Phantom’s gaze returns to me, and they nod.
“Echo.”
Confusion rattles through my brain like a pinball machine. “Echo?” I ask.
“Yeah. You know that feeling you get when you hear something echoing, sometimes so loudly it feels like it’s coming from inside your own head?” they ask as they point a gloved finger toward their ear.
I can only remember feeling something akin to that once in my life, as a child, after I got a concussion from a sledding accident. “Okay,” I say, drawing out the syllable. “What are you thinking for the composition?”
“Let’s keep it simple,” they reply, striding toward a line of spray paint bottles at the base of the wall. They must have come up here earlier today to set them up for us.
Phantom grabs an electric blue bottle and begins to outline on the wall. The rough sketch is of a person covering their ears withtheir hands, their mouth contorted into a pained scream. Another shudder ripples down my spine.
“What do you think?” they ask when they’re finished.
I shake my hands out to banish the jitters before donning my gloves. “Looks good.”
“Then come over here and help.”
Their eyes are smiling at me again, so I do. And for the next hour, we paint. Phantom teaches me how to layer the spray paints to create dimension, shadow, and depth, as well as how to use different arm movements to create the appearance of different consistencies and textures, just like brush strokes. By the time we’re finishing up, I’ve forgotten the subject matter we’re painting and am having a lot of fun. Until we step back to get the full effect, and I’m forced to remember.
Trapped and in pain. That’s what this mural conveys to me.
It’s not my favorite of Phantom’s works. Not by far.
“Thanks for helping,” they say as they climb back onto the other section of the roof and hold out a hand for me.
“You’re welcome,” I reply as I accept their hand and climb up after them.
They release a heavy sigh before admitting, “I can’t believe I was so nervous to show it to you.”
For a moment, I consider asking them why. But the truth is, I already know why. They’re starting to open up to me. Little by little. Just like I wanted. But, after tonight, I’m starting to get the sense that Phantom’s demons might be worse than mine.
After we plop back down on the blanket, I finish my now cold drink. Phantom notices me shiver again and wraps the second blanket they’d brought around my shoulders before we lay on our backs and gaze up at the stars. My head is tucked between Phantom’s chest and arm; close but not quite touching.
I decide to use the peaceful moment to my advantage.
“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
I sense Phantom tense, but they give me permission anyway. “Sure.”
“How do you identify?” I ask.
I hear their head brush against the blanket as they turn to look at me. “Identify?”
“Yeah.” I pause and watch the stars twinkle for a moment. “Like your gender identity?”
“Oh.” A beat of silence, followed by another. “I’m nothing... nothing at all,” they say, dejected.
I scoff. “You’re not nothing, Phantom. That’s not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny.”
More silence.
Finally, they say, “I guess non-binary would come the closest to explaining how I feel about myself and gender.”
My throat constricts as I decide to ask my next question, while I still have the nerve.
