals. Hearing it again, it didn’t sound so bad. I’d missed my own voice.
Soon enough, all the wallflowers were pointing and singing to each other, crooning like dorks. I closed my eyes as if getting really into it; actually, my eyes were filling.
As one song ended, everyone went quiet as the band took a moment to explain the next.
“This song goes out to Carlos,” said the lead singer. He picked up a beer from behind an amp, just to pour a sip onto the floor. “I hope you’re listening, wherever you are.”
Carlos laughed, wet and nasally, then drew his sleeve over his face. “I’m right here, buddy.”
Danny and Evie and I all put our arms around him. Ren did his best not to look like he was patting the empty air, though nobody around seemed to notice.
The band took a risk playing this slower tempo after having built up so much energy. Some people were still trying to show their approval by bouncing and bobbing their heads, but most of the crowd went still. I wondered if they appreciated the potent lyrics, or if they were disappointed they couldn’t keep dancing.
The band wrapped the song up and rushed into the next, whipping up their previous frenzy again in a hurry.
Carlos showed Danny how to skank, kicking up one foot in front of the other and letting the weight follow through with a lanky rhythm. Evie mirrored my dancing and let herself slow down, laughing as she shimmied her shoulders and snaked her arms. Ren began with bouncing and bobbing his head at first, but then, I turned to him, and somehow, we ended up circling each other, in our own tiny pit. My hair waved back and forth in front of my face as I peered up at him, while we danced closer and closer. That made it easier to bear the way he beamed at me.
For a moment, I forgot. Like I’d stepped for a moment into another universe, where we were alive and well and together. I could’ve been at one of my own early shows, getting in some dancing before having to go on with some friends who’d come to see me. Maybe I’d spotted this cute boy at other shows, getting my chance to dance with him at last. I’d have to decide whether to make my move now, or after, once he’d heard me play.
Someone passed through me, cutting between us. A pink-haired girl danced closer to him, her intentions unmistakable. I’d felt them.
I turned away, ducking into the crowd, bumping through far too many people. Their enthusiasm barely rubbed off on me. If the broadcast went both ways, I’d brought them down.
There were people upstairs, milling with beer in the kitchen, so I kept going, through the wall and into the backyard. Patchy grass poked up through the melting snow, scattered beer cans all around, but they’d crisscrossed some fairy lights between the tree and garage. The music still blared loud enough that it probably bothered the neighbors.
“Mal.”
Of course he’d followed me.
Ren held out his hand. “Come dance.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. But I didn’t take his hand. Instead, I shimmied my shoulders, slowly, in a coy shuffle. Soon, we were moving together, his hips and shoulders echoing mine. At first, we were both looking down at ourselves. Once again, I forgot how to do this like I had in life. He might’ve been close, but he felt so far away, without the pulse to pull our veins like marionette strings. Instead, I had to move freely, with nothing but rhythm and instinct telling me what to do. I could only hope to think and move fast enough for us to look good together. Feel good together.
We drew closer, staring bashfully at our feet, stumbling through each other’s toes. We had to compensate for a lack of push and pull, but at least with our fingers twined, I could pick up his intention, where he wanted us to move, when to let go and then come together again. Even without holding each other, when he lifted his arm, I spun around in a twirl and found his hand again. He threw out his arm and I knew to spin the other way, before curling back into him with a laugh, my back to his chest, his arms around me.
He spun me back around so we could face each other. It happened without thinking, as the tempo slowed down, my arms around his neck and my feet resting on top of his own, the two of us rocking gently together. As I looked up at him, into those soft eyes, I came close to forgetting again.
I wondered how our other selves were doing, in other lives, in other universes, whether we’d found each other at a better time and stayed together for the rest of our lives, or if I’d fucked it up as usual. Or maybe we’d missed each other completely, whether by death, or bad luck, or stupid carelessness.
His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
I dipped my head down against his collarbone, hiding my face. “You’re not going to be young forever. If I weren’t here, you’d be dancing with some other girl. Someone who could help with the rent, meet your mom, maybe pop out a kid or two.”
His startled laugh echoed in my own chest. “I’m getting by, rent-wise. I love my mom, but you don’t want to meet her. And, uh, my biological clock isn’t ticking yet.”
I wanted to tell him I couldn’t be the one—just one of many. But that felt presumptuous, not to mention dramatic. Better to wait and see where this went. We had time to figure it out. It couldn’t hurt to keep him just a little longer.
“Good,” I said. “I’m not ready to give you up.”
And hopefully by the time I was, he’d have learned from me, ready for the next love to come along.
My chest overflowed with warmth as he pressed his smile to my lips. It felt like we’d done this before, like we’d already been doing this for a lifetime. Maybe in another universe. He laughed, the sound rising out of my own lungs as well, and I didn’t give a fuck anymore how my alternate selves were doing, whether or not they had it better than me. We were here, still here, together.
* * *
After the show, we were too pumped to turn in, not that most of us could rest anyway. We waited until the basement had emptied so we could talk freely.
“What should we do now?” asked Evie.
Carlos sounded wistful. “We used to order pizza, drink some more, watch cartoons.”
My band and I used to do the same, along with all our friends and girlfriends and couch crashers, shitfaced and starving.
Danny gnawed her nails. “I’d die again for some pizza.”
“Don’t even say it,” said Evie. “You’re making my belly rumble.”
“We could still watch cartoons,” Ren added.
We all piled into his car to ride home with him. He let us pick the music to blast on his old stereo, passing a case of CDs to the backseat.
Carlos commented knowledgeably on everything. Evie weighed in here and there, with the slight hesitation of someone doubting her own taste. Danny proclaimed unabashed ignorance.
“Oh, shit!” said Carlos.
I got shivers, like a premonition of doom. It must’ve been the panicked look from Ren.
“I forgot about Goodbye Courage,” Carlos continued.
“Who’s that?” asked Danny.
Evie remained quiet. I wondered if she knew or not. I’d never told her the band’s name, but she could have gleaned it from my memory, or looked me up, given us a listen.
Carlos leaned way forward into the front seat and slipped the disc right in. He hit the skip button twice. He might as well have slapped me in the face.
“I like the first two tracks,” Ren said.
“We could go back,” said Carlos. “But this one’s my favorite. Let me see if I can remember the words.”
And then the first few piano notes I’d written began to plink. After all this time, I’d half-forgotten them. I went rigid with stage fright, as if I weren’t sitting surrounded by friends.
Ren reached over to me, his hand warm on mine. I wasn’t alone, and there wasn’t any stage.
Danny snapped her fingers. “Oh, I do know this song!”
“Me, too,” said Evie.
Carlos murmured the opening lines. I wondered why I’d hated them so much, back when we were writing them, then repeating them in the studio, take after take. They weren’t so bad. In fact, they were almost good.
Danny joined in. Together, their voices strengthened, like they were no longer self-conscious, or doubtful about the lyrics. Evie echoed them, every other word and then every other line, like she didn’t know the words as well. I wondered if she’d only listened because of me.
Ren did his best to grab my hand, and then—looking at me for as long as driving would allow—he sang. All the lights from surrounding cars, and traffic lights, and passing buildings, blurred with my tears. I shut my eyes, trying to keep my sob quiet.
It turned out to be much easier to just scream along instead, letting the tears stream down my face. Everyone who didn’t know must’ve thought I’d gotten really into it.
It seemed to end too soon. I kind of wished we’d written one more verse, or at least repeated the chorus again.
“You’ve got a killer voice,” said Carlos. “It reminds me of someone, I can’t remember.”
Ren grinned at me. Evie giggled in the backseat.
On the next track, I had more backing vocals.
“Keep listening.”