The seconds after Benjamin disappears are filled with a sort of static, like there is a residual presence in the air around me.
My encounter with him has left me feeling numb and my head overfilled with information. So I am a ghost, and no one can see me but other spirits. I close my eyes again, making sure I didn’t imagine the whole thing.
And there it is, a million, billion pinpricks coursing across my skin. I see, but not with my eyes, and everything I view is on the other side of a translucent curtain. The shadows of everything and everyone that ever was. An infinity of voices without words, an eternity of lost loves, yearned for wishes and dreams, never to be accomplished on mortal earth.
But there is hope too, and I find it harder to see. The occasional gleam of happiness that lifts my spirits in so much dark.
I open my eyes again and start to feel dizzy, like I’m slipping down an increasingly slippery slope behind me. I panic without meaning to. I can sense the gaping maw of the Edge behind me. Feel its chaos, so close but a million miles away. I was going to have to get used to my new gifts. I had no great desire to enter that place again. Benjamin had said that it was only terrifying if you let it be, but from where I’m standing, it makes my lack of skin crawl.
Because that is strangest thing, and it’s what drags me back to my new reality. I grip hold of my left wrist with my right hand.
Before I know what’s happening, it goes numb, it feels see-through, as though it’s not there at all.
As my fingers feel my still warm skin, I am grounded again. It’s all in my mind. The Edge is my mind. Maybe I’m more connected to it now I don’t have a body? I could never say if my musings are true, I have so many questions to ask Benjamin, so many that only occur to me now.
I am truthfully a baby in this new form of body, and I know it will take me a while before I take my first confident steps.
But he’s given me the answer that I needed. I know my girlfriend better than anyone else. We’ve known each other for five years, we've grown up together.
I smell the smoke that has become ingrained in the trees behind the art rooms.
I hold a hand out to steady myself, gripping onto the bark beside me. My still wet face remains defiant to the dry air of a summer’s day. I'm standing in the woods behind the art rooms. I’m standing in the school I’d almost forgotten. The countless lunchtimes I’d trodden the path down to the student-designated smoking area.
Is this how easy it is? I think about a place and I’m there.
‘Hey, Easton!’
I turn, startled by the recognition. I see a young boy trudging through the wilderness of a suburban London green space; green, but eternally greyed by the endless pollution around it. I can hear the A-road our school backs onto, car after car after car speeding past, invisible to the delinquent teenagers hidden in the trees.
‘Hurry up!’ the boy calls again. I look closer. Graham. It’s Graham Upton, the boy I’d been attached to until we’d gone to separate colleges, and here he was, standing in his school uniform waving at me, an unlit Marlboro between his lips.
Slowly, feeling embarrassed, I raise my hand.
And then I feel the breath knocked from me. Like my lungs have been grasped and squeezed.
A boy, in the same black blazer as Graham, appears before me, so immediately close I start and step back into the tree.
That brown hair, sodden with gel at the front because he thought it was cool. That black bag with the hole in it; the devourer of many a pen and pieces of homework. Those turn ups at the bottom of his trousers.
It’s me. I’ve walked through myself.
‘Now we hurry,’ grumbles the other me.
‘We have an invite,’ Graham stresses.‘An invite to the smoking hut. This is the holy grail of invites! Don’t mess this up for me.’
‘And who got that invite?’ the other me asks, stopping in his tracks. ‘Who helped Isobel with her Science write-up last week for this? And who thought this was a stupid idea until he suddenly decided last week that he was a smoker?'
I look at the scene before me. The scene I remember so vividly. This is the day I met Penny for the first time.
I have recalled this day so often, it appears to me now, whole, like I have travelled back in time. The path is exactly the same: well-trodden and eternally covered in wet leaves, even in the height of summer. The trees, scorched with a thousand cigarette butts, stand tall and the canopy hangs high overhead. The nearby voices, loud and brazen, echo from nowhere, masked by the wall of foliage.
I don’t know who found the smoking hut: a disused old shed in the middle of a tiny wood. When we arrived at St Bartholomew’s it had long been a tradition, the headquarters of the chosen few who broke the rules with no danger of punishment.
