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Augustine's smile branded itself into the back of Winnie's eyelids, so vivid that when he blinked himself awake in the middle of the road, he almost didn't register that anything had changed. In his mind, he was still at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at a gleeful stranger wearing his best friend's face, pain stretching across his skin and bleeding from his bones.
But the overturned car and broken glass and sirens demanded Winnie's attention, and the realization that he had just died came so easily to him, like it was always meant to be there. He stared at his fingers and saw the ground through transparent skin.
"Auggie!" he suddenly gasped. He dropped to his knees and peered through the broken window of the car. A wave of sorrow and despair, mellow and bleak, passed through him.
Shock as well, because when he stared into the car, he saw Augustine wearing that same, hideous smile he had on when watching Winnie die.
Did that mean the snowstorm was real? If it was, then had Augustine actually killed him when he pushed him down those stairs? Or would he have died either way?
"Auggie, can you hear me?"
Augustine didn't respond. Guess that was a no.
Augustine didn't wake up for the first two days. His parents checked in the minute visiting hours started and left long after the sun had set. In the darkest hours, when they weren't there, Winnie watched Augustine sleep soundly while steeping in a deep pool of regrets.
Because that was what ghosts were, right? Unresolved regrets facing eternal torture. It made sense that he was here; he was too much of a coward to reach out to the person who mattered most to him, and now he was paying the price.
It was just... Winnie never thought his punishment would be brought about by Augustine's hand. That awful smile, so gleeful when Winnie had died, haunted him day in and day out, and he could only ask why?
Augustine was kind, reasonable, reliable. He was the love of Winnie's life and nothing would've changed that—not college, not death, nothing. Winnie's heart was stitched with orange thread, but now the threads were tightening so much he was bleeding. He wanted to love Augustine even now, even after he had pushed him down those stairs and there was no longer a reason to love him.
He felt relieved when Augustine opened his eyes, tiredly and slowly and glazed over with fatigue. It hurt to feel relieved.
Brown eyes swept over the room and honed in, focused, on Winnie. They shot wide open. "Winnie?"
Disbelief struck Winnie. "Auggie?!"
Augustine rubbed his eyes and scanned the room once more, gaze going straight through Winnie.
Winnie's hope drained slowly as he realized he was invisible once again, leaving him a little emptier than he was before.
But it wasn't like him to despair. Augustine, blinking rapidly, pulled in his knees, the pale blue blanket pooling at his waist. His eyes flitted left and right, and there was fear in them, primal, deeper than anything he had ever known.
It was the type of fear that pierced straight through Winnie's tear-filled eyes and begged, please don't let me drop.
Augustine had seen him, had stared right where Winnie was standing and right into his eyes. It ignited the smallest flame of hope in him; if it happened once, it could happen again. He just didn't know when.
"Auggie?" he tried again.
Augustine didn't react. "Winnie?" he said, but it was a beat too late to be a response.
A nurse soon found Augustine awake and alert, and it didn't take long for the room to be swept in a river of excitement and joy and urgency that Winnie couldn't be caught in. As much as he was relieved that Augustine's parents were spared from grief, his heart ached with the unfairness of it all.
He had spent so much time with Augustine after his death partially to avoid the pain he knew was torturing his own parents. He wasn't ready to see them yet. Maybe he would once time sanded down their grief into something Winnie's weak heart could handle, but that moment wasn't today, wouldn't be for a long time.
Seeing the Orlov family embrace each other was just another reminder of his own loss. "What happened to Winnie?" Augustine asked, once his parents had given him some space.
Mrs. Orlov's eyes were watery. "Oh, Augustine," she said. "I'm so sorry."
And Augustine simply stared in shock, a vacant stare that could be interpreted a million different ways. Winnie didn't know if it was intentional or not, but either way, everyone saw him as a victim in denial or disbelief—everyone but Winnie.
