Sometimes there's a man in my apartment. I don't mean my boyfriend–of course he's in my apartment, he pays half the rent–that wouldn't even be worth mentioning. I mean someone else. I don't know who he is, which believe you me is more alarming to me than it is to you. At first I thought he had broken into the apartment to, like, kill me or something, but Todd–that's my boyfriend–said I was acting strange so I tried to ignore it.

But, like, how well can you ignore a complete stranger skulking around in the corner of your room while you're trying to get your freak on?

He didn't show up every day, or even every week or month at first. Like I said, he was only there sometimes. I would notice him in the corner of the bathroom mirror every now and then while I was brushing my teeth. Sometimes he would be standing over Todd's shoulder during breakfast. One time, I was cuddled up with Todd on the couch watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I looked over and there he was, snuggled up under the blanket like he was part of our dynamic. It freaked me out. Obviously. But I'd say, "Todd, there's a man in the apartment," and Todd would look around and totally miss him and roll his eyes and say, "You need your head checked."

Maybe I really did need my head checked. I looked into it, if for no other reason than to throw it back in Todd's face.

"Try to think about him less," was the advice I got. "Now, what day would you be free to come in for that schizophrenia screening?"

I didn't bother going back. Schizophrenia sounded expensive, and Todd would have way too much of a heyday with that, so I went back to the apartment and stopped pointing him out.

Those odd nights when he showed up unannounced at the dinner table? None of my business.

Random weekday mornings when I turn around in the shower and he's standing between me and my conditioner? Not so far as I can tell.

Lingering in the corner of the room while I'm laying in bed with Todd's face in my neck and his hand down the front of my PJ-pants? Okay, that one I couldn't tough out.

"Jesus Christ, when did you get to be such a prude?" Todd lamented–that was too generous a way to put it–he whined.

I tried coming clean, admitting that the guy was still there and it was wigging me out, but Todd wasn't having any of it. "You sound completely crazy right now, you know that?" Uh-huh. "I can't do this anymore. You weren't like this when we met." Well, there wasn't a guy hanging around when we met, was there? "I won't be trapped in this loveless, sexless apartment with you anymore. I deserve a girl who won't act like she's disgusted by me."

I'd kind of hoped that Todd leaving would make the man go away, that he was what was inviting this eerie interloper into our–my–one-bedroom. It seemed that way for a while. The next few weeks were quiet. I got to be really alone for a bit. Honestly, it was a little unsettling. Have you ever had no friends, no partner, a remote job, and an empty apartment with just you and your way-too-loud heartbeat in it? Nobody should be able to hear the chambers and valves pumping in their own chest. TMI.

I went crazy enough one night that I got dressed up and dolled up and shaved my legs and everything and I went downtown. I think everybody could tell I was a shut-in, because even looking my best, most people ignored me. It might've been my face, though. No amount of makeup can cover up how much you really don't want to be somewhere.

I was sitting at a secluded table in some Irish-themed bar with a whiskey-coke and a basket of mozzarella sticks when I saw him again. Scared the bejeezus out of me, honestly. I hadn't seen him since Todd left. He was over at the bar, sipping on a drink and nursing his own basket of mozzarella sticks. I sat and stared at him for a while. I hadn't done that before–just looked at him. He was familiar, not because I'd seen him in my shower and the corner of my bedroom, but for some other reason. I'd seen him somewhere else before, I was sure of it.

Fuck it, or YOLO, like the kids said when I was a kid. I picked up my mozzarella sticks and my whiskey-coke and clumsily marched my pretty ass over to him.

I half-expected him to turn away and run when he saw me coming at him, but he stayed right where he was, perfectly still, sipping his drink with his little finger up like a little girl playing tea party.

"You," I said when I got to him. It was a Tuesday night. He was the only guy at the bar. There was no confusion about who I was talking to, but he didn't look up at me. That pissed me off a little. "Hey, dude." I clapped him on the shoulder. Solid meat, muscle, and bone. He was real.

"Sit down," he said, gesturing to the stool next to him.

I hopped up onto the stool, peering at him as I did, trying to match his face to something in my memory. "I know you from somewhere," I said. "Where do I know you from?"

He took a bite of his mozzarella stick, pulling back a hot string of white cheese from his mouth. "Your bathroom mirror?" he offered as he chewed.

Certified not-crazy, then. "Before that. And don't start listing everywhere else in my apartment, because I already know that's you. I mean from somewhere else."

He hummed, taking another sip of his drink–also a whiskey-coke, it looked like. It reminded me of mine, and I took a swig as well.

"Could be from school," he said.

I squinted at him. "Did we have Chemistry together? Tenth grade?"

"That was eleventh grade. Tenth grade you had to retake Biology, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, 'cause Mr. Schwarz was an alcoholic and made it my problem. Yeah."

"Yeah, what a freak."

"For real," I said. I was halfway through shoveling a mozzarella stick into my mouth when I realized I hadn't gotten an answer. Mouth still full, I asked, "But really, where do I know you from?"

The man shrugged. He didn't look so scary now that he was up close and I was talking to him. It was weird–I really couldn't get a read on what he actually looked like. He was there–I'd felt him–but he was somewhere I couldn't see at the same time. It was like trying to look into a mirror in a dream. "You tell me."

"See, but I don't know. That's why I'm asking you."

"I only know as much as you do."

"You don't know what I know."

"I know you don't know, and I don't know either. So I know as much as you know."

"You know, you're kind of annoying," I said. I downed the last of my whiskey-coke. "You aren't as bad as I thought, though. I thought you were gonna kill me when I first saw you."

"Funny," said the man, stirring the ice around his drink with his finger, "I thought the same thing about you."

We sat in silence for a little while. It was weirdly comfortable. I couldn't remember the last time I got to sit around and just feel comfortable. When I wasn't trying my best not to see him, the man was kind of soothing to be around.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"What's yours?" he replied.

I turned to look at him, eyes meeting familiar eyes. I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound came out. I frowned. "I–" I racked my brain for a moment, "I really don't know."

He smiled and shrugged. It felt nice that it didn't seem to be that big of a deal, that it was okay not to know. "We'll figure something out," he said, and I believed him.

He was back in my mirrors, my kitchen, my bedroom while I slept after that. I was cool with it. There was really no other way for it to be. Why should I worry about a man being in my apartment? The man was me.