I follow Graham and myself down the path recalling Benjamin’s words: ‘memories are indestructible.’ He told me I could revisit them if I wanted to. Like the threat of falling into the Edge, it appeared to be a little too easy. I am here when I want to find Penny. My brain has obeyed me, but not in the way I imagined.
I hear commotion around the corner. I emerge creeping, still not used to being invisible to everyone else here. There were only four of them that day. Rita, tall and boyish, wearing whatever clothes she wanted. Tom, captain of a team I’ve forgotten, muscly and silent. Yasmine, Penny’s best friend, always looking out of place, book in hand but obviously confident, that one inexplicable person who remained bookish and popular at the same time. And there, slightly behind her, chewing on her fingernail, dark hair a curtain masking her face, is Penny.
‘The geeks make an entrance,’says Rita, laughing, barging into Graham knocking him sideways. ‘You best have brought your own, otherwise you’re sitting like Yasmine’s hanger on.’
‘Shut up, Rita,’ snaps Yasmine, looking up from her book. She doesn’t turn to Penny, but I see the girl look at her shoes; scuffed old converse that should be in the bin.
‘Choose a stump then, losers.’Rita isn’t even looking our way anymore.
I watch myself, repeatedly glancing Penny’s way, trying to remain inconspicuous and failing in a spectacular fashion. Graham instantly collapses beside Yasmine and begins an unsuccessful flirt.
I stand, not knowing what to do with my hands, fiddling with the hem of my blazer before I reluctantly follow him, the feeling of not belonging experienced and recalled, my stomach tightening uncomfortably as though the eyes of the world are aware of my awkwardness.
‘No cigarettes either?’ I venture, praying this will lead to some form of conversation.
She shrugs. ‘To be honest, I don’t really like them,’ she admits, looking down like it’s a shameful thing to say in the current company. ‘They make me really light-headed.’
‘You want to try weed,’ says Graham, the man in the know.
I see myself bristle. ‘Like you would know,’ I state with surprise confidence I didn’t know I possessed.
Graham had been annoying me so much in the weeks leading up to the meeting by the smoking hut. Always trying to be something he wasn’t, to fit where he didn’t belong. And I was the spare, always dragged along to places when I would have much preferred sitting at home or visiting my favourite haunts in London.
Everyone in the circle laughs at my comment and the warm buzz of acceptance drifted through my chest then and now in my spiritual form. Everything I feel is echoed two years down the path of my life and across barrier between life and death. I wonder is that the point of re-experiencing these moments: to gain a different perspective on them.
‘What are you reading?’ Penny asks me and I turn back from a disgruntled Graham. I see she’s looking at the book protruding through the hole in my bag. Its corners are old and yellow like it’s been carried in there far too many times. I remember never leaving my house without it.
‘Just this old book I found once.’It’s my turn to look down. I know I’m thinking that my reason for finding it isn’t exactly romantic or brag-worthy and I really don’t want to mess things up before we’ve even begun. I roll my eyes to myself watching the scene. A year later my hobby would be seen as the height of cool, but at that moment I hid everything I collect away, in boxes underneath my bed.
‘Can I see?’ she says, her eyes lighting up at the prospect and I know I can’t refuse.
I sit next to her and set my bag down. I watch myself, knowing, feeling the pride at my manoeuvre to gain the seat beside her without looking weird.
I draw it out.
‘The Alchemist,’ she reads slowly. ‘Seriously. You’ve read this book?’
‘Yeah,’ I say carefully. I don’t know if this is a good or a bad thing and she can't know my secret.
‘I love this book so much,’ Penny says, holding it close to her like a beloved old acquaintance, her face changing drastically, lifting her out of her slump. ‘I love the way Thacker writes.’
