My Ghost Roommate

“What?”

“That’s what was missing. Trust. Maybe it was me the whole time. Maybe I just needed to …” He shoves the pizza box out of the way and shifts his body to sit cross-legged in front of me. “C’mon, sit like this. Don’t let go of me. I feel like I’m … feeling something.”

I mirror him exactly, sitting cross-legged in front of him on the floor. Our knees are touching, too. As if by instinct, he grabs my hand off his shoulder, and then the pair of us are holding hands the next moment, staring at each other’s eyes.

His breaths come slow and steady. “You feel that?”

I honestly don’t know. “Uh … I think so?”

“Close your eyes and concentrate.” I close my eyes. The only thing touching me now is his voice and the unexpectedly warm feel of our connected palms, fingers interlaced. “Do you give me permission?”

“Yeah,” I say in the darkness behind my eyelids.

“Are you willingly letting me in? Are you cool with us sharing that awesome, neurotic, and tragically dorky brain of yours?”

I crack a smile. “Yeah, I am. I …” Alright, and here goes a moment of unintended private thought divulging: “I really need the confidence to get through tonight. I need your confidence. Your certainty. Your oftentimes irritating cockiness I already feel I know so well.”

“Embrace the cockiness, bro. Embrace the cock.”

I feel like I’m shivering, but I’m perfectly still. “I willingly let you in, Westley. I willingly let you in.” Am I still shivering? “You and I can be one tonight. I am the Whoopi. You are the Swayze. I am the sapphire and you are the ruby. I am the high pressure system and you are the low, and together we’re, uh … a tornado, I guess.”

Bro …

“I am the double hydrogen. You are the oxygen. Together, we’re fuckin’ water.”

Bro, I think you made your point.

“I’m the …” A giddy feeling bubbles in my chest. I resist laughing. Why does that tickle so much? “I’m … shit, this feels funny. Are you doing something, West?” Nope, nothing. “Your voice sounds funny. Did you let go of my hands? I don’t feel—” I open my eyes.

He’s gone.

I look around. “Where’d you—?”

Griff …

I spin around, confused. I feel like I’m not hearing him with my ears, but rather my mind. Did he leave?

Nah, bro. I’m right here.

I’m dizzy as fuck. “What’s … What’s going on?”

Wow, this is so …

“Is that you, West? Are you …?” I clutch my head, the whole apartment seeming to spin around me. “Are you … inside of me? Did it actually work?”

I have no idea, but I’m seeing what you’re seeing.

“You are?” I stare down at my hands.

Yeah. Nice hands. Hey, can I try something?

I hesitate. That feeling of inescapable giddiness is bursting once again in my chest. I can barely resist the laugh this time. “Sure!” I exclaim.

Then I reach down and scratch my nuts.

Except it totally doesn’t feel like my hand or nuts.

“Hey!” I shout out in protest.

What?? I was itchy. That wasn’t what I wanted to try, by the way.

Wait a second. That was West? “Did you do that? Can you actually control me?”

I dunno. Did you just scratch your nuts, or did I?

I’m off the floor suddenly. My manic eyes find my reflection in the mirror staring back. Then my worry at once turns back into giddiness. “Holy crap!”

It feels like I’m giving you suggestions without even speaking! Like we’re both holding the wheel.

“Nice metaphor, but I’m not a car. I’m a …” I let out an abrupt laugh, tickled again. “Fuck it, yeah, I’m totally a car. A hot red Ferrari, burnin’ rubber. Why does this feel so much better than I thought it would?”

Dude, be honest, you had a minute when you were pretty sure it was a lost cause. Wait! Ooh, wow! I can actually feel your doubt from before.

“Hey now,” I say to my reflection. “Don’t you go fishing around in my thoughts!”

Don’t you trust me? I’m not judging. I mean, I feel like I’m fishing around in my own thoughts. I feel like … wow, I didn’t realize how deeply I’d be feeling your emotions, Griff. Damn, you’re complex as fuck.

“I think we should set a few ground rules.” I nod at myself in the reflection again. For some reason, I can’t stop staring at my face. Has something changed in it? How do I both recognize and don’t recognize myself? “I think it’s fair. Y’know, before tonight.”

Fine, yeah, that sounds fair.

“Good.” I scratch my nuts again, then catch myself. “Hey, stop that!”

It was still itchy!

“Stop touching my dick!”

First off, it’s your nuts, not your dick. Second—

“Can you contain yourself for just one night? It’s not the best first impression if I’m scratching my nuts all the time. You have plenty of time to entertain your sick fascination with them later. What’re you doing touching another guy’s dick, anyway?”