Tears filled Augustine's eyes as he continued to stare out into nothingness. It didn't seem like he was aware of them. They ran down his cheeks but not once did he blink or wipe them away. Some foolish part of Winnie hoped that his tears were in regret of what he'd done.
Augustine blinked once his mother pulled him into a hug. He buried his face in her shoulder, silent. The entire world seemed to shrink down into just this room. Wet splotches grew on Mrs. Orlov's sleeves.
And somehow, Winnie felt as though this was the most Augustine would ever show of his inner world to others. That smile of his from the snowstorm was just for him and Winnie, and that made Winnie wantto sob.
Winnie had seen Augustine change over the years. He had deemed it as maturing, but he realized he should've labelled it as despairing.
Augustine had been hurting in some way that Winnie couldn't see, because of course he couldn't. His adoration of Augustine blinded him for so long that by the time he realized something was wrong, he had a broken leg and the ghost of Augustine in the corner of his eyes.
He remembered sitting in his hospital bed, thumbs hovering over his phone's keyboard, hands shaking. Augustine was smart and mature—there must've been a good reason for why Augustine hated him.
The only question was whether or not Winnie wanted to find out.
He decided not to, a swarm of different excuses flying around in his head but none of them sticking. In the end, he supposed it was fear that prevented him from trying; he'd rather have their relationship decay than shatter, even if it meant giving up the chance to mend it.
But then Augustine pushed him down the stairs and revealed that he had never been as sane as Winnie thought. Something warped him into a murderer, and what else could it have been but pain?
Augustine had looked distressed in the car ride for one reason or another. He didn't look distressed anymore.
He beamed when he got visitors, and Winnie could tell it wasn't a facade. It was the type of smile that would've made his heart skip a beat had he still been alive. Nobody seemed to notice it was fake, and if they did, they kept it to themselves.
Winnie flew in and out of sight and called out everyone's names, ending up with no better results than he had before. He wondered why Augustine had seen him for that brief second just after he had woken up. He couldn't do much but wonder these days.
Then the next day, just as orange light began creeping over the skyline, Winnie watched as Augustine stirred awake. He was sleeping on his side, facing away from Winnie. When he rolled over to the other side, cracking his eyes open, his eyelids instantly blew wide open and his hands flew up to muffle his gasp.
His eyes were trained on Winnie—the first time wasn't a fluke! Somehow and for some reason, Augustine could see Winnie after waking up.
"Auggie!" Winnie yelled, and his best friend flinched and covered his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. "Can you hear me?!"
Augustine's breathing quickened, body trembling.
"Please, I need to know!" Winnie said, kneeling in front of Augustine. It didn't hurt when his knees collided with the floor. "Auggie!"
Augustine didn't respond. His hands stayed on his ears until his trembling ceased, and when his eyes peeked open, they stared straight through Winnie. He placed a hand on his heart, taking deep breaths.
A wave of disappointment washed over Winnie, but when it passed, it made way for curiosity. Augustine could see him and hear him, and this time, it was a little longer than before. Perhaps Augustine could only see him when he was drowsy, or maybe sleeping itself had something to do with it. There must've been a variable that affected the time too, but it was only a few seconds longer, so Winnie might've misjudged each time frame. He needed more data.
Regardless, it was something, and Winnie would take it.
A few hours later, the doctor came in. After a final checkup, he said, "If there's nothing else bothering you, then we'll get you ready to leave."
Augustine's smile had a nervous edge to it. "I think I'm good. Thanks for everything."
His parents guided him out. They didn't see the way their son's eyes flickered left and right, searching for the ghost of his best friend. Augustine never mentioned it.
Winnie joined them in the car and stepped into their house, a stream of melancholy and nostalgia running through him as he scanned the wide hallways. He hadn't been to their house in months.
One by one, the curtains and blinds opened, spilling light into each room, welcoming back the last member of the household. Except for Augustine's bedroom. He kept the curtains shut and the door locked.