I’m a little taken aback. I didn’t know anyone knew about The Alchemist. As far as I know it’s out of print. I didn’t do a lot of reading in those days. I’m known as the science nerd at St Bartholomew’s. It’s why I can’t quite fathom my current state of being. My spiritual presence can’t be explained by physics, biology or anything in between. Me, Benjamin, and everyone else I can feel in the world are anomalies. Existing above and beyond everything we think we know about the world.
But we exist without a purpose. As I sit, inexplicably beside my own memory, talking about a much loved book, a shared passion between two tiny people who should never have met and shared anything at all, I wonder why I’ve been given this gift, if it is a gift at all.
‘Do you read a lot?’ she asks, and I can feel my unease at having to answer.
‘Sort of,’ I say.
‘He reads comics,’ dismisses Graham, obviously looking for revenge. ‘Keeps them in boxes under his bed like they’re porn.’
‘Do you mind?’ snaps Yasmine, giving him a death stare. ‘Easton, you can stay,’ she says, looking back at me. ‘But if you’re just going to sit here and annoy people, Graham, could you please leave and do everyone a favour?’
‘Whatever,’says Graham. ‘Come on Easton.’ He stands up.
‘Think I’ll stay a while,’ I say, and I’m proud of myself for being solid. ‘I’ll see you later?’
‘Fine.’Graham hits his sides like a child who hasn’t got his way. ‘Well you can forget the lift home.’
Graham’s older brother usually gave us a lift home in his crappy old Nissan Micra. I really don’t mind getting the bus that day if he’s going to throw his toys from the pram.
‘What comics do you read?’ she asks as he walks away, hands buried in his pockets.
‘Err… all sorts,’ I say.
‘What’s your favourite?’ Penny continues, genuinely interested.
‘I guess my favourite’s the Iron Captain,’ I say.
‘Oh, like the film coming out in summer?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘I don’t know about the guy they’ve cast though.’
‘I feel your pain,’ she says, holding her hand to her chest. ‘Book adaptations never go well.’
The glow of acceptance courses between me and my younger self. Little did I know, but the film adaptation of The Iron Captain would usher in a new age of big budget films based on comic books. My secret shame would become a badge of honour to talk about in public. This is the summer when comics become cool. Silly thing is; they always have been, just a lot of people were too small minded to let them.
‘My dad loves comics,’ she says. ‘He was obsessed with The Bullet in the 60s.’
‘Oh I love The Bullet too,’ I say. ‘”Faster than the turn of the earth!”’’ I quote the super speedy superhero’s catchphrase, holding my fist in front of me me before I can stop myself.
Our laughs fill the clearing; mine nervous-becoming-happy and Penny’s free and uncontrollable, from the pit of her stomach.
Seeing our first meeting lifts my spirits in a way that I have yet to experience in this other life. Lifts my spirits until I see the dark shape flit between the trees.
Fleeting and near-non-existent, the air shimmers and my eyes are drawn to the person shaped entity that darts across the small space behind a thick branch of leaves and then disappears. It is like my shadow, which still remains absent has come back to find me.
The back of my neck prickles, but I find myself lifting. Away from the clearing, from the smells of newly exhaled smoke and wet summer leaves and the world fades, fades, fades…
I open my eyes. The smell of grass is clear in my nostrils and my face feels wet on the still dewy ground. I am back at the site of my crash and I see that it is still closed off. The woman, now extracted from the wreckage of the van is talking to someone in the back of the ambulance. The stretchers are now gone.
My experience in my own memories is still fresh in my own. Why had it happened? That one day of awkwardness, misplaced things in common and happiness, of all the days I could have chosen.
One line of speech emerges through the mist like it’s more important than anything else.
My dad loves comics.
Where would you go after you died? I had thought it myself and the clench of guilt returns to me again.
You would visit your parents.
The image of Penny, standing before her red front door beckons to me. Like déjà vu only far stronger. Like a point in the distance pulling me closer.
I close my eyes.
I stand, not knowing what to do with my hands, fiddling with the hem of my blazer before I reluctantly follow him, the feeling of not belonging experienced and recalled, my stomach tightening uncomfortably as though the eyes of the world are aware of my awkwardness.
But no one looks at me. They’re all interested in their own thing and I can see it now.
