by D. G. Driver
“This is for you,” I said. “Looks like you could use it.”
She smiled at me and took the shake like I’d just given her a diamond. “I might need some napkins again.”
“Hey, the letter wasn’t supposed to make you cry,” I told her, pulling some out from the pocket on my shirt for her and then stepping back while she cleaned her face.
“I know,” she said. “I’m being stupid. I’ve been stupid all week.”
“No you haven’t.”
“Look, Mark,” she said and put both her hands on the steering wheel to steady herself. “I thought we had something really special over Winter Break, and then when school started, you acted just like every other jerky guy in school with your lame texts. That’s not who I thought you were, and I was kind of bummed out.”
“I said I was sorry for that,” I offered.
“I know. You wrote that weird note on my wall.”
“You thought that was weird?”
“Kind of.” She shrugged. “I mean it was sweet, but it was just a little uncomfortable. Plus, Lance saw it, and he was so pissed off about it. He came over to my house that night.”
“I heard about that.”
“Did you?” she asked. “What did you hear?”
“Well, he told me that you were still his girlfriend and to back off.”
She tapped my note on the passenger seat. “I guess you decided not to believe him.”
“Was he telling me the truth? Did you go back to him?”
“No. He’s lying.” The lights of the hub went off behind me. Bethany flicked her eyes at the distraction and then back at me. “Are you off work?”
“I just have to clock out.” I put up my finger for her to wait for me, and then I jogged back over to the hub. Miguel was locking the door, all my stuff on the ground by his feet. He gave me a wink and patted me on the shoulder before leaving. I slipped my tennis shoes over my sock feet and jogged back to my girl.
At least I hoped that’s what she was about to tell me she was.
Like last time, she invited me to sit in her car with her while the world got still around us. She told me that Lance came over after my post on her wall and started yelling at her while they stood on her front porch.
“All my neighbors could hear him. He told me I was cheating on him and called you a hundred different names. When I finally got him to calm down, mostly because my dad came out the front door and asked if there was a problem, Lance told me that he didn’t know we had broken up. I guess that was my fault, because I never called him after the party to officially tell him we were through. I kind of thought he’d figure it out by my storming out of the party that night and never speaking to him again. He’s not that clever, though.”
“So, does he know now?” I asked.
Bethany took a long draw on her shake before answering. “He tried to convince me to stay with him. He apologized for the party and said he was being stupid that night. Said he’d never act like that again and to give him another chance. I said I didn’t believe him. If he was like that with his friends at a Christmas party, how would he behave at prom or a graduation party? What if he joined a fraternity in college? I can handle my friends drinking if that’s what they want to do, but I don’t want to be pressured like that, and I don’t want a slobbery, drunk, rude boyfriend.”
I wanted to say something right then to the fact that I was not a big drinker myself. That I’d only had a beer once in a while with my dad while watching football. But that seemed like a lame thing to say, so I held back. I wished I had some advice from my ghost friend right then. Where were the little yellow notes? Come to think of it, had I ever gotten one away from school? Was that the only place he could haunt me?
Bethany went on talking. “Lance left after that. I haven’t talked to him since, but word got around pretty fast that he and I were over. All my friends started bugging me about it, especially Lissy and Kat. They told me how broken-hearted Lance was—that he was moping around school like a lost puppy. They wanted me to go back to him because he and I were such a good fit together. And they were both really insistent that I stay away from you. I’m not going to lie. I wondered if they were right. That’s why I kept my distance all week. I needed time to think. I mean, we don’t have anything in common, and you’re going in the army after school gets out. I’m going to college. We won’t see each other. What’s the point?”
I was quiet for a moment before I spoke, trying not to sound as shaky as I felt. “So, is that why you’re here? To tell me to stay away?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
She glanced at my letter, now on the dashboard between us, and then looked me squarely in the face. “I think you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You’re the only one who understands what I need. You know how to listen, and you make me feel so safe. Your letter helped me see that you are more than you seem.” She leaned toward me and kissed me softly. With her face still close to me, she whispered, “And I think I love you.”
The overwhelming joy that filled me is hard to express. It was like my whole body became ignited. I wanted to pull her tight in my arms and kiss her until our lips stopped working, but I only kissed her once, tenderly, before I pulled back and smiled. She needed the ‘friend’ part of ‘boyfriend’ right then. I could be that for her. Making out was for another time. We talked in the parking lot for two hours, went home and got on the phone and talked again until we fell asleep.
9
I couldn’t stand to wait until Monday to receive a note from my ghost friend. If he didn’t know already, I wanted to tell him what happened between Bethany and me. I wanted to thank him. I cleaned up and headed over to school. Someone would be there, I was certain. The school’s dance team often practiced on Saturday mornings, and there was always some kind of ACT type test going on. I noticed as I drove that the ink heart on my hand was nearly faded off. One more day and it would be completely gone.
I snuck into the school through a door near the small gym, a space reserved for the cheerleaders, dancers and show choir that had mirrors on the walls and a hardwood floor. The girls mostly ignored me as I sneaked behind them. They were busy learning a combination of steps. Over in the corner, Lissy stood with another girl taking sips from her water bottle and checking her phone messages. I guess she wasn’t in that part of the dance. She saw me and sneered. I grinned at her and blew her a kiss. She looked disgusted, and I heard the other girl ask, “Who’s that?” as I went through the opposite door into the main gym. I resisted the urge to march over to the girls and say, “I’m Bethany’s new boyfriend. That’s who I am.” They’d find out soon enough.
