I can’t forget her. It’s that simple. I just can’t forget her, no matter how hard I try. I know I should put it all behind me, friends keep telling me, "Forget about her Jerry, it’s over. It’s been over for a year now." I know I should. But I can’t. It’s easy for others to say "Forget her." Easy for them. They never knew her. Nor do they know the whole story. And even if they did, they’d never believe it. I don’t even believe it myself, not entirely. Except that I know it happened.

I can’t say exactly what it was about her that makes her so hard to let go of. That certain intangible something that made her special. Or maybe it was that other special something about her. Or maybe it was the way we met. Or the way we parted. Who can say? Who knows?

I guess to fully understand it, one would have to go back to the beginning. It all started that one Summer weekend, almost two years ago. My then-girlfriend and I had gone for a weekend getaway to San Diego. I made all the preparations, the hotel reservations, the airline tickets, the works. Which wasn’t easy on such short notice. But we’d been having our difficulties for some time, and this getaway was supposed to give us an opportunity for "rebuilding bridges," to try and regain some of what we’d somehow lost over the past months.

It was a nice idea. Unfortunately, it didn’t quite work out as planned. In fact, the exact opposite happened, and on Saturday night, we had a terrible fight (which ultimately led to our eventual breakup shortly thereafter.) The immediate result of which was that I ended up spending Saturday night in the hotel bar instead of our room (where I was no longer welcome.)

I was in a pretty foul mood, I don’t need to tell you. Here I was, I’d paid for this trip, doing my best to try to make amends, and now I couldn’t even sleep in the room I paid for. Instead, I was stuck in this lousy bar. I stayed away from the counter, choosing a corner booth instead, as far away from other people as I could get, where I could drown my sorrows in booze and solitude.

I was angry. But deep down inside, I was also hurt. I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself, but I was. So I tried to drown that hurt with several glasses of scotch & soda (P.S. It didn’t work.) After a few hours of this remedy, I discovered that I really wasn’t feeling any better. As a matter of fact, I was about on the verge of one of my legendary "crying jags," when a soft, feminine voice suddenly spoke to me.

"You look like you could use a friend. May I join you?" I looked up and saw…no one. I looked all around me. There was no one there. By then it was getting very late and the bar was almost empty. I seemed to be all alone. I decided that the voice I’d heard must have been a product of my depressed, alcohol-soaked imagination. But then it spoke again.

"I’m sorry, I guess you didn’t hear me. Mind if I join you?"

I looked up a second time, and still saw no one. It must be my imagination, I thought. But by then, I was so totally out of it, I really didn’t care; I was so miserable, that I was even willing to talk to an imaginary friend. So I said, "Go right ahead," indicating with a very drunken gesture the empty seat opposite me.

"Thanks," the voice said. I blinked as I saw the seat cushions opposite me suddenly sink down, as if something were pressed down on them, just the way they would if a person were sitting there. But I couldn’t see anyone. Even in my drunken state, I think I must have been staring at this unusual sight, because the voice spoke again.

"You can’t see me," it said.

"Not very clearly," I said, squinting, trying to focus my bleary eyes. There must be someone there, I thought.

"No, I mean…" the voice paused a moment, and then whispered softly in my ear: "I mean I’m invisible."

"Oh. Right." I said. "That makes sense." And at that moment, it did. It’s a comment on my state of mind at the time that I didn’t give any further thought to the matter after that. I was being visited by an invisible girl. That’s all. Sure. Happens every day. Then a foolish thought occurred to me, and I laughed. "Uh—Your name isn’t ‘Harvey’ by any chance, is it?"

"What?"

"Never mind," I said, waving a hand. "Listen, can I buy you a drink?"

"Of course."

I waved my hand in the air, trying to catch the waitress’s eye. "Two drinks over here please!" I said, a little too loudly (and in hindsight, probably not all that coherently.) The waitress no doubt must’ve thought I was really out of it (which I was, actually) because she was reluctant to bring me any more drinks, hinting that maybe I’d better slow down. But I finally persuaded her, and she brought the drinks over.