In the silence of his room, Augustine took in a big, shaking breath.
"Auggie," Winnie said. "Can you hear me?" No response.
Oh well, Winnie could wait until the next day. Third time's the charm. If Augustine saw him tomorrow, then Winnie knew what he had to do: he'd stay right by Augustine's side every morning until Augustine was desensitized enough to talk to him.
That night, however, Augustine began struggling in his sleep. A nightmare, Winnie realized, watching Augustine shift and turn with beads of sweat rolling down his face.
"Hey, Auggie," Winnie said, hand going through his friend's shoulder. "Auggie, wake up!"
A few minutes later, Augustine jolted, eyes snapping open as he inhaled sharply. Winnie was floating right above him, and he frowned when he saw the look in Augustine's eyes: Augustine couldn't see him.
So then... his visibility wasn't caused by sleeping or drowsiness?
Augustine rolled onto his side, pulling the blankets up to his mouth. "Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone," he whispered.
Winnie floated closer to Augustine, poised like he was lying on his bed, hands cupping his chin and legs swinging in the air. "Sorry, Auggie. No can do."
In the morning, Winnie watched Augustine wake up once again. He rubbed his eyes, hair tussled from tossing and turning, and when he removed his hands from his eyes, brown met blue.
Winnie was ready. "I know you can see me!"
Not the smartest move if he didn't want Augustine to freak out, but after an entire night's worth of contemplation, Winnie decided that Augustine deserved it. He couldn't say he found joy in the scream Augustine let out, though.
Augustine shielded his face with his arms, shaking even harder than he had in the hospital. "Stop, stop! Why can't you just leave me alone already?!"
"You're not hallucinating!"
Augustine peeked at Winnie, tears rolling down his cheeks. "What—" He suddenly lowered his arms, his gaze searching the room. "Winnie? Winnie?!"
The doorknob rattled, followed by a knock on the door. "Augustine, is everything alright?!"
His head jerked towards the door. "Y-Yeah! Just a nightmare!"
"Really?" Mrs. Orlov paused. "I thought I heard another voice coming from your room."
Winnie stared at the door. Augustine clutched at his sheets, big brown eyes widening. "It's just me!"
Winnie could hear the uncertainty in her silence.
"If you say so, dear. I'm making waffles if you want any."
When her footsteps faded down the hallway, Augustine laid back down, staring at the ceiling.
"Not hallucinating, huh?" Augustine swallowed. "Haven't you ruined enough of my life? Why can't you leave me be?"
"Ruined?" Winnie whispered. He sank onto the bed, or rather, through it. "What do you mean?"
Augustine had confirmed it, really truly confirmed that he hated Winnie. But how did Winnie ruin his life? What did he do wrong?
Next time, Winnie thought to himself. Piece by piece, he'd put together the story, no matter what.
Augustine reveled in the attention he got afterwards.
It didn't matter if it was from a classmate he talked to once or a hockey teammate he'd known for years—he lit up like the sun each and every time they appeared on his doorstep, happier than Winnie had seen him in the last few months, maybe even years.
Was that where he went wrong? Did Winnie not spend enough time with him? They had all the same... everything, really, so that shouldn't have been a problem. Still, maybe Winnie could've included him in more conversations.
Or maybe he had gotten sick of Winnie. Augustine hadn't grinned at him like that even when they were still talking. Winnie thought he was doing okay, but he didn't know Augustine as well as he thought he did so what did that matter?
Augustine was probably content all those months away from Winnie. He probably wished Winnie had died when he fell last winter. He probably—
No, no, no... No more assuming. That was his biggest mistake when he was still alive, and even though his mistakes didn't matter anymore he still couldn't bear to repeat them.
Yet somehow, he still couldn't help but think he was right.
