The Space Between Strangers
JESSICA JOHNSON-HUYNH
The First Stranger.
When I said I didn’t want to be alone anymore, this isn’t what I meant. I watched this boy, around my age -I think- saunter in like it's nobody’s business and plops himself on MY couch. I mean who does that? Whatever. With one last look at him, I head back upstairs into my room. The first few days were rough. For example, I would clearly be in the bathroom and he would barge in. I pull close the curtains, and he freaks out as if I’M the one invading his privacy.
I’ve seen and heard his late nights, screaming into a mini flat television about ‘where are my heals?’ Healing what? I don’t know. I’ve seen a fair share of sick people in my life, and he seemed perfectly healthy, besides his late nights. I guess that’s the benefit of moving out. No parents to tell you to go to bed.
I glanced out the window, my foot tapping against the floor. The boy is taking his sweet time in the damn bathroom and he’s cutting it very close. I have half a mind to just barge in. Just before I knock, I hear an ‘I know, I know’ from the bathroom. Finally the door swings open, and out comes the boy. The bathroom is foggy, but on the mirror, there are small words and a drawing. I see our house and a smiley face. Finally the message, ‘thanks for having me, I hope we can be friends one day.’ I can’t fight the small smile that cracks through my face, although it quickly hides once I hear him yelling from across the hall at his mini tv again.
I don’t know exactly when, but one day, I found myself used to his presence. I guess that’s just what happens when you cohabitate. You learn about each other’s routines and it becomes like clockwork. At sundown I get the bathroom uninterrupted. For the most part, he’s even considerate of noise after 9pm. We don’t talk much. That’s fine by me, I was never much of a talker anyway. However, I did learn his name was David. He didn’t really go to school much, but he did spend a lot of time on his television, and when bills came in, he didn’t seem to break a sweat. The thing I appreciated most about David was that he always respected my space. Even as he brought in new things for our house, I sometimes couldn’t understand, but at least he always left my stuff alone… and that was good enough for me.
As the days progressed, awkward silences became natural greetings.
‘Hey, I’m home’ David would call out as he came home, full bags in hand.
‘Hello’ I would say back, and it’ll always just end there.
I think, when he has a particularly hard day, he appreciates my company. One time I walked past the couch, and he sat there curled up on the couch, a little pathetic honestly, we all have those days. But I’ll never forget, besides being muffled by the sound of a throw pillow he bought, he said ‘Please. Come sit with me. I don’t want to be alone.’ I nodded, before walking back around and sitting next to him, the couch sinking under my weight. I pulled the blanket over his shoulders. It was cold that night. I remember the way his shoulders trembled, and I had to hold the blanket down. ‘Thank you’ His hoarse voice whispered. He sounded far away. He was somewhere he didn’t want to be. A minor anecdote, but, ever since that incident, something changed between us.
He would greet me every morning after he woke up. Every few days, he would come into my room and help me do some chores. When his feelings are particularly overwhelming that day, he leaves a drink for me on the table. He would sometimes buy me gifts, like my own personal glass with a little Halloween theme. Although way off season, it ended up being my favourite. Things were good between us, in our home. I was happy.
The Second Stranger.
One day, David brought home a girl. He told her to wait outside for a moment. He stepped in, probably to warn me. “Her name’s Phoebe. She’s a friend, and please, try not to scare her.” Before I could process, our door opened and in she walked. She was beautiful, I could tell she knew that with her every step and sway. David was somebody that I imagined would be quite popular, and this sure was a pretty pairing, yet I couldn’t get myself to like her. It was something deeper than the pit in my stomach every time I saw her. There was this greed in her, I couldn’t quite describe it. I just remember, I felt like she was here to consume. I didn’t bother remembering her name, that would give her too much significance anyway. Even as she slowly took over my house.
Just as David respects my space, I respected his. Whenever she was around I made myself scarce, mainly staying in my room, sometimes going to the bathroom and occasionally the kitchen. I do know that David mentioned our house rules but that parasite didn’t care. She would barge into the bathroom and then yell at me when I pulled the curtains closed. Whenever I went to go get drinks, she would make a huge commotion. Although I don’t regret it, it certainly wasn’t my finest moment when I sprayed the faucet at her; she’s just lucky I wasn’t cruel, the water was room temperature. I did find that spraying her was effective. When the parasite yelled or made a commotion, a little spray here, a little spray there, the shower, the sink, anything. One time she did get mad and tried to burn all my things. Luckily, when David took a break from his computer (I learnt this is what his mini tv is actually) he noticed with wide eyes and intervened quickly. They compromised and he just packed my things into boxes. Was I happy? No. I was a stranger in my own home. The next few days, David couldn’t even look up from the floor. All he could do was mutter apologies I didn’t need or want.
