Just Making Out

by Mark Roeder

  Dane

  I sat in my room doing my homework as the sun set. I took a short break and walked to the windows to watch the orange-golden sky. There were a few clouds on the horizon, and they turned a brilliant rosy-purple. The beauty of the sunset was such a contrast to the cold rain of the night before.

  I stood there until the colors faded into the blue, black, and gray of night and then returned to my homework. I had an especially large amount to get done. I was thankful I’d worked ahead the night before. Otherwise, I don’t think I could have finished. You’d think teachers could get together and make sure they weren’t all making long assignments on the very same day, but nooooo.

  Rain began to pelt the window panes as I worked. I stiffened for a moment when I noticed it. I didn’t like any reminder of my dream. I shook my head and told myself I was being silly. It was just rain. I liked rain.

  I wasn’t sure how eager I was to go to bed. I knew my nightmare might be waiting on me. Perhaps I’d never dream it again. I think the nightmare was probably caused by thinking I’d seen Boothe. That brought up old memories and fears. Now, I’d seen him for sure and therefore faced the fear. Maybe the nightmare was some kind of premonition, too, but I didn’t want to think like that. What if I dreamed something really bad again tonight?

  “D-a-n-e.”

  I froze. I think my heart might even have stopped. I clearly heard someone calling my name in a whispering, raspy sort of tone. It wasn’t Mom and it wasn’t Dad. That left…who?

  “D-a-n-e.”

  Shit.

  I sat there glued to my seat. My room began to grow chilly. I looked toward the windows. They began to frost over on the inside. I shivered with cold and trembled with fear. Wasn’t a room supposed to go cold right before…

  “D-a-n-e.”

  The voice was closer now, much closer—far too close. I closed my eyes. I could feel it. I could feel it standing near me, just behind me and to my left. I slowly opened my eyes. My breath came harder and faster, creating puffs of steam in the frigid air.

  “D-a-n-e.”

  Trembling, I forced myself to turn and look. I didn’t want to look, but not looking was worse than looking.

  “Shit!” I yelled and jumped to my feet. My chair hit the floor.

  I backed into the table that was my desk, causing it to scoot several inches across the floor. There, not five feet away, stood a boy about my own age wearing an old VHS letterman’s jacket. Only he wasn’t a boy—at least, not anymore. His face was slightly bluish-purple, and he wasn’t quite solid. Holy shit! It was a ghost!

  “This isn’t real,” I said to myself. “Not real. Not real.”

  I closed my eyes hard and then reopened them. It was still there. It reached out toward me. I jerked backward and fell over the chair. I landed on my ass. I stared up. It stepped toward me, and then it was gone.

  “Dane. Dane are you okay?”

  It was my mom standing at the door.

  “Um, yeah. I just…I guess I dozed off and fell out of my chair.”

  “Maybe it’s time for bed, then. I can stay with you for a while if you like.”

  “Um, no, that’s okay. I think I will go to bed, though.”

  “If you need us, Dad and I aren’t far away.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Mom was no doubt worried I’d have another nightmare. I was now far more concerned with the nightmare that had just entered my waking life. Maybe it hadn’t, though. Maybe I had fallen asleep. I didn’t think so, but…a ghost? Maybe I’d drifted off while doing my homework and dreamed about a ghost because Boothe had been talking about ghosts. The dream seemed so real, but then my nightmare of the previous night had seemed real, too, and it was nothing but a bad dream.

  I set my chair back up, undressed, and crawled under the covers. The cotton sheets felt soft and comfortable against my naked body. I pulled them up close around me and tried not to think about what I’d dreamed. It had to be a dream, after all. It couldn’t possibly have been real. I mean…a ghost? Really?

  “D-a-n-e.”

  “Shit!”

  I dashed right out of my bed and stood near the windows, naked. It was back, and I was not asleep. I hadn’t been in bed long enough to fall asleep.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

  The cold felt more intense this time, but that was likely because I was naked. It stepped toward me. I trembled with cold and fear but stood my ground. The ghost would have been handsome if his face wasn’t purplish-blue. He looked as though he had a nice build. My thoughts ground to a halt. I couldn’t believe it. I was checking out a dead boy! I had some serious issues.