I walk over, standing a little taller than my schoolboy self. I remember shooting up about a foot in year seven. The fuss Mum and Dad made over their little man comes back to me before I can stop it.
I walk over, standing a little taller than my schoolboy self. I remember shooting up about a foot in year seven. The fuss Mum and Dad made over their little man comes back to me before I can stop it.
My stomach clenches. Do Mum and Dad know yet? Do they know their son died barely an hour ago? I have to visit them. As soon as I find out how to get back to the present, I’ll go and see them, as painful as that might be. Even just to sit with them in the living room while they watched the TV, knowing I should have done it more often when I was alive.
My eyes become hot so I force myself to think about something else.
I see my former self inch towards Graham and Yasmine.
Move! I will myself, actually wafting my arms back and forth like I could speed myself along. Be a man, for God’s sake.
It’s frustrating but I know this day ends good so I just stand and watch.
Still I look at Penny. Her hair, short and choppy, soon to turn long and curly as the years go by. That freckle by her nose that I always like to kiss. The way she tugs on the cuffs of her sleeves, because I know it gives her comfort.
How do I even get out of here? I wonder. I close my eyes and will myself to move again, for the woods to change and be anywhere else. I scrunch up my fists, and concentrate hard but nothing changes. It looks like I’ll just have to let this play out and see where it takes me. Maybe I can gather some clue as to where on earth she may have gone.
In the end she looks up. She looks surprised like no one’s seen her sitting there in a while.
‘Hi,’ she says.
‘Hey,’ I reply.
I grow impatient watching two awkward teenagers and wish I could give either of us a helpful nudge. I realise that I can revisit all the moments in my past when I wasn’t as confident as I should have been and be powerless to change them.
I see myself cast helplessly around for an interesting topic of conversation. I remember fancying her in a different way to anything I’ve experienced. I was young and this is the girl who would become my first and only love.
The sadness is inescapable and I sit down myself on Penny’s other side, knowing what I would do next.‘No cigarettes either?’ I venture, praying this will lead to some form of conversation.
She shrugs. ‘To be honest, I don’t really like them,’ she admits, looking down like it’s a shameful thing to say in the current company. ‘They make me really light-headed.’
‘You want to try weed,’ says Graham, the man in the know.
I see myself bristle. ‘Like you would know,’ I state with surprise confidence I didn’t know I possessed.
Graham had been annoying me so much in the weeks leading up to the meeting by the smoking hut. Always trying to be something he wasn’t, to fit where he didn’t belong. And I was the spare, always dragged along to places when I would have much preferred sitting at home or visiting my favourite haunts in London.
Everyone in the circle laughs at my comment and the warm buzz of acceptance drifted through my chest then and now in my spiritual form. Everything I feel is echoed two years down the path of my life and across barrier between life and death. I wonder is that the point of re-experiencing these moments: to gain a different perspective on them.
‘What are you reading?’ Penny asks me and I turn back from a disgruntled Graham. I see she’s looking at the book protruding through the hole in my bag. Its corners are old and yellow like it’s been carried in there far too many times. I remember never leaving my house without it.
‘Just this old book I found once.’It’s my turn to look down. I know I’m thinking that my reason for finding it isn’t exactly romantic or brag-worthy and I really don’t want to mess things up before we’ve even begun. I roll my eyes to myself watching the scene. A year later my hobby would be seen as the height of cool, but at that moment I hid everything I collect away, in boxes underneath my bed.
‘Can I see?’ she says, her eyes lighting up at the prospect and I know I can’t refuse.
I sit next to her and set my bag down. I watch myself, knowing, feeling the pride at my manoeuvre to gain the seat beside her without looking weird.
I draw it out.
‘The Alchemist,’ she reads slowly. ‘Seriously. You’ve read this book?’
‘Yeah,’ I say carefully. I don’t know if this is a good or a bad thing and she can't know my secret.
‘I love this book so much,’ Penny says, holding it close to her like a beloved old acquaintance, her face changing drastically, lifting her out of her slump. ‘I love the way Thacker writes.’
