Tell me
“Her,” Ocean said, turning to look at Penny.
No, not Penny. Jane.
This girl she was looking at wasn’t the Penny she knew. She was someone else. Something else.
Her Penny was gone. And she didn’t even get to say goodbye.
But she could come back. Have the life she deserved. And it broke Ocean’s heart that she wouldn’t be there to see it. But she couldn’t cry, because if she did, Jane would ask why. Everyone would. And then everyone would know.
The two of them had met at church, about two years before they died, when Penny had handed Ocean a note. It was just little messages at first, mostly out of boredom, Ocean assumed, but she started bringing a pencil to church with her after that. They’d pass notes back and forth, and every week, Ocean would look forward to it.
Penny’s parents scolded her when they caught her, and Ocean worried, but Penny never stopped sliding the notes across the pew to her.
That went on for months, and Sunday mornings became the best part of Ocean’s week. And that was before Penny started pulling her aside after services. Before they really got to know each other.
But Ocean couldn’t think about that now. It hurt too much. Penny was gone, and no amount of remembering her would bring her back.
It would just make this hurt more.
“I vote for her,” Ocean reiterated, trying not to look too closely at Jane. She didn’t want to look into Jane’s empty black eyes, she didn’t want to see that creepy doll’s head on the body of a girl she missed. Those blonde curls where Penny’s plaits belonged.
Ocean had asked her once why she always wore her hair in plaits, and Penny had laughed and shrugged it off, saying that they were just convenient. They didn’t get tangled and didn’t fall out and she had more important things to worry about.
But a few weeks later, she’d taken down her hair just because Ocean wanted her to. The first time was when they were sitting on Penny’s bedroom floor together and Ocean had asked if she could do her hair. Penny warned her it was tangled, but she took out the plaits and let Ocean give it a go. Ocean had tried as hard as she could to be gentle, and Penny had laughed and taken the brush from her, raking it roughly through the tangles until her hair was falling in smooth waves over her shoulders.
Ocean refused to change it after that. She said it was out of principle after Penny had taken the brush, but it was really because she thought Penny looked too pretty.
After that, she asked Penny if she could brush her hair every time she came over, and every time Ocean tried putting it in a different style. Pigtails, ponytails, half up half down, everything looked good on her. Penny never really understood it, but she was happy enough with Ocean being happy. And Ocean liked the excuse to be close to her. She tried to convince herself that Penny liked being close, too.
Playing with Penny’s hair became sort of Ocean’s thing, an inside joke between them.
She jokingly tugged Penny’s braids when she was being irritating.
She absentmindedly messed with Penny’s hair when they watched movies together.
She tucked Penny’s hair behind her ear just seconds before they kissed for the first time.
And now her beautiful brown hair was gone, replaced by the ringlets of a doll. A doll that had Penny’s body, but none of her memories.
“She should go back,” Ocean stated, turning to Karnak. “She can’t remember anything. She didn’t have a life. She needs to go back.”
Ocean felt Constance walk up beside her, standing with her, supporting her decision.
Ricky followed her lead. Then Mischa. Then Noel.
At least Ocean wasn’t alone, even though she felt it.
“Democracy rocks,” She sighed, turning her back on Jane. At least she’d never have to look at the empty eyed doll creature again. That was a plus.
“Very well,” Karnak stated, and Ocean could feel the portal opening behind her. She could feel the pull. It was weak, easy to fight. The whole choir felt it.
The pull back to the real world. To their lives.
But that portal wasn’t for her.
Ocean closed her eyes and waited for some sort of sign, some sort of signal that Jane was gone. So that she could break down.
She needed to cry, panic, anything. She had a hell of a lot of feelings. But she couldn’t let Jane see that. Because if she did, this would hurt for her too.
No, it was better for Ocean to stay strong, and hopefully when she came back, Penny would remember how Ocean let her go willingly. Or maybe Penny would forget her altogether. She’d live the life she deserved to live.
