What you don't see can't hurt you

I was talking to Ryan when someone else came into the washroom. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice us – it would’ve meant awkward explanations that I hadn’t had to go through since I was seven. 1

We started again, first in whispers and then, when we’d forgotten about her, in normal voices. It was about the guy that I liked. Of course, Ryan was telling me that he was weird. I was in the process of telling Ryan that it was pretty rich coming from him, when the stall door opened. The girl stepping out of the stall gave me a cursory weird look, then started applying eyeliner. I felt like I had to explain, and mumbled, “ Um, sorry, I’m not talking to you. Or myself”. 2

“Well, don’t let me stop your conversation.”3

How could she be acting so completely rational about it when I didn’t have a cell phone and there was no one else in the washroom? 4

I started talking to him again, as if I really was on a phone, and she looked at my ear, as if she thought there was a Bluetooth in it. She would’ve been surprised if she’d known that the boy I was making my call to was standing in front of her mirror and she was looking straight through him. 5

I’d first seen Ryan when I was about three years old, and it annoyed me that no one else could. My parents were a little freaked out when they found out that my imaginary friend was some teenager who had a lip piercing, because “imaginary friends are supposed to be cute and cuddly”. They thought I was being stalked or something. That was before I told them the other stuff he could do. The average stalker can’t do magic. A little thing like impossibility has never stopped him before, though. 6

Eyeliner girl leaves the room, and Ryan lets out a long slow breath. Even though he knows from years of experience that he can’t be seen, that doesn’t make him any less cautious. He follows me out, slinking in my shadow like a dog. I’m happy to see him again, he’s not here as much as I get older. 7

We run to catch the bus home. Public transit’s hell for him (and by extension, me). No one can see him, but they sometimes can feel him, and pushing up against an invisible person in a crowded bus is enough to make anyone freak. Sitting down is out of the question. Today, it’s packed, but at least on time. 8

Three stops from mine, I feel like I’m being watched. I grab for Ryan’s hand, and it isn’t there. I look up in alarm, and that’s when I see him. A man wearing a brown suit with a red tie. I can’t make out much else. That may not seem special, but there’s one thing that marks him out. He’s staring at Ryan. 9

It doesn’t add up. Even if he can see him, there nothing “that” unusual about how he looks. What’s to stare at? It’s actually unnerving, so I start to push for the door, but Ryan won’t follow. He’s transfixed.10

I whisper, as loud as I dare. “Ryan, c’mon!” It’s like he doesn’t hear me, like I’m as invisible to him as he is to everyone else. 11

Then the – businessman, maybe – starts elbowing his way through the crowds towards us. The people that he’s shoving out of his path to get to us seem confused, as if they can’t see him, or their vision’s curved around him. And now I’m nervous enough not to care what stop I’m getting off at. Even if it’s just stupid, even if I’m just paranoid, we’re only one stop from our stop anyways. 12

I push the stop button, and drag Ryan off at the next stop. His face is the same white-grey-dog-pee colour as the snow, like he’s seen a ghost. Who was it that said that it isn’t paranoia if they’re really after you? 13

Instead of making for home, I pull him into the shadow of a small grove of trees. In the summer, they would make better protection, but this would have to do. “Ok, listen!” I hiss. “What’s going on?” 14

Most of the colour was back on his face by now. “He was an old friend.”15

“When I see my friends, I don’t usually cower in terror.”16

“I said an old friend.”17