I zipped through the empty hallways of the school, aiming for my British Lit classroom. Thankfully the door wasn’t locked, because I was certain my best shot for finding a note from my ghost friend was going to be where I found it in the first place. I was right. The yellow piece of paper was waiting for me on that old desk in the back of the room. The writing on it seemed to be fading, as if his ghostly pen was running out of ink.
You’ve done it, son. I’m so happy and proud of you. I wish I could have been a bigger part of your life than this, but I’m glad to have done something to help you. Now, I need one thing from you.
A sealed envelope was suddenly in my hand behind the note I was reading. My friend gave me directions of what he wanted done with it.
Fading. Must go.
“Will I hear from you again?”
No.
“What if I need you? To help me with Bethany? I don’t want to make any mistakes. How do I do that without you?”
I am part of you, my boy. Trust your heart. Be strong. Be brave. But above all, be loving.
I truly hoped I could be those things.
“Thank you.”
No. It is I who thank you.
And then, so faint I could barely see it, a ghostly word written by a ghost:
Goodbye.
10
As requested, I went straight home, walked into my grandmother’s room and handed the envelope to her.
“Oh! A letter for me?” She was so delighted her eyes sparkled like a child being given a lollipop.
I helped her open the envelope and unfold the letter. The ghost hadn’t used yellow notebook paper. This was a thick piece of parchment, smaller than an average sized piece of paper. A musky smell wafted up from it, as if the paper had been trying to hold the essence of the man who’d written on it. At the top was my grandmother’s name, Eileen, written in cursive and surrounded by a heart.
“You found them,” Grandma said to me, not daring to look up from the letter. Her hands trembled more than usual as I handed it to her. “You found my letters.”
“Uh, yes, Grandma. At least this one.”
She read it to herself, and when she was done she held it to her heart, closed her eyes and lifted her face toward Heaven. She shook her head ever so slowly, a blissful smile on her lips while glad tears rolled down her cheeks. My mom came in the room and saw her.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Grandma looked at my mom and then at me. “Thank you. I love you both so much. Thank you for all that you’ve done for me.”
“Mom?” Worry filled the lines around my mother’s eyes.
Grandma lifted the letter to her lips and kissed it, then lowered her head to the pillow, closed her eyes, and was gone.
“Mom? Mom!”
My mother grabbed my grandma’s wrist to check her pulse and then began sobbing. She cried out for Dad. He came running in. A chaotic ballet happened around me, but I stayed calm. All I did was reach for the letter. I sat at the foot of her bed and read it.
Dear Eileen,
I never got to say goodbye to you. We never got to have the life we planned. My life ended way too soon, and you’ve lived so long. You had our beautiful daughter, and she has given us a wonderful grandson. Somehow he’s been able to bring me back for just this brief time so I can see you again. I want you to come to me now. I have a place ready for us. I want you to sleep and wake up in my arms. We will be together forever now. I love you so much and always have.
All my love,
Joe
My grandfather. He was the ghost. Now I understood it all. My grandpa had died at war, leaving my pregnant grandma at home to survive without him. All she’d had of him were the letters he’d written. I wasn’t sad for Grandma. I was glad she was with him, finally. She deserved that rest.
* * * *
I wrote a letter to Bethany every week through the end of the school year, and once I left for boot camp I wrote three a week, never slowing down, even when I got deployed. Every single one of them had been in my best handwriting. All of them on some special stationery I bought just for her. And my beautiful girlfriend wrote back even more amazing letters to me, which got me through everything and made me strong so I could come home to her.
THE END
Author’s Note
I began writing Passing Notes as a challenge. A publisher was looking for romantic YA short stories featuring ghosts. I like writing prompts and decided this was a fun one to try.
My daughter was going into 5th grade at the time, and a hot issue was that cursive was not being taught in most elementary schools anymore. While I understand that cursive isn’t super important in daily life, it is a sad art to lose. One day, far in the future, will no one be able to read the important documents and even private diaries or letters of the notable people of our history who lived before the 1990s? Will no one ever pen a beautiful love letter? Is that something that will forever vanish from the world?
Also, that same year, one of my step-daughters was in a relationship, and she spent all her time texting with her boyfriend rather than actually talking to him. That saddened me too. What was happening to the language of love? It didn’t surprise me when that relationship didn’t last. How could it?
So I wrote Passing Notes in response to that. It didn’t get accepted in the anthology, and I never quite know what to do with Young Adult short stories. I played with it some more, hoping to stretch it into a full-length novel, but a novella is where it found its stopping point. Thank you to Caroline Andrus and Nancy Schumacher for agreeing to publish it through Fire and Ice. An extra thanks to Caroline for another beautiful cover design. Thank you also to Rebecka Neyman for the editing.
I send a special acknowledgement to my dear friend Jeni Richard who took the time to help me cut the original short story down in size to fit the word count required by the anthology. She really helped me chop out what wasn’t necessary. Although, I think she and I both knew the story needed to be longer, not shorter.
And please, my dear readers, if you enjoyed this story remember to take a moment to share a comment about it or give it some stars on Amazon or Goodreads or any online bookstore. It really helps let others know this is a book worth reading, and it certainly helps me know that you want me to keep writing. I appreciate all of you more than you can imagine.
About the Author
Passing Notes is D. G. Driver’s second book published by Fire and Ice. Her fantasy novel Cry of the Sea was released in 2014. She has published several award-winning, critically acclaimed non-fiction books as Donna Getzinger. She is an active member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators and lives with her family in Nashville, Tennessee. Visit her web site to learn more about her, and follow her to keep up with future projects.
Website: www.dgdriver.com
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