It was better for Jane to not know about the girl whose body she possessed. Better for her to think that no one knew her. That no one here loved her.
But of course, it couldn’t just be that easy.
“Democracy rocks?” The doll creature repeated, her voice echoing in the afterlife warehouse they were stuck in.
Ocean tried not to turn around, but she could feel the choir’s eyes on her. So she turned.
Jane was only about a foot away, her blank, empty black eyes staring into the blue of Ocean’s. And all Ocean could think is that those eyes shouldn’t be there. She should be looking back into Penny’s green eyes, the colour of grass in early summer. She should be looking into eyes that made her feel seen, that felt like home.
But all that the black voids of Jane’s eyes made her feel was sad and alone. Because those eyes meant that Penny’s were gone. Penny was gone. She’d never get to see her again.
“Ocean,” Jane said, and Ocean could hear something in her voice. It was meaning, the thing that Jane had been looking for. Recognition. But that was impossible. Jane was here. Penny wasn’t. “Ocean. I remember.”
“You remember who you are?” Ocean asked sceptically, but she couldn’t help but let a little bit of hope slip into her voice. Even if Penny didn’t look like herself, that didn’t matter. If she was here, Ocean could hold her one last time. She could say goodbye. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to. Maybe they could be together here, in the afterlife, forever.
“No,” Jane stated, and Ocean’s heart dropped. “Democracy rocks. You’ve said that before. In your speech. At your debate. I remember you.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” Ocean shook her head, disappointed. Even if Jane remembered that day at the fair, she’d not remember anything important. She’d remember Ocean acting entitled in front of the choir.
Or maybe she remembered them sneaking off to the bumper cars together, just the two of them, when Ocean could really let loose and be herself.
When it was just her and Penny, she didn’t have to be perfect.
Maybe she remembered the two of them kissing behind one of the game stalls, or laughing at Ocean as she tried to wipe Penny’s lipstick off her lips, because the choir would notice.
Maybe she remembered Ocean redoing her hair back into his usual style because she’d pulled it out so Ocean could run her fingers through it while they kissed.
Or maybe she remembered something small, like Ocean’s hand brushing against hers as they waited in line for the cyclone.
Maybe she’d found the note Ocean had left in the pocket of her uniform, the one that said what Ocean was always too scared to.
“I know everything about you,” Jane insisted, looking confused, distressed. “I don’t know me, but I see memories. I’m blurry, but I can see you. I know you.”
Jane looked confused, nervous. Her hand reached out and took Ocean’s, and Jane stared at it like it had acted of its own accord. Maybe it had. It was certainly more fluid than Jane’s movements usually were. Maybe Penny’s body had some sort of memory after all.
Ocean wanted so badly to pull away. But she knew that hand that held hers. She knew those soft hands that held hers gently, lightly, like she’d break if they tightened their grip. It was a stupid comfort.
“Please,” Jane pleaded, looking desperate. “Tell me you remember me, too. Tell me you know who I am.”
Ocean shook her head. She couldn’t. Because if Jane knew who she was, maybe she’d remember everything. And then she wouldn’t go back.
Ocean knew Penny Lamb, her Penny, and she knew that Penny would never leave her behind. She wouldn’t leave her here. But she deserved to live.
She was the most lively person Ocean had ever known, and she’d brought Ocean back to life when she needed it most. In Ocean’s life, there was before Penny, and there was with her.
And even when she was gone, Penny would live on. Ocean could bring her back to life too, in a more literal sense. She deserved it.
Penny was what Ocean needed. And she would go on to be that for someone else. Ocean knew it.
She couldn’t do that if she knew who she was. If she stayed.
So Ocean kept shaking her head, squeezing her eyes closed, trying to keep the tears from spilling.
“Do you not remember, Ocean?” Jane asked, confused. “I passed you notes.”
Ocean kept moving her head side to side, because if she stopped, she’d see the confused, desperate look on Jane’s face. And then she’d cry. She couldn’t do that.
