At the Edge of Our Vision

Have you ever been convinced you’d seen something in the corner of your eye, but when you turn to look, it’s gone.

The official reason is that your peripheral vision is great at detecting movement, but not very good at working out what it actually is. A shadow can look much more substantial before your brain swoops in and to tell them to stop being so paranoid. It’s only a bloody shadow.

But what if it isn’t. What if your eyes are right.

What if you’re seeing something you’re not supposed to be able to.

It’s like an echo, but with your eyes. An echo of something from a different time, place, or reality.

I mentioned it to my flatmate once. He said he’d prefer if I kept thoughts like that to myself. He only had a finite amount of room in his head and didn’t need my mundane musings taking up space.

I tried bringing it up with my friend Riley too. She nodded and said “interesting” in the same way I’ve seen her do to men chatting her up in bars. Polite, vacant. Already halfway through an escape plan.

I couldn’t believe nobody cared.

“So,” Riley said, clearly keen to change the subject, “how’s the dating life?”

I shrugged. It’s basically my catchphrase whenever she asks that question.

Riley is obsessed with my love life. Or more accurately, she’s obsessed with the massive black hole where my love life should be.

I’m twenty-five and I’ve never had a girlfriend of any kind. It’s never really bothered me. I like my own company. Me and my mundane thoughts are livin’ la vida loca.

“Seriously,” she scoffed, “don’t you want to find your soulmate?”

“Come on, Riley,” I sighed. “Can’t we have one coffee without you banging on about the poor girl destined to spend her life with me. I already feel bad for her.”

“Whatever,” she chuckled. “You’ve always struck me as a guy who’ll need his bum wiping in later life. I’m not going anywhere near it.” She looked at me with such repulsion you’d think I’d just asked her to.

“I’ll pay someone to wipe it,” I said.

“You won’t have any money when you’re old,” she giggled.

“Then I’ll just have a dirty bum,” I shrugged. “I’ll be alone and decrepit. No one’s going to complain.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “Or, get a dog to lick it clean.”

“That settles it,” I said. “My soulmate is a faeces-eating Labrador.”

Riley’s mouth stretched and she showed some teeth, but it wasn’t a smile. It had ambitions to be one. It just didn’t believe in itself enough.

I looked forward to having the conversation again the next time we met.

Despite Riley’s many objections, I love my life. I’m happy staying on the route I’m stumbling down. I’m not diverting for anyone. If someone happens to be on the same path and we bump into each other, then great. I’m happy to stumble along together.

***

Every morning before work, I stop at the same coffee shop, order a drink, and sit in the same chair. It was quiet. I then just stare out into anywhere that doesn’t involve eye contact.

That’s when I saw her. She was sitting nearby, reading a book.

Her brown hair fell forward, almost completely covering her face. I kept looking out of the corner of my eye so as not to appear creepy, although I’m fairly sure trying to invent ways to look at someone without them noticing is significantly more creepy.

The book she was reading was called Life Without You, by Katherine Anderson. I don’t know why I made a mental note of that. Maybe to understand her better.

There was something about her. She felt different somehow. Like she lived in a completely different world to me. Her experiences felt entirely separate from mine, and I wanted to learn about them.

She brushed her hair behind her ear and I saw her face for the first time. She wore the look of someone who didn’t quite fit the expectations of the room. Nothing dramatic. Just slightly out of step. Not better or worse. Just… elsewhere.

Turning the page, her eyes drifted off into the distance. Then the corner of her eyes met the corner of mine.

I snapped my head forward. I didn’t look back. What if I did and she wasn’t looking. Or worse, what if she was.

Neither option felt appealing.

I stared straight ahead, finished my coffee, and left.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her all day.

Something felt unique to this world. Nothing obvious. Just subtle differences I couldn’t quite pin down.

That evening, I looked up the book she’d been reading. I couldn’t find it anywhere. No listings, no references, nothing. Even if it was self-published, there should have been something.

So I searched for the author.

Again, nothing. Except for a news article from four years ago.

A fatal car crash.

The victim’s name was Katherine Anderson.

My heart began to race as I read on. She was a Cambridge graduate. Studied English Literature. A burnt manuscript had been found in the wreckage. My palms went cold and hot at the same time. The manuscript was completely destroyed. The only thing that survived was the title.

My insides started doing some kind of victory dance. I was happy for them, but it was getting uncomfortable.

Then I read the title.

Dinner for Two, Alone.

All celebrations stopped. Every organ inside me learned a valuable lesson about not celebrating too early.

Something still didn’t feel right.

The unease stuck with me all evening. It even stayed over. I barely slept. When my alarm went off the next morning, it was there, waiting for me.

I drifted through my routine like I was watching someone else do it. I could see the results of getting ready, but felt like I’d contributed nothing to the process.

When I entered the coffee shop, I searched for her. She wasn’t there. I ordered my coffee and sat in my usual seat. I felt oddly relieved.

