Esther is Now Following You

Prologue

After that, it’s back to checking the Facebook profiles of his friends and family for even a scrap of tidings.

Another thing that, owing to ingrained habit, I can now do at speed.

His cousin Rebecca has evidently been to a barbecue at a neighbour’s house, down the street in Vancouver.

Over on Hannah Klein’s page, she has posted a YouTube video of an old band she loved in college.

Sloan. How strange. If I’d gone to high school with this man, I’d be shouting about it all the time.

I see his mother has changed her profile picture on Facebook, from one image with an exceptionally fluffy bouffant and cardigan to another, every bit as fluffy-headed and becardiganed. I look at the picture and want to dive into her bosom and be mothered.

Coconut oil is really good for smoothing ends and getting rid of flyaways, Judith, I imagine telling her as I pat down her headfluff. Something to do with its molecules being small enough to properly penetrate the hair shaft. Aren’t you glad I came along when I did?

I sure am, sweetie, she will say. You’re the best thing that ever happened to this family of ours.

The body next to me in bed shifts, indignant at the blue light coming from my phone and making shadows on the wall.

Over to his fan forum I go, where I know Violet has already long been awake.

Five a.m. here, 1.30 p.m. in Adelaide. She has posted a screen grab from a YouTube video from one of his old stage productions in Toronto.

It’s not a new image for any of us, but I lie back and drink it in, regardless.

It’s a kind of nourishment. The Jersey cow eyelashes.

The knobbly elbows. The deep forehead wrinkles, of which there are three and a half.

The double chin that I see myself tickling gently, affectionately.

The tufts of wiry hair springing from the back of his T-shirt.

I can almost feel their coarseness with my fingers.

There’s more shifting on the other side of the bed, only now I can feel warm breath on my shoulder.

I feel an ache for anything new on him that feels almost physical now, like a metal-grey hunger.

Where the hell are you? I want to shout out into the room, but cannot for obvious reasons.

I check my inbox, ignoring the email from work that has the header ‘Disciplinary meeting, Friday’. Final warnings, matters concerning my performance, matters will be handled transparently. It’s all moot. I won’t be at it, that much I know. I’ll be too busy running towards my next chapter.

I lie in the darkness, willing my dream life to pull me back down into sleep.