You Could Say That

Darcy Yuckman

“Don’t you dare hang up.” He talks with the phone to his ear and sits down at his desk. 

“Too bad. You insult my slightly-below-average mathematical skills, I hang up. You know how it works.”

“Oh, come on. I didn’t actually say anything.”

“You implied it.” 

 “You’re the worst.” A smile begins to tease the corner of his lips. 

“You could say that.” 

“Good.” He laughs to himself. 

“Wait, what if I go to the wrong room when I head over to your apartment tomorrow? I’m worried.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.  I know how difficult numbers are for you. Trust me when I say you’ll know which door is mine.” He attempts a serious look. 

“Ok, now you’re just being mean.” 

“That’s fair. I guess rules dictate you hang up now.”

“Excellent memory! I’m so proud of you!”

“I’m ignoring that. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Can’t wait!” 

“Bye!” He puts his phone down.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

I put my phone down. My legs dangle over the side of the apartment building roof across from his as the wind starts to pick up to mimic the swirling of thoughts in my head. Cars rush past down below. I watch him get out his computer with a grin on his face. 

I grab my last full beer from beside me and get down from the ledge that runs around the roof so I can face the opposite direction, sit, and lean against it. I take a deep breath. I lift the beer and hold it against my mouth for a long moment in thought. I drink deeply. Sometime later, I drift into a restless sleep.

***

The moment the sun begins to rise, I am awake. I was never one to sleep with any lights on.

An aching pain runs through my spine and the back of my head is sore. I keep telling myself to find something—anything—that will improve the quality of my sleep, but I can never see his apartment as clearly.

I have become obsessed with observing him. This is true especially after we, by some miracle,  started contacting each other.

The CIA hired me to watch him. All I’ve been told so far is that his brother, an international spy and fugitive, tried to make contact with him just before being killed. I’m supposed to report any suspicious behavior, but there’s been none so far. I was upset when they assigned me here.

It’s just a thin, not a fact.

The thought makes me smile. Thin was the agency lingo for thought or opinion. My old partner recited the phrase to me when I voiced my apprehension right before leaving for this assignment—as we always would when either of us complained. It had made me roll my eyes at him, but I appreciated the reality of the statement. It also reminded me of my past, more exciting assignments. The commanding officers would always spit those exact words at us. None of us could ever afford to have thins.

Regardless, this has to be one of the most miserable assignments I’ve ever been given, at least, as far as resources go. They cut my budget, told me to stay off the grid, and haven’t provided me with even a sliver of information. They didn’t even have the decency to give me an alias. 

I have to admit it’s been fun creating my own “character” though. My pseudonym and story are not far from the truth, but I’m making sure to keep it vague. I’m a little out of my league with this kind of persona thing, though. I’ve never experienced anything quite like it before. Well, I’ve never experienced anything quite like him either.

He trusts you.

As my eyes adjust to the rapid increase in light, my thoughts drift to him. 

I stare at my hands as I squeeze them into fists and then open my palms. I bring my palms up to my forehead and smile that upside down smile he says he loves. I’ve come to depend on him. He brings me so much joy. I love his goofy smile. He is everything I can’t be. 

Guilt creeps into my thoughts. I shake it off. I shouldn’t hurt him. I probably won’t. Besides, he deserves someone honest and kind like him. It’s pointless to consider even a version of myself in a position to be either of those things. 

He’s still asleep. He should wake up sometime soon. In the meantime, I’ve got to prepare for the big day ahead of me.

***

I check my P.O. Box. It’s an unusual time for me. I usually only go when the moon is out to guide me, but I’m paranoid this morning.

Still nothing. I sigh and it releases a bit of relief, a bit of nerves, and a bit of frustration.

Only a few scattered clouds watch as I make my way to his apartment and then towards the elevator.

I rest the side of my head against the wall on my way up to his floor. My heart pumps to an erratic tune. I shiver. I’ll be welcomed into his apartment for the first time, but it’s the second time I’ll see him in person.

***

On a cold, still night about three months ago, I am yawning and struggling to open my P.O. Box in the ungodly hours of the morning, when a hesitant voice asks me what I’m doing. I whirl around. It was incredibly rare for me to have an interaction with someone at this hour. How had I not noticed him come in? 

“That’s my P.O. Box you’re trying to break into there.”

I just stare. I realize who it is and I am so utterly shocked that I don’t comprehend what he says. For the first time in four months I am face to face with someone and it just happens to be my assignment. I manage to force some words out of my mouth, but all I can come up with is, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Go steal someone else’s stuff, but please not mine. My new sleep mask just arrived. I lost my old one and I haven’t been able to sleep since, so if you would be so kind as to rob someone else, I would be eternally grateful.” He is smiling now. 

“Oh. Oh. Yeah I’m actually the exact same way, but, god, I am so sorry. I promise I wasn’t trying to steal anything. I have the wrong box. Mine is the one next to yours.” I’m so flustered my words come out in a rush. 

He laughs. “I’m just messing with you. What brings you here in the middle of the night?”

I attempt to regain my composure and relax some. “I was awake. I needed something to do.” I shrug.

“I know the feeling.” He gestures towards the door. “I’ve never actually seen you around, do you live near here?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” I attempt to grin knowingly at him, unsure of how to answer his question. 