The parasite brought in a new stranger after all my things were boxed and confined into my room. He was in all black. These wooden beads wrapped around his wrists and a silver necklace with a cross. I didn’t mind this stranger, although I couldn’t really understand what he was doing. He came into my room and sprayed his strange smelling perfume, muttering words I couldn’t quite catch, his eyes were trained on the book though. I watched him, he was there for a while, before he left and said the room had been cleansed. I don’t think he did a very good job. My floors are all wet, some of my boxes have droplets on them. When David came home, the parasite proudly told him about the cleaner she brought into my room. David was a patient person–he was very kind, and I had never seen him even raise his voice when I accidentally bump his things. However, the rage he exuded, even I felt bad for the parasite. Their discussion quickly devolved into a yelling match. This felt like a lover’s quarrel I was intruding on, so I stepped away, until I heard the sound of glass hitting the floor. I came running down to see my glass… in pieces… on the floor. The glass David bought for me. The one he filled countless times to drink alongside him. On the floor. Our best memories. Our mutual understanding. All reduced to shards. Finally, David said the words I’ve been trying to tell her since she came in. ‘Get. The. Fuck. Out.’
The Third Stranger
All traces of the parasite quickly vanished, it was as if the nightmare was lifted. Within the day, David helped unpack all my things, my home was home. David and I would hang out, more of his friends would come through, all of them were really nice actually. A few people were a little rude, but came around eventually, or didn’t come back at all. That was fine by me. There was one girl in particular, Cassandra, or Cass. She was really cool. She had this unique style, although my family would have freaked and called her a devil worshipper if they saw her. Cass taught us both a lot. She was very into spiritual stuff and paranormal things. Hearing her talk about it was fascinating. Even David was enamoured by her words. She talked about spirits and energies and hauntings. She even said she was a medium, I definitely believe her. She even mentioned that she has friends on the other side. A particular one was an ex-soldier who lived on her land before her. Something about the way she spoke, I knew she wouldn’t lie about it. Hearing the things she described, I was starting to be convinced that I had the same ability. Especially when I saw this big guy walk in next to her the first time we met. He was really scary looking, but once he crossed the threshold of the house, he looked at me for a moment and just nodded. He mainly hangs out near my room when there’s too many people, understandable, I do the same. Sometimes though, David and Cass would get me candles, it wasn’t my birthday, but I blew them out anyway at the end of the night.
One of these nights, when she came to hang out with us, she brought over a loud box thing, and told a spirit they can talk through it. They weren’t really responsive though, which was weird, because David and I were convinced our house was haunted. Cass kept on explaining the boxes and stuff, as if talking to a child. ‘This is stupid.’ I said. ‘I mean no spirit would want to talk through a box that loud.’ Both Cass and David sat up a little straighter. They seemed surprised. I don’t know why though, I thought it would be common sense. After a few moments of silence, Cass and David exchanged glances. ‘Maybe she doesn’t know she’s dead.’
The Final Stranger.
I felt cold hearing that. I glanced at my body, but my heart felt just like that glass the parasite broke. I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead. The thought would not leave my mind no matter how much I begged it to. My ears rang, and my body trembled. I felt like somebody just dumped ice cold water on me. My eyes started leaking before I could tell them no. The stupid box must have picked up on my whimper, because David spoke up. ‘You're still home. You're still safe. Just… a little bit different. That’s okay.’ His voice was soft. It was the same voice he would use to coax an injured animal. The same voice he used when his friends were in pain. I suppose I am his friend, and I am in pain.
There were moments of silence. Cass and David were still talking, I couldn’t hear them though. I was busy mourning. Mourning my life, my body, myself. So many details faded to time. Who was I? Why was I still stuck here? Did I die alone? Why didn’t anybody come for me?
The big guy approached me, he bent down to my eye level. ‘It must be hard to hear for the first time. I’m sorry little one.’ He reached out, and planted a strong hand on my shoulder. It was the first touch of anything I've felt in.. I don’t even remember. Occasionally I would remember small parts of my life and death. It was strange, like a scene from a movie before fading just as quickly. I was someone who needed love and I was someone who died alone. I grieved like how I imagined someone who loved me would.
***
I felt like I disappeared for a while, I learnt a lot about myself, the things I can and can’t do, now that I’m no longer tethered to a physical body. The big guy would occasionally check in, to make sure I’m still okay. I don’t know why they worry so much. I always come home. When I do, I make sure I tell David and Cass all about my adventures. Cass drew a really pretty picture of me. David keeps it among his collage of loved ones he keeps on his wall. Cass even drew one of me and David, sitting together on the couch laughing. That one he keeps on his bedside. No matter where I am, I still hear his greetings to me. Whenever I come home, I see a glass with a little ghost on it, filled and waiting for me. Seeing it always there without fail.. I feel full. My heart warm. When I said I didn’t want to be alone anymore, this is exactly what I meant.
Jessica Johnson-Huynh (pictured right) is someone who writes whatever it is that emerges from the story worlds within the multiverse of her heart and mind. Her main hope is that her stories find a home within those who read and enjoy the tales.
