Not sure how to feel about this...
I wrote back quickly:
What’s it like in there?
A few seconds passed.
It’s like being inside his head as a child, I guess. It still feels like a boy’s room.
Are you sleeping in his bed?
On the floor.
Which made sense to me. The bed might be too much, even for me.
What do you see?
I thought about telling him to take pictures, to do a panoramic shot of the whole room, but I resisted and left my message as it was.
You want me to list things?
Exactly.
I typed again:
Please. List things.
There was a significant pause. I assumed it was because he was writing a longer text, taking his time to catalog every single item in the room. But when his next text came back, it was short. And all it said was:
Things I’m seeing without you:
I shut my eyes for a second. I had thought, stupidly, that I only ever played this game with Jonah. Never with Daniel. But of course, he knew about it, too.
Model airplanes.
Those were the first words. They stuck there, alone for a moment in their own text bubble. But they were soon followed by others.
I don’t know my planes well enough. My dad would know. They look like they’re from one of the World Wars. They’re hanging from dental floss over the bed. Maybe in some kind of dogfight. All I can see are the undersides.
I watched my phone and waited for the next update.
Quotes on the wall. Written in cursive. Probably his handwriting. I remember seeing it on Post-its around our dorm room. It’s too dim to read them now. But here’s one over his desk by the light. “If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.”
I interrupted for just a moment.
Mark Twain.
Daniel kept going.
Trophies and certificates from Quiz Bowl competitions. There’s a shelf built especially for them. Most of them first place. State competitions. Some individual. He won a lot. More than I’ve ever won for anything. He’s in the paper, too, shaking the governor’s hand.
A pause and then:
High school dance photos. He looks so young. He has braces in most of them. Red and blue rubber bands. The girls look nice. Sweet. He’s in one by himself, early on, pretending to hold an invisible date. He has a hand on the small of her back, and another on her waist. He has a serious look on his face. Like he’s in love. The dance is called the Spring Fling.
Daniel was typing fast now, the messages popping up one after the other, and I was hesitant to interrupt him again. I wanted to know about every detail of the room. I wanted him to tell me every last thing he saw. But I slipped in one response. I couldn’t help it.
That’s me.