I took a mouthful of my drink…and it dribbled right back out of my mouth. Because I was so surprised at what I saw at that moment that my mouth dropped right open. What I saw was the second glass floating right up off the table, hovering in mid-air for just a moment, and then tipping itself away from me. I thought the liquid in the glass would spill all over the table, but instead, it just…disappeared. Into thin air. I just sat there, dumbfounded, as I watched the floating glass. "Whoa!" I said, "You really are an invisible people! I didn’t really believe it at first, but now…!"

The glass tilted back a second time, as my unseen companion took another drink, then hesitated a moment, then floated back down to the table. I realized that I must have been staring again, so I hastened to apologize:

"I’m sorry for staring," I said. "But I don’t run into too many invisible people these days."

"That’s okay," she said. "I’m used to it."

"Do something else." I said.

"Like what?"

"I don’t know…Just…Y’know, some ‘invisible person’ stuff."

She was in a very agreeable mood (very good-natured about her condition, as I was to learn) and obliged me by making napkins, matchbooks, ashtrays and other items appear to float about in mid-air. She even did a neat trick of blowing smoke-rings. Now THAT was something to see! I was absolutely enchanted and delighted. Needless to say, my reaction would no doubt have been somewhat different had I been stone-cold sober.

For the next couple of hours, we had a couple more drinks, and we just talked. Or rather, I did most of the talking, about my troubles. She just listened, patiently and sympathetically, holding my hand all the while. It felt very strange (although not unpleasant) to have one’s hand held by an unseen hand that way (and she had such small, soft hands, too...) I know it sounds crazy, but there I was, chatting away to this invisible girl all night long, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, nothing out of the ordinary about it at all.

When I had finally finished telling her my troubles and it was her turn to tell me about herself, by then it was closing time for the bar. I was so disappointed! Because I wanted to know more about her, who she was, where she had come from, how she got invisible, what she looked like when she was visible, etc. But the bar was closing, and I had to leave. Just as I got up from the booth, I said, "I’d sure like to talk to you again sometime! Can I contact you somehow? Do you have a phone number? Can I see you sometime?" In hindsight, I probably got some strange looks from the bartender and waitress, talking to the air as I did. But then, maybe not; maybe they’d seen this kind of thing before…

Anyway, her voice, now very close to me, answered: "Maybe. Maybe not. Or maybe I’ll see you!" I was then startled by a quick kiss on the cheek from unseen lips. "Take care, big fella!" she said. "You’re gonna be all right!"

And then she was gone. I looked around, called out to her. But she was gone. Like she never existed.

And maybe she hadn’t, is what I thought later on. But I was to learn otherwise…

The next morning…well, the less said about it the better. Let’s just say that somehow I managed to live through it. Between the hangover and the lingering hostility between my girlfriend and I, it wasn’t the most pleasant Sunday I’d ever spent in my life. When my brain had detoxified sufficiently so that I was able to think at least somewhat clearly again, I decided that what I remembered as my strange interlude in the bar the night before was nothing more than a wishful, drunken dream. As for what could have possibly inspired such a weird dream, I hadn’t a clue…

As I’d indicated earlier, I broke up with my girlfriend shortly after this, and I spent the next several months doing a lot of crying, sulking and wallowing in self-pity, which I’d gotten to be very good at. Then one day, it suddenly hit me: She’s gone, she’s out of your life now. You can’t change it, it’s history. Get over it. Move on.

So what followed next may have been nothing more than just another case of a guy on the rebound. Or maybe it was something more: call it fate, call it destiny. But it was shortly after this that she came into my life.

It was on a Thursday evening, a minor detail I’ll remember until my dying day. And I was eating in a small diner. It wasn’t what you’d call a fancy place, but the prices were reasonable and the food wasn’t too bad. I was eating a sandwich, thinking about nothing in particular, when my thoughts drifted over to the girl at the next table. She’s cute, I thought.