What would I even have said to her? I researched the book you’re reading. It doesn’t exist. Also, the author died four years ago.

There were definitely better opening lines available to me. I just know myself well enough to know that is exactly what I would have said.

Verbatim.

I took a long sip of coffee and focused on nothing in particular.

Then, in the corner of my eye, there she was again. With the same book.

I turned to tell her everything. I couldn’t stop myself.

She wasn’t there.

No one was.

I scanned the room, panic creeping in. She was nowhere. I took another gulp of coffee. I hadn’t slept. I was overtired. That had to be it.

I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed them hard. I took a deep breath in, then out.

When I opened my eyes, she was back.

Still in my peripheral vision.

I didn’t dare move in case I lost her again. She wasn’t reading this time. She was staring into the distance too.

Then our eyes aligned.

I didn’t look away. Neither did she.

We held each other’s gaze for what felt like a lifespan and a second at the same time.

Her lips curled into a smile. She spoke, but no sound came out. She glanced around, embarrassed, then stared off again until she found my eyes once more.

She looked confused.

I mirrored it.

She checked her watch and hurried away.

I checked mine and did the same.

***

The next day, I arrived early with a pen and a notepad.

I sat with my coffee, staring into the distance. When I found her, she’d already found me.

I held up my note.

Are you real?

She looked down at her own notepad, then raised it.

I hope so!

She let out what I imagined was a giggle, then stopped herself, embarrassed.

I wrote again.

What’s your name?

She replied.

Katie. What’s yours?

I wrote quickly, trying to be neat.

Hi Katie.

I’m Luke.

It’s lovely to meet you.

Also, what the hell is going on?

She covered her mouth, laughing silently, then wrote.

I have no idea. I thought I might be going mad. If I move my head, you disappear.

I nodded and pointed at myself.

She nodded back.

I scribbled furiously.

Show me a sane person and I will cure them for you.

I regretted it immediately. Quoting Carl Jung. Riley always said I had a habit of making sure people knew I was smart as soon as we started talking. She blamed a lack of praise in childhood. I was very grateful there was someone else to blame.

I’d been so focused on my own pretentiousness that I almost missed her response.

She held up her note.

Carl Jung. Someone wants me to know they read big boy books.

She looked just as unsure as I felt. Like she was revealing a part of herself she hated.

An accidentally pretentious boy and a quick-witted girl who wouldn’t let him get away with it.

We carried on until we were both late for work. We promised to meet again the next day.

We did this for three days.

She told me about her childhood and how she’d always wanted to be a teacher. She wanted to help children, but felt like they deserved more than she could give.

My heart broke for her.

I told her how I’d always dreamed of being a comedian, but lacked the confidence and the basic humour required to stand on a stage.

She didn’t respond straight away. She just looked at me like I’d been unfair to myself.

I wrote.

You know, you’ve got the strict schoolteacher look nailed.

She replied.

And you’ve got some killer stand-up material.

We laughed silently, imagining what it must sound like.

One morning, she arrived with a pre-written question.

Favourite movie, book, and song.

I was dreading this. This is where Riley says I wheel out my most pretentious weaponry. Would Katie like me more if my favourite film was an arthouse indie with subtitles, or should I just be honest and say the one with the talking pig.

I threw caution to the wind.

Film: Babe

Book: To Kill a Mockingbird

Song: Tender by Blur

She stared at it for a very long time. Then she scribbled something down.

Is Pretentious Pete rearing his pompous noggin? I’ve not heard of two out of three of those.

I wrote back.

Really? Which one?

She scribbled.

To Kill a Mockingbird and Tender.

There was nothing in her face to suggest she was joking.

I wrote quickly.

It’s not their biggest hit, I guess, but surely you like Blur?

She looked at me with the first hint of frustration I’d seen from her. Frustration at me.

I don’t think it was what I’d written. It was the uncontrollable confusion on my face. I wasn’t trying to come across like a nob, but was failing miserably.

She looked down and started writing again. I could tell the tone from the aggressive strokes of the pen.

Sorry I’ve not heard of some super underground band that only really cool kids listen to.

This appeared to be our first argument. I needed to not ruin this.

I wrote so fast I tore the paper.

I’m sorry if I upset you. I wasn’t trying to be an arsehole. Blur are quite famous. I’ve honestly never met anyone who hasn’t heard of them.

I expected her to howl with silent laughter at how well she’d played me, but she didn’t. She just blinked and looked back down. She wrote slowly and carefully.

It’s okay.

She immediately grabbed a fresh page.

Book: Metamorphosis

Song: No Sleep Till Brooklyn by The Beastie Boys

Film: In These Moments

I was devastated. I’d gone too far the other way. Her book and song choices were much cooler. I hadn’t heard of the film, but it sounded arty. It probably in black and white.

I wrote quickly.

