A Boy a Girl and a Ghost

by Robert J. McCarter

  I was left there thinking maybe he was right. The ghost could be my brain doing something weird. I once overheard my mother tell my father that leukemia can get into your brain and if it does, it’s bad… real bad.

  And while I know I have exactly zero chances with Helena, I’d rather feel her hand in mine again than stare at naked pictures of women I would never know.

  That Playboy made things worse. It made me want a real girl in my life. It made me want Helena that much more.

  There are a lot of ghosts in this graveyard. My estimate is around twenty or thirty. There are a lot more gravestones than that—it’s somehow comforting they’re not all ghosts—but I had no idea there would be so many. Each night I’ve come down here, my ghost friend has come more and more into focus. I can almost see him straight on. And less focused, I can see other ghosts in the background.

  Some look human. Some are more ephemeral in their shape—these make me feel uncomfortable. Some are just wisps of white flashing to and fro, seen only out of the corner of my eye.

  I know that I may be losing it. That, like Billy said, none of this may be real. Maybe my brain got messed up with all those chemo treatments or the leukemia’s gotten in. Maybe I’m going schizo. I don’t know. But what keeps me coming back is this: What if the ghosts are real? I saw them as a kid, clear as day. I am starting to see my ghost friend clearer and clearer.

  That possibility is important to me. Having had leukemia and a reoccurrence (two strikes, as I call it, but not around my parents) makes me want to believe. Keeps me sneaking out and coming back.

  And the ghost wants something. I don’t know what it is, but boy does he want something. I think he’s trying to talk to me, but for some reason I can only see him, not hear him. We’ve decided, my ghost friend and I, that it will just take time. Soon I will be able to see him clearly and hopefully hear him too.

  I’m sitting on my uncle Don’s grave writing in my diary when I notice a flash of light. My progress seeing the ghost is agonizingly slow, so I’ve taken to bringing my diary and writing in it down here. It’s peaceful and quiet. My ghost friend doesn’t mind.

  When I see the light, I put my diary down and turn my flashlight off, my heart leaping into my throat. What if it’s my parents? What if they’ve found out? I try to calm myself and just watch. It’s someone out on Main Street that has just cut into the graveyard. The person is moving slowly and carefully winding their way across the grass, their flashlight searching back and forth.

  I’m not sure of it at first, but then it becomes clear. The person is headed my way. Shit!

  My brain does flip-flops, trying to figure out what to do. Should I run—no, if they are not coming here, movement would just give me away. Should I stay—that would be stupid and just ensure that I get caught. I’m stuck in indecision as the light gets closer and closer.

  “Wade?” the person whispers. “I saw your light. I know you’re here. Where are you?”

  It’s a female voice, and at first I think it’s my mother and that freaks me out. But the voice is deeper than hers and rougher, and my mother would never call me Wade.

  “Helena?” I ask, turning on my flashlight and shining it at her.

  She covers her eyes and says, “Get that damn thing out of my face.” I lower my flashlight, but it was on her long enough for me to get a good look at her. She’s dressed in a colorful skirt and a white top that shows off plenty of cleavage. The outfit looks familiar, but I just can’t place it. My heart speeds up even more.

  She walks over and sits down next to me with a sigh, setting her flashlight on the ground, providing some general illumination. I do the same, staring at her, unable to speak. She doesn’t talk either, she digs in her old brown purse and pulls out a cigarette and a lighter.

  She doesn’t look at me as she lights up and takes a long drag, blowing the smoke up at the night. I have no idea what to say, no clue what she’s doing here, so I don’t say a thing. Despite the cool night, I’m all sweaty now that she’s sitting by me and start worrying that I stink bad or something.

  “Long shift,” she says after she finishes with the cigarette, grinding the butt out in the grass and leaving it there. I want to say something about littering, but keep my mouth shut.

  “Shift?” I ask, finally getting a word out.

  “Yeah,” she says, nodding back out towards Main Street as she pops a stick of gum in her mouth. “I work at La Familia a few nights a week. Saw a light, knew it had to be you.”