And she was, too. She was very small-boned, what you’d call ‘petite.’ She had brown hair, which she wore in a medium-length pageboy with bangs, and she had hazel-colored eyes. She wore a gray turtleneck sweater and a black medium-length skirt. Her style of dress wasn’t fancy, but it wasn’t grungy, either. Pretty much in between; nondescript, you might say. She wore no jewelry: no rings (one of the first things I looked for), no bracelets. She didn’t even wear earrings. She didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup either, but then she didn’t really need it, I thought. She was what you’d call ‘naturally’ pretty. Now I didn’t give much thought at the time to the lack of makeup and jewelry, but in hindsight, I suppose it should have been a clue.

She sat alone at her table, as if waiting for someone. She looked up and saw me looking her over, and she smiled. I smiled back. She then looked away. I did the same and thought nothing more about it.

Until a few minutes later, she came over to my table, and asked if she could borrow a couple of the crackers from my table. Of course, I said, handing the basket to her. What happened next, I wasn’t prepared for. She fainted! In my arms! Just like in an old movie! I couldn’t believe it, but it was true. At first, I thought it was a gag or a put-on, but it wasn’t. She just collapsed and I caught her, otherwise she would have fallen right to the floor. The counterman and a couple of the other patrons came over to see what the trouble was. I held her in my arms as we dabbed a wet napkin on her forehead, and fanned her with a newspaper to try to bring her around. As I held her, I could tell how small she really was. She literally felt like skin and bones.

After a few minutes, she finally came to, much to everyone’s relief. The other patrons lingered for a while longer, but as the girl recovered, they gradually drifted back to their tables and then promptly forgot about her. When she was able to speak, she explained to me that, confidentially, she hadn’t had a bite to eat in three days! She was hanging around the diner, hoping to maybe snag someone else’s leftovers, but without any luck. The extremely small size of the girl convinced me of the truth of her statement, that she wasn’t just giving me a hard-luck story. Also, when I offered to buy her some food, she at first refused to accept it. It was only with a great deal of persuasion on my part that she finally changed her mind. And when the food I ordered for her was brought to her, she immediately devoured it like a starving animal.

As she ate, we talked. I learned that her name was Jessica ("Just ‘Jessica.’" she told me. "No last name."), that she had no home, no job, no family. She had no belongings other than the clothes she wore on her back, no wallet, no money, no driver’s license, no ID of any kind. She wasn’t a ‘user,’ (she even showed me her arms, to show me she had no ‘tracks’) had never been in jail.

I asked her how could she live without money, shelter, means of support or any other necessities. She simply shrugged, and said, "My needs are few, and whatever I do need I can usually find close at hand."

I asked where she’d been staying, and she just said, "Here. There. Wherever. Anyplace I can find a place to sleep."

Now I suppose I didn’t use the greatest judgment in what I did next. Because, looking at it rationally, what did I really know about her other than what she told me? And how could I know how much truth there was in that? So I really can’t explain why I did what I did, except to say that maybe I had already fallen under her ‘spell.’ Either that, or maybe it was fate, after all. In any event, I invited her to come to my place to stay, until she could find a job and a permanent place of her own. She refused at first, no doubt questioning my motives, but I assured her that I had no ulterior motives in mind (which I hadn’t; I was motivated more by pity for her than anything else) and that all I had in mind was a place for her to sleep on my couch. She was still very reluctant, but eventually, she changed her mind and came home with me.

When we got there, I set up some sheets, blankets and a pillow on the couch. She assured me that, starting the next day, she would start looking for a job and an apartment. I accepted her assurances, and took them on face value. She would only spend only a few nights.

She ended up staying one month.

Not that she was a freeloader. Far from it. She wanted to move right out the next morning, in fact. "I don’t like to linger too long," she said. "I want to be like a butterfly: I just want to light somewhere for a brief moment…and then fly away. I guess I’m what you’d call a ‘free spirit.’"

No, the fact is, I wanted her to stay. At first, it was because I felt sorry for her. I felt responsible for her and I also felt somewhat protective towards her as well. She just looked so damned small and frail, so helpless. She really looked pitiful. Anyhow, after much discussion, she finally agreed to stay at my place a while longer.

