“I’m glad I’m here with you.”
                -Cody in Ray Nadine’s Light Carries On

                In the last weeks a few books have played with my ideas about what here means, and how we can be here to love each other. One of these is Ray Nadine’s Light Carries On. It’s a love story between Leon and Cody. And Cody’s a ghost. When they go to touch hands Leon’s fingers go through Cody’s. Leon can reach into Cody’s chest, and he feels a chill, but he doesn’t feel skin. At one point the idea of that touchless-ness almost drives Cody away: “I can’t hold your hand or comfort you when you’re sad,” he sobs. But this is a love story. The two find a way to being “here” together, in part, by sharing a love of music, and in part by sharing other moments that they love— the Planetarium, a concert, a beach where they can look back at Chicago’s lights.
                This story might’ve hit me hard because I just flew from Seattle back to Illinois. Over the summer, visiting the West Coast meant moments of connection and love—with my two siblings, my parents, my older brother’s kids, my partner’s family as I get to know them more. With beaches and hills where I grew up. How can all those stay “here” while I’m in Illinois and they’re in Seattle?
                It’s an old question. I’m not sure Nadine’s answer is new, but I did feel it. Like a shared trip to the planetarium. Like looking off at city lights beneath the stars, far away and close. Like ghost fingers on my fingers, and with love they’re here, too.