Micaela Burgess

It is three in the morning and a gentle snow cascades onto the streets as Ellie and Jewel stumble toward the underground noodle shop. It’s been a long night of party-hopping, and the two are ready for their come down. They grip each other’s hands to keep from slipping down the stairs. A blast of hot air smacks them in the face when they open the foggy glass door. They don’t realize how cold they are until they feel the heat begin to thaw out their swollen fingers. Jewel doesn’t mind the temperature; it gives her a reason to be closer to Ellie, but nothing good lasts forever. Ellie peels her fingers out of Jewel’s grip, leaving her at the threshold.

In the noodle shop, a clock ticks half a second too slow, the broken neon open sign hums steadily, and the TV is muted but still buzzes with electricity. It is reminiscent of a college dining hall; gray metal chairs are tucked into tables that haven’t been cleaned. There is a refrigerator half full of drinks—Korean sodas, beers, juices—and the colorful array of bottles turn the sharp fridge light into softer greens and yellows. A man stands behind the counter and mindlessly clicks away at a remote, unable to settle on a channel. Opposite him are tables that face a mirrored wall, that of which someone has clearly tried to clean, but used a dirty rag that left streaks across the glass like skid marks. There are few other diners sprinkled around the shop: a kitchen worker on his break, slurping up his own midnight snack and an affectionate couple who have been there for a while judging from their empty bowls and plates. From the back they can hear the clanging of pots and simmering of noodles, shouts in Korean for who knows what. Steam escapes a window that connects the kitchen to the dining room, filling the space with luscious smells of vinegar, fish sauce, garlic, and meaty broths. The silence of the snowfall is a world away now. 

The man behind the counter fails to acknowledge Jewel and Ellie. Jewel is starved and impatient. She stamps towards him with a ferocious assuredness, startling him out of his stupor. She orders, pays, and beelines for a table facing the mirrored wall. 

Ellie, however, sympathizes with the man. She imagines it is a weighty duty to serve as the keeper of the sanctuary for wanderers, insomniacs, and drunk college students. Jewel watches Ellie and the man through the mirror—they are directly behind her but on the other side of the shop—and sees the man relax his shoulders. Ellie leans against the counter and talks to the man with an unwarranted familiarity. She props her elbows up and cradles her head in her hands as she peruses the menu. The man even puts down the remote and his eyes gently flicker across her face, as if under a spell. 

Jealousy shoots through Jewel like ice. She doesn’t want Ellie to treat people so sweetly. She wants her all to herself, but Ellie gives that softness to everyone. It’s just her nature. Jewel imagines what the man must be seeing— how the shadows from the fluorescent lights caress her cheekbones, how that single strand of hair refuses to stay behind her ear, how her necklace always needs to be adjusted so that the charm heart sits snugly in her collarbone. 

Ellie sits down next to Jewel. They face the mirror, and it looks like there are four of them at the table. 

“You don’t even like men,” says Jewel.

Ellie shrugs. “Making people feel good is harmless.”

“Well do you have to make everyone feel good?”
“You’re jealous,” Ellie says, smiling. She playfully grabs Jewel’s hand and squeezes it. Jewel’s breath catches; the feeling of Ellie’s soft fingertips is a balm for her envy. She flips her palm upwards in a way that begs a tender touch. Ellie glides her palm over Jewel’s, back towards herself. Jewel lets out her breath as subtly as she can manage. She can’t let Ellie know. 

“No, I’m not jealous.” 

Ellie smiles like she’s just been told a secret. She never needs to prod Jewel for the truth; it shows itself in her body. When Jewel tells a lie, she twists her head—only slightly—to the right, refusing eye contact. She keeps her mouth slightly agape, as if offended that she’s been seen through. 

  “So… What do you think they’d say to each other?” Ellie nods towards their reflections. “I mean, if they weren’t us.” 

Ellie is always asking questions like these, questions that make Jewel think beyond her own silly little life and into an alternate world. 

“You first,” Jewel says. 