Over the next few days, Winnie had appeared enough that Augustine didn't shriek or gasp or shut his eyes. He only flinched. Sometimes, he didn't appear when Augustine woke up, but he had been seen when Augustine was cooking, folding laundry, scrolling through his phone—really anything that kept Augustine's mind occupied, so it was strange that he was also visible sometimes when Augustine woke up.
And the timespan that Winnie was visible had indeed been getting longer, though he still wasn't sure why that was. Regardless, he was thankful for it.
"So if you're not a hallucination, what are you?" Augustine snapped once, when the timespan had reached twenty seconds. "A ghost?"
"Got it in one, Auggie!"
Augustine's face twisted in anxiety and anger. "Why are you so hellbent on torturing me?!" he shouted, but Winnie had already disappeared by that point.
The next time he appeared, he said, "I'm not trying to torture you; I'm just trying to understand."
"Understand what?"
"Augustine?" Mrs. Orlov said, and Winnie quickly fled into the ground. He didn't know if anybody other than Augustine could see him, but he wasn't taking chances. "Who was that just now?"
Augustine had started carrying his phone in his hands at all times to put up to his ear, pretending to be in a call. "Just a friend."
Winnie's voice was too loud and clear for that to be believable, but Mrs. Orlov had no other possible explanation.
"He sounds a lot like Winnie."
Augustine gripped the phone harder. "He does."
Mrs. Orlov's eyes were filled with a painful amount of worry and concern. She straightened her back and said, "I'm... worried for you sometimes, Augustine. Your dad and I both are. Don't be afraid to come to us. Please."
"I'm fine," Augustine said, looking away. "I will be."
"Okay," she said softly. "Do you have your speech ready?"
Winnie's funeral was in a week.
"Yeah. I'll be practicing, don't worry."
"I know you will."
By the time Winnie could emerge from the ground, he was invisible again and Augustine was furious.
"What's there to understand?" he muttered, once he was in his room. He yanked open a desk drawer and took out his speech. "I hate you, and you used me. One of us was bound to get hurt."
Not once could Winnie remember a time he used Augustine, and he wondered how many other things he had failed to notice.
The first time any substantial progress was made was when Augustine decided to watch a random action movie. Winnie didn't think he was actually interested in it. Augustine had dark spots under his eyes from struggling to sleep and a constant air of vigilance about him; he was probably just trying to take his mind off of Winnie.
Winnie himself watched the movie from the top of the sofa, out of Augustine's sight. The increase in the amount of time that he was visible was irregular, but Winnie noticed that the longer Augustine was busy, the longer the timespan increased. He had a theory: the time increased correlated to however long his mind was off of Winnie while conscious.
That explained why he saw him in the mornings, when his mind was awake but solely focused on getting up. It explained the time that Augustine spent losing himself in menial chores. It explained all the time Winnie spent invisible—his death always hung in the air, never too far from the forefront of anyone's mind.
One day, that heaviness would fade away and people would forget, but not Augustine. Winnie wouldn't let him forget, not to be malicious or vindictive but just because it was the nature of their relationship. There was nowhere else for Winnie to go but Augustine.
So he remained out of sight until the very end of the movie. When the credits began he rolled, he slid into the spot next to Augustine. Augustine flinched when he saw him, immediately getting off the couch and running into his room. He didn't even turn the TV off.
"Is it not enough?" Augustine hissed, as Winnie followed him inside. He had his back to him, but his anger showed in his trembling fists. "You already took everything from me! What more do you want?!"
"We have time to talk now, Auggie."
"Don't call me that!"
"Augustine!" Winnie whispered forcefully, flying in front of the other. "I will stay here until you listen to what I have to say! I'll stay here for the rest of my life if I have to!"
"Then get on with it!"
Winnie wasn't sure how much time he had, but even ten minutes would be enough. He just needed Augustine to listen.
"Do you remember the snowstorm?" he asked, and Augustine stepped back, a thousand microexpressions flitting through his face in a single second. Mostly surprise, then fear.
"The... snowstorm? No, that wasn't—that wasn't real."