Now I want to make it very clear right now that there was never anything more than a platonic relationship involved here. I know it may sound hard to believe, and it may sound corny and old-fashioned, but I really did care for this girl. I respected her and I cared about her. It never even entered my mind to try to take advantage of her in any way.

And in the days and weeks that followed, I also grew very fond of her. Although she made it clear from the beginning that she had no intention of staying long, she nevertheless seemed to enjoy my company. I certainly enjoyed hers. Once I got to know her, and she got to know and trust me, I discovered that she was really a lot of fun to be with. She had a bright, cheerful disposition, one of those few individuals who seem able to cheer a person out of even the darkest of moods. I soon became aware of the positive effect that her nature had upon mine.

I began to take her out to many different places: to restaurants, parks, art museums, concerts and shows, all of which she seemed to enjoy as much as I did (although she was clearly uneasy about attending these events on my treat.) As for myself, well, for the first time in almost a year, I felt happy, truly happy. I felt alive again.

I felt a certain bond with her, a certain…something, which I can’t explain. There was a kind of…sympathy or empathy, a rapport that is difficult to define. Almost a feeling of…familiarity, which I now understand, but which at the time was inexplicable. Yet by the end of the month, I still knew little more about her than I had when we’d first met. Whenever I’d ask her what her last name was, or where she’d come from, she’d either smile and not answer, or she’d change the subject. Other times, she’d get this sad, forlorn look on her face, almost as though she were about to cry, and I chose not to press the matter any further

On a couple of occasions, I gently guided the topic of conversation towards the subject of romance (only in very general terms, of course.) Specifically, I wondered if she had a boyfriend or husband tucked away somewhere. On one occasion, I even asked her the question point-blank. Again, she got that same sort of sad, wistful look in her eyes, and shook her head ‘no.’ She didn’t have either a husband or a boyfriend.

"That’s hard to believe," I said to her (which it was.) "I would think a nice, pretty girl like you would have no trouble finding a boyfriend."

She then looked me straight in the eye (she almost looked through me, it felt like) and said, in the coldest tone of voice:

"No man will ever love me. Ever."

She said it with such a resolute certainty that I knew it would be wise not to pursue the matter further.

Yet in spite of the mystery about her (or maybe because of it), I found myself being drawn closer and closer to her. I knew that I liked her, from the moment I first saw her. But now I wanted to get to really know her. Perhaps she sensed this, because it was right around this time that she began to pull away from me.

Occasionally when the subject of our conversations moved into the area of relationships, or long-term commitment, she made it very clear that she had no interest in them.

"I don't like attachments," she would say. "I don't want to be held down. I value my freedom far too much to throw it away for anyone. I’d much rather enjoy someone’s company for only a little while, and then move on. I don’t like strings attached."

I respected her need for independence and her desire to be "free," as she put it. Yet at the same time, I sensed that there was more to this girl than that.

It was my distinct impression that, at some point in her life, she had suffered some great disappointment, some terrible heartache, from which she had never entirely recovered. What the nature of this disappointment might have been, I had no idea. But it was my belief that she had been so hurt by this disappointment that she had vowed never to let anyone or anything get close to her, for fear of getting hurt again. She would therefore avoid all "attachments" (as she called them) to other people. She would deal with other people only on the most superficial of levels; on anything more personal or meaningful than that, she was clearly uncomfortable.

I gently tried to persuade her (again, in only very general terms, without getting too specific) that it was a mistake for her to write off all personal contact just on the basis of maybe one or two bad experiences she may have had, and that she was cheating herself out of so much enjoyment of life. She countered very calmly and matter-of-factly, stating that she knew full well what she was doing, that the life she chose to live was the only one possible for her, and that, while it might not be perfect (or even preferable), she had no other choice. I tried to persuade her that she did have a choice, but she refused to listen.

"We can’t change what we are," she said. "We can only do the best with what we have."

On other occasions I even suggested that she was welcome to stay at my place on a more long-term or even permanent basis, with no demands to be made on her in return. Even at this, however, she became noticeably nervous and edgy.