Ellie gazes at the Other Jewel in the mirror, who for once, does not turn away. Ellie, of course, knows exactly what the Other Her would say. She thinks about it nearly every day, relishes the thought and simultaneously hates herself for it.

“Do you remember when we first met? It was rugby tryouts in the humid peak of New England summer; you were a sophomore and I was fresh meat. We were on opposite teams during a scrimmage and in one heated scrum, we locked arms and you gagged, I mean you literally gagged. You stopped the play and yelled, ‘Rook, your breath reeks. Do you even wash your mouthguard?’ I was so embarrassed; I avoided you the rest of practice as best as I could. Then in the locker room you sat down next to me and slid me a piece of gum. It was cinnamon flavored, my least favorite. I was going to be polite and take it because I knew it meant something, but when I saw you pop a piece into your own mouth, I was a goner. I was obsessed with the way your jaw flexed as you chewed, the tiny flecks of spit that escaped your mouth. I chewed that gum just to know what you tasted like, and I dreamt that we kissed that night. I dreamt that we kissed every night since then. Two years I’ve been sitting here, wanting you, chewing cinnamon gum just to imagine what it might be like.”

“I’d ask you if you wanted to split a beer with me,” Ellie says. “Do you?” She turns to Jewel instead of talking to her through the mirror. 

“No,” Jewel says. “I want my own.” 

Ellie smiles and walks back to the counter to order. Now, Jewel watches Ellie and considers what the Other Her would say. 

“The moment I feel in love with you was nothing spectacular. Or at least, not how everyone makes it seem. People talk about falling in love like it’s some grand moment of fireworks and revelation, but this was a quiet type of thing. It was at the park—the one where the train runs through—while we were soaking up the sun. We weren’t speaking; you’ve taught me how to appreciate a silence. I can still hear the gnats lingering around my ears, car engines off in the distance, the sound of me ripping the grass out blade by blade, an incoming train horn. I opened my eyes to the blinding sun and everything looked blue. You pulled out your pocketknife and a granny smith apple from your bag. God, I hate those sour things. The train flew by blaring its horn and I could only stare at the way your hand cradled that fruit and how the other gripped the knife and cut through its flesh so gently. Your fingers bent at such odd angles, and I couldn’t help but think about what it would feel like to be touched by you… God, I feel like such a pud; but I can’t help it. I won’t lie to you anymore. Cradle me like you cradled that apple. Be soft with me even though I’m not. Touch me, please. Let me wear your rings. Let me pop your knuckles one by one and then lace my fingers between yours; let me read your palm and tell you that it’s actually you and me in that love line, that it always has been, that this is all I’ve wanted since I first saw your goofy ass, and I’m sorry I was so harsh. I’m sorry I can’t blunt my jagged edges. But I’ll try. For you, I’ll try.” 

Ellie comes back with two beer cans cradled in one hand. “So? What would the Other You say?” she asks, hoping for something more than what she gave.

“She’d say… Thanks for the beer.”

Ellie looks at the Other Jewel and Jewel looks at the Other Ellie. None of the four look away; stuck in a trance, they gaze, flitting their eyes, unsmiling, the steam escaping the kitchen fogging up the mirror, creating a strange and unplaceable feeling. Nothing needs to be said, yet Jewel opens her mouth to speak. It is then that Ellie’s girlfriend calls, the phone vibrating between them, sending shivers through their beers. They stare at the lighted-up screen as if it’s so outlandish that she would call. Finally, Ellie picks up. The man from the counter walks up and places two bowls of noodles in front of the pair and the aromas of onion, soy sauce, and chili flakes waft up and burn their nostrils, eyes. Ellie gives a smile and a silent “thank you” to the man, who blushes as he walks away. The phone call ends just as quickly as it had come. 

Jewel thinks that she’s lost her chance, no, realizes that she probably never had one in the first place. Yet, she clings on to the morsels Ellie gives her. A graze from her fingers, a lingering glance, her fleeting hesitation to pick up the phone. Jewel does not twist her head to the right. Instead, she rifles through her pockets. 

“Here,” Jewel says. She slides Ellie a piece of gum. “For after.”