Droplets

            Itwas a perfect day; a perfect day for a new beginning. Sunshine streamed throughthe windows; it's rays, softened by net curtains, danced with dust motsfloating on invisible currents of air. The stairs creaked happily under Jenny'ssneakers. She glanced over her shoulder at me and her eyes sparkled withdelight. A foot of blonde hair bounced in a no-nonsense ponytail, my sweatshirthung like a tent on her tiny frame and her jeans were smeared with grime. I'dnever seen a more beautiful woman in my life. She took my breath away. Icouldn't believe we were moving in together.

 

She reachedthe top landing and paused to adjust her grip on the box before bumping thedoor with her bum. It swung open and revealed a garret apartment any strugglingwriter would be delighted to call home. Our few possessions made a meagre moundinside the door. After all, this was the first time either of us had livedanywhere but with our parents. Now we had a spaciousliving-room-come-dining-room, a bathroom, with a gloriously deep roll top bathand most importantly, our very own bedroom. As I followed Jenny in side andhealed the door closed, I knew which room I was going to explore first.

***

We had beenthere a week when we got our first knock on the door. It was Friday evening andwe were both off work for the weekend. Jenny was busy in the kitchen and I waspicking out songs on iTunes. We glanced at each other and I guess wesimultaneously realised it was our door so nobody else was going to answer it.She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head in a way that said, Well? Iunfolded my legs and jogged the few feet to the door. Whatever I had expectedto find, it wasn't an elderly man in a polka dot cravat, cradling an expensivelooking bottle of red wine.

“Hello,"I said in greeting and query. 

"Greetingsneighbor and welcome to the palace," the man said rather theatrically,waving his hand in an all-encompassing ark. I had to bite down on the giggletrying to escape my throat but I felt my smile spreading considerably.

"It'slovely to be here," I said honestly and rested my shoulder against thedoor-frame.

"Foryou," he said offering the bottle of wine, which I accepted and admired.The label was double Dutch to me, I was more your pint of larger kind of lad.

"Thankyou so much, you shouldn't have," I said but deep inside I felt very grownup.

The manoffered his hand and said, "Trevor," in a serious tone."Sean," I replied, mimicking his tone, and shaking has hand in a verymanly way. 

"Ihope you're not those, party-all-weekend kind of people, Sean," he saidseriously.

 "God,no," I stammered, worrying that I'd gotten the wrong measure of the man infront of me.

"Good,good," he said, letting a few seconds pass before smiling wickedly andsaying, "that's my department in this building, Dearie." Beforewinking and turning back to his own open apartment door across the hall. He hadonly taken a step when Jenny cried out 

"Whois it?"

"It'sTrevor from across the hall, he brought us a bottle of wine," I shoutedback.

"Bringhim in. Does he eat pasta?"

I didn'tget to answer because Trevor mumbled, "Do I what?" And brushed pastme with hips rolling and lips pouted for an air kiss. It looked like it wouldbe dinner for three tonight.

 

***

We had beenat 14 Astor Street for about a month when something strange happened. Ourlittle flat was cosy but not the most well insulated. When we would cook orwhen we had a bath, nearly all the windows would fog up. On this particularnight, we were just sitting down to dinner when Jenny pointed to the bigfeature window in the sitting area and said, "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Dowhat?" I asked while taking a large forkful of sweated spinach.

"Putmarks on the glass," she said tilting her head in the direction of thewindow. She was right, there were two very clear hand marks on the window.

"Itwasn't me."

"Oh,come on?"

"No, itcouldn't be, look." I walked over to the window and held up my handsbeside the mark. They were clearly made by much smaller hands that mine."I'm waiting," I said.

"Forwhat?" she asked grumpily.

"Asorry of course.It must have been you not me."

"Inever did that, and look how low down they are. Don't you think I would haveremembered if I had."

"Well,it wasn't me, who else could it have been."

The silencewas deafening. Her glare sent shivers up my back and the atmosphere lasted forthe rest of the night. I think we just had our first fight. The next morning, Iwoke up to find the opposite side of the bed empty and when I went into theliving room I found Jenny scrubbing the windows. I snuck up behind her andwrapped my arms around her waist and cuddled into her neck.

"I'msorry honey."

"Forpawing the windows?" she asked without conviction.

"Foreverything. Have I told you today that I don't deserve you?"

"Nowyou mention it, you haven't." she said with a giggle, swiveling in myembrace to face me.

"Well,I don't. How about coming back to bed and letting me set the recordstraight." 

My Dad usedto say that the best part of arguing with Mom was the making up. I candefinitely say, that he is right, not that I want to think about itagain...like ever.

***

Funnything, a week later the hand prints reappeared. 

"Lookat that." I said pointing them out.

"Howcan that be?" Jenny said going over and wiping her hand across the printsstreaking them into nonexistence.

"Wemight be doing it subconsciously, or sleepwalking or something."

"Whateverit is it's giving me the creeps," said Jenny standing up to get windowspray and a cloth from under the sink. When she had the whole window spotless,she pushed the coffee table in front of the window so we wouldn't be able tomark the window accidentally.

The nextevening, we were sitting watching TV while a pot of rice bubbled on the cooker.My eye drifted to the window and noticed the beginnings of water-dropletsforming on the cold glass but no hand marks. I couldn't help it but my eye keptflicking to that same spot again and again. Then it started to happen.