I’m a little taken aback. I didn’t know anyone knew about The Alchemist. As far as I know it’s out of print. I didn’t do a lot of reading in those days. I’m known as the science nerd at St Bartholomew’s. It’s why I can’t quite fathom my current state of being. My spiritual presence can’t be explained by physics, biology or anything in between. Me, Benjamin, and everyone else I can feel in the world are anomalies. Existing above and beyond everything we think we know about the world.
But we exist without a purpose. As I sit, inexplicably beside my own memory, talking about a much loved book, a shared passion between two tiny people who should never have met and shared anything at all, I wonder why I’ve been given this gift, if it is a gift at all.
‘Do you read a lot?’ she asks, and I can feel my unease at having to answer.
‘Sort of,’ I say.
‘He reads comics,’ dismisses Graham, obviously looking for revenge. ‘Keeps them in boxes under his bed like they’re porn.’
‘Do you mind?’ snaps Yasmine, giving him a death stare. ‘Easton, you can stay,’ she says, looking back at me. ‘But if you’re just going to sit here and annoy people, Graham, could you please leave and do everyone a favour?’
‘Whatever,’says Graham. ‘Come on Easton.’ He stands up.
‘Think I’ll stay a while,’ I say, and I’m proud of myself for being solid. ‘I’ll see you later?’
‘Fine.’Graham hits his sides like a child who hasn’t got his way. ‘Well you can forget the lift home.’
Graham’s older brother usually gave us a lift home in his crappy old Nissan Micra. I really don’t mind getting the bus that day if he’s going to throw his toys from the pram.
‘What comics do you read?’ she asks as he walks away, hands buried in his pockets.
‘Err… all sorts,’ I say.
‘What’s your favourite?’ Penny continues, genuinely interested.
‘I guess my favourite’s the Iron Captain,’ I say.
‘Oh, like the film coming out in summer?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘I don’t know about the guy they’ve cast though.’
‘I feel your pain,’ she says, holding her hand to her chest. ‘Book adaptations never go well.’
The glow of acceptance courses between me and my younger self. Little did I know, but the film adaptation of The Iron Captain would usher in a new age of big budget films based on comic books. My secret shame would become a badge of honour to talk about in public. This is the summer when comics become cool. Silly thing is; they always have been, just a lot of people were too small minded to let them.
‘My dad loves comics,’ she says. ‘He was obsessed with The Bullet in the 60s.’
‘Oh I love The Bullet too,’ I say. ‘”Faster than the turn of the earth!”’’ I quote the super speedy superhero’s catchphrase, holding my fist in front of me me before I can stop myself.
Our laughs fill the clearing; mine nervous-becoming-happy and Penny’s free and uncontrollable, from the pit of her stomach.
Seeing our first meeting lifts my spirits in a way that I have yet to experience in this other life. Lifts my spirits until I see the dark shape flit between the trees.
Fleeting and near-non-existent, the air shimmers and my eyes are drawn to the person shaped entity that darts across the small space behind a thick branch of leaves and then disappears. It is like my shadow, which still remains absent has come back to find me.
The back of my neck prickles, but I find myself lifting. Away from the clearing, from the smells of newly exhaled smoke and wet summer leaves and the world fades, fades, fades…
I open my eyes. The smell of grass is clear in my nostrils and my face feels wet on the still dewy ground. I am back at the site of my crash and I see that it is still closed off. The woman, now extracted from the wreckage of the van is talking to someone in the back of the ambulance. The stretchers are now gone.
My experience in my own memories is still fresh in my own. Why had it happened? That one day of awkwardness, misplaced things in common and happiness, of all the days I could have chosen.
One line of speech emerges through the mist like it’s more important than anything else.
My dad loves comics.
Where would you go after you died? I had thought it myself and the clench of guilt returns to me again.
You would visit your parents.
The image of Penny, standing before her red front door beckons to me. Like déjà vu only far stronger. Like a point in the distance pulling me closer.
I close my eyes.
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