  The outfit makes sense—it’s what the waitresses wear. I’m still stunned that she’s here. That she would even think about me. I want to say something cool or impressive, but instead I say, “Don’t they serve alcohol there? Aren’t you seventeen?”

  She shrugs. “With the right makeup, I look twenty, easy. The owners are friends of my father’s. Besides, this is Cedar City, no one cares.”

  I nod, suddenly desperate to see her in makeup that makes her look twenty. I hold up my flashlight and say, “Do you mind? I’m curious.”

  She shrugs again so I cast a little more light on her. She’s got black eyeliner on with blue eyeshadow and a touch of red on her high cheekbones. Her freckles have been covered up—I miss them. She definitely looks older, which doesn’t seem like that good of a thing to me. I lower my flashlight and say, “I like you better without makeup.”

  In the dim light I can tell she’s staring at me, but she doesn’t say anything about the comment. Instead she asks, “What are you doing here, Wade? Why do you hang out in the graveyard in the middle of the night?”

  I don’t say anything for a while, and she seems fine with that. She leans her head up and stares at the stars. I’m not sure what to tell her, I don’t want her thinking I’m a nut job, so I go with the truth—at least some of it. “I’m sorry, Helena, but I don’t know you well enough to tell you that.”

  She’s staring at me again for the longest time. I’m afraid I did something horrible, that she’ll never speak to me again. She finally says, “You’re a weird kid, Wade. You know that?”

  I’m sure I’ve screwed it up. “Umm… I…” I stammer.

  She gets up and brushes herself off and asks, “You going to be here tomorrow night?”

  “Ahhh… Yeah. Probably. Why?”

  “So we can do something about you knowing me well enough to tell me your little secret.” With that she turns and walks away.

  I can barely breathe.

  5

  Friday, June 17, 1977

  Billy Chadow lives in a big two-story house about a mile and half away from mine. It’s painted a cheerful green and has pansies in red, yellow, and purple lining the sidewalk that leads up to the front door.

  I’m a bit nervous—Billy and I don’t fight that often and when we do I feel so strange. He’s been a constant in my life for so long that any distance from him feels awful.

  My dad says that the true test of a friend is how they are in bad times. I’ve seen a lot of bad times and Billy has always been there. By that test he’s the truest of friends, I can’t let the little things get in the way.

  I walk right in and the smell of bacon and the sound of screaming girls wafts over me. I smile.

  The Chadows are Mormons, like many in Cedar City, and like many Mormons they have a lot of kids. I wave at the twins—the source of the screaming—who are chasing each other around the big living room. I wave at Mrs. Chadow who is in the kitchen cleaning up from breakfast. She smiles, her round cheeks red, and waves me up the stairs. She knows I’m here to see Billy.

  I feel very comfortable in the Chadows’ home. It, and they, are so different from my own family, but in many ways they are my family too. Not just because of my friendship with Billy, but because of the kind of people they are and the amount of time we’ve all spent together.

  As I hit the second floor, I see Billy’s older brother, Abe. He’s got Billy’s red hair and green eyes, but is tall and willowy, unlike most of his family, which tends to be short an
d stout. He is the source of the Playboy that Billy and I fought over.

  “Hey, scarecrow,” he says to me. He’s heading from the bathroom into his own room. I’ve always been kind of in awe of Abe. He’s quite a bit older than Billy and I and always seems to have it together. He’s currently in college.

  “Hey, beanpole,” I say to him. We are both skinny.

  He stabs his thumb at Billy’s room. “He’s bent, not sure why. But tread carefully.”

  I nod and knock on Billy’s door as Abe disappears into his room.

  “Go away,” he yells. The sound is muffled by his door and the cacophony of his twin sisters screaming makes it hard to hear him.

  “It’s Aaron,” I shout. I want to make sure he can hear me.

  There is a long pause before the door slowly opens. “What do you want?” he asks.

  “Just let me in, okay?”

