I look to Phantom with a question in my expression.
“Come on,” they say as they follow Gerry to the back of the gallery.
As we pass through the ‘employees only’ door, we enter a small workroom. At the center of the space is a large workbench with a bunch of fancy equipment on it and a large adjustable light hovering above, almost like what you’d find in an operating room.
“Gerry was a professional art restorationist before he bought this gallery,” Phantom murmurs in my ear. I ignore the surge of heat that snakes across my skin at their sudden proximity.
“Now it’s more of a hobby of sorts,” Gerry explains with a chuckle. “I only do small-scale restorations for the locals.”
I roll onto my tippy toes to try and get a better look at the painting on the table.
Phantom laughs and gives me a gentle nudge. “You can get closer. Go look.”
So I do. I walk around the table, careful not to bump into anything, and come to a stop behind Gerry. He sits on a stool before the workbench and gestures to the painting with a curved, arthritic finger. “This is a painting from the 1950s. My client asked for it to be restored and reframed.”
It’s a landscape of a wide valley full of blooming wildflowers in the height of summer. I swear I can almost smell honeysuckle just by looking at it. It’s beautiful, though admittedly a bit worse for wear.
“Mind if we watch you work for a while?” Phantom asks from my side.
“Not at all,” he says merrily, and then sets to work.
His hands are cautious and nimble, taking no risks at all, as he wets a wad of cotton on a stick and begins to gently removethe old, discolored varnish from the painting. His movements are practiced and methodical. As a paper-thin layer of varnish disappears, the colors of the paint shift before our eyes, from dull and ashen to radiant.
I don’t know how much time goes by as we watch him clean and restore the painting, but eventually, Phantom lightly tugs on my elbow as they say, “Thanks, Gerry. We appreciate your time.”
“My pleasure. Do come back again soon, and tell the old bat I say hello,” Gerry replies with a toothy smile before returning to his work.
“We’ll come back soon,” I call as Phantom closes the door behind us.
“I’m speechless,” I remark as we exit the gallery and begin our walk down the gusty sidewalks back to campus. “That was one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” Phantom says while they stuff their hands deep into their coat pockets.
I study their face for a moment as they observe the busy street, and I realize that, more than anything, I wish I could see what their smile looks like beneath that mask. I bet it’s as marvelous as they are.
As we walk, I accidentally bump into Phantom, and my cheeks heat as I hastily apologize. Writing it off as a fluke, I continue our conversation about the art we saw in the gallery, until it happens again... and again.
Have I always walked this crooked? Or is there a different reason my body keeps gravitating toward theirs?
23Friends
After the night we went to the gallery, Phantom disappears. I don’t see them around town or on campus, and they don’t return any of my texts. I’ve held back, trying not to bog them down with messages, but it’s been three whole days without any word from them and I’m officially concerned.
“What’s got you in a spiral?” Emmy asks as she paints at the easel next to me in class. “I can feel your thoughts racing from all the way over here.”
I huff a breath, blowing stray strands of hair from my face. “It’s nothing. Just worried about someone.”
“Someone from back home?”
“Yeah,” I lie as I lower my paintbrush, choosing to be done for the day. “They haven’t been texting me back.”
“Any reason to think something bad happened to them?” she asks, turning to face me with concern etched into her delicate features.
I consider that for a moment.
“No, I don’t think so,” I finally say, trying my best to ignore the sudden onset of tightness in my chest. “They’re the type of person that you can only get a hold of if theywantto be contacted.” I sigh. “Obviously, if I can’t reach them, they don’t want me getting in touch with them right now.”
That realization hurts. Far more than I’m comfortable admitting.