In These Moments???

She looked mock wounded.

I know it’s a cheesy blockbuster, but you can’t beat old-school Will Smith. I loooooved him as a kid. It’s my favourite of his.

This was starting to feel like an elaborate prank. Any second now a reality TV host was going to leap out and tell me I’d been Owned or Wrecked or something equally irritating.

I must have held my dumb expression for too long because she suddenly looked embarrassed.

Come on. It’s better than Babe.

I hurried my response.

First of all, never bad-mouth that little pink hero. Secondly, I’m not trying to be Mr Independent Cinema. I’ve genuinely never heard of it.

Her face wasn’t just confused now. It was irritated.

She wrote back.

It was a pretty big movie. They made four others. They were awful, but Will Smith was in two of them.

Katie looked at me like I’d just confessed I didn’t know my fingers were attached to my hands.

I felt the unease crawling back.

She didn’t know To Kill a Mockingbird or Blur, but was completely confident about a film that did not exist.

I think it hit us both at once. We both started writing.

She lifted her pad first.

Why are we hunting for logic in a place like this, where we only see each other in the periphery and communicate with signs?

I read hers. I had written the same, but much less poetic.

I scribbled it out, wrote again.

What you said!!!

She laughed, or at least I assume she did. She covered her mouth quickly, embarrassed.

We stayed like that for another hour. Talking about pop culture, historic events, and growing up. What we both remembered, what we didn’t, and what was almost the same.

It turned out our worlds weren’t wildly different. Most major events had played out the same. Still, I mentioned fourteen films, twelve famous people, and nine kids’ TV shows she’d never heard of, including:

• The Muppet Christmas Carol

• the final instalment of the Mighty Ducks trilogy

• Jon Bon Jovi

• Whoopi Goldberg

She, on the other hand, mentioned eighteen films and eight famous people I’d never encountered. My favourites were:

• Peace, Love & Machine Guns. I have no idea what it’s about, but it sounds incredible.

• Babe 3: Pig in Space. I think this one was a joke, but after my excitement, Katie didn’t have the heart to tell me.

• Bobby Top Hat. A children’s TV presenter fired after being found with fourteen naked pensioners in his dressing room.

It became obvious, in a we-are-absolutely-losing-our-minds kind of way, that we did not exist in the same world. We tossed around phrases like parallel universes, alternate dimensions, and multiverses. It all felt a bit silly.

It was almost time to leave, and of course, with my predictable, erratic energy, I scribbled down one last note. I wanted to mention the book she’d been reading. I’m not sure why. Maybe I thought she’d find it interesting. More likely, I wanted to show off that I’d suspected something first.

Whatever the reason, it came from a self-aware, catalytic urge to ruin anything nice.

My pen ran out before I could finish. I held up what I’d managed.

I looked up the book you were reading. It doesn’t exist here. The author…

She looked horrified. I’d somehow demolished whatever this moment was.

She raised her pad.

I promise I don’t do it to pick up cute guys in my peripheral, but it’s my new book. I was looking at the paperback pre-release.

Crushed, I'm not a writer in your world. What am I?

A baseball bat of realisation hit me square in the bridge of my nose.

I shook my head.

Her eyes dropped, disappointed.

Then something seemed to jolt her back into motion.

She started writing again.

What’s your full name? I’ll look you up. You look me up.

I tried to smile. I think I landed somewhere neutral.

I scratched my name onto the paper with my dying pen.

Luke Everett

Katie nodded like that made sense.

She started to write something else, then glanced at the time. She stopped, waved an apologetic hand, and hurried away.

***

I was in love with a dead girl I’d only ever met in my peripheral, and she was going on a date with another, better me.

Once that absolute, mind-boggling Jerry Springer episode title soaked into my core, I was able to move again. Slowly, but forwards.

When I got home, I sat down and wrote. I’m not sure any of it was good, but if the better me, could do it, then maybe I could too.

I didn’t return to the coffee shop the next day. I couldn’t face hearing how wonderfully funny Better Luke was.

I didn’t go back the day after that. Or the next one.

Katie and the other Luke were no doubt strolling along the most tranquil path together. They didn’t need me watching from the corners of my tear-filled eyes.

***

I didn’t return until three years later, I was on my way to an open mic night when I passed the coffee shop. I don’t remember deciding to go in. I just blinked and found myself ordering a coffee.

My usual chair was still there.

Still empty.

I sat down and stared into nowhere.

There she was.

Her back was turned. She was talking to someone. Was it him?

As she shifted, I saw it wasn’t.

It was smaller.

Katie had a baby, she was a mum.

I gasped, caught somewhere between joy and disappointment.

She looked happy. I felt dreadful.

Then someone else stepped into view.

It was him.

Other Luke.

He had everything. I had nothing.

I respected him. I appreciated him. I hated him.

He was my hero, my inspiration, and my nemesis