It was one of those rainy mornings that make you feel like you never really woke up. The sky outside was grey, washed-out, like an old Polaroid that someone forgot to develop. I was lying on the couch in my sister Liz's apartment, staring up at the ceiling. The rain was tapping against the window in that steady, half-lullaby way it does when it doesn't really have anything better to do. I'd been in New York for three days now, visiting Liz, but it felt like longer.
Liz was at the tiny kitchen table, reading some philosophy book or other. She had a habit of getting into these moods where she'd read all day and not say a word to you unless you asked her something. I didn't mind. I wasn't exactly in the mood for conversation either.
I looked at the window again, watching the rain streak down in crooked lines. You could hear the taxis splashing through puddles on the street below. People were probably getting drenched, running for cover, huddling under awnings, the usual. The rain always makes people move faster. I never understood that. It's not like running makes you any less wet.
Liz turned a page of her book. The sound of it broke the stillness, but just barely.
"You ever wonder," I said, "if it's possible to just disappear? Like, not die or anything, but just… fade out? Like you were never really here?"
Liz didn't look up from her book. "What are you talking about?"
"I don't know. Just a thought."
She sighed, closed the book, and looked at me. She had this look that she always used on me, this half-annoyed, half-amused look, like she couldn't decide whether to tell me to shut up or just let me ramble.
"You sound like you've been reading too much Camus," she said.
"I haven't been reading anything," I said. "That's the problem."
"Maybe you should. Might keep you from thinking weird stuff like that."
I didn't answer. I wasn't in the mood for one of her lectures. I wasn't in the mood for much of anything, really. I rolled onto my side, facing the back of the couch. The cushions smelled faintly like her perfume. It reminded me of home, of when we were kids. We used to share a room when we were little, back before everything got so damn complicated.
The rain picked up a little, pattering harder against the glass. I closed my eyes and tried to listen to it, tried to drown out the feeling that was creeping up on me. That feeling like I wasn't supposed to be here, like I wasn't supposed to be anywhere, really. I used to think it would go away if I ignored it long enough. It didn't.
Liz stood up from the table, her chair scraping the floor. "You want coffee?"
"Sure."
I heard her clattering around the kitchen, the sound of cups and spoons and the kettle being filled with water. I liked the way Liz made coffee. She didn't do any of that fancy stuff, no French press or Chemex or whatever they're calling it these days. Just plain old drip coffee, black and bitter, the way it ought to be.
She came back with two mugs and handed me one. "Here," she said. "This'll keep you from disappearing."
I took a sip. It was hot, almost too hot, but I didn't care. The heat was good. It made me feel solid, like I was still here. Liz sat down in the chair by the window, her own coffee balanced on her knee. She didn't say anything, just stared out at the rain like she was waiting for something to happen.
After a while, she turned back to me. "You gonna stay in the city?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I've been thinking about it."
She nodded, like she expected that answer. "Well, if you do, you can stay here as long as you want. The couch isn't that bad, right?"
"It's fine," I said. "Better than fine, actually."
"Good."
We sat there for a long time, just drinking our coffee and listening to the rain. I kept thinking about what I'd said earlier, about disappearing. It sounded stupid now that I'd said it out loud, but it still felt true somehow. Like there were parts of me that were already gone, and no one had noticed yet. Maybe they never would.
Liz finished her coffee and set the mug down on the windowsill. "You know," she said, "I think it's impossible to disappear completely. Even if you tried. Someone would notice eventually."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Even if it's just me, I'd notice. You're too loud to disappear."
I laughed a little, even though it wasn't really funny. "Maybe."
She smiled, just a small smile, but it was something. I liked it when she smiled. It made everything seem less heavy, less like it was all going to come crashing down around us.
The rain kept falling, steady and relentless, but somehow, it didn't seem so bad anymore.