Not until Jane was gone.
“We walked through the parks together,” Jane pressed. “I used to pick pretty flowers, I remember holding them. I put them in your hair.”
Ocean felt Jane reach out a hand to touch her face, tucking her hair behind her ear. Just like Penny used to. Like Ocean used to do to Penny. Ocean stopped moving her head, but stared into Jane’s blank eyes. There was no soul behind those. No Penny.
She had to keep reminding herself of that. It was all she could do not to throw herself into Jane’s arms and let her hold her. Let her convince her there was still something left of the girl she cared so much about.
“You used to brush my hair,” Jane said, touching her own blonde curls, confused. “You said it was pretty. Do you still think that?”
Ocean shook her head again. Jane’s blonde ringlets were pretty enough, sure, but they weren’t Penny’s long, thick dark hair. They weren’t what she wanted to see.
“You used to read,” Jane kept trying. It was like she couldn’t read the signs, couldn’t see that Ocean didn’t want to keep talking. She didn’t understand. “Books. All the time. And you studied.” Jane paused for a moment, that Ocean saw her smile. “The lions. From my catchphrase. You taught me that.”
Ocean shook her head again, but Jane was right. She’d read out that quote from her biology textbook when she was at Penny’s, confused by its absurdity. Penny had been horrified, but intrigued. She’d researched the whole thing to death, and talked Ocean’s ear off about it for hours, but it was okay. Because she was interesting, passionate, enthusiastic.
But Jane’s voice didn’t have that enthusiasm. Just an empty echo.
“You don’t know anything about me,” Ocean repeated, and Jane shook her head, mirroring what Ocean had done.
“You hate strawberries,” she continued. “You yell at people who vape. You like wearing blue, but you wear pink at church. You like checkered dresses. Spring is your favourite time of year, but you love when it snows in winter. Chess is your least favourite board game, because you don’t understand it. I think I won at that one.”
Ocean shook her head again, because tears were filling her eyes. Every word was true. Jane knew her.
But she didn’t know Penny.
“I-“ Jane started, but she stopped. Ocean could still feel the choir staring at her, but none of them stepped in. No one spoke. No one knew what to do. Because no one knew that Ocean knew Penny.
Their relationship wouldn’t be okay in Uranium. Ocean’s parents wouldn’t want her dating a homeschooled church girl, and Penny’s wouldn’t want her dating a girl at all.
And Ocean had seen how people treated gay people in the town. She’d seen how they treated Noel. So she’d kept everything a secret.
Maybe if she hadn’t, though, someone would have remembered Penny.
Maybe Penny would be identified.
But she kept secrets, and now she was dealing with it.
“I can feel something,” Jane gasped, pressing her hands to her chest. It was like she couldn’t breathe.
But of course she couldn’t. She wasn’t breathing. None of them were.
“I think I loved you, Ocean. I feel it. I love you,” Jane stated, and Ocean shook her head.
“Love conquers all,” Mischa whispered, sounding awestruck before Noel shushed him gently, leading him over to the back of the warehouse to sit down.
Ocean knew she had an audience for this, but she didn’t care. She didn’t know what to say.
Penny had never said she loved her before.
“No,” Ocean whispered, trying not to let her tears pour from her eyes.
This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be how she found out Penny felt the same. Because there was nothing she could do.
She could never tell Penny she loved her too. Because Penny was gone.
The girl who loved her, the girl she loved, was gone.
Neither of them had told the other in time. And now, it was too late for them.
“Tell me,” Jane begged. “Tell me you know who I am.” Ocean shook her head. “Tell me you remember.” Ocean shook her head more. “Tell me what you did before the cyclone.”
No, Ocean couldn’t. She wouldn’t. It would only end in more heartbreak.
“Please,” Jane kept trying. “Tell me I’m yours. Tell me I’m yours again.”
Of course. That was the last thing Ocean has said to Penny before the cyclone, when they were in the line and the others were distracted. When Penny had asked her what was going on between them. What she was to her.