"Jenny,"I said quietly, not taking my eyes off the glass.

"Humm?"she asked distractedly. 

"Look,"I whispered, although I don't know why I was whispering.  

"OhGod," she gasped and both hands flew to her mouth and her eyes widened. Onthe window, very faintly, the outlines of fingers were starting to appear wheremoments ago there was nothing. As the seconds ticked by the outline becameclearer and clearer. Jenny jumped off the couch and hurried to the door.

"Whereare you going?" I called, feeling like running right out after her.

"Toget Trevor and make sure we are not imaging things."

 

Trevorlistened to our story without saying anything. He was far more grave thannormal, no funny quips, no over-the-top camping. When it had all been told he asked,"And you actually saw them appear?"

"Totally,there was nothing there, I had checked only seconds before and then...well...itstarted to appear."

"Arethey always in the same place?"

"Yes,I think so," said Jenny. Trevor walked over to the window and pulled backthe coffee table, then like Jenny had done he wiped his hand across theimprints and smeared them out. He crouched there for a few minutes, not doinganything, not saying anything. Finally, Jenny asked, "What do youthink?"

"Couldbe lots of reasons for it, a fault in the glass making the moisture gather in aparticular way, some form of grease that cleaning is not taking off. Anythingreally. But I know a man who might be able to help. Do you think it would be OKto bring him over tomorrow."

"Ifyou think he can tell us what is going on, sure," I said.

"Andwhat will we do in the meantime?" asked Jenny clearly frightened.

"Well,I don't think anything dangerous is happening so I guess just carry on asnormal."

"Butit's creepy," said Jenny.

"That itis," agreed Trevor sagely. "That it is." 

***

The nextevening Trevor appeared with a man just like he promised. Brian Gardener washis name and he was much younger than I had expected. Late twenties at the mostbut his skin had a very pail touch so perhaps he spent all his time studying.His eyes were heavily bagged with dark circles underneath them. We told him ourstory but rather than listening he walked straight to the window without beingtold which one we were talking about. 

"Perhapswe should just show him," said Trevor pointing at the cooker. Jenny turnedon kettle to boil and put several pans of water on. Soon the apartment was fullof steam and all the windows were fogging up. No sign of the hand prints. Theminutes ticked by and we all held our breaths. Still nothing. Trevor Jenny andmyself were standing as a group in the middle of the room. Brian was down onhis haunches a few inches from the glass his eyes glued to it. Then ithappened. The hand prints didn't slowly appear like before, they exploded intoexistence so suddenly I thought the glass vibrated. Two, three, four,five...the prints kept appearing. Brian fell backward and sat there, cryinguncontrollably. Shaking hands trying to clear away a flood of tears.

"What'sgoing on?" I asked, petrified by what was happening before my eyes. Trevordrew us outside on the landing, leaving the crying man alone in the apartment.

"Brianand his wife Susan used to live in your apartment. They had a little boy calledBen; three he was. One night, nobody knows why, but Ben just stopped breathingin his cot. I can tell you I still have nightmares of her screams when shefound him. They stayed on for a little while afterward but everything remindedthem of Ben. All the trouble he caused, all the hours of laughter. He loveddrawing squiggles on the windows and would drive Susan mad trying to get themarks off them. The bond between Brian and Susan was broken beyond repair so ayear ago, they moved out and went in separate directions. Susan moved to NewZealand but I kept in touch with Brian. I knew the minute I saw those handprints what was happening but I had to be sure."

At thatmoment Brian appeared at the door. "It's him, Trevor, its Ben," hesaid tears still running down his cheeks. Trevor nodded and smiled. "Ihave to be with him, I just have to," Brian said.

Trevorfrowned, "Are you sure that's wise?"

"He'sthere, Trevor. Just there," he cried pointing at the window and the alltoo clear hand marks which had stopped appearing. The atmosphere inside theapartment, and outside on the landing, was charged with expectation. 

Jenny and Ilooked at each other, no idea what we should do. It was our flat but to behonest, I didn't really feel good about the place anymore and I knew by lookingat Jenny she was scared too. It was Trevor that broached the subject for usall. "What about Jenny and Sean, they live here. It’s their home."

"Here,"Brian said frantically digging in his pockets and pulling out a set of keys."I have a place not far from here. Its small but it’s nice. Take it. Stayas long as you want. Rent free. I'll take over your lease and straighten it outwith the landlord but I can’t lose my boy again. Please." He pushed thekeys into my hand and stood there with his hands clasped in front of him.

I wasshocked, by this, by everything. I turned to Jenny and it only took her asecond to answer everything. "I'm not sleeping in there one morenight."

We quicklypacked a few things and Trevor was going to drive us over to Brian's house. Aswe were leaving, Brian was sitting on the floor in front of the window, pansstill bubbled on the cooker. He turned and said, "Thank you for finding myboy." I didn't say anything, what could I say. It's not like we didanything. But over his shoulder I saw the fog on the window shift as the shapeof two tiny lips, pursed in a kiss, marked the window. I didn't know if it wasfor us or for Brian but right then I knew nobody should stand between a man andhis baby, in this life or the next. I closed the door on our little flat andlooked at the world around me in a whole new way, a way I never expected tobelieve.