Sometimes in the middle of these discussions, she would abruptly walk out, claiming that she needed fresh air to think things over. Her behavior puzzled me. It was as though she just couldn’t tolerate the idea of personal contact with anyone on any level for very long. I couldn’t understand it. I still don’t.

She began to go for long walks (or so she said) that often lasted for the entire day and evening, sometimes not returning until late at night. I never found out where she went or what she did during that time, although I’d asked her repeatedly. I’ll admit that I began to get rather possessive of her; I couldn’t help myself. I was concerned about her and I felt responsible for her. But no matter how much I’d question her, she would merely smile and, without putting it into so many words, she made it clear to me that it was really none of my business.

And it was also around this time that I began to notice other puzzling things, things that, at the time were very mysterious to me but which now make perfect sense. On more than one occasion, when coming in from work, I thought I’d heard Jessica in the bedroom or in the kitchen. But when I called to her and looked in to see, she wasn’t there. And yet, it felt as though she were there. I couldn’t understand it, but—it was like when you feel someone’s presence near you; without looking, you somehow know that they’re there. That’s what it felt like.

On one such occasion, I noticed something even stranger. As before, I’d come home to an empty apartment, and looked around for Jessica and called out to her, and again I saw no sign of her anywhere. Yet after looking around, I discovered that, although she was nowhere to be found, her clothes were. They were neatly folded across the back of the sofa. I made a brief mental note of the fact at the time, but I didn’t think there was anything odd about it. Not until several days later, when it suddenly hit me: Those were the only clothes she owned. During the weeks she had been staying with me, I had offered to buy her some new clothes, but she adamantly refused, insisting that the clothes she wore were sufficient to her needs. Yet if these were the only clothes she had, then if she had gone out somewhere, what could she possibly have worn? And if she hadn’t gone out, then where was she? It was a complete mystery, one which didn’t clear up for me until quite some time later.

Despite these puzzling incidents however, I found myself thinking of Jessica almost constantly, throughout the day and night. I began to wonder: Could this be it? The Real Thing? As the weeks went by, I became convinced that it was. Finally, after a great deal of thought and much soul-searching and self-assessment, I decided the time had come for me to put my money where my mouth was and make it official. Do it right.

So on one fine late-Spring evening I went out and bought a ring. I know one month doesn’t sound like a whole lot of time to make such a major decision, but I was convinced that this was the proverbial ‘it.’ It was a nice, warm evening, and I decided to walk home from the jewelry store rather than take the subway.

When I arrived home with the ring, Jessica was there, as if waiting for me, almost as though she knew what I had in mind (perhaps she did, on some intuitive level.) Because I had barely gotten the case out of my pocket, when the expression on her face changed from its usual cheery disposition to one of the most profound sadness.

"What’s the matter?" I said. "I’m not inviting you to a funeral. I’m just-- Well, let me do it right. Miss Jessica, will you—"

"No, no, Jerry. Please." She said, gently interrupting me. "I know what you’re going to say. And I’m flattered, really. But I—I can’t, I just can’t. I’m sorry."

I was crestfallen. "But why? Am I really that terrible? C’mon, I ain’t that ugly!" I made a feeble attempt at humor. No dice. "Please, Jessica." I tried again. "Please. Give me a chance. I know I can make you happy, I just know I can."

"Jerry," she said softly. "You’re a very sweet guy. And I’m very fond of you. But—it’s me. If you knew what I was really like…if you knew the whole truth about me…"

"But I do know about you, Jessica!" I said. "We’ve been living together for all these weeks. We’ve gotten to know each other and we had fun! We had a lot of good times together, and I’d like to go on having good times with you. What’s wrong with that?"

She hesitated. "I can’t, I—I just..." she said, growing more agitated. "I guess it’s me, Jerry. I—I can’t let anyone get too close to me, I just can’t. I don’t like strings attached; I feel as though they strangle me." She faltered, then turned to face the door. "I’m sorry, but I—I can’t stay." She paused. "I’d better be leaving now." She started to walk to the door.