"Then why would I be wearing my winter clothes?" Winnie asked, tugging on his blue sleeve. "How would I know about the storm in the first place? Tell me, Auggie, don't you remember pushing me down the stairs?"
"That wasn't real," Augustine mumbled, looking away. He hugged himself, squeezing his upper arms hard enough to bruise. "No. You can't be a ghost. I-I'm hallucinating, there's no other—"
"Auggie." Winnie held out his hand, and he was surprised to find that he could hold Augustine's chin with the pads of his fingers. Gently, he guided Augustine's gaze back his way, marveled by the sensation of touch. "Your mom could hear me. Maybe she can even see me. Should I test it out?"
"You—" Augustine turned towards the door before looking back. "Why are you still here? Don't you usually disappear by now?"
"I actually have a theory on that," Winnie said cheerfully. "Just like I had a theory on the snowstorm! And speaking of the snowstorm, you still haven't answered my question. Do you remember pushing me down the stairs?"
Augustine seemed close to crying. "Shut up. Shut up!"
"It's a yes or no question, Auggie."
"You died instantly!"
"As far as you know," Winnie said. "But I don't think it's very good to apply conventional logic to what happened to us. Did you know I can still feel the phantom chill in my skin?" He thumbed his wrist idly. "I remember what it felt like to have pain pulsing through every inch of me. I can still see your smile, Auggie, from both the bottom of the stairs and inside the car."
"I... you... Fine!" Augustine snapped, eyes teary, volume edging towards a shout. "I do remember—is that what you wanted to hear?" He glanced wearily at the door, worried about alerting his father, who was working in his office down the hall. Thankfully, his mother was out buying groceries. "I remember, so go away!"
And oh, how his confession pierced straight through Winnie's heart. If he had the ability to cry, he would. "Why, Auggie? Why did you do such a thing?"
"Shouldn't it be obvious? I finally figured out that you've been using me my entire life!"
"What do you mean?!"
"Really, I-I should've noticed it earlier," Augustine said, pacing around his room. "Every class, every club, every hobby, every little thing I do, you copy. You don't leave anything for me. You take everything and—and now you can't even let me live my life in peace after death!"
"But I just..." Winnie just wanted to spend time with his favorite person. He had an open mind—whatever Augustine wanted to try, he had no issues joining in. He thought it was what friends did. Didn't they share hobbies? Didn't they take the same classes?
"Just what? Just flirted with my crush and got a confession out of him? Just pursued the same award I was trying to get the moment you heard I wanted to win it? Just took my position in the hockey team and left me alone while you celebrated with everyone else?!"
Winnie didn't flirt. He was just being nice because he thought the guy was Augustine's friend. He didn't want to steal the award from Augustine—he thought it was like a scholarship, something everyone tried to win just because it was available. And... and Winnie thought they spent enough time together at the parties and end-of-the-year banquets.
But Winnie was wrong. This was the missing answer he'd been seeking since last winter: it was Winnie himself. He didn't realize had taken his obsession with Augustine too far, and now it was too late to do anything about it.
He wished he could cry or tremble. He wished he could do anything that could make him feel alive, release the agony buzzing in this transparent shell of himself.
"I didn't mean to," Winnie said, and he wanted his voice to quiver. "I thought—I didn't know you were—"
"And then you abandoned me," Augustine said, more choked up than angry. "Because why would anyone want to hang out with trash like me?"
"No! That's not what happened!" Winnie cried, grabbing the other's shoulders. Augustine yanked himself out of his grasp. "You're not—I've never once thought of you that way!"
Augustine backed up until he hit his desk. He clenched the wooden edges hard. "Really? Because I seem to recall you saying something very similar during our car ride."
The sudden outburst, Winnie remembered. Augustine had yelled at him for no apparent reason, said he was treating him horribly when he really didn't think he was.
"I-I think you misheard me," Winnie said. "I never said anything like that!"