  He nods and opens the door and I walk in. Billy’s room is its usual mess. Bed unmade, clothes everywhere, comic books strewn about, smelling of stale sweat. On the wall are a bunch of posters: the movie posters from Logan’s Run and Jaws, a Kiss poster, and a poster of Farrah Fawcett posing in her red bathing suit. Farrah Fawcett was the girl of his dreams before Barbara Bach.

  He slumps down onto his bed and picks up a Spiderman comic, not looking at me.

  “I’m sorry, B,” I say. “I know Barbara is special to you and I have no right to make light of that.” In truth, I think his crushes are a little silly, but I am finally starting to understand them—how irrational a boy can get about a girl.

  He nods, his eyes meeting mine. “What the hell got into you anyway?”

  I carefully pace around his room, avoiding the Legos and pieces of an erector set. I’ve been holding back on Billy and that feels odd.

  “It’s a girl,” I say.

  Billy is suddenly at full attention, his eyes wide, his posture straight. He’s paying attention. “Shit…”

  “I… I… Listen, Billy. I can’t tell you all the details, but I gotta talk to someone about this. Can I trust you?”

  He’s blinking rapidly, his eyes locked on mine. I’m sure he’s hoping for something a lot more juicy than I have to tell. “Yeah. Shit yeah, you can trust me.”

  “Just between us, Billy. You gotta swear.”

  He stands up holding his hands in front of him so I can clearly see there are no crossed fingers. “I swear, A. What is said in this room is sacred. I will tell no one.”

  I sink to the floor, most of my energy gone. Billy joins me down there, clearing away some dirty clothes. “Her name is—”

  I’m cut off by the door to Billy’s room opening and two ten-year-old girls’ faces poking in. They’ve got the Chadow green eyes and their wild red hair is contained in a ponytail. Jill and Jane, Billy’s twin sisters. Now that I think of it, the screaming had stopped a few minutes ago.

  “Hi, Aaron,” Jill says. They are identical twins, but I’ve known them forever and can tell them apart.

  “Good to see you,” Jane says, her voice rising an octave, just like Jill’s had. They both, as of recently, have decided that they “like” me. It’s rather uncomfortable.

  “Get out!” Billy yells, levering himself up and lunging for the door. The little girls’ faces disappear before Billy slams the door. He’s standing there panting. Looking at me. “The suspense is killing me. What the hell is her name?”

  I swallow hard and bite my lip. “Helena Monfort.”

  Billy’s eyes go wide and he sinks to the floor, his back still pressed against it. “Shit!” A grin spreads on his face. “You lucky bastard. Do you have any idea how jealous I am of you right now? Shit. Helena Freaking Monfort. She’s a class-A babe and world-class trouble. Shit, man. Spill. You gotta spill everything now!”

  “It’s not that exciting.” He gives me this look like he doesn’t believe me. “Okay, it is exciting. Oh my god! But nothing has happened, and I mean nothing. But, I think we are becoming friends.”

  Keeping his back pressed firmly to the door to ensure privacy, he says, “Start from the beginning, tell me everything, leave nothing out.”

  I take a deep breath and tell him what I can. I leave out how we met but tell him the rest.

  I’m chuckling as I leave Billy’s, get on my bike, and head for the bookstore. I love Billy, he’s the brother I never had, but I don’t trust his advice concerning women. He kept urging me to “make a move.” He told me that “a girl that hot needs a confident, assertive man.”

  I told him, firmly, that we were just friends, that all I wanted was to be friends. He didn’t believe it. I don’t either, but I can’t speak aloud anything else. It feels too scary.

  I do my shift at the bookstore, but I’m distracted. For once in my life, I am not content to be among the books. I read the first chapter of The Shining while things are slow, but even though I love Stephen King, for some reason I can’t get into it. I long for the girl, I want to see the ghost.

  As I’m sitting behind the counter, the twin mysteries of my life keep me restless. Why can I see the ghost? When will I see the girl?

  My dad notices when he comes in. It’s just after four and he’s done teaching for the day. The bookstore is so close to the college that he does his office hours here, a parade of students coming through in the late afternoon and early evening most days.

