The Lie(16)

The redhead beams at me, folding her hands on the desk. “I thought the attention to detail was a bit weak and the actors were stiff, particularly in The 39 Steps, but in terms of the cinematography, you could see where Hitchcock got his fondness for shadows and the use of the MacGuffin, as well as comedic timing.”

Clearly this girl is a go-getter. “Very true. And your name is?”

“Sandra,” she says.

“It’s a good observation, Sandra,” I tell her, offering her a smile as I lean back against my desk. “The Lady Vanishes in particular set the tone for Hitchcock’s future films by the use of witty dialogue. However, the film would still be considered a comedy thriller even without the one-liners or any dialogue at all. That’s when farce comes in, something we’ll be analyzing today as we watch Harold Lloyd in Safety First.”

Smooth segue, I tell myself, and start asking around the class if anyone has seen it. Surprisingly, a couple hands shoot up and I get them to introduce the film to the class while I go and hit up the computer until the movie is playing on the TV. All the while, I’m trying to place the mystery girl. It’s driving me a bit mad.

As Safety First starts and a few students start chuckling, I bring out the roster and start going over names. The girl with the big forehead wasn’t here last week, that’s for sure, and one of my TAs for my undergrad class never showed up either. I check my TAs and see them listed as Ben Holmes, Henry Waters, and Melissa King.

Casually I look back at the girl. She’s watching the film now. Maybe she just felt bad because she missed both my classes last week and thought I was going to call her on it.

That must be it. I try and let it drift away from my mind and start going over the next lecture as the movie plays.

When class is over, though, she’s the first one to burst up out of her chair and scurry out of the room like she has a fire lit under her arse.

Curious, I follow her out the door and into the hall, seeing her practically run down it, shaking her head and waving her arms at a girl at the end.

A tall girl with long honey blonde hair, who stands out among the passing people, like everyone else is a blur and she’s the only thing in focus.

Fair skin, full cheeks, eternally youthful.

And her eyes, those beautiful eyes that used to shine brighter than the stars.

Only now they aren’t shining.

They are locked with mine.

Fearful.

She’s convinced she’s gone mad.

But so have I.

Because how on earth could this be?

To so clearly see a ghost.

Natasha.

My student, Melissa—now I remember where I know her—grabs Natasha by the arm and whirls her away. For a moment our eye contact is broken, and I feel nothing but panic and the hollowness in my chest. I always wondered what I would do if I ever saw Natasha again, and now I’m standing in the middle of a busy hall and she’s here.

She’s here.

And I am useless, frozen, empty. Because I don’t know if I should turn around and get my stuff and lock my office door and pretend I never saw her. Write her off as a ghost from the past, a fading reminder of who I used to be.

Ruined.

But the word fading can never be applied to someone like her.

And I know that I’ll never be able to write this one off.

I’ve seen her, whether I wanted to or not.

The damage is already done.

And so my feet start moving down the hall after Melissa—my TA, my student, god I’m going to have to see a reminder of my past several times a week—and Natasha.

It’s probably a mistake.

But I can’t help myself.

Natasha looks over her shoulder again and sees me coming closer, a man on a mission with no objective, and she looks like she still doesn’t think I’m real. I’m not even sure I’m real at this point because I’ve never acted so on autopilot before with no self control.

“Hey,” I call out hoarsely when I’m within touching distance. I’m too afraid to say her name, like if I did it would make her real.

She stops before Melissa does, her friend tugging hard on her arm, but Natasha is standing tall, immovable, a living statue as she turns around to face me.

I’m this close to dropping to my knees. The wind has been knocked out of me, the sight of her a literal gut punch.

My Natasha.

My mouth falls open and I gasp lightly for air, unable to form words.

She doesn’t say anything either but her eyes speak volumes as they search mine. It’s the same question as mine.

How can this be?

Why?

Finally, somehow, I find the strength to talk. “It’s really you,” I say softly, my voice ragged as I look her over, trying to memorize her as if I’ll never see her again, trying to see the changes the years have passed on to her. Her hair is lighter now but it suits her face, which is beautiful and glowing. She’s lost some weight but not too much—she’s still very much a woman.