Instead, he'd made an excuse for why he ignored Augustine for all those months, saying that he was so mortified falling down those stairs that he didn't speak with Augustine out of embarrassment. It had taken weeks to make himself sound believable.
"You're the brightest, kindest person I know," he continued, trying to pour every ounce of regret and love he had into his tone. "I'd never say anything like that, and—and I'd never use you. I'm so, so sorry." Despite how Augustine felt about him, he wrapped him in a hug, tight and desperate. "I didn't realize that my actions were hurting you... I didn't know you felt robbed and that there was a line between friends that couldn't be crossed and I know it doesn't mean anything but I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
He sunk into Augustine's chest, feeling so unbearably small. Augustine quivered beneath him.
"You can't," he said breathlessly. "You're lying, you—no... no, no, no..."
Augustine slid down the side of the desk, collapsing onto the floor, Winnie still holding onto him.
A piercing cry hit Winnie's ears, loud and awful. Arms wrapped around his back tightly, and if Winnie were still alive he might've described the pressure as painful. He wondered if he was hurting Augustine too, with how tight his hold was.
"I'm sorry, Auggie," Winnie whispered. "But I needed you to know the truth."
Augustine couldn't speak between his hiccuping sobs.
I love you, Winnie wanted to say, but he wasn't that cruel, even to his own killer.
Augustine came out of his room once Winnie turned invisible, eyes inflamed and red. His dad was standing next to the door—he must've been waiting for at least an hour or two.
"Hey," Mr. Orlov said, pulling in his son. He patted his back. "Want to talk about it?"
Augustine shook his head. Winnie knew he wasn't going to appear for a very long time after this. Mrs. Orlov soon came rushing down the hall to meet them, likely having heard her husband's voice or her son's bedroom door opening.
Winnie floated through the house, bright sunlight in every corner, and wondered how all the progress he'd made could leave him feeling so gloomy.
"I'm sorry," Augustine said in the morning, cool light splayed across his face after peeking out from around the brown curtains. It wasn't enough, and they both knew that, but Augustine repeated it over and over like it would finally mean something one day. And knowing Winnie's heart, it probably would.
Augustine kept himself in his dim room for hours at a time, never coming out when visitors arrived, never even checking his phone—he kept it planted face-down on his desk, out of reach and on silent.
Something heavy hung in the air, suffocating and thick.
It came to a point where Mr. Orlov had asked him if he wanted to start grief counseling. Augustine said no from the inside of his locked room.
"Augustine," his mother said one day, an ear pressed against the bedroom door. "Are you alright with going to the funeral?"
"Yeah." Augustine's voice was low; Winnie wasn't sure it'd make it through the walls.
"Okay. Start getting ready then. We leave in two hours."
Winnie left the room as Augustine dragged himself from bed to get dressed. Despite the harrowed state of Augustine, Winnie himself was feeling the most excited he had been since he died.
This was the first time Winnie would get to see his parents since his death, along with a whole other swath of relatives and friends he'd made over the years. Maybe he'd even see some old faces from Quebec! He didn't think he'd be so excited for his own funeral of all things.
He'd be there to listen to everyone's goodbyes and well-wishes. He just wished he was able to let them know he heard them.
Augustine came out of his room in a black suit and necktie with dress shoes to match. He looked rather nice in them, Winnie thought, and his mind wandered back to the hours he spent thinking up matching suits to wear to prom together. Again, things he was too cowardly to bring into fruition.
Augustine styled his hair into something more presentable, washed his face, and was soon in the backseat of his parents' car, watching the trees and houses blip by. If he let his mind wander off of Winnie for a second, he'd suddenly see Winnie flying alongside the car, clothes billowing in some otherworldly wind.
Winnie slowed to a stop when they reached the parking lot of a graveyard, arriving on time to see a stream of people trickling into the open metal gate. Mama and Papa were giving him a graveside burial, laid to rest in a closed casket.
