Have You Seen Luis Velez?(2)

“Oh,” Raymond said. He looked down at his friend, who was a good two heads shorter. “You’re here.”

“Thought you forgot all about me, man.”

“Nah. Sorry. I was trying to get lunch money from you-know-who.”

They ran down the stairs together, taking them two at a time.

“Don’t tell me,” Andre said. “Let me guess. He made you a sandwich.”

“Right.”

“Like, one that’s hardly anything to eat at all.”

“Pretty much.”

They touched down on the third-floor landing. Gripped the railing to spin a tight turn. Hit the stairs going down again.

“And then he told you that when he was sixteen, he worked a job.”

Raymond felt himself smile. It stood out to him, because it was something he didn’t feel often. At first he liked the feeling. Then it hit him how much he would miss Andre when he was gone.

They descended toward the second floor in silence.

Raymond was having that experience of feeling his physical self from the inside. That was the only way he knew how to describe it. Sometimes he was bizarrely aware of feeling too tall. Other times he thought he could feel his Adam’s apple protrude. Or he couldn’t take his mental eye off the slump of his own shoulders. Or he was so aware of his own facial expression—the set of his lips, for example—that it almost felt as though he were viewing himself from the outside.

All the way down to the second floor it felt like all of the above, plus a sadness in his eyes. It was always an uncomfortable sensation, because he never liked any of what he could feel.

As they spun on the second-floor landing, Raymond heard an older woman’s voice call out to them.

“Hello?”

Raymond stopped in his tracks. Andre kept going.

Raymond looked down the hall to see an old woman standing in the doorway of her apartment. A very old woman. Raymond thought she looked ninety. She was wearing a faded housedress printed with flowers. White terry-cloth slippers. Her snow-white hair was pulled back into a braid. Her eyes seemed to be turned in the direction of the stairs, as though she was looking at him. But she wasn’t. Not really. There was no focus there. She seemed not to see him, even though he was standing right in her line of vision.

It gave Raymond a creepy feeling. As if something wasn’t right in the old woman’s head.

Andre turned around and came back to get him. He grabbed the cuff of Raymond’s long-sleeved tee. “C’mon, man.”

“Hello?” the old woman said again, as though she couldn’t decide if there was someone right in front of her or not.

Yeah. Something not right.

“Just. Keep. Walking,” Andre whispered.

“Is someone still there?” the old woman asked.

“Yeah. It’s Raymond. Jaffe. From the fourth floor?”

Andre dropped his face into his hands and sighed.

“Do you know Luis Velez?” she asked. “Have you seen him?”

“Nah. I mean . . . no, ma’am. I don’t know him.”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh dear.”

Andre grabbed his arm and pulled hard. “Come on, man. We’re late.”

It broke Raymond out of his trance, and he moved again.

“Sorry,” he called over his shoulder as he and Andre trotted down to the lobby together.

“What d’you think that was all about?” Andre asked as they spilled out into the cold, gray morning. Down the apartment-house steps to the street.

“Don’t know.”

“I think she’s crazy.”

“Why do you think that?” Raymond asked, wanting to defend her for reasons he could not have explained. Or even identified.

“Those eyes. What was with those eyes? I mean, we’re either right in front of her or we’re not. You know?”

“Yeah,” Raymond said. “I noticed that, too. I guess that was a little strange.”

They walked in silence for a time. Half a block, the long way.

Raymond was having that problem again. Too much awareness of his own physical self. First he hooked his thumbs into his backpack straps. But he could feel his elbows sticking out too far. Then he let go and shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets. But they still stuck out. Even when he walked with his hands at his sides, he could not stop being aware of his elbows. No matter what they were doing, it never felt like the right thing.

Worse yet, he wanted to say something to Andre on this last day. Something simple. I’ll miss you when you move. But he just couldn’t force it out.

Finally he took a big, deep breath and forced out the word “I . . .” He figured once he’d said that much, he’d have no choice but to finish. “. . . wish you didn’t have to go to California.”

“You and me both,” Andre said.

Raymond looked down at his friend as they walked. He was so much smaller than Raymond, but in more ways than just height. He was more compact, with finer features. He looked like all his parts fit together correctly, and each part knew exactly what to do at all times. He was more athletic. His skin was darker. Andre was all one thing, in a number of different ways. He fit with himself. Raymond envied that.

He quickly looked away again.

They drew level with the abandoned building at the end of the block.