Eighteen
“Iwant to do my independent study on African philosophy.” Syd’s voice is tinny through Esther’s laptop speakers.
“You know how, like, in some movies, there’s the depiction of the ancestral plane?
I want to learn about shit like that. Sorry— stuff like that.
What are some search terms you recommend for getting good sources to explain the roots of that depiction of the afterlife?
I’m having trouble escaping the ancient Greeks. ”
Since I’m “on sabbatical,” Esther got stuck with my advisees, including Syd, who had one semester of weirding out over the macabre with me before I died.
Even though as an adjunct, Esther isn’t supposed to be anyone’s advisor.
Especially since she’s still technically on leave with the Pox.
While the worst is over, she still has at least two more weeks of isolation, but she’s already back teaching remotely.
Now that she knows Esther isn’t about to die, Gilda’s empathy has limits.
I lay on the bed, watching as Esther bundles herself in the comforter and clings to her steaming mug of tea.
An array of medication and vitamins clutter up the table behind her laptop, surrounding the oxalis plant.
She better get the fucking tenure-track position I’ve left vacant, whenever Gilda finally accepts that I’m not coming back.
Despite the comforter hugging her shoulders, Esther’s bare thigh jiggles under the desk as she bounces her foot, a pleasant distraction from my own existential musings.
The weeks of anxiety and shared delirium—while I obsessively checked her neck and face for pockmarks, and sank into her to help her fight her fever—has left me so relieved that I no longer have any shame in looking.
That enchanting bounce of her glorious thigh is a miracle I almost lost forever. “That’s a good question, Syd.”
I smile affectionately. “You say that every time they ask a question you don’t know the answer to.”
Syd snorts. “Sorry. I know this isn’t your field. I just don’t really know where to begin to look this stuff up.”
Esther sighs with a kind smile. “I know. I’m sorry. But I’ll do some digging and see what I can find. If you send me some recs, I might even watch these movies you’re talking about.”
Syd and I both laugh before I start calling out suggestions.
Maybe Esther will hear me and look it up herself.
“Spiritism. Animism. Pre-colonial beliefs. Search for specific cultural groups, to avoid a generic meaningless mishmash written by people who think Africa is a country. Pan-African can be a helpful search term for academic journals, but it won’t always lead back to reliable primary sources, so make sure to check the citations. ”
“Uh. Thanks?” Syd sounds confused. “I didn’t know Dr. Monae was there with you?”
Freezing like a deer in the headlights, Esther shakes her head. “No, I’m here by myself.”
I pull myself to look over Esther’s shoulder. “Oh, shit. Can they hear me?”
Syd laughs uncomfortably. “Sorry, I can pretend I didn’t hear her again just now. Thanks for the tips, Dr. Monae! Hope your uh…sabbatical is going well!”
I don’t answer. If someone thinks that I’m hiding out in Esther’s apartment—that I’m alive in Esther’s apartment—then it might raise suspicion of her about my disappearance. Even if they never find my body to charge her with murder, it might cost Esther her job.
“Strange. She’s not here. I think I’d notice if someone else was in this tiny apartment of mine.” Esther chuckles, but she seems more confused than anything.
“Right. Sorry. Don’t worry—I won’t blow your cover.” Syd says their thanks again and exits the meeting.
“What the fuck, Lucy? How could Syd hear you?” Esther stands up, pacing through me a few times before I can get out of her path.
At this point, Life’s burn is just part of existence in the small apartment.
The blanket drags on the floor behind her.
“Could it be the video call? Would you somehow have sensed that I needed your insight and manifested? Or am I still delirious from being sick?”
I hug myself as I perch back on the bed. “Honestly, I have no idea. I don’t think you’re delirious though. Syd definitely heard me.”
Esther opens a new meeting and hits record.
“I’m going to delete this so fast because I’m pretty sure I’m crazy.
” She shrugs, tightening the comforter wrapped around her shoulders.
“But I want to test this, and it’s not like I have anything better to do.
People have done weirder shit in quarantine than start a video call with their dead colleague.
” She laughs. I would laugh with her, but repressing my hope is already hard enough.
“Lucy? Are you there? Can you hear me? Could you give me a sign somehow that you’re there?
Are you dead? I mean, I hope you’re not dead.
If you’re not, are you tapping into my video calls? Or, like, where are you?”
If this works… Anticipation thrums so loud that I can’t even finish the thought.
The chance of someone hearing me again—of talking to someone again—the hope is impossibly painful.
I shouldn’t let myself feel like it’s within reach.
I’m dying of thirst, and this video call is a cruel mirage.
It won’t work, and the disappointment when it doesn’t might break me.
But the possibility feels close enough to taste.
I ground myself, sinking into the bed. If there’s one thing I can do that will turn the impossible into improbable as a ghost, it’s anchoring my feet to the ground.
“You ask so many questions back to back, Esther. Can I get a chance to talk?” My fond sarcasm cannot mask how badly I want this to work.
The desperation and hope in my voice are palpable.
