Twenty-Three
As we ramp up to the end of the spring semester, Esther puts me to work.
Hovering in the chair across the desk from her, I scan the paper that’s fanned out, facing me.
I never thought I’d miss grading, but it’s nice to be helpful.
Satisfying in a way I didn’t realize I missed.
Esther has done so much for me, this feels like such a small way to give back to her.
But if I can take anything off of her very full plate, I will.
The essay I’m reading now, about early horror films that influenced how the West conceptualizes spirits in popular culture, is incredibly well researched and cited.
A little uncanny how closely a quirk of film technology landed so close to reality.
But that’s something to put in the journal later, the one Esther is keeping for me; we debrief all of my facts and observations before she goes to bed every night.
The essay is more of an art history paper than a philosophy essay, but the necessary citations from the textbooks and suggested reading are mixed in with the film techniques that led to the contemporary imagery of ghosts.
Besides, the student is a film major, and this late in the semester, these essays are driven by their own interests.
This is a liberal arts college after all; philosophy is interdisciplinary.
My own focus pulls from history, anthropology, and literature, as much as Descartes or Sartre.
“Are you close to a stopping point?” I ask as Esther clicks away on her laptop across the desk from me.
“Yes, gimme like two seconds!” Esther murmurs, finishing a sentence with a flourish of her fingers, before turning in my general direction with a smile and a blue pen (she hates to use red; it’s “too mean”). She turns the pages toward her, and waits for me to give her instructions.
“She has a few typos, like the third sentence on page two where I can’t figure out what she’s trying to say.” I wait for Esther to mark it with her pen. “And a comma missing about halfway down page four.”
Esther marks up all the typos I point out.
“Her thesis sentence is really strong, and she supports it with evidence, especially the section on page three. Can you emphasize the first sentence in the second paragraph please? It was really concise but demonstrative.” Esther underlines it diligently, and writes “concise but demonstrative! Well done!” in the margin.
“Overall, A minus. She did get a little off topic, since her thesis was primarily about semiotics, but about a quarter of the essay was on specific film techniques that weren’t relevant to her argument. ”
Esther marks those notes at the end. “Anything else?”
“Nope, ready for the next one, Dr. Voigt! Lay it on me!” I tease, delighted when pink tinges Esther’s cheeks. Flirting with her is probably a poor choice, but I enjoy how flustered she gets when I call her Dr. Voigt.
Tucking the film paper into her “done” pile, Esther spreads the next paper out onto her desk, fanning the pages out so I can read them. “This is so much faster with you here, Lucy. You’re a lifesaver, I swear!”
“It’s the least I can do, since you’re the one teaching my class, yet again!
” I settle back into the chair, grounding myself to rest my elbows on the desk.
“Besides, give your new TAs some credit. Between all of us, you might actually get one day off this semester. Probably right at the end before finals start.”
Esther snorts, turning back to her laptop. “My mentees, you mean? Because I actually do have to do some additional work for the mentee program.” She nods at her screen. “Currently arranging an admission visit for them at the state university graduate program.”
“Oh, you can name drop me, if you want. That’s where I worked before coming here.” I frown. “I might not have made a huge impression, but I don’t think I burned any bridges?”
Esther wrinkles her nose. “Would they believe me? You’re…you know. Dead?”
“They don’t know that.” I shrug, ignoring the twinge in my chest. It’s weird to hear Esther say it out loud; she usually dances around it.
I’m usually the one to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
“Officially, I’m on sabbatical, remember?
Do you think Gilda is just gonna quietly lay me off this summer and hire someone else? What’s her plan?”
“Fuck if I know!” Esther scoffs. “She’s dug herself—Oh, Syd! Hi!”
I whirl around, backing out of the chair as Syd shyly scurries into the tiny office, Harriet a few steps behind them.
“Sorry, I don’t have a lot of time today, but I had some questions about the essays I’m grading?
Then class went over, and I’m supposed to meet— Are you reading upside down?
” Syd asks, their expression going from apologetic to skeptical, as they look at the papers facing us, not Esther, on the desk.
“Yup!” Esther gives a nervous giggle. She gathers up the essay I hadn’t started reading yet, and gestures for Syd to sit. “Helps me see things differently! After the first hundred essays, the words start to lose their meaning. Keeps the brain sharp, you know?”
“East, stop rambling. You are so bad at lying,” I tease, slipping past Syd to greet Harriet. Esther’s office is tight enough with just the two of us.
While I’d rather not risk running into Syd, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Harriet.
We saw each other twice a week last semester.
With Esther working remotely for most of this semester, I’ve barely seen her.
