Christine Johnson - Grim anthology

“Stop.” She pushes him away, and this time he relents, letting both hands fall onto his knees. “Eli’s been different since it happened,” she says. “If you can’t see that, you’re a shitty friend.”

“I’ve been hooking up with you for a month. I’m already a shitty friend.”

Down the basement hallway, a door opens, letting out the liquid sound of a flushing toilet. Jules hurries to stand up and move away from the couch. “Hey, Ty, wanna play some Ping-Pong? Loser buys pizza.”

“Nah, I gotta get out of here before I stab Eli with one of your drumsticks. One more ‘Why can’t you sing it the way I wrote it?’ and I’m going solo.”

“If you do that, then Eli’ll go solo, too. I don’t want to see you guys competing.”

“Plus, you’ll be out of a gig, right?”

“You think that’s all I care about?” Jules laughs. “You wound me, man. I’ll see you Friday.”

Vanessa calls goodbye to him as he goes up the stairs. Then she picks me up from the floor. “Aww, sorry, little guy.” She dusts off my tail and the front of my shirt. “Ty, you need a roadie to carry out your million instruments?”

“Very funny, but no. I’m leaving my guitar here. Eli said he’d adjust the bridge for me. Intonation is totally out of whack.”

He’s the talented one.

“He’s the talented one, you know,” Vanessa says.

“And you’re the slutty one,” Tyler answers. “Eli finds out about you and Jules, that’s the end of the band.”

“Why do you care? You just said you wanted to—”

“Shh.”

Eli is coming down the stairs. “You’re leaving?” he asks Tyler, his voice devoid of disappointment.

“Yep. Friday practice still on?”

I wouldn’t commit if I were you.

Eli commits, despite my warning. Ah, well, I suppose band breakups, like all breakups, are best done in person.

Vanessa sets me on the coffee table in front of the couch, propped up against a stack of books. Then she straightens my clothes and gives me an indulgent smile.

You don’t deserve him.

Her smile fades, then she moves over to give Eli room on the couch. He picks up Tyler’s Fender and starts to tune it, but keeps glancing between Vanessa and me.

I’m not the one you should be jealous of.

She slides her hand up his thigh. “I have to leave in about half an hour, so...can you do that later?”

Eli sets Tyler’s guitar aside, then pulls her into his arms, kissing her, tangling his fingers in her hair. I wonder if her heart is beating as fast as it did when Jules kissed her.

I clear my throat, figuratively. I’m sitting right here. Do you mind?

Eli opens one eye to look at me, then extends his middle finger ever so slightly in my direction, below her arm, where she couldn’t see it even if her eyes were open.

There’s something you should know about her before you—

She tears off his T-shirt, then Eli leans back to lie on the sofa, pulling her on top of him. Things progress faster.

This is your last chance before I blurt out a hard truth. Trust me, you don’t want to hear it in front of her. I’m warning you.

Her sweater comes off, then the camisole beneath it.

Vanessa’s been cheating on you with Jules.

Eli’s hands go still on her bare waist, his thumb tracing beneath the edge of her bra. She doesn’t notice at first, too busy kissing or maybe biting his neck.

“Stop,” he whispers.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her blond hair hanging like a veil between us, so I can’t see his face.

“It’s not— I—um. I just remembered I have to be somewhere.”

“Now? Where?”

Coward. Don’t drag this out. I saw them kissing. More than kissing. You know I’m telling the truth, don’t you? You’ve suspected for a while.

“I just— I need you to go. I’ll call you later. I’m sorry.”

Why are you apologizing to her?

Vanessa doesn’t budge. “I don’t understand.” She clutches his arm harder, her voice taut with fear.

I turn my attention to her. He knows about you and Jules. Go now. Now!

Vanessa lifts her head, like she’s hearing her name shouted from far away. “Okay. But call me?”

“I will,” he says. “Promise.”

She grabs her sweater from the back of the couch and yanks it over her head. “I guess I’ll be early for work instead of late for once. My boss’ll die of surprise.” Vanessa picks up her bag, leans over for a quick kiss, then runs up the stairs.

Eli lies there on his back for a second, hands covering his face. The black tattoo on his upper arm twitches, a bare tree with birds rising from its branches.

Sorry.

He lets his hands fall to his side with a thud. “Sorry? Do you know what you just interrupted? Or are all figments celibate?”

It depends on the imagination that sustains us. I’ve taken some interesting forms in the past. For instance—

“I don’t want to know.” Eli taps his fingers against his ribs. “What do I do?”

Break up with her. What choice do you have?

“I could pretend I don’t know. Then everything stays the same. Otherwise I lose her and Jules. Tyler, too, probably, because I’ll have to break up the band. They’re my only friends.”

I doubt that’s true, and if it is, then you need to make better friends.

“I know.” Eli turns on his side to face me. “But even bad friends are better than being alone.”

He suddenly looks years younger. I have to make him feel better. It’s what I do.

I promise you this, Eli, right here and now: you’ll never be alone again.

* * *

After dinner, Eli paces his bedroom floor, clutching his Magic 8 Ball. “Should I break up with Vanessa and the band?” He flips the ball. “‘Outlook good.’ Does that mean yes or no?”

That sounds definitively yes.

“But not as definitive as Yes.” He shakes the ball hard and repeats the question. “‘Reply hazy, try again.’ You know what? I don’t trust this for big decisions. I’ll ask the cookie.” He sets down the ball and shoves his hand into his jar of fortune-cookie fortunes, a jar that looks like a giant ceramic Oreo.

He reads the first slip. “‘The secret to good friends is no secret to you.’ I don’t know what that means.”

It means time to man up and clear your life of douchebags.

He tilts his head at me. “You’re starting to sound less proper.”

And you’re starting to sound less smart. End it now.

After another half hour of my cajoling, Eli breaks up with Vanessa via text. She doesn’t reply. No begging, crying, threatening. Deep down she knows why he’s ended it, because I told her. She’ll chalk it up to intuition.

At bedtime, rather than setting me on the nightstand or in his guitar case, Eli takes off my hat and boots, wraps me in the blue silk cami Vanessa left behind and holds me close as he lies down to sleep. I fit perfectly under his chin.

This is something new, this...cuddling. Even when I belonged to women, I was in unhuggable forms, such as a crystal elephant or a carved wooden Woman of Willendorf fertility statue. Maybe if I’d ever been a child’s figment, I’d have experienced this closeness, this neediness. For the first time, I’m more than an advisor and miracle worker. I’m a friend.

Eli sleeps fitfully, and soon I tumble out of his arms and onto the floor. I’ve never spoken to him in his sleep, but he needs settling.

Wake up and write. You’ll feel better.

He comes awake with a sharp breath, then without a word, slips out of bed and crosses to his desk, the direction I’m facing. He lifts his Magic 8 Ball from atop a stack of notebooks, takes the top pad, then sets down the worthless prediction device.

On the way back to the bed, he accidentally steps on my face. “Sorry, Fig!” Eli picks me up, unwraps the camisole from around my torso and brings both to the bed with him.