I was stunned. It was obvious that, in spite of my best efforts to provide a safe, comfortable, welcome environment for her, she was still as afraid as she ever was of "attachments." To her, they were only chains that held her down.

"Good bye, Jerry." she said as she opened the door and walked out into the hall.

"No, wait!" I said. I followed her down the hall and into the elevator, continuing to plead with her to stay. "Jessica, wait! Please! I won’t let you go! I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth if I have to!"

The doors closed behind us, and we were alone in the elevator. She regarded me with a look on her face that I’ll never forget as long as I live. I can’t describe it, but I’ll try. It seemed to me to be a combination of sadness and regret. Maybe it was just me, but it seemed that I read in that face a wish for things that might have been, and a sorrow for things as they were. That look on her face became stamped indelibly on my memory…because it was literally the last time I saw her face.

Because right there, before my eyes, her face disappeared! I mean, right into thin air! Where her head should have been was only empty space. When she raised her arms, I saw that her hands were gone too, and the sleeves of her sweater now appeared to be empty, and yet they still held the same shape and moved around as though there were still living arms in them. Underneath her skirt, there was likewise nothing but empty space. Her legs had disappeared along with the rest of her and her clothes seemed to hover above her shoes. I was absolutely stunned and I backed into the corner of the elevator. I tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come. It was as though my throat were paralyzed by the shock of what I was witnessing.

The empty sleeves of her sweater reached down and pulled her shoes off of her unseen feet and dropped them to the floor. The zipper of the floating skirt unzipped itself, and the skirt peeled itself away and dropped to the floor as well. A pair of panties appeared briefly in space where the skirt had been, and then they sort of curled down and away to join the skirt on the floor. "I’m really very sorry, Jerry." Jessica’s voice said from the empty collar of the sweater. "I really am. You’re a nice guy and I’m really very fond of you. But I just can’t stay with you and I can’t have you following me. I’m sorry. I have to go my own way. And that means going alone."

The empty sweater now floated in mid-air all by itself, but only for a few moments. The empty sleeves then reached around, crossing themselves in front. The sweater then proceeded to pull itself up and away from…nothing. There was absolutely nothing underneath except empty space and a brassiere which just floated there empty, yet still seemed to be filled with something. The brassiere pulled itself in tightly for just a moment, then slipped away to join the pile of clothes on the floor.

I stood motionless in the corner while all this was going on. I now seemed to be all alone in the elevator. Yet I knew I wasn’t.

The elevator doors opened at the ground floor. "Good-bye, Jerry." Jessica’s voice said. "I’ll always remember you." I suddenly felt unseen lips kissing my cheek. It was then that I finally emerged from my stunned state as an sudden realization hit me like a lightning bolt, recalling a Saturday night almost a year before.

"That was YOU!" I said, stepping out of the elevator into the lobby after her. "That night in the bar in San Diego! That was you!"

"Maybe it was. Or maybe it was only a dream you had. Maybe I’m just a dream you’re having now. Remember me as a dream, Jerry. Perhaps it’ll make it easier for you to let me go."

I felt another kiss on my cheek. "Good bye." she said. The door to the street outside opened and closed by itself.

And she was gone. Just like that. I immediately followed her outside, of course. Or rather, I tried to. I searched for her, all up and down the block, calling out her name, over and over. But it was useless. She was gone.

"I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it." I said over and over to myself. I wandered around the streets in a kind of daze for I don’t know how long. Finally I walked back to my apartment building. Just as I was almost tempted to think the whole thing was a dream after all, I stepped into the elevator and saw the pile of clothes she had left behind, lying on the elevator floor.

For days, weeks, even months after that, I continued to look for her. I kept my eyes open for even the tiniest of clues. I knew it was useless; how do you look for an invisible girl? Especially one that doesn’t want to be found? Still I kept looking, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of a cute girl with hazel-colored eyes in a crowd, hoping that it would be Jessica...

That was one year ago. And I’m still looking…and looking.

For Jessica, the invisible girl.

Because I haven’t forgotten her.