He laughs a soft, full laugh and I smile back at him. I’m pretty relaxed now. This was the first real conversation I’ve had in a long time and I’m enjoying myself. We stay here just talking like this for a while. Eventually, he has to go. He mentioned a medical school exam that needed to be studied for, so I hurry him along his way. 

I turn my head away from him, my cheeks flushed, and open my still-empty P.O. Box. When I turn back around, he’s gone. All that’s left of him is a sticky note with his phone number on the door of my P. O. Box that I only notice as I close. I shake my head as a quiet laugh escapes me. 

Maybe I was lost in the magic of our conversation or maybe I was just getting really bored on my assignment, but I text him. I’ve regretted that decision countless times.

It doesn’t matter now.

***

Fast forward three months, and here I am getting out of the elevator about to walk into his apartment.

I find his room easily. There’s a poster on the door with “THIS IS THE CORRECT DOOR” printed in large letters across it. I can’t help but be amused.

A quiet knock sounds as my knuckles connect with his door. I breathe deeply. A shy smile appears on my lips and before I’m even done knocking, he opens the door to invite me into his apartment. I look around. He cleaned quite a bit. He even got a new coffee table. Good choice. His old one was in bad shape.

A couple hours pass and I find myself laying on his bed calling out name ideas for his new dog we’re planning on picking up in a few days together. He sits at his desk clicking away at the keyboard and for the first time in what feels like forever, I am content. 

“Roxy.”

“Too feminine.”

“Astro.”

“Sounds like he’s going to the moon.”

“Gretchen.”

“Hmm…too German. That actually reminds me of my brother. He was always visiting Germany.” 

There’s no way. I did not think that it was going to be this easy. The sounds of the keyboard pause. He stays quiet for a long moment. I give him time. “He passed a couple months ago in a car accident.”

So that’s what they told him. Interesting. He keeps going.

“My brother wasn’t exactly perfect. Our family was never happy about his line of work, but I admired him.” Andrew was giving me more information than my boss. “He was a brilliant guy. A lot of people didn’t see that. All they saw were what he called … ‘unpopular thins’.”

This stops me in my tracks. Why on Earth is his brother using the word thins? The only people that I have ever heard use that word before in a sentence like that are CIA agents, but it couldn’t be. There’s no way. Who on Earth is his brother? I feel the need to press him now. “Wait, what kind of thins?”

He stares at me. The confusion that contorts his face quickly gives way to suspicion. 

I don’t understand. 

Then it hits me like a door being slammed on my face.

Thins.

The silence is thunderous. What seems to be ages later, his words hit me like lightning bolts though he speaks barely above a whisper. “How did you know what he meant?”

I’ve always been an excellent liar, but with him, excuses fail me. I don’t speak out of fear that it will confirm the inevitable. He turns away and takes care of it for me.

“My lawyer told me that someone might be keeping tabs on me. I thought she was just being paranoid. I knew my brother was successful, but I figured he really wasn’t all that important. I’ve never felt so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. I ne-”

He stands and whirls around to face me. “Oh, so now you’ve found your voice?” 

“Please, it’s no-”

His tone changes to one of exaggerated sarcasm. “Don’t worry, your honor. She does in fact have the ability to talk. Unfortunately, you can’t trust anything that comes out of her mouth…I know, your honor…Absolutely ridiculous I agree… Trust me, I am just as devastated as you are but there is nothing that can be done.”

I move my hands to cover my face as he finishes his little scene. I don’t want him to bear witness to my tears. 

He grabs the handbag I left on his desk and searches through it. No. He finds my badge. Slowly, his shoulders fall. He goes back to his chair and collapses into it.

Our eyes lock. Mine are the rivers of the Earth and his are the fires of hell. 

“I feel so stupid. I thought that at least what we had was real.” He won’t look at me anymore. His voice, laced deep with emotion, becomes soft and threatening. 

“All I am is just another job to you. I should have known. Nothing has been real since he died. You were just too good to be true.” 

He slams his computer closed and puts his head in his hands. His voice becomes pleading.“Say something. I know it’s going to kill me, but it can’t make everything you’ve done worse, so just talk… please.”  

He might want to draw information or just another reaction from me with that quip, but he doesn’t get one this time. I’ve gotten a hold of myself. I am a trained agent after all. 

After a period of silence where I somehow lose control of my vocal chords, he gets to his feet and motions for me to leave. I walk shamefully to the door with him close at my heels. My mouth is open, but no words are coming out. I turn and face him in the doorway. There’s so much I need to say. He watches me struggle.

“Don’t worry. You can leave. You don’t have to pretend anymore.” His sarcasm is like a blade. It slashes at my heart. His door, giant sign and all, slams on my face. I don’t move. I can’t. 

He just doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know I was ordered not to make contact with him. He doesn’t know it’s the number one rule, and yet I broke it. He doesn’t know I did it all for him. 

I stand there forever, until finally the breath of a whisper escapes my lips.

“I was never pretending.”

–

Darcy Yuckman is 15 years old. She is a sophomore at Panther Creek High School in Cary, North Carolina. When Darcy’s not writing, she’s exploring the world, playing soccer, or listening to music.