“If this works, I hope you listen long enough to get to the part where I finally get a word in.”
My words gush out, in case she stops recording before I get a chance to finish.
“You might be a bit loopy from your meds, but yeah, I’m here.
I’m dead, but I can hear you. And see you.
Sorry, I’m haunting you, not hacking into your laptop.
I follow you around everywhere. You can call an exorcist if you want, but so far, the afterlife doesn’t align with any Christian beliefs.
Or any faiths that I’m familiar with. There are echoes of a lot of cultures, but not any one in particular, anyway.
It’s a little odd to be experiencing the etic material and emic interpretation, instead of the other way around, because I don’t know to what degree I’m projecting my own paradigms over the observable facts. ”
I pause, trying to remember what else she asked, before Esther gives up and stops recording.
“I don’t know how to send you a sign. There’s no way this is going to work.
But… Set a piece of paper on the table. I’ll try to knock it off.
No guarantees it’ll work though. Sorry, I’m not stalking you on purpose.
I’m kind of stuck with you constantly. Hope that’s not weird for you.
” I’m rambling now, but I can’t stop. I don’t want to.
“It’s kind of weird for me, so sorry if that’s uncomfortable.
Also, sorry for apologizing too much. I kind of talk like you now, after haunting you this long.
But you’re white. Maybe you won’t be freaked out if you can hear this.
Y’all are into that paranormal shit usually. ”
Esther stops the recording and exits the meeting. “This is so stupid. I’m so stupid.”
“Really, Esther? That was a terrible moment to stop recording!” My groan turns into a delirious laugh. I finally get a chance for her to hear me, and I take a cheap dig at white people in horror movies?
She hits play, listening to herself ramble off her many questions. “This is so unhinged. I’m losing it.” Her cursor hovers over the x in the corner for a moment, before she takes her hand away. “Fuck it, though. Why not listen to the whole thing?”
We wait, staring at the laptop in anticipation, when my voice comes over the speaker!
It’s faint, but it’s audible. In addition to tinny from the cheap laptop speakers, I sound fucking evil.
My voice is hoarse and deep; I have no idea how Syd figured out it was me talking.
I always hated hearing how stern I sounded on recordings, but this is a whole new level of malice.
Now it’s…well, actually, I sound kind of badass.
But if I was alive, I’d be embarrassed. Everyone always said I was intimidating; I never figured out how to seem more approachable.
Despite the sinister voice, Esther laughs as she listens to my explanation, pressing a hand to her mouth as her eyes brighten with tears. “Holy shit, I’ve fucking lost it. Am I hearing this? Am I imagining this? Am I so white that I am buying into this paranormal shit? Fuck it. Let’s find out.”
She hits record again and sets a piece of paper on her keyboard. Pulling myself next to her, I wait for her to move, but she doesn’t.
“You know, you kind of burn to touch, so I’d appreciate it if you stepped aside.
But you probably won’t hear that until you listen to this later.
So, sorry if this feels weird.” I ground myself and swat at the paper on the table.
It flutters gently while I bat at it like a cat.
After a few more searing passes through her body, the paper finally falls off the table. “There. That’s your sign.”
“Fuck. Are you the draft that I’ve been feeling everywhere in this apartment? I thought I was going insane.” Esther laughs and spins around, clapping in excitement. “Oh wait, am I going through you right now?”
“Bitch, yes!” I laugh with her as I back away quickly, too ecstatic to mind her soulfire overly much. “You’re so hot! And not just in the fun, sexy way, even though you are also hot in the fun, sexy way. You are like lava every time we pass through each other.”
Once again, Esther’s timing is horribly off. She hits stop recording before I can cover my ass and backtrack the hot and sexy comments—not that I know how I would possibly come back from that. Being dead and spending so much time around Esther has eliminated any filter I had.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to burn you.” Esther cringes as she plays back the recording.
“Wait, you think I’m hot? Wait! Oh, my god!
I’m not wearing pants!” She buries her face in the blanket as she wraps it around her whole body.
“Oh my god! You’ve been haunting my apartment?
! Oh, no! I’m so gross! Oh god, this is so embarrassing! ”
I laugh. I can’t help it. Giggles bubble out of me uncontrollably.
Esther is so incredibly charming. And she’s not recording right now, so I know she won’t hear me laugh at her expense.
But I’m laughing from joy, more than anything.
Just being heard is so freeing! Even though she can’t hear me, I couldn’t stop talking if I tried.
“Bitch, you spent half an hour shaving your bush into a heart for Valentine’s Day because you wanted to impress your vibrator.
At this point, I’m so used to you, that everything you do is cute. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”
Esther, of course, is oblivious to my rambling.
She paces around her apartment, digging through drawers for a pair of sweatpants, rambling out her existential crisis and reliving her embarrassing moments from the past few months in her soft pretty voice.
With an irrepressible smile, I perch in my usual spot next to the plant on the table to stay out of her way, a contented patience settling inside me alongside the disbelief.
It’ll be a long time before she remembers to hit record again.
Luckily, I like to listen to her talk.