  “Thanks, Aaron,” he says as he comes behind the counter and lowers his briefcase to the floor. “You can go.”

  I don’t move right away. I’m still sitting on the stool—I am not used to having time I don’t know what to do with. At least not while I’m healthy. When I was sick, I would read and read and read, and then sleep and sleep and sleep. Now I can’t wait for the night to come. I know the ghost will be there, and I can hope that Helena will be too.

  “You okay, son?” he asks.

  I shake my head and get off the stool. I look around, the store is empty. “Can I ask you a question?”

  He nods and sits down on the vacated stool, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Umm… Well…” I stammer, not knowing what kind of consequences my question will have. But my dad has always been open and honest with me. When I got sick, he’s the one that laid it out, talked about odds, didn’t pull any punches. I was eleven at the time, and it was a lot. Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate and rely on his honesty.

  “What is it, Aaron?”

  “I’m just wondering how you knew Mom was the one? You know, back when you first met.”

  His eyes widen and his brow furrows as he looks carefully at me. He then looks away. It wasn’t the reaction I was expecting. I thought he would smile, tell me a brilliant little vignette about something she did. My belly tightens as I watch his face cycle through emotions.

  “My love for your mother snuck up on me,” he says. “As you know, a mutual friend set us up on a blind date while I was a teaching assistant at University of San Francisco and your mother was in nursing school. I liked her right away and that like slowly grew into love.”

  I’m disappointed. “So, not like in those books?” I point to the romance section.

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, not at all.”

  I nod, not sure what to do with the information. It’s not what I expected, and as I think about it now, it’s not what I wanted. But as I mulled it over, I realized it could be exactly what I needed to hear. Maybe Helena only likes me now, maybe that like can grow into something else.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I say, smiling as I grab my backpack and go back to the storeroom to retrieve my bike.

  As I am carefully wheeling it towards the door, my dad asks the question I feared, “So do you want to talk about this girl?”

  I force a smile on my face and say, “Nope, but thanks anyway.”

  I know I’ve let the proverbial cat out of the bag, but I needed something to counterbalance Billy’s gung ho, go-get-her talk.

  I was happy as I rode home. There was hope for friendship turning i
nto something else, and even if I didn’t see Helena tonight, I would see a ghost.

  It’s turning out to be quite the summer.

  If you haven’t been to Utah, you might think it an uninterrupted expanse of hot, dry desert with a few cactus and scrawny bushes clinging to sandy soil.

  And it is, but that is not all it is. Cedar City is at nearly 6,000 feet elevation and nestled against the Cedar Mountains that contain Cedar Breaks National Monument and Brian Head Peak at over 11,000 feet. Stray too far from Cedar City and Cedar Valley (everything around here is named “Cedar”) to the north, south, or west, and you’ll find your classic desert, but with much more interesting geography than you’re probably imagining. Go to the east and in less than twenty miles, winding up Cedar Canyon, you’ll be at over 10,000 feet in elevation and at Cedar Breaks National Monument.

  It gets hot here, July can get into the nineties, and it’s dry and desert-like, but the elevation and the mountains keep Cedar much more livable, much more friendly.

  I can see him straight on now, my ghost friend, that is. I can see him clearly. His mouth moves, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.

  He’s tall and very thin. He’s wearing jeans and a button-down shirt covered in a white smock with black smudges. He has a thick, old-fashioned mustache that twirls up at the ends. It makes me think he’s been dead a long time. And he glows. I shine my flashlight on him and while I can’t see him as clearly, no light reflects off of him. It’s like he’s producing his own light.

  There are other ghosts, some around him, but he’s the only one I can see clearly. The rest are white smudges, glimpsed out of my peripheral vision. But they all seem to be interested in me.

  I don’t know why, but tonight things have changed. I started to see the flashes of the ghosts as soon as I entered the graveyard and they gathered around me. When I got close to Uncle Don’s grave, there my ghost friend was with a big smile on his lean face.