“We could be something,” Penny had told her, hushed, quiet. “If you want to be. Something real.”
“We already are,” Ocean whispered back. “You’re my angel.”
That’s what Ocean had always called Penny. Her angel. It made sense, not just because they met at church, and not just because Penny was radiant, but because she felt like an angel who was sent to change Ocean’s life. To bring her back to herself. She made Ocean feel safe, she lit up her life. But usually she just called her that in her head. This was the first time she’d said it out loud.
But Penny hadn’t said anything. She just gave Ocean a sneaky smile, and Ocean had slipped a note in her pocket while she wasn’t looking. She thought Penny would find it later.
“An angel,” Jane stated. “You said I was an angel. Tell me I’m your angel. Tell me my name. I know you know.”
“I’m sorry,” Ocean said, trying not to let her voice shake. “You must have me confused. I have no idea who you are.”
If no one else, Karnak knew she was lying. At this point, the others probably did too. But no one said anything.
Ocean wished she’d made Penny get her fortune told by Karnak. She’d walked away from the machine, joking that fortunes were overrated and her fate was up to her, not some stupid machine.
That stupid machine might have been able to remember her. To bring her back, at least in the afterlife.
There was a lot Ocean wished she could change.
“No,” Jane insisted. “It was you. It was always you.”
“Jane,” Ocean stated, trying to be cold, staring at the floor. “You have to go.”
“I want to say with you,” Jane stated. “Maybe I can help you remember, maybe-“
“There’s nothing to remember,” Ocean lied. “Go.”
Ricky walked over and started to lead Jane away, but Ocean saw Jane’s reluctance. Then, she saw Jane try and pull away from Ricky to grab something. Her doll.
Constance got to it before Jane could, and she handed it to her. Then, while she was still free of anyone else’s guidance, Jane walked back to Ocean.
“Here,” Jane said, holding out the doll to Ocean. “Keep her. I’m sorry you don’t remember. I hope you do one day. The memories are nice. Love is nice.”
Jane said it as a soft statement, and it broke Ocean’s heart. She’d give anything to be able to tell the truth, but the truth would only hurt Jane more.
The truth wouldn’t bring Penny back. Nothing would.
So Ocean took the doll and stood there, watching Jane walk away.
And she wanted to stop her. She wanted to hold her face and whisper to her and tell her all about Penny, the girl her body belongs to. She wanted to tell her about how Penny loved flowers, and how nice weather suited her. How she loved the outdoors and cheesy music and cherry candies and lions. How she hated church and math and how much she complained when Ocean said that the books her favourite movies were based on were better. And how when Ocean read Penny those books, Penny hated that Ocean was right. She wanted to tell Jane she remembered Penny’s laugh, and her smile, and the way she lit up a room. She wanted to tell Jane she remembered everything.
But she couldn’t.
Because Jane had to go.
Ricky led her to the portal, and Ocean watched with tears in her eyes as Jane reached out, waving a goodbye as she faded away.
Then Ocean felt her legs give out from under her, and she fell to the floor crying, clutching Jane’s headless doll to her chest.
It wasn’t Penny’s, it wasn’t even close, but it was all she had left.
Ocean had lost the girl she loved before they even had a chance to be together. The world had ripped them apart too soon.
Penny was her person, her girl, her angel.
And Ocean could only hope she’d be able to move on. Ocean could hope that the note she’d left in Penny’s pocket had flown out during the accident. She could hope Penny wouldn’t read it.
Because it was pointless now.
All it would bring was misery.
“I love you, my Penny,” it read.
And Ocean hoped the only record of her love was being trampled on, torn, on the muddy ground of the busy carnival.
She hoped Penny would never see it.
She hoped she would never know.
Let her think Ocean didn’t think anything special about this.
Let her think it didn’t matter that much to her.
Let her move on, find someone else.
Let her think that Ocean never loved her.
It would be easier that way.