Lucky Caller(41)

There was an art piece at the IMA I had always liked. It was called Acton, by an artist named James Turrell. It was a windowless room, totally empty, with two sets of track lights attached to the ceiling and pointing toward the walls on either side of the entrance. The lights were turned low so that the illumination was softened, the whole room dim. Along the back wall of the room there appeared to be a large, dark, rectangular canvas.

In the dimness it looked like a painting, but when you got close enough to it, you realized that it was really a hole cut out of the wall, that there was space behind it, a darkened room on the other side. You could reach right in.

When I was little, I remember being too scared to reach into the darkness but also unbelieving that there was space back there at all—until I finally stretched out my hand and felt no resistance as it moved through the space where something solid should have been.

I remember standing in there with Sidney and Rose and Mom once when I was a bit older. We were all quiet, contemplating the piece. We had all already reached into the space. Sidney was seven or so at the time and eventually broke the silence by announcing:

“I don’t get it.”

“That’s okay,” Mom said. “You don’t have to get it. It’s just supposed to make you think something, or feel something.”

A pause followed as Sidney took this in.

“What I feel is that I don’t get it,” she replied.

Sidney wanted to shine a light into the dark space to really see what was back there, but Mom always kept us from doing that. I guess she didn’t want to ruin the illusion. Maybe that was part of the piece—not knowing how far back the darkness went, how much depth was really there.

That was where Jamie was headed that day on the eighth-grade field trip, and that’s where Alexis gestured me—down the little hallway leading to Acton.

I took a deep breath and then followed.

Pausing in the doorway, I could see Jamie’s silhouette in the dim light. He was standing in front of the darkened rectangle, but he wasn’t reaching in.

“I like this one,” I said, voice hushed, even though we were the only people in the room, and there was no need to be quiet. Something about the low light made it feel … special, somehow. Sacred, like a church or a monument.

Jamie glanced back as I approached, smiled a little. “Me too.”

I stepped up, shoulder to shoulder with him in front of the rectangle, and then gave him a glance and moved closer to the space, reaching out my hand.

“What are you doing?” he said with a hint of panic, grabbing for my wrist.

“It’s empty,” I replied, and Jamie’s expression shifted to one of confusion.

I held out the other hand and plunged it into the darkness.

He let out a shocked laugh. “For real?”

“Yeah.” He was still holding my wrist. I swallowed. “Try it. Just reach out your hand.”

He stepped closer, moved his other hand up tentatively, fingers extending into the empty space.

“Whoa.” I could see the white of his teeth as he grinned through the dimness. “I couldn’t tell.” He was speaking hushed too. “I thought…”

He looked over at me.

This was it. This was the moment. Like standing on a high dive, toes lined up at the end of the board, that moment just before the jump.

As Alexis had instructed, I looked at Jamie’s mouth and then his eyes. And then his mouth. And then his eyes. Linger. I stuck with eyes for a moment. Watched them crinkle a bit at the edges as he smiled a little.

“What are you doing?”

Just say whatever will make him kiss you.

I shook my head.

“I like … I like you,” I said, and looked at his mouth.

His smile grew.

“Really?”

I nodded and watched the smile dim slightly. I flicked my gaze back up to his eyes. “Really really?” he asked, quieter.

I didn’t reply, just nodded and leaned in toward him.

He leaned in too and softly pressed his lips to mine.

It was gentle, and sweet, and lasted for just an instant, until someone nearby let out a high-pitched squeal. They were quickly cut off by a flurry of shushes.

We broke apart, and I could see it happening in real time in Jamie’s eyes, I could see happiness deflate into devastation and then quickly shutter off.

His voice stayed the same, just as soft, but everything had changed. “You know,” he said, “you probably should’ve had Alexis and them wait farther away.”

I turned and could see the back of Alexis’s phone disappearing around the corner.

When I looked back at Jamie, he had stepped away from me. He shook his head, his voice tightening. “That game is mean, Nina. It’s really…” He swallowed. “It’s just mean.”

It was. I knew that. And I knew that maybe he liked me, and I knew that it would hurt him if he found out, but I did it anyway—I don’t know if it’s because I wanted Alexis to like me or because I wanted to fit in so badly or because part of me just wanted to kiss Jamie without having to be the person who chose to do it, without having to be responsible for it. I wanted to know what it was like, if his lips were as soft as they looked. I wanted to see how they felt against mine.

I was selfish and terrible and had never been more aware of it than in that moment, with Jamie blinking at me, hurt writ large across his face as much as he tried to hide it.