  The ghost turned toward my dresser and reached out toward my jeans. I was terrified, but I was also fascinated. A real ghost!

  He looked toward me, his face stern. I got the distinct impression he wanted something, but what? I looked at the ghost and then at my jeans. Slowly, I walked forward. It took every ounce of courage I possessed, but I walked toward my dresser. I had to pass way too close to the dead boy, close enough to clearly see the varsity letter for football. I tried not to look at him, but I couldn’t stop looking.

  I grabbed my jeans and emptied the pockets. I pulled out my wallet, my keys, some change… I stopped, something was there that shouldn’t be. I picked up the odd-looking coin and gazed at in the moonlight. It was a half dollar, but it wasn’t a normal half dollar. It was silver. Real silver. There was a small hole punched in it as if it had been worn on a necklace. The Liberty Bell was pictured on one side. I turned the coin over. There was a profile of Ben Franklin and the date 1948. Boothe! That son of a bitch must have slipped it in my pocket this morning! But why?

  I looked quickly toward the ghost. I held the coin out to him. He extended his right hand, palm up. It was purplish-blue like his face. He stepped toward me. It took every ounce of courage I had not to back away. I trembled violently as he drew so close I could have felt his breath if he’d been breathing. I dropped the coin into his open palm. I was too afraid to touch him. His fingers closed around the coin, and he was gone.

  I darted back to my bed and pulled the covers up to my neck. The sheets and blankets felt so warm against my chilled skin. I was still shaking with cold and fear, but my mind was spinning. I’d seen an actual ghost!

  I couldn’t sleep, but not from fears of a nightmare. I was too excited. It wasn’t a dream. I’d really seen a ghost. It was incredible! It was unbelievable, but it was real!

  Damn that Boothe! That bastard had slipped that coin in my pocket! I knew he had! I’d found a couple of silver quarters and dimes in my change over the years but never a half dollar. That coin obviously belonged to the ghost!

  Why the hell did Boothe plant the coin on me? Was he too chickenshit to face Mr. Football of 1948? Likely. Still, what was all that about needing my help to find a way to get rid of a ghost?

  I thought for a moment. Had I seen the coin before? Had I seen the dead football player before? I concentrated hard, trying to remember a time in my life I’d worked to forget. The image struck me. I did remember! I remembered watching as Boothe opened the lid of a silver coffin. Inside was a teenaged boy wearing a VHS letterman’s jacket. Yes! I remembered the coin! I remembered Boothe reaching in the boy’s shirt, pulling it out, and ripping it off the chain that held it around his neck. I’d been especially disgusted by the way Boothe had no respect for the dead. That coin had probably meant something special to that boy. Maybe it had been given to him by a friend, a girlfriend, or even a boyfriend. Boothe thought nothing of taking it. I remembered the boy, too, and his handsome face. It hadn’t looked quite as purplish-blue that night, but then maybe my memory was off. I remembered his dark blond hair. I remembered he reminded me of Brendan, who I was then trying to blackmail.

  I’d long feared my past would come back to haunt me. Now, it had—with more than a little help from Boothe. What was Boothe’s game? Had he hunted me down just to plant that coin o
n me? Was that the end of it? I doubted it. I’d heard ghosts only stuck around if they had some kind of unfinished business. The ghost had his coin back, but surely it wasn’t that simple. Maybe Boothe was a big enough coward to want me to face the ghost instead of him, but surely he would have given the coin back himself instead of going to all the trouble and risk of returning to Verona to kidnap me. The cops could’ve nabbed him. There had to be more to it. I didn’t trust Boothe to tell the truth, but I had a feeling this whole thing with Boothe was not at an end. Suddenly, a nightmare didn’t seem so bad.

  My curiosity helped me deal with my fear. I wondered about the dead boy who had visited my room. I’d been mildly and morbidly curious when I’d viewed him in his coffin, long years after his death. Now, I began to wonder who he was, what he’d been like in life, and how he’d died. I wanted to find out.