Our only time together is because Syd is one of Esther’s “mentees.” At most, I see her a few moments every week, when Esther and Syd touch base about assignments (grading intro course essays, mostly) and their career development (conversations Esther was the most anxious about, but has been surprised to find she’s good at. It was not a surprise to me).
“Lucy! How have things been? Is your Tie doing okay?” Harriet greets me with a smile. “Syd had the longest recovery when they had the Pox a couple years ago, and yours had a much worse case than they did! From what I overhear from Syd, she never takes a day off. She should rest more!”
“Yeah, try telling her that,” I mutter. “She’s doing good.
Still a little weak and tired, but overall, fine.
” I lower my voice a little, so Esther doesn’t have a distraction from her conversation with Syd.
I don’t know if she’d want me telling Harriet that I’m still fussing over her, too.
Esther says she’s fine, but she is far from fully recovered.
Time is still strange from her frequent naps and poor sleep at night.
“How are you? Talk to any other spirits lately?”
Harriet shakes her head. “Just a faint one Tied to the bartender at the place Syd likes to go to lately. Poor thing can’t even hear me anymore. You?”
“Esther met my brother a few months ago, before she caught the Pox.” I chew on my words, wondering how much I should say, when I haven’t even told Esther this yet. But I asked Harriet first. Why would I have asked her that, if I didn’t want to talk about this?
Being Tied to Esther has gotten me blurting out all of my thoughts, but it’s still hard to admit facts that veer too close to feelings territory, especially out loud, especially to Harriet.
But I should. This is how I ended up so isolated in life, not trusting anyone with the things that made me feel weak, insecure, and vulnerable.
Unlike Esther, who just spits out her feelings, her truth, and her insecurities, like watermelon seeds on the grass where anyone might step on them.
I admire that about her.
“My dad left when I was six, and my mom went missing a few years ago, too. I never had a good relationship with her, but I saw them…” My words choke me, but I hope Harriet will understand what I mean anyway. “Both of my parents are Tied to my brother.”
Harriet evaluates me, her head cocked and her dark eyes soft and glowing. “Well, fuck your parents, Lucy.”
“Fuck my parents, indeed.” I laugh. Half in amusement to hear Harriet say that, and half in relief that she blames my parents for their apathy toward me.
I sometimes wonder what was wrong with me that neither of my parents gave a damn about me when I was young.
“Sorry, that probably wasn’t what you expected to hear.
” I shake my head, throat raw and chest aching from her quiet validation.
“My brother is almost twenty-eight and has both of our parents fighting to be heard by his subconscious, when he’s a grown-ass man.
And when I say fighting, I mean, fighting.
They were screaming at each other. They didn’t even notice I was there until I said something. ”
“Well, you are so…” Harriet shakes her head.
“I know I say you’re bright all the time, but every time I see you, you’re glowing more and more.
If I hadn’t been here for so long, I’d wonder if I was fading without knowing it.
” She frowns. “Your dad, he’s been a spirit even longer than I have, hasn’t he? ”
“Twenty-six years, give or take.” I nod.
“Interesting.” Harriet nods, looking over at Syd, who is asking Esther about the best approach for giving feedback on an essay they’re stuck on.
“Very interesting.” Harriet smiles, but it’s heavy with some emotion I can’t quite identify.
Hesitation? Pity? “Well, they’re missing out for not appreciating you while they had the-” She pats my arm. “Oh, damn!” She jerks her hand away.
“What? What’s wrong?” I blurt out.
Esther’s head raises, and she glances to the back of the room with wide eyes. Syd looks back over their shoulder in confusion to see what’s caught her attention.
“You’re so warm!” Harriet rubs her fingertips together, brow furrowed. She rests her hand on my arm again. I can’t feel a thing, but Harriet looks at me in amazement. “You almost burn to the touch.”
“Is that weird?” I lower my voice, as Esther returns to the conversation with Syd. “Ghosts can’t get fevers, can we? Did I somehow get the Pox from Esther?”
“For someone so bright…” Harriet gives me a teasing look, like I should already know the answer to that. “Why are you whispering?”
I beam. “Oh, well, in good news—”
“Oh shoot, I’m late! Gotta run!” In a flash of pain, Syd steps through me, arms full of more essays to grade. “See you Esther!”
“I’ll tell you next time!” I wave as Harriet is pulled through the door after her kid.
It feels like a lie by omission. However, I’ve let one sharp painful truth out.
Trusted a friend with a vulnerable wound that I’ve been nursing privately.
And I survived, heart intact with Harriet’s validation that I’m right to be upset.
Maybe I could survive sharing this jagged fact with Esther, too.