He flew above the crowd and landed next to his cherry wood casket, a bouquet of blue and white lilies nestled on top. A sliver of morbid curiosity tried to convince him to peek into his coffin, but he shooed it away. He already knew what he looked like when he died—why go through that again?
And then he saw them, dressed in black, shadows haunting their eyes, kindly greeting guests. All the sorrow he had replaced with excitement came rushing back, and he floated closer to them, mourning the loss of his living parents.
"Mama. Papa," Winnie said. He wrapped his arms around each of them, but there was no weight underneath to comfort him. "I'm here."
When Winnie let go and turned around, he saw Augustine staring at his parents from afar. Winnie knew that even though he was invisible, Augustine knew he'd be there.
"He shouldn't have been the one to die," Augustine said during his speech, and the implications of his statement lingered in air for the rest of the funeral. When he sat back down, his mother wrapped an arm around his shoulder and leaned into him.
"That's not true, Auggie," Winnie said. He was sure Augustine knew that, but maybe he couldn't bring himself to believe it; the guilt in his eyes was as clear as day.
His eyes were glazed over as Winnie's casket was lowered into the ground, the bouquet removed to add onto the mound later.
"Thanks for being here, everyone," Winnie said. "I'll miss all of you."
The drive home was almost entirely quiet. Winnie chose to stay in the car, watching Augustine stare out the window just as listlessly as he did the first time.
During the last few miles, Augustine's mom said, "What you said earlier... Yes, Winnie shouldn't have died, but we're so, so glad you survived, Augustine. You—you understand that, right?"
"Mhm."
"Augustine," his dad said.
"I do. I promise I do," Augustine said more firmly.
"I've condemned you to an eternity of unrest," Augustine said, sitting on the squeaky swing of a small empty park. "Just another unforgivable thing I've done. I don't know how you can stand to be next to me."
"We don't know that for sure," Winnie said, hanging upside-down on the top bar of the swing. "Ghosts usually pass on after completing their unfinished business, right?"
"What's your unfinished business then?"
Winnie blinked, momentarily quiet. He fell off the bar, landing upright on the swing below him. "I don't know. It could be a lot of things."
"Great. So we're back to eternal damnation."
"...There were a lot of things I wanted to say to you when you were alive," Winnie said. "I was going to ask you to prom, actually. I even thought up matching suits and everything."
Augustine stared at him. "You were? Why, um... why didn't you?"
"Too nervous," Winnie said, embarrassed. "That's why I never spoke to you since the accident. I thought you didn't like me since you never helped me. And... I guess I was right."
"I was jealous," Augustine confessed suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut as if he were in pain. He probably was. "You're just so good at everything and I'm not and I thought all my problems would go away if you disappeared and..." He took a deep breath. "And so I let you fall down those stairs."
A stab to the heart. "You didn't need to be good at everything to be amazing," Winnie said quietly "...I'm glad we're having this conversation now. I wish we'd done it a little earlier, though."
"Much earlier."
"Feels like a load has been taken off my chest."
"I don't even know how to describe what I'm feeling," Augustine said honestly. He suddenly asked, "Do you know how much longer you're going to stay visible?"
"No idea!" Winnie said. "But I'm thinking I'll visit my parents again after times up, maybe see some of my friends too. I think... I think that'll definitely help me pass on."
"Good," Augustine said, in a watery voice. "That's— that's good. I'm sorry again. I..." He wiped his eyes. "Damnit..."
"Let's talk some more, Auggie," Winnie said, swinging his legs. "There's still a lot I haven't told you."
So they did. They talked until the moment Augustine turned his head to the side and nobody was there.
Winnie must've been gone for good now, Augustine thought, making his way off the campus of his local community college. The snow carpeted the ground and piled on roofs, but it was nowhere near as thick as it had been in the snowstorm.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Augustine whispered into the air, on the very, very small chance that Winnie was still listening.