  ***

  “Any dreams last night?” Tim asked when he met me at my locker before school. “Any sign of Boothe?”

  “No and no. I do have a story to tell you, though.”

  “So tell me!”

  “It has to wait.”

  “Grrrr,” Tim growled. “Another long story I have to wait all day to hear?”

  “The story isn’t so long, but I’m sure there will be a lot of discussion after. We can talk about it while we explore the graveyard.”

  “Graveyard? Kinky, but just a bit chilly, don’t you think?”

  “We’re not going to the graveyard to do that.”

  “Then, why…I know, you’ll tell me after school.”

  “You’re handsome and smart,” I said.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Let’s eat a quick lunch today.”

  “Why?” I asked, mischievously.

  “You know why. I want you so bad I’m gonna pop.”

  “Well, don’t pop until lunch.”

  Tim leaned in and gave me a quick peck on the lips.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk you to class.”

  Later, Tim and I wolfed down our lunches and slipped into the auditorium. We were all over each other in seconds. I groped the front of Tim’s jeans. It was a wonder his zipper hadn’t busted from the strain. Our jeans and boxers were down around our ankles moments later. I kneeled down, and soon Tim whimpered with pleasure.

  When you’re incredibly worked up and short on time, you’d be amazed at what you can do in fifteen minutes. Tim and I were all over each other in an orgy of frantic sex. I yearned for long, slow lovemaking with Tim, but there was something to be said for getting down and dirty right there on the stage.

  Tim and I slipped back out of the auditorium relaxed and well-satisfied. Sex truly did calm me. I felt so mellow after relieving the pressure in my groin. How did I survive before Tim?

  ***

  “So, tell me your story,” Tim said as we walked away from school. “I’ve been going crazy wondering about it all day.”

  “Well, I’ve been apprehensive about it all day. I’m afraid you won’t believe me, or you’ll think I’ve lost my mind.”

  “Set you mind at ease, sexy. You’re as far from crazy as I am, and you know I’ll believe anything you say. You’ve never lied to me, and I know you never will.”

  “Here goes then. A ghost came to visit me last night.”

  “What?”

  “You said you’d believe me.”

  “I do believe you! That tone in my voice wasn’t disbelief; it was shock!”

  I smiled.

  “Think about how shocked I was.”

  I told my boyfriend all about my encounter with the ghost and about my thoughts on Boothe and what he was up to this time. We’d reached the cemetery on the edge of town by the time I’d finished.

  “So, what are we doing here?” Tim asked.

  “Looking for the boy from last night.”

  “I guess I’m not enough for you,” Tim said with pretend hurt.

  “You’re more than enough, big boy. The boy we’re looking for happens to be dead.”

  “Then, I guess we’ve come to the right place.”

  “Are you sure this is the right cemetery?” He asked a moment later.

  “Yes, Boothe and I hit some smaller cemeteries, some I didn’t even know existed, but this is where we dug him up. I’m sure of it.”

  “Wow, you really were desperate for a date last summer.”

  “Funny.”

  “I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

  “What am I going to do with you?”

  “I have several good ideas.”

  Tim pulled me to him and kissed me long and hard. I kissed him back as long as I dared then pulled away.

  “No more of that for now or we’ll never find him.”

  “Who cares? Okay, okay. Let’s find the dead boy.”

  The cemetery had a slightly overgrown look. It likely hadn’t been mowed since the fall. The grass was just beginning to become green, and it was growing in some places, but not in others. The cemetery was usually well-kept. No doubt someone would be along to mow it in the next few days.

  The grave markers varied in age from the early 1800s right up to the present. I knew the grave we were looking for wasn’t in the oldest section. No one had been buried in that part for a hundred years. I remembered that well enough from the time I spent here with Boothe. The dead football player had died long ago, but not before 1948. That was the date of the coin, and I was certain it had been buried with him.

  “You don’t happen to know his name, do you?” Tim asked.

  “Sorry, I didn’t think to ask. I was too busy being terrified. Besides, I don’t think he was in a talking mood.”

  “I just thought I could be more help if you did.”

  “I’m trying to remember what was near it, but all I can come up with is ordinary tombstones. I don’t think there was anything that stood out. It was dark, too, so that makes it harder.”

  “Maybe we can look for graves where the grass isn’t growing in on top yet.”

  “Won’t help. Boothe was very careful about removing the grass and setting it aside so it could be replaced at the end. When we were finished, it was very hard to tell a grave had been disturbed.”

  “I guess that makes sense. If people caught on that someone was messing with the graves, they’d keep a closer watch.”

  “Exactly. Boothe was a bastard, but he wasn’t stupid.”

  “Mark’s and Taylor’s graves,” Tim said, nodding toward two new-looking tombstones sitting close together.

  “Taylor Potter,” I read. “Born August 21, 1964. Died November 3, 1980.”

  I looked at the grave next to it.

  “Mark Bailey. Born August 21, 1964. Died November 3, 1980. That’s really weird. I know why they died on the same day, but to be born on the same day, too?”

  “Yeah, I noticed that the first time I saw the markers,” Tim said. “Look, someone has been here recently.”

  It was true. There was a small bouquet of purple carnations in front of each of the markers.

  “I wonder who?” I asked. “Their parents?”

  “I don’t know how likely that is,” Tim said. “Mark’s dad is buried over there. He killed himself not long after Mark.”

  “Yeah?”

  “With the same gun Mark used.”

  “Damn.”

  “It could have been one of the other parents, but I think it’s more likely that Brandon put them here. Maybe Jon or Ethan, but I bet it was Brandon.”

  “Yeah,” I said, remembering our talk about the loss of Taylor and Mark. “He’s still not over it.”

  “I don’t think he ever will be. Shawn said the guys were worried that Brandon would kill himself after Mark and Taylor took their own lives. They watched him pretty close for several weeks after that.”

  “It’s so sad,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  We walked on, cutting back and forth across the cemetery, but nothing looked familiar. After an hour, we gave it up. Mom would expect me home soon. I’d had to
talk her into giving me this much time. She was still convinced Tim and I were going to have sex at the first opportunity. Mom was pretty smart sometimes.

  Tim walked me home. Boy, it was great having a boyfriend to walk me home! My life had gone kinda topsy-turvy, but I didn’t lose sight of how good my life was at present. I was in love with Tim!

  Homework again. That’s what my life would be if it wasn’t for my boyfriend and the ghost: pure homework. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but I was convinced there was too much homework in the world. There really should be a law against it. Schoolwork should be kept in school and not allowed to creep out and mess up a perfectly good evening. Yeah, I enjoyed my homework sometimes, but there was always the annoying fact that I had to do it. That took away too much of the fun.

  A thought occurred to me as I sat there in my bedroom. The ghost of the night before was from a time when my home was VHS. The ghost could have attended history or math or some other class right in my very bedroom. If the ghost lived in Verona up until he died, he could have attended school in this building for years. Chances were he’d sat right in this room when he was alive.

  That’s not all, either. He was on the football team—in this school! This building was used through the 1954 school year. If I was lucky, he might be on one of the team photos on the walls or in the trophy cases! Yes!

  I started my search in the upstairs hallway near my room. There were lots of photos in the old school. Some of them were just 8x10s. Some of them were huge—more than six feet across and four feet tall. There were class photos, basketball photos, club photos, and more, but I was looking for football-team photos. I found one quickly, but it was from 1952—too late in time. I found others, from the 1930s, 1920s, and even the 1890s! There were none from the 1940s, however. I spotted the first one of those on the first floor. It was from 1942. I figured it was too early for my ghost, but I carefully scanned each face. Nothing.

  I searched the walls and cases top to bottom. I found a couple more football-team photos from the ‘40s, but no one looked familiar. In the gym, I found a team photo from 1948—the very year on the ghost’s coin. It was a huge photo located between the stage and the boys’ locker room. I peered at the faces one by one. There he was! Wow. He had been